#like that she was always untouchable in a sense | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shdysders · 1 day ago

Text

not this christmas

pairing: tara carpenter & female reader

summary: the christmas dinner takes an unexpected turn when tara’s guilt threatens to shatter the holiday spirit.

word count: 8.5k

author’s note: merry christmas🎄🎄my christmas gift to you guys!

You loved Christmas. Not in the fleeting, half-hearted way most people did—the kind of love that flickered on and off like string lights. No, your love for Christmas burned steady, warm, and untouchable, like a candle in the dark.

It wasn't just the holiday or the traditions. It was the feeling. A quiet, persistent kind of joy that settled in your chest and never quite left, no matter the time of year.

It started when you were young, those early years when Christmas meant more than just a tree and gifts.

It was family crowded around a table, faces soft under the glow of twinkling lights. It was the sound of slippers on hardwood floors as you raced to the window to see the first snow of the season.

It was the smell of cinnamon, the stickiness of frosting on your fingers, the way the house felt alive in a way it never did the rest of the year.

Christmas, to you, wasn't just a date on the calendar. It was home.

And Tara? She knew all of this. She couldn't not know, because you told her. All the time. From the moment you started dating, she'd been swept up in your Christmas stories, your excitement spilling over long before December.

You told her about how you'd start making paper snowflakes in October just because you couldn't wait. How you and your mom used to sit on the floor, wrapping presents together, and how she'd always let you tie the ribbons because you were so particular about getting them just right.

You told her how you hated when Christmas ended, too. How you'd always leave the tree up a little too long, until the needles turned brittle and brown.

How you'd sit with your hot chocolate on quiet January nights, staring at the lights until they went blurry, trying to hold onto that feeling for as long as you could. And Tara would listen, always with that small, indulgent smile, as if she couldn't quite believe someone could love something so much.

When December finally came around, your joy was impossible to ignore. You played Christmas music in the car, humming along even when Tara rolled her eyes. You dragged her to stores that were too crowded, grinning at every over-the-top display.

You'd laugh when she teased you for buying ornaments you didn't need, holding them up like treasures you'd just found.

It wasn't just a holiday to you; it was a piece of you. Tara could see it in the way your hands lingered over decorations, the way your eyes softened when you spoke about it.

She'd never admit it out loud, but it was one of the things she loved most about you—that unshakable, unrelenting hope that came alive every Christmas.

And because of this, Tara couldn't help but feel it too—that excitement that radiated off you like warmth from a fire.

She didn't understand it at first, the way you lived for Christmas, the way your face lit up at the smallest details: a wreath on a neighbor's door, a candy cane tucked behind the counter at a coffee shop. For as long as she could remember, Christmas had been just another day—maybe slightly shinier than the others, but never anything more.

Her parents tried when she was little, putting up a tree that always leaned just a little to the left and filling stockings with chocolates and oranges. But it had always felt hollow, something they did because they were supposed to.

And then Sam left, and Christmas became quieter. The tree sat bare for years, boxes of lights left untouched in the attic.

Tara remembered standing by the window one Christmas Eve, watching the neighbor's house glow with lights and laughter, and wondering what the point of it all was.

She carried that feeling with her into high school—the dull, familiar sense that Christmas was a party she'd never really been invited to.

She didn't get the fuss over matching pajamas or ornaments that people treated like treasures. She didn't understand why classmates got so excited when December rolled around, or why people looked forward to it all year.

Until you.

Tara didn't see it coming, the way you changed things without even trying. The first time you dragged her to a Christmas market, she'd grumbled the whole way there, but you just smiled, pulling her through the crowds like you couldn't wait to show her something amazing.

And by the time you handed her a cup of hot cider, your cheeks pink from the cold, she realized she was... smiling too.

But she still didn't totally get it—the way you'd hang decorations before the turkey from Thanksgiving was even cold, or how you'd hum Christmas songs under your breath like you couldn't help yourself. But she felt it.

Watching you string lights across the living room, your face half-hidden behind tinsel, made her chest feel warm in a way she couldn't explain. Watching you light up at the smallest things—picking out a tree, baking cookies that inevitably burned on the edges—made her see Christmas through you.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

But this Christmas, Tara couldn't feel it. She wanted to— God, she wanted to.

She wanted to feel it—for you, if nothing else.

She wanted to wake up and see you hanging lights with that same joyful gleam in your eyes, and for it to stir something in her, the way it always did.

But all she felt was heavy, like there was something sitting deep in her chest, pressing against her lungs every time she tried to take a full breath.

She knew why, of course. That's what made it worse.

But you didn't know. You couldn't see it—not when you were so happy. You carried that same endless excitement with you, the same joy that had always made Christmas feel real to her.

She'd watched you the last month as you transformed the apartment into what you called your little Christmas haven.

She watched you move through the days like you were walking on clouds—picking the perfect ornaments, humming Christmas songs in the kitchen, wrapping gifts with little handmade bows because store-bought ones were boring.

Last weekend, you'd dragged her out to pick the tree, circling the lot three times to find the "perfect one" while she shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets, trying to ward off the cold.

She then watched you beam every time you passed the decorated tree in the corner of the living room, just because it was there. You'd even set up a playlist of Christmas music that played softly through the apartment, as though silence itself would've been a disservice to the season.

And you were happy. God, were you happy. Tara could see it in the way you lit up at the smallest things—a mug shaped like a snowman, a new set of ornaments you absolutely didn't need but bought anyway. It was contagious, usually. Watching you like that always made Tara feel like a kid again, like she was seeing Christmas for the first time.

But not this year.

This year, watching you only made the weight in her chest heavier. You were so you—so bright, so full of excitement, your voice carrying down the hall as you planned the dinner, scribbled notes about seating arrangements, and rattled off ideas for matching napkins and plates.

And Tara had tried. She really had.

She tried to smile as you turned to her, that usual brightness lighting up your face, your voice lilting with questions about tinsel and centerpieces. She tried to laugh when you dragged her by the arm to test-run Christmas cookie recipes, shoving half-burned gingerbread into her mouth with a grin that made her hate herself for not feeling the same.

Because this was supposed to be your year. Your Christmas.

It was your turn, with her, to host the group's Christmas dinner—a tradition you'd all kept for years.

You'd been talking about it since Thanksgiving, probably before. You'd scribbled notes on loose sheets of paper, your handwriting growing messier with every new idea.

You talked about the menu, the decorations, the playlists, even which stockings would suit who. And every time you said it was going to be "perfect," Tara felt like something inside her cracked just a little deeper.

She used to love this part too—when the group was together. It was loud, chaotic, warm in a way that reminded her of what Christmas could be. She used to look forward to it almost as much as you did. But not this year.

This year, she didn't even want to be there. She found herself wishing for a cold, a fever, anything that might give her an out. But when the morning came and she woke up perfectly fine, she knew there was no escaping it.

So she followed you, watching from the edges as you carried the excitement for both of you. You didn't notice the way she lingered by the door when she thought you weren't looking, or how her smile never quite reached her eyes.

You didn't notice how she winced when you wrapped your arms around her waist, whispering, "It's going to be the best one yet."

Because how could you? You were too swept up in the magic you'd spent the last month creating.

And Tara—Tara was trying so hard to let herself feel it too. She was trying to push it all down, to bury it under the wreaths and the twinkling lights, to pretend.

For you.

So for the first time, Tara was nervous about the dinner.

It didn't make sense. These were the people she loved most—the ones she trusted enough to let her guard down around, the ones who knew her better than anyone. Being herself had never been a problem with them, not here, not in this apartment where the walls held more laughter than secrets. But tonight, something was different.

Tonight, she was scared.

She was scared that someone would notice. That someone would look at her too closely and see the cracks she was desperately trying to smooth over. She knew you would've been the first to pick up on it if you weren't so wrapped up in Christmas—so bright, so blissfully unaware of the weight pressing against her ribs.

And if someone did notice, what would she say? Tara knew the answer she should give.

It wasn't hard to spin a lie on the spot—she could shrug and chalk it up to stress, or the overwhelming preparations, or a bad night's sleep.

But she knew, deep down, that none of those words would come out. If someone asked the wrong question, if someone looked at her the wrong way, she wouldn't be able to say anything at all.

Because she couldn't tell the truth. Not on Christmas. Not on your day.

The thought lingered like a whisper in the back of her mind as she paced the kitchen, straightening place settings that were already perfectly fine. You were too busy fussing over the food to notice her unease, chattering happily about everyone's arrival time as if it couldn't come soon enough. And maybe for you, it couldn't. You were so alive, so glowing with excitement, that it almost made her feel worse.

When the doorbell rang, Tara jumped.

"They're here!" you said, practically vibrating as you wiped your hands on a dish towel and darted for the door. "Go pour the drinks, —I'll get them!"

Tara took a slow, steadying breath as she moved to the counter. She reached for the bottle of wine and tried to focus on pouring, on the red liquid as it pooled into each glass. Her hands were steady, but her throat felt tight.

The sound of voices filled the entryway, the kind of cheerful noise that had always made Christmas feel real. There were hugs, laughs, the unmistakable sound of Sam's voice saying something sarcastic to Danny, and Mindy's familiar cackle that followed. Tara forced herself to take another breath before turning around.

The kitchen doorway filled with people— your people, her people. Sam came in first, her eyes immediately softening when she looked at Tara. "Merry Christmas," she said, stepping forward to pull her into a hug. It was brief but firm, grounding in a way that made Tara's stomach twist.

Sam pulled back and smiled, handing over a small gift bag with a quick, "For later."

Behind her, Danny appeared with a bright grin, holding up a tin of homemade cookies. "Housewarming gift—holiday edition," he said, nodding toward the stockings you'd hung by the fireplace.

"Come in, come in!" you chirped, ushering them further into the room as Tara silently handed Sam and Danny each a glass of wine.

Mindy and Anika followed, bringing with them an energy that could only be described as contagious. Anika wrapped you in a hug, swaying you both side to side as she mumbled about how good everything already smelled. Mindy, of course, wasted no time teasing Tara about her choice of clothes.

"Festive, Carpenter," she quipped, elbowing Tara lightly before handing over a perfectly wrapped present with a wink. "Don't open it yet—it's gonna blow your mind."

Tara managed a chuckle, faint but believable enough.

And then Chad stepped through the door.

He was grinning, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, his arms full of gifts stacked in a precarious tower. "Don't ask me who these are for—I didn't label them," he said, his voice light and warm. He set the presents down on the coffee table and, without missing a beat, pulled you into a one-armed hug. "Merry Christmas."

Tara swallowed, the back of her throat suddenly dry as she caught herself staring. She forced her gaze away quickly, staring instead at the glasses of wine still left on the counter.

You didn't notice. You were too busy, too happy to notice the way Tara's shoulders tensed, the way her jaw tightened as Chad's voice filled the room.

"God, it looks amazing in here," Anika said, plopping down on the couch and glancing around. "You two really outdid yourselves."

"That's all her," Tara replied automatically, her voice soft as her eyes flickered toward you. You were still beaming, lighting up the whole room just by existing in it.

Everyone else was smiling too—grinning, laughing, already reaching for drinks and gifts as they settled into the warm space you'd worked so hard to create. The apartment felt alive, buzzing with the kind of comfort that could only come from the people who knew you best.

But for Tara, it was like standing in a room with a ticking clock.

She couldn't hear it, not really, but she felt it—the minutes passing, the invisible weight of what she knew hanging just behind her ribs.

And when she glanced at Chad again, she couldn't stop herself from swallowing hard, her fingers tightening around the glass in her hand.

Tara forced herself to take a steadying breath.

Everyone was here now. The apartment felt alive, filled with the kind of warmth that you'd worked so hard to create.

And Tara felt like a stranger in her own home.

Because dinner was usually Tara's favorite part with the group. It was loud and messy and full of laughter—voices overlapping as everyone spoke at once, hands reaching across the table for dishes, wine glasses clinking together between shared jokes.

For years, it had been a comfort. The one night where she felt like she could let go of everything and just be.

Tonight, that feeling was gone.

You sat beside her at the table, glowing with happiness in a way that made Tara's chest ache. She couldn't stop looking at you—your hair curling softly around your shoulders, catching the warm lights strung across the apartment like halos. The bow in your hair, simple and sweet, suited you so perfectly that it felt like a deliberate cruelty.

You looked beautiful. More beautiful than she could handle.

You were the center of everything tonight. The way you floated through conversations, slipping seamlessly between topics as if you'd spent years mastering each one.

You fit so well with everyone—laughing at Chad's attempts to explain some sport, leaning in to debate horror movies with Mindy, teasing Sam about how she always turned into the "mom" of the group when leftovers were involved. Everyone gravitated to you. They always did, but tonight it felt brighter, more you.

And the food—your food—was another thing everyone praised, just as Tara knew they would. Compliments passed around the table like ornaments on a tree, each one landing on you with ease. You brushed off their praise with your usual modesty, always trying to deflect or share the credit.

"Tara helped too," you'd insisted more than once, your voice so genuine that Tara felt like she'd choke on her own breath.

She hadn't. She hadn't even been in the kitchen when you'd been chopping vegetables or perfecting the sauce.

But you didn't say that. You never would. It wasn't in you to make someone feel small, least of all her.

"Barely," Mindy had teased. "What'd you do, set the oven timer?"

You had laughed at that, and Tara had smiled faintly, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything. She just focused on pushing food around.

Her plate sat mostly untouched, pushed around to make it seem like she was eating.

She could barely stomach the thought of food, especially with Chad sitting directly across from her. His voice rose every now and then, folding into the hum of conversation like a thread Tara couldn't unravel. She refused to look at him.

Whenever his gaze turned toward her—and she knew it did—Tara felt the air catch in her throat, her hands gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. She'd look anywhere else—the centerpiece you'd carefully arranged, the half-empty wine bottle Mindy was reaching for, or you.

Always you.

You were so happy, so completely in it. Your laughter rose above the others, light and unburdened, and it made you look even more beautiful than you already did. How could you look like that? How could you sit beside her, so perfectly content, when she felt like she was crumbling?

And worse yet, how could you still look at her the way you did? With that same soft affection you'd had since the first time you told her you loved Christmas.

Tara could feel it in every glance you sent her way—the moments where you reached over to touch her arm or leaned close to whisper something that would've made her laugh any other year.

It was unbearable.

Every bit of you—the happiness, the beauty, the love—made the guilt sink deeper into her chest. And Tara could feel it building, rising like a wave she couldn't hold back.

The hum of conversation around the table swelled as you launched into another story—this one about your childhood Christmases, complete with every little detail.

Tara could hear you talking to Anika and Mindy, your voice animated as you described decorating cookies or setting up stockings. You'd always been so good at making people listen, at drawing them in with that warmth that never seemed to dim.

Sam and Danny were listening too, nodding along with smiles as you explained how you cooked the chicken tonight, what seasoning you'd used, and how you hoped it turned out just right.

But Tara couldn't listen.

She stared down at her plate, her fork slipping between her fingers as if she couldn't remember how to hold it. The food was cold by now, untouched, but that wasn't what had her stomach twisting in knots. She could barely hear you over the roar in her ears.

And then she heard him.

It wasn't a word—not really. Just a sound. A low throat-clear, subtle enough that it wouldn't interrupt you but sharp enough to catch Tara's attention. She looked up, and there he was. Chad.

He didn't speak, but he didn't have to.

Across the table, Chad tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable save for the pointed look in his eyes. Then he mouthed it. Two words, clear as day.

"Tell her."

Tara froze. Her chest tightened, every muscle locking into place as panic struck like ice water in her veins.

No.

Her hands were trembling now, hidden beneath the table as she squeezed them into fists. Sweat prickled at the back of her neck despite the warmth of the room, and she forced herself to look away. To pretend she hadn't seen him. To pretend she didn't know exactly what he was talking about.

She couldn't tell you.

Not now. Not here. Not on Christmas. Not your Christmas.

Tara's eyes darted back to her plate, focusing on the scrape of her fork against the porcelain, but she could still feel Chad's gaze on her like a weight she couldn't shake. He wasn't letting this go.

Slowly, she glanced up again, only to find him staring at her with that same unflinching look. He didn't say a word, but his mouth moved again, sharp and deliberate.

"I'll tell her."

Her heart stopped.

Tara felt the panic rise in her chest like she was drowning, her breath coming quicker as she stared at Chad in disbelief. She couldn't look away now, couldn't pretend she hadn't seen what he just said.

"If you don't, I will."

The room felt too hot all of a sudden. Her sweater clung to her skin like it was suffocating her, and her throat felt dry, like no amount of air could fill her lungs.

Chad's face didn't change. His expression stayed firm—resolute—like he wasn't bluffing. And maybe he wasn't.

Tara swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the table again. The panic clawed at her ribs, pulling tighter with every second.

She couldn't tell you.

Not tonight. Not like this.

But even as she sat there, heart racing and pulse thrumming in her ears, she knew she was running out of time.

Tara's chest tightened, her breaths shallow as she sat there, staring blankly at the half-empty plate in front of her. The sound of laughter and clinking silverware filled the room, so bright and cheerful that it felt like a cruel contrast to the way her insides were unraveling. Chad's eyes flickered over to her again—he wasn't glaring exactly, but the weight of his attention pressed down on her like a physical force.

She tried not to look at him. She tried to focus on anything else. Your voice, soft and full of life as you spoke to Sam about something, anything; the smell of pine wafting in from the tree in the corner; the way the candlelight danced against the silverware.

But none of it helped.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, her panic creeping higher and higher until tears stung at the back of her eyes. No. Not here. Not now. She bit her lip, hard, and reached for the wine glass in front of her with a trembling hand, downing half of it in one go.

The bitter liquid didn't calm her down, but it was enough of a distraction to keep the tears from falling. She wiped her hands on her jeans beneath the table, trying to shake the sweat building on her palms, trying to steady herself.

Nobody noticed. Thank god, nobody noticed.

Her thoughts were a blur—frantic, relentless. She couldn't tell you. It would ruin everything. Everything. This Christmas, your Christmas.

You were so happy, so radiant, and the thought of being the one to take that away made her sick.

But Chad wasn't backing off. His expression stayed firm, expectant. Tara glanced at him again, her panic spiking, and he just raised his eyebrows slightly. A warning.

I'll tell her.

She squeezed her fists tighter beneath the table, nails biting into her skin.

Tara couldn't imagine it—him saying it, not her. The words coming out of someone else's mouth felt so much worse. No. If it had to happen—if this was inevitable—then it had to be her.

Her stomach twisted, her throat dry as sandpaper. Slowly, carefully, she gave Chad the smallest nod. Barely there, barely visible. But he saw it.

He eased back into his chair, satisfied.

Tara's relief lasted all of two seconds before the guilt came crashing back in waves. She tried to breathe through it, tried to pull herself together as the room carried on like nothing had happened. Like everything was fine.

She forced herself to smile when Mindy cracked a joke about Anika's questionable taste in Christmas movies, and she even laughed—just enough to blend in.

But her chest still ached, her pulse still raced. The heat under her sweater was unbearable.

Then you reached for her hand.

Tara flinched, pulling her hand away before she could stop herself.

The silence, however brief, felt deafening.

She looked up to see you staring at her, surprised, confused—hurt. That look, your look, hit her harder than she could've imagined. She wanted to take your hand again, to squeeze it, to say it was nothing.

But she didn't.

Her palms were sweaty. If you felt that, you might've asked questions. And god, she didn't want questions.

You didn't ask though. You never did, and she loved you for that. You always let things go, always trusted her.

So you forced a smile, as though trying to brush off what had just happened, and asked the table, "Is everyone finished?"

Immediately, the group moved to help. Sam stacked plates, Mindy and Anika grabbed serving dishes, and Chad—thankfully—busied himself with clearing the empty glasses.

Even Danny, who usually sat back and relaxed after a meal, grabbed a dish and followed along.

Tara, on the other hand, stayed in her chair longer than she should have, her fingers gripping the edge of the table so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Her heart was pounding, a mess of anxiety that she couldn't untangle no matter how hard she tried. She hated how obvious it felt to her, like everyone could see her faltering, though no one seemed to notice.

You glanced at her briefly, offering a soft smile before disappearing into the kitchen with a stack of plates. That was all the signal Tara needed to push herself up, her movements stiff and mechanical. Her chair scraped against the floor, but no one paid her any mind.

She walked slowly to the living room, each step heavy with guilt. She told herself she needed a moment—just a second to collect herself. That's why she wasn't helping. That's why she wasn't in there with you, laughing and chatting like nothing was wrong.

The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree pulled her in like a magnet, her feet moving on autopilot as she sank onto the couch. It was supposed to be comforting, this space you'd worked so hard to make warm and festive. You'd spent days decorating together, stringing lights, hanging ornaments, and laughing over the tangled mess of garland. But now it felt suffocating.

The sounds from the kitchen grew fainter, the clatter of plates giving way to quieter voices as everyone began to finish up. Tara's gaze flicked to the hallway, half-hoping Chad would stay gone forever.

He'd excused himself, mumbling something about needing the restroom, but she knew better. He was giving her time, though not nearly enough.

When everyone finally came into the living room, it was you who appeared last, a glass of water in hand.

Tara froze as you crossed the room, your eyes locking onto hers.

"Here," you said softly, holding the glass out to her.

Tara blinked, guilt tightening in her chest as she realized why.

"You're pale," you said, your voice full of concern. "And you're sweaty. Are you feeling okay? We can wait with the gifts if you're not feeling well—"

The words made everything inside her snap.

She couldn't do this anymore. She couldn't sit there, pretending, lying, carrying this weight while you were being you. Sweet, kind, so selfless it made her chest ache.

Tara's voice came out before she could stop it. ”Y/N, I need to talk to you."

It sounded too harsh, too serious, like she was about to break up with you in front of everyone.

Your brows furrowed slightly as you looked at her, hesitant, confused.

"In private," Tara added quickly, her tone softer this time. "Please?"

The room went silent. Everyone stared, the kind of silence that made it seem like something bad was happening—like the worst was about to come.

Tara's throat tightened when you finally nodded. "Yeah... sure."

She reached for your hand without thinking, her fingers wrapping around yours as she pulled you toward the hallway, needing to get away from the others, needing to escape their stares.

Her chest heaved as she pushed open a door to your shared bedroom, closing it firmly behind you. The sound of the latch clicking shut echoed louder than it should've, making her flinch.

She turned to you, her heart racing so fast she thought it might give out. And then, finally, she looked up to meet your eyes, and everything inside her shattered.

You looked worried—so worried—and Tara could feel the weight of it pressing down on her. Your brows knitted together, your lips parted as though you wanted to say more but didn't know how.

"What's wrong?" you asked softly, your voice trembling, just like your hands, which you were nervously wringing together.

Tara's chest ached, the tears already brimming in her eyes. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, trying to will them away, but they refused to be stopped. The way you cared about her—always so much—was unbearable now.

You took a shaky breath, glancing back at the door. "We can send them home if you're not feeling well," you continued. "I know they'd understand."

Your voice was so steady, so kind, even though Tara could see the cracks forming in your composure. The way you were trying to hide your nervousness, trying to take care of her despite it all, made her want to scream.

"And if you're not feeling up for dessert, it's okay," you added quickly, your words spilling out like a stream you couldn't control. "Although I was really hoping they'd get to try the pumpkin pie I made. I mean, it's the first time I tried your mom's recipe, remember? You said it's foolproof, but I'm not so sure. I really hope you like it, too—"

"Stop."

Tara's voice came out sharp, cutting through your rambling like a knife. She couldn't take it anymore—the kindness, the softness, the you of it all. It was too much, and it was breaking her.

Your mouth snapped shut, your face falling as you stared at her, wide-eyed and scared.

Tara exhaled shakily, looking anywhere but at you. Her hands fidgeted at her sides, fingers curling and uncurling into fists as she struggled to speak. "Do you remember... when you were at your parents last month?"

You blinked, nodding slowly. Of course, you remembered. You'd gone alone because Tara hadn't been feeling well, and the last thing either of you wanted was for her to risk getting your parents sick. It had been her idea, really—she'd insisted you go, promising she'd be fine at home for a few days.

"Chad came over," Tara started, her voice barely above a whisper. She was shaking now, her entire body tense as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her upright. "He... he offered to fix the faucet."

The words came out disjointed, her throat tightening with every syllable.

Your brows furrowed, your lips parting to say something, but you didn't. You could tell she wasn't finished.

Tara gulped hard, her head bowing under the weight of it all. She still couldn't meet your eyes. Her gaze stayed fixed on the floor, her voice trembling as she forced out the words.

"I—" She stopped, her voice breaking. Her breathing quickened, and she gripped the edge of the counter behind her, her nails digging into the wood.

But she couldn't bring herself to say it.

Tara's breaths grew shallow, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to force the words out. But instead of explaining, instead of saying what needed to be said, the apology fell from her lips first—broken and desperate.

"I'm sorry," she choked out, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I swear."

The tears finally spilled over, streaming down her face in uneven trails. She wasn't just crying; she was unraveling, her sobs barely muffled as she tried to keep her composure, though it was a futile effort.

"I promise you," she gasped, her voice trembling with each syllable. "I swear."

You stood frozen, your hands clenching into fists at your sides as the weight of her words settled over you. You didn't speak, but the way your face fell—eyes wide and glassy, your lips trembling—it said enough. You looked so sad. So heartbreakingly sad.

Tara knew it without even looking at you. She could feel it in the silence that hung between you, in the way your presence seemed to shrink into yourself as if bracing for the worst.

But you didn't ask.

You didn't press her for details, didn't demand an explanation, because you understood. Somehow, without her saying it, you already knew. And that hurt more than anything. Tara didn't want you to understand. She didn't want you to piece it together before she had the strength to admit it, to give you the truth you deserved.

"I..." Her voice faltered, her body trembling as the words clawed their way up her throat. She sobbed again, the sound raw and guttural, before forcing herself to speak. "We kissed."

Your breath hitched, and Tara finally looked up, her tear-filled eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before shame dragged her gaze back to the floor.

"I kissed him," she whispered, barely audible now. The confession hung in the air, heavy and suffocating, as if the world itself had stopped to listen.

Tara couldn't bring herself to tell you everything. She couldn't say the word— made out. She just couldn't. But she couldn't stop either, couldn't leave you with only half of the truth. You deserved more, even if it broke both of you.

Her voice trembled as she stammered out, "We... we took off our clothes. Not all of them, but almost." Her chest heaved as she forced the words out, each one slicing through the air like a blade. "I stopped it before it went further. I swear to you, I stopped it."

But the look on your face—devastated, hollow—made her panic. Her mind spiraled, and suddenly, the floodgates opened.

"I didn't mean it! I didn't mean any of it!" she cried, her words tumbling over each other in a frantic mess. "I was—God, I was just so stupid, and I was thinking about you the whole time. I swear, I was thinking about you!"

Tara's sobs grew louder, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she tried to make sense of it all. But she couldn't. Not for you, not even for herself.

"I love you," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I love you so much, and I missed you. That's why I—I thought—"

She stopped herself, her breath catching on a strangled sob. She pressed her palms to her face, trying to wipe away the tears that wouldn't stop. "I don't even know why I did it. I don't. I just... I wanted you. I needed you, and you weren't there, and I—"

Her words fell apart, dissolving into incoherent fragments as she clung to whatever thread of reason she could find. But there was none. There was only you, standing there, staring at her like you'd been shattered into pieces, and Tara hated herself more than she thought possible.

Your tears fell silently, slowly trailing down the same cheeks that had been glowing with joy just minutes ago. The image of your beautiful smile, so full of life, was still burned into Tara's mind, and it only made her feel worse. She had ruined it. She had ruined you. This day, this moment, this love—you didn't deserve any of it.

But you, ever the optimist, ever the one to make sense of the chaos, tried to piece it together. You wanted to believe in her, believe in something that might make this feel less. Less devastating, less cruel, less like a dagger in the heart.

"But... you had been drinking, right?" you asked softly, your voice trembling with fragile hope. It broke her.

She knew what you were doing, the way you always tried to see the good, even when there wasn't any. You wanted this to be a mistake she didn't mean, something fogged by alcohol, something you could fix.

But it wasn't. And Tara hated herself even more for it.

Her breath hitched, and she shook her head. "No," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper.

Your eyes widened, the hope you were desperately clinging to flickering out. The weight of her answer settled between you like a leaden fog.

"I wasn't," Tara continued, the sobs breaking her words apart. "I wasn't drinking. I—" Her voice caught, and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep from falling apart completely. "It was me. I did it."

The silence between you was deafening, heavy with heartbreak. Tara looked at you through her tears, watching as yours fell freely. And in that moment, she realized she had never hated herself more than she did right now.

Tara took a shaky step toward you, her arms instinctively reaching out as though she could somehow hold you together, as though a hug could erase the pain she had caused. But before she could close the distance, you stepped back.

The motion wasn't sharp or angry. It wasn't a flinch or a shove—it was softer, almost hesitant. But it was enough. Enough to make Tara freeze in place, her arms still awkwardly outstretched, the rejection clear.

You didn't look at her. You didn't yell or scream or ask why. You just stood there, sniffling softly as the tears kept falling, your hands trembling as you tried to wipe them away.

Tara felt her chest tighten, the air in the room growing heavier by the second. She wanted to cry harder, scream, beg, something. But all she could do was stare at you, her heart shattering all over again with every tear that slipped down your cheeks.

I..." Her voice broke, hoarse and raw. "Can I... Can I hug you?" she stammered, her voice thick with desperation. "Please?"

You finally looked at her, your eyes red and glassy, your lips pressed tightly together as though holding back more sobs. For a moment, Tara thought you'd say no. She wouldn't have blamed you. But instead, you gave the faintest of nods, and it was like she could breathe again—just for a moment.

Tara closed the space between you carefully, almost afraid you might change your mind. When her arms wrapped around you, she held you tightly, burying her face into your shoulder as the sobs overtook her.

She didn't say anything else—she couldn't. All she could think about was how this was probably the last time you'd let her hold you like this. The last time she'd get to feel your warmth, to have you this close, to even pretend things might still be okay.

Her tears soaked into your shirt, her arms tightening around you as if she could will you to stay.

You stepped away, almost too quickly, leaving Tara's arms empty and cold. She wanted to hold you longer, just a few seconds more, but you were already pulling back, wiping at your tear-streaked cheeks.

Tara stood frozen, watching as you looked at her with those red-rimmed eyes, your face still so heartbreakingly beautiful even in your sadness.

You sniffled softly, trying to gather yourself, your voice quiet but steady when you finally spoke. "Well... it's Christmas," you said, your words slow and deliberate, like you were forcing them out. "Can we... talk about this after they've left?"

Tara opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. She just nodded, the weight of her guilt pressing heavier on her chest.

You didn't wait for her to say anything. You turned away, your footsteps soft but purposeful as you left the room. The door clicked behind you, leaving Tara alone with the suffocating silence.

Her legs felt weak, like they might give out beneath her, but she didn't move. She couldn't. All she could do was stand there, staring at the empty space you'd just occupied, wishing she could rewind it all and take everything back.

___

When Tara finally walked back into the living room, her cheeks were streaked with remnants of tears she hadn't managed to wipe away. Her eyes were red, her shoulders tense, and the faint tremble in her hands betrayed her nerves.

Everyone noticed. It was impossible not to. The room felt heavier, the atmosphere laced with unspoken questions.

Sam's brow furrowed, her lips parting slightly as if she might say something, but she didn't. Danny glanced between you and Tara, his expression unreadable.

Mindy shifted uncomfortably before exchanging a glance with Anika, who pressed her lips into a thin line, clearly sensing the tension. Chad, however, was the one who couldn't stop looking at Tara. Too much, too directly.

Mindy, ever the one to break awkward silences, let out a loud clap of her hands. "Alright, enough with the gloom and doom faces! It's Christmas, people. Let's get to the gifts before I start crying too."

Anika nudged her playfully. "Mindy, you never cry."

"I could start," Mindy retorted, grinning. "But come on, let's get to it!"

Grateful for the distraction, everyone shuffled into their spots, the pile of neatly wrapped presents in the center of the room looking far too perfect to disturb. You sat down carefully, your face composed, though your eyes gave away a tired sadness. Tara sat beside you, though she kept a bit of distance, her hands nervously clasped in her lap.

The gift-giving began, and soon the room was alive with chatter and laughter.

For Sam, you'd found a vintage edition of a book she'd mentioned loving as a teenager—a rare copy that she'd been searching for but could never find. Her face softened as she held it, running her fingers over the worn cover, and she smiled at you in that quiet, deeply appreciative way Sam had. "This is... perfect," she said softly.

Danny unwrapped his gift to find a sleek, high-quality leather toolkit for his motorcycle. His grin was wide and genuine as he held it up, nodding approvingly. "You really pay attention, don't you?"

Mindy and Anika opened theirs together—customized horror movie memorabilia. For Mindy, it was a signed script from Scream, her favorite film, complete with a note from the director. Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, she was speechless. "How the hell did you get this?" she finally asked, her voice cracking with excitement.

For Anika, it was a framed and personalized piece of art—illustrations of her and Mindy as characters from Anika's favorite horror-comedy show. Her face lit up, and she hugged the frame tightly, laughing at the details you'd included. "This is amazing! I love it!"

And Chad—Chad opened his to find tickets to a once-in-a-lifetime basketball game, featuring his favorite team and their biggest rivals. Along with the tickets, you'd included a signed jersey from his favorite player. He let out an exaggerated gasp, holding the jersey up for everyone to see. "Are you kidding me? This is insane!"

But even as Chad celebrated his gift, his gaze flickered over to Tara, lingering. It was quick, but Tara caught it. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers twisting in her lap. She wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop looking at her, but of course, she didn't.

And then there was Tara. She sat stiffly as the others admired their gifts, her stomach twisting tighter with every smile and laugh.

She couldn't bring herself to open hers yet, not when everything else felt so heavy. So instead, she stayed quiet, avoiding everyone's eyes as they moved on to the next round of gifts.

The warmth and joy in the room should have been infectious, but for Tara, it only made the guilt sitting heavy on her chest all the harder to bear.

She hesitated as she reached for the small, perfectly wrapped box with her name on it. Her hands trembled as she worked to peel back the edges of the paper, her fingers struggling against the tape.

The air felt too thick, her breathing uneven, and she could feel your gaze on her the entire time—sad, heavy, like you were already preparing yourself to walk away.

She wasn't sure she wanted to open it. She wasn't sure she deserved to.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the wrapping fell away, leaving a velvet box in her palm. Her stomach turned as she opened it, her heart sinking further the moment her eyes landed on the delicate golden promise ring inside.

It was beautiful. Too beautiful. A simple band of gold, perfectly crafted, with a small, glittering stone nestled at its center.

Tara's breath hitched. Her mouth opened, like she was about to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come. Her throat felt tight, her chest heavy with everything she wanted to tell you, everything she couldn't.

You were still watching her, your face unreadable except for the sadness in your eyes. You spoke first, your voice soft, almost too quiet for her to hear over the others' chatter.

"It's a promise. To love and to always be there for each other," you explained. Your voice cracked just slightly, and it killed her.

Across the room, Mindy's sharp eyes caught the moment, and of course, she couldn't resist. "Oh, damn, Y/N, a promise ring?" She grinned, nudging Anika with her elbow. "The next step is her proposing. Better get ready, Tara."

The group laughed, and Tara forced herself to smile, but it was weak. Almost unnoticeable.

She wanted to laugh with them, to tease Mindy back like she normally would. She wanted to throw her arms around you, bury her face in your neck, kiss you over and over, and thank you endlessly for such a thoughtful, beautiful gift.

But she couldn't. Not now.

Instead, she swallowed hard, blinked away the tears threatening to spill, and finally managed, "Thank you. This is... it's so, so beautiful." Her voice wavered, but she pushed through.

Her fingers traced the band of the ring, but she didn't put it on. She couldn't—not yet. The weight of what she'd done made her feel like it would burn her skin.

Everyone else had gone back to unwrapping their gifts, their attention shifting back to the laughter and excitement of the moment. But you... you didn't look away from her. You sat there, quiet and distant, trying to distract yourself with everyone else's reactions, but Tara saw through it.

She could see the sadness you were trying to hide, the way your hands fidgeted slightly in your lap.

Normally, she would've leaped into your arms, kissed your whole face, and whispered promises to wear the ring forever. But this wasn't normal. And even though no one else seemed to notice, Tara felt the growing distance between you like a chasm she couldn't cross.

Her chest ached, her eyes stung, and for a moment, she considered hugging you anyway. Apologizing all over again. Begging.

But she didn't. Instead, she stayed where she was, silent and still, watching you slip further and further away from her.

Tara's gaze stayed locked on you, even though you refused to meet her eyes now. She could see the effort you were putting into smiling, laughing at Chad's stupid joke about the pie, passing gifts to everyone else like you weren't falling apart inside.

But Tara could see through it—the way your hands trembled as you folded the wrapping paper neatly beside you, the way your smile never quite reached your eyes.

And she hated herself for it.

She should've been the one making you smile. She should've been the one leaning into your shoulder and whispering a sarcastic comment to make you laugh.

That's what you deserved—lightness, warmth, joy. Instead, she was the reason your eyes were clouded over with tears you wouldn't let fall. She was the reason the air felt heavier, why Christmas—your Christmas—wasn't perfect anymore.

Her fingers grazed the ring on her hand, and the weight of it burned into her chest. She didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve you. Not your thoughtfulness, not your unwavering love, not the way you'd tried so hard to make this day special for everyone.

She didn't deserve the way you cared about her so much it hurt.

And yet, she couldn't stop wishing things could go back to normal. Wishing you'd look at her again like you had that morning when you stood in front of the tree in your perfect dress, laughing as you made her rearrange the ornaments because they didn't feel balanced. She wished you'd smile at her again the way you had just hours ago, your eyes so bright and hopeful, so full of love.

But she'd destroyed that.

You caught her staring again, and this time, her heart stopped. For a brief second, your eyes locked, and she saw the flash of hurt before you quickly looked away. She couldn't take it. She wanted to reach out, to touch your hand, to say something—anything—that could make this better. But what could she say?

What could she possibly do to fix this?

The voices of your friends hummed around her, laughter and conversation weaving through the room as they moved on from the moment. They were distracted, too busy opening gifts and teasing each other to notice how quiet the two of you had gotten. But Tara noticed. She noticed everything about you.

And it was killing her.

Her hand tightened around the edge of her seat, the promise ring on her finger catching the light. A promise she couldn't keep. A promise she didn't deserve. And all she could do was sit there, paralyzed by the crushing weight of what she'd done, watching as you turned away from her completely, slipping just a little further out of her reach.

She wanted to cry, to beg, to do something. But instead, she just sat there, her chest aching, her world crumbling, her mind repeating the same desperate thought over and over.

Please. Please. Please.

Don't let this be the last Christmas we spend together.

#jenna ortega x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #wednesday addams x reader #mabel x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #christmas #merry chrysler #merry christmas

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fangdokja · 3 days ago

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When devotion turns to madness, no one is safe—not even the one he loves.

❤︎ Synopsis. A sugar daddy arrangement spirals into a twisted nightmare as a calculating, sadistic man grows dangerously possessive. Luxury becomes a gilded cage, and love is warped by jealousy, manipulation, and obsession.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Sugar Daddy x Reader

♡ Novella #1. Bye, Bye, Bye - Part 6

♡ Word Count. 882

The room was drenched in a heavy silence, the kind that crept into your lungs and settled like smoke, suffocating and thick. Only the faint, uneven sound of her breathing punctuated the stillness, her body limp and pale against the disheveled sheets. She had finally passed out, her defiance spent, her resistance broken—at least for now.

He sat at the edge of the bed, his chest heaving, his hands trembling as they rested on his knees. His gaze lingered on her, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair splayed across the pillow like a halo of defiance even in sleep.

And God, he hated her for it.

His fingers twitched with the urge to touch her again, to trace the bruises blooming along her neck and wrists, each one a mark of him, a testament to the claim he’d staked on her. His. She was his. He had made sure of it tonight.

But the jealousy still burned, an inferno roaring in his chest, its embers stoked by the memory of her lips on another man’s, her body moving toward someone else. It was maddening. He had never thought himself the jealous type—how could he be, when he had always been the one in control, the one who held the power?

And yet here he was, consumed by it.

The image of her kissing that bastard played over and over in his mind, a loop of pure agony. He could still see her, her mouth soft and pliant against another’s, her body tilting toward his touch. The way she moved, the way she smiled—it wasn’t meant for anyone else. It was meant for him. Only him.

His teeth clenched, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he fought the surge of rage clawing its way up his throat. He reached out, his fingers grazing her arm, trailing down to the bruises he’d left there. The skin was warm beneath his touch, soft despite the marks marring it, and he felt a sick sense of satisfaction as he traced each one.

“These,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp in the quiet room, “these are mine. You’re mine.”

She didn’t stir, her body too exhausted to react. It was the first time he’d seen her like this—vulnerable, unguarded. Even in sleep, she usually held herself with that same cold, untouchable composure, her features smooth and unreadable. But now? Now she was raw, stripped bare of all her defenses, and it made something primal twist in his chest.

He leaned over her, his breath brushing against her skin as he pressed his lips to her shoulder, to the hollow of her throat, to the bruises blooming like dark flowers along her collarbone. He kissed her like a man possessed, like he could erase every touch that wasn’t his, every memory of anyone else who dared to claim her attention.

The thought of her with other men still lingered, a poison coursing through his veins. He could see their hands on her, their mouths pressing against her skin, and it drove him to the brink of madness. He wanted to rip them apart, to wipe every trace of their existence from her life.

No one else had the right.

No one else could understand her the way he did, the way she infuriated and fascinated him in equal measure. She was a storm, wild and untamed, and he was the only one who could weather her.

He pulled back, his hand sliding up to cup her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her breaths shallow and steady, and he felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her. She was beautiful, even now, even with the marks of his rage etched into her skin.

“You think you can run,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous. “You think you can slip away and leave me behind. But you’re wrong.”

His thumb brushed over her lips, a soft, almost tender gesture that belied the storm raging inside him. He hated her for making him feel like this, for stripping him of his control, for turning him into something he didn’t recognize.

But he also loved her. Obsessively, desperately, in a way that felt more like a sickness than an emotion.

He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath shallow and ragged. “You’ll never belong to anyone else. Do you understand that?”

The silence of the room swallowed his words, but he didn’t need an answer. He knew. He had made sure of it.

As he sat back, his gaze lingered on her, on the marks he’d left, on the way her body seemed to mold itself to the bed, to him. He reached for the edge of the blanket, pulling it up to cover her, as if the gesture could erase the violence of the night.

She was his.

And he would destroy anyone—even her—before he let that change.

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cosmicpines · 8 months ago

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I'm not done listening to the Alex Hirsch interviews but god it just reminds me both of how much I miss this show and how much I appreciate the love and care that went into it. I love listening to him talk about the characters with a frankness and care that shows how much he values them being three dimensional beings.

#notably his answer about mabel in lost legends i thought was strong of like #yeah were going to give her a story that shes flawed in thats the point of a story #i still dont *love* dont dimension it bc i think it doesnt completely hit what theyre aiming for #the Mabels Fault is so weirdly pointed and bizarre #and her apology at the end is like. eh. bad. it needs another draft i think it needs more space to be explored.#ive been thinking a *lot* about 'mabel hatred' as i think about the show again #i do need to rewatch the show before i make a long comment on it #and how much of it began from people being frustrated that she was continually denied a proper episode where she was allowed to be wrong #in an interesting way #love god in particular is. weird.#and last mabelcorn felt like the beginning of an arc that didnt really happen #like that she was always untouchable in a sense #and that argument was co opted by people who were just unbelievably cruel to her and completely unreasonable #let me be clear: mabel hatred is overblown and absurd and i hate it s omuch #but i also dont like it when people put her on a pedestal of Perfect Unflawed Glitter Goddess #while also being like wow look at the depth of dipper #if youre going to say mabel cant be selfish because shes 12 you also cant say dipper has depth bc by that logic hes also 12 #anyway im sure someone will misinterpret these tags thats why theyre in the tags #mary blabs

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squorttle-pox · 7 months ago

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please. i need alastor with his hair up so we can see the side of his head. second set of ears or smooth flesh prairie?

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor ears #alastor's flesh fields #bc husk has the ears on top as well #but his head is shaped like a cat and he has all the fur so it works #but alastor is mostly human shaped when he wants to be and his face head is distinctly skinful #so.#like imagine he's uncomfortable or embarrassed by it because it's *yet another* physical difference that #invites the taunts and abuse and humiliation he faced in life (and is thus very sensitive about in afterlife)#he already faces being a PREY animal of all things #so. imagine. he always ALWAYS makes sure his hair covers the side of his head. in his twisted victim mind the lack of ears makes him #Wrong and Disgusting and Untouchable and A Monster (and not in the satisfying fearful way he enjoys)#so he pushes it away. doesnt let anyone learn about his ugly disgusting mutation because surely SURELY if they saw it...#he could lose everything he's worked so hard for. because who would fear him? who would respect him? who would bother looking in his #direction? he would just be another lowlife Freak undeserving of love and attention and— well #thats what he would tell himself. but then one day niffty's doing his hair like he sometimes lets her #and he's just enjoying letting her have her fun. kinda spaced out; mostly just enjoyjng the rare sensation of a touch he doesn't despise #it doesnt even register when she pulls his hair up (maybe into lil space buns or smthn idk) that it leaves his empty face on display for all #i can imagine angel being the most outwardly shocked. some loud exclamation that turns everyones attention to alastor and his earless face #just. everyone staring at him. and he realises. and he hates himself for slipping like that and oh no theyre going to hate him and tell—#— everyone and he will lose all that hes been working towards with the hotel and he is just. So. mortified. think shameful reactions:#averted gaze; flushed cheeks; figeting under their stares; or perhaps the classic deer-in-headlights look as he freezes in shock #just as he feels everything crashing down around him. the others get ahold of themselves and share their reactions too #shock; confusion; endearment (charlie would 100% do a big AWW/want to touch it); reassurances galore when they see him retreat into his mind #they tell him it's normal (he's in hell; no longer a human but a demon; everyone looks odd by some standard)#they tell him it makes sense (he's a deer after all). they tell him his appearance is nothing to be ashamed of and that everyone is still #super intimidated and frightened by him ♡; that it doesnt change anything; that theyre sorry for whatever led him to believe otherwise

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shippy-from-apocalypse · 4 months ago

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Ok im Very sleepy rn it's 2 am bare with me

What do we think Jon would think of How The fandom sees him? And I don't mean this in a pedantic "oh fandom bad because dumbed down and Insert Petty Headcanon Disagreement"

I mean this entirely in a "How would Jon, The man who believes himself to be an Irredeemable monster who is to blame for everything that ever went wrong, react to Just so so many people listening to his shortcommings and ultimately seeing his side"

Like yeah everyone agrees he's kind of an asshole sometimes but he is so beloved by The fans?

I'm sure some people did but I've never seen anyone doubting his humanity or blaming him for the horrors™ he Just clearly understood as his fault? Like yeah Martin tried telling him it wasn't but what I'm getting at is

I love to think about what Jon would do If he saw just the ocean of people who listened to (what he considers to be)

the most unsympathetic person in the world becoming a monster and making choices that brought the literal apocalypse upon humanity

and pretty much everyone saying "he did the best anyone could reasonably expect and he is not a bad person for being caught in the crossfire of an impossible situation with no good solutions"

remember that time in mag 187 a lady grabbed jon in fear and he shouted and presumably pushed her away? and everyone and their mother defended jon's humanity because that was a textbook trauma response i think he would break down crying if he saw that

#this was brought to you by my sleep deprived brain #im just im like just #everyone is always mad at him for not taking enought initiative or sulking or making decisions for others #and i love him so much #he is probably the character that makes me the most un-normal he is Masterfully written #And he hates himself so much and so many people in podcast feed his insecurities back to him #It makes sense they're all hurt and he doesn't always make the best decisions.#there's nothing he can do to make it right enought by other people #and everyone thinks he is doing a bad job at being an unwilling participant of this fucked up power system #again it makes SENSE they didn't ask for that either and jon is the mascot of the eye #he is both a scapegoat and a sacrificial lamb #if jonah that crusty old man ever did anything truky smart it was making jon eldritch middle management #like yeah everyone hates him more but most of the time he is untouchable so jon tajes all the heat #wich helps isolating him more and making it easier to manipulate him #everyone praised or at least had some resigned respect for gertrude and her actions. but that's because she is almost imaginary to them #the characters obsviously don't enjoy being in the middle of this either and jon is the only one with some form of real power there #(that's more or less on their side at least)#ough #yeaouh #nnahoughh even #we we criticize jon from time to time #but i really love that most people are willing to fight tooth and nail to defend him #he is just such a human character and despiste everything that happens he is so very clearly just a person who is trying #the character ever #all I'm saying is i would like to know how jon would react to not one not two #but thousands of people who are able to see him and understand he shouldn't to be a perfect victim #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims

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yoshistory · 1 year ago

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ALSO ..... BTW ... that door across from me is STILL peeped open. i may attempt to go in tomorrow if its still open

#its been open for at least a week now. its weird how they dont care to close it at least #although it makes me feel safer in these apartments if that makes sense. like. im always worried i didnt lock my door #but if the door across from me is creeped open for weeks and untouched then im fine even if my door was unlocked #its funny though. i have neighbors who i've seen leave their garages just wide open for hours and hours and are seemingly away #my one neighbor one time told me she just leaves her house unlocked always because this neighborhood feels so safe to her #even when she goes to bed and goes to work.#i wish i could feel that safe anywhere #the only reason im saying tomorrow instead of tonight is because with the stunt im pulling now (dumping clean litter outside on top of soap #i dont wanna draw attention to myself LOL. one thing at a time

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cruel-seduction · 2 months ago

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It’s like a full-blown addiction, but instead of drugs or booze, it’s this fictional guy who’s got her wrapped around his finger. She knows it’s fucked up—knows she’s out here daydreaming about someone who’s not even real—but who cares? This guy? He’s everything. He’s charming in the worst ways, flawed in every possible sense, but there’s just something about him that has her hooked. He doesn’t even know she exists, but she’s ready to fight anyone who says a word against him. Seriously, she’ll defend his honor like it’s a fucking life-or-death mission.

He’s a goddamn trainwreck, but he’s her trainwreck. She’ll put up with all his baggage, his emotional scars, his dark sides, because somehow, that brokenness makes him feel more real to her than any real guy could. He’s messed up, but she’ll fix him in her head every single time. Maybe it’s that thrill of knowing he’s dangerous and untouchable that makes him even more irresistible. He might break her heart in a hundred ways, but it’s the kind of heartbreak that makes her feel alive, even if it hurts like hell.

And it’s never gonna happen, right? She knows that. He’s not gonna waltz into her life and sweep her off her feet. But it doesn’t matter. Because she gets to have him on her terms—no messy reality, no awkward first dates, no risking her heart for real. He’s always there when she needs him, in that perfect little bubble of fantasy she’s built for herself. And maybe she’s a little crazy for it, but at least with him, she’s never disappointed. Every time she replays his scenes, reads the fanfics, imagines their future together—it's like a high she can never quite shake. She knows it's all just a mindfuck, but she’s never felt more alive.

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2tarbell · 4 months ago

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US — KOOK!READER

rafe cameron had been yours since the moment you met.

(drabble. © 2tarbell 2024)

if anyone asked you, you’d say you never got jealous. what was the point? a seemingly endless waste of energy and your valuable attention — people would get on their knees in seconds for a chance to talk to you. a kook princess never got jealous.

which is why the stinging question of ‘why?’ bounced around your head as you watched rafe walk back over to the bar, a pretty head of dark hair awaiting him with an infuriatingly easy going smile.

sofia.

you only learned her name after she introduced herself with a little grin. something about the pogue was effortless and it was currently eating away at any confidence you might’ve had when you walked in.

your makeup felt heavy and your miniskirt too short, too tight — did you look trashy? like you were trying too hard? she was sweet; that girl next door energy you know you’d never have. no matter how much you cried and pleaded.

a bump to your shoulder interrupted your brooding, pretty glossed lips stuck together in a pout, mimicking the furrow of your brow. topper gave you a knowing look and a scowl met him. he chuckled dryly.

“earth to princess, hellooo?”

you rolled your eyes, directing your attention to your empty cocktail glass. the ice looked back at you mockingly — you’re the one who asked rafe to go get you another drink. stupid, stupid, stupid.

“go to hell, top.” the quip made your other best friend laugh, kelce reaching across the table to steal a fry from your untouched plate. how could you eat in a moment like this?

“what’s the problem? you’re literally pouting.” the boy mumbled.

the way kelce spoke through a mouthful of fried potato made you wince. a napkin is thrown in his direction, landing on the table lamely. boys are so messy, and nosey.

you huff dramatically, “ugh, it’s nothing. god, i miss when men went off to war and, like, died or something—“

your annoyed spiel is cut off by a drink being placed in front of you, the lime already squeezed in and floating amongst the cubes of ice. just how you like it. a warm hand rests on the nape of your neck as the chair beside you squeaks against the floor. that voice you know so well rumbling close to you.

“who’s dying?” rafe mumbles as he gets comfortable in the plush chair again, arm stretching behind your shoulders. the gesture is so casual and it makes your stomach twist.

his eyes are piercing when you look over at him — a smirk raises his lips and you fight the urge to slap him then kiss it off his stupid face.

“you — if you were gonna take any longer.”

the eye roll you receive is nothing out of the ordinary — rafe was used to your bitchy tendencies. but watching him chat with the bartender made a seed of doubt burrow into your mind. sofia probably wasn’t such a cunt. maybe that’s why he likes her.

“yeah, well, someone wanted a lime and they were out. sorta hadta wait for your shit, dollface…” rafe explained like it was second nature.

your passive aggressiveness never seemed to phased him, he always put up with it, with you. the thought hurt more than you cared to admit. it was masked with a glare.

you flipped your hair over your shoulder and crossed a leg over the other, stomach churning while you poked at the cocktail with the thin black straw. the conversation between the boys picked back up — blah blah, golf, topper whining about sarah, blah blah.

it was like the cameron boy sensed your disinterest. his arm on the back of your chair shifted, blunt nails now tracing up and down your spine. the contact made your back straighten before leaning into his touch.

it was pacifying for a while. his side profile caught your attention, nose sharp and sexy, cheekbones crafted expertly. he was so handsome it was unfair... she probably thought so, too.

god, why couldn’t you stop thinking about that pogue girl? was he charming and funny to her? maybe he played hard to get and dismissive. maybe her number was sitting in his pocket, scribbled on a napkin in perfect curls — fucking ew.

suddenly you became irritated. the thought of your best friend, your rafe thinking he could flirt with someone like her then slink back over to you. yeah, right. you weren’t that easy. you rolled your shoulders, shrugging off his touch. he shot you a look but didn’t say anything, just adjusted in his chair.

you were listening to the conversation even less now, anger and something you didn’t want to name boiling in your chest. stiff as a board, you picked at your food. only humming in acknowledgment when something concerned you. it was obvious something was the matter and your friends shared curious looks with each other but never asked you outright.

a warm palm tried to squeeze your thigh but you pushed his hand off. rafe clenched his jaw at your dismissal, feeling that familiar need for dominance over you and whatever fuckin’ attitude you decided to have today. with topper and kelce in a heated debate over something probably stupid, rafe leaned in — his breath was hot against your ear as he spoke in a low warning tone.

“don’t know what your fuckin’ deal is — but it ends now, yeah? eat.”

the glare you sent up through your lashes only stoked the fires of his annoyance. there’s a momentary stare off, eyes communicating thousands of thoughts and unspeakable feelings.

with a scoff you look away, feeling a lump form in your throat. no, this isn’t happening. you stand abruptly and rifle through your purse for a hundred before you throw it on the table, storming off with heels clicking.

the sound echoes in rafe’s head as he snatches the bill up, placing his card down on the table. he quickly follows after you, ignoring the way sofia’s eyes light up when he heads her direction.

“hi, rafe, i was just…” her words fizzle out in her tongue as she watches him pass her, marching after the pretty girl in a yellow top.

the small family bathroom offered a reprieve from the stifling nature of rafe’s presence and your own mind. looking in the mirror — you hardly recognized yourself. you shoved your purse onto the counter, feeling like your composure was completely lost.

eyes wide and teary, lips still glittery but trembling. this was only a version of you he could bring out. now, you found yourself wishing for the comforting weight of his words and gaze and — no, be strong. get it together.

the silence was broken by the door being pushed open with immense force. your head dropped, not trusting yourself to form a witty stab of words. within seconds he was turning you, body hard and pressing your back into the counter, reaching behind you and shoving the hundred dollar bill back into your purse. a wince left you when he gripped your jaw tightly with a hold unforgiving and questioning.

“fuck was that, huh? you— you were doin’ so well, dollface, and now—”

the words halted when he saw a shiny tear streak down your face. the way his eyes softened only pushed you further into despair. his hand moved, now cupping your face and running a thumb along your cheekbone. the wet pearl caught on his skin but once they started, they just kept coming.

soon you were in his arms, hiccuping and holding on for dear life. rafe rocked you with a tight hold — voice soothing despite the look of confusion on his face. he’d never seen you this upset before, this broken.

“hey, hey, woah — what’s’a matter? what happened?” he cooed.

his large palm smoothed over your hair as you pressed your makeup running cheeks to his chest. hugging rafe always made everything better, but now you can’t stop thinking about him holding her like this.

he spoke your name firmly, pulling your head back to look deep into your wet eyes. his stare was intense, worried and seeking answers.

“use your words f’me,” he pushed your hair back off your forehead as he mumbled. and if you were in your right mind, you would’ve shrieked about him ruining your hair.

“jus’— d’you like her?” you blubbered.

rafe was more than confused, his eyebrows drawn together tightly. he crouched down a little, trying to hear your meek voice better.

frustrated and distraught, you pushed him back weakly. a few more inches were put between you two — only a few seconds until he crowded you again, trying to soothe you.

“sofia, rafe! do you like her?”

your yelling had him stepping even closer. shaking his head quickly, confused and slightly irritated, rafe cupped your cheeks in his palms.

“okay, okay— i heard you. don’t scream. i don’t— i don’t even fuckin’ know her. stop, stay still—“

you were squirming, trying to get far from him. far from this and the horrible ache in your chest at just the thought him maybe, possibly—

“stop, i’m talking now. ‘m not— i don’t like sofia, okay? i don’t, y’hear me?” his voice was authoritative, freezing you in place. those blue eyes pleaded with yours for understanding, for trust.

despite the tension between you, his heart skips a beat as your gaze meets his. he sees the sparkle in your eyes, that fire mixed with a hint of softness that he’s so fond of. it gives him a glimmer of hope that maybe he can bridge this gap between you.

“c’mon. you know you’re my girl.”

you melt into him unconsciously, seeking that warmth his embrace always seemed to bring. you’re hugging each other tightly in the small bathroom. rafe stares at your figures in the mirror, watching as you nuzzle further into his arms. like you belong there.

with a sniffle, you tip your head back. feeling so small as you look up at his face. rafe leans down and presses a tender kiss to your mouth — moving slowly in a moment of raw vulnerability.

his voice is low, you feel the vibrations against your lips as he speaks softly, “i wouldn’t do that t’you… to us.”

he feels your body tense at his words, his hands squeeze your hips. with wide eyes you pull back from the kiss and gape at him. his touch is begging you to listen, to not freak out. the tears well anew as you let his words wash over you. us. he thinks there’s an us.

suddenly, it’s like you can breathe again. like all the nights feeling scared and confused without him seem worth it. all of it’s worth it to be in his arms like this, hearing him justify the feelings you’ve done everything to bury.

rafe cups your cheek in one hand, the other arm wrapping fully around your body. there’s something so tender and charged about the way he’s looking at you and wiping your crocodile tears away.

he’s begging you now, eyes flicking between yours, “you’re my girl, you know that. always gonna be us, a’ight?”

a light burns in your heart and you realize that you do know that. when has it ever been anything else? when has he not been by your side, dealing with your bullshit? rafe cameron had been yours since the moment you met.

with a shaky exhale you nod, leaning into his palm. the sight of you so fragile tears at his heart and rafe draws you in closer. his nose finds home in your hairline and he peppers kisses along your forehead. us.

the revelation didn’t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth, insecurity still pecking at your mind.

“she’s probably easier to deal with.”

“nah, i don’t wan’ easy.”

he pulls back, holding the back of your neck to angle your face towards him. there’s a hardness to his gaze — like the very idea of easy is repulsing him. then he’s smirking and leaning in.

rafe presses a firm kiss to your mouth, tongue parting your lips and swallowing the hiccup of pleasure that slipped out. his leg wedges its way between yours, knee pressed snugly underneath your miniskirt. he’s devouring you completely unforgivingly. without thought, you roll your hips against his knee. the tension in your body melts away as the friction of his jeans meets your covered clit.

“mmf, rafe—”

“i don’t want easy,” his words accented by harsher presses of his leg upward, causing you to choke on air, “i want you. whiny and bratty and beautiful you. got it?”

nodding your head fervently, he smushes his lips against yours. lifting you onto the small counter and shoving a hand up your skirt, his hardness pressing thick and pulsing against your thigh. the kiss so messy and clothes haphazardly being pulled to the side. the spark of finally being seen, finally being acknowledged as his, fuels the moment.

the sex is slow and steady, a promise of commitment and dedication to this messy relationship. to each other. tears of pleasure and happiness collect on your lash line, pretty face scrunched in ecstasy only rafe could provide.

(and topper and kelce took his card and ordered five beers each.)

#kook!reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe outer banks #fanfic #outer banks #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #rafe obx #obx smut #obx x reader #obx fanfiction #obx imagine #obx fic #rafe x you #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron prompt

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icanseethefuture333 · 5 months ago

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How to gain followers as an influencer according to your Midheaven

Aries MC:

These influencers are blunt and say whatever that comes to mind. They have a confident aura to themselves and a lot of people gravitate towards them because of how infectious their personality is. Aries MC as influencers are competitive, bold, and outgoing. They also can have a cute and bubbly nature due to Aries being the youngest of the zodiac signs. In order to gain followers or success an influencer - speak your mind. Post pictures of yourself in the gym, dancing, or playing sports, Aries are known for their athleticism and people admire the amount of energy they possess. Aries MC do best in their career as an influencer when they are energetic and thriving in life. Their following might go down if they talk about losing or show a significant change of attitude in their content such as accepting defeat. Fans can emphasize with them if they open up about trauma and abuse.

Loren Gray’s most viral video is when she transitioned from blonde to brown hair. Making bold choices such as a change in hair color, makeup, or fashion style will attract more attention.

(Ex: Tana Mongeau, Loren Gray, Lisa)

Taurus MC:

The misconception of Taurus MCs is that they are always perceived as classy or being “refined” in their aesthetic. When the most famous Taurus MCs influencers are the exact opposite. They have this “untouchable” essence to them (“Yo voy voy voy”). Like those cool girls you pass by in the mall and never see again. They live a life of fun and luxury, their stories you always want to tune in because they’re always doing something interesting. Taurus MCs need to give little by little, share your interests while also keep an air of mystery to yourself. They are the life of the party and you can often see them enjoying good food, alcohol, and/or on vacation. Taurus MCs can pull off slick buns, gold hoops, glossy lips, and tight clothing like no other as well. Unless they are showing off their riches and bragging, people will get bored of them. They don’t want someone they can relate to, so these people often get put on a pedestal or people look up to them for motivation. Most likely to be the ones on somebody's vision board. People are turned off when they display arrogance and envy out of insecurity.

Alex Consani’s most viral video of her is at a fancy restaurant singing “Lifestyle” by Young Thug.

(Ex: Alex Consani, Alexa Demie, Selena Gomez)

Gemini MC:

These girlies are some chatterboxes. They are similar to Aries MCs in a way when it comes to saying whatever they want but what they say often… doesn’t make sense but also totally makes sense, yk? The girls that get it, get it, and the girls that don’t, don’t! Queens/kings of musically fr. Gemini MCs are good at being animated and cunning when creating content. They act really ditsy and lost but they are secretly very intelligent. To gain followers, just be WEIRD, but not weird as in it being forced to be unique and different. I mean weird as just being yourself - unfiltered. Imagine yourself at 10 years old and how annoying but funny they were then letting it out as an adult now that you have control of your life. Give your inner child that space to be creative and humorous without overthinking.

Trisha Paytas being a Gemini MC in her most viral videos. That is all.

(Ex: Trisha Paytas, Liza Koshy, Bella Hadid)

Cancer MC:

Ahh Cancer MCs, they just give mother, ykwim? Something about them is just so feminine and nurturing. If they are young in age, people are drawn to their girl/boy next door vibes. They often fit the beauty standard and are praised for their youthful features. They are way over romanticized sometimes and people have an unhealthy obsession with them. People often see Cancer MCs as overrated but honestly who cares? You are capable of gaining followers by making content with family members, at home, or honestly doing the bare minimum (this placement doesn’t require much effort).

Ari Fletcher is famous for being the girlfriend of rapper G Herbo and mother of their son, Yosohn, she often posts videos of her and their son together.

(Ex: Charli D’amelio, Ari Fletcher, Zoë Kravitz)

Leo MC:

Divaaaas. Leo MCs just give celebrity through and through. They are probably some of the youngest influencers out there. These are the people who were in their bathroom making YouTube videos at 11 and getting over millions of views just for talking about their day at school. They could talk a lot of shit and people would just tune in for the gossip. They are hilarious and entertaining to watch. Always hated but could never be imitated. They are just that it girl/boy. Leo MCs gain attention for their voluminous hair, balanced features, and radiant style. The more they shine, the better. These people gain followers when they look the most glamorous and behave unapologetically themselves. Fun to hear them talk while drunk too. Might have to make a few apologies throughout their career but their fans are loyal and would never turn their back on them lol. “They could never make me hate you ahhh😝”. Leo MCs live by the saying “only god could cancel me”, the feline that got 9 lives. Haters would even miss them if they died.

Bretman Rock’s viral contour video that’s … dare I say chaotic.

(Ex: Justine Skye, Bretman Rock, Doja Cat)

Virgo MC:

True natural beauty. These people probably started the “clean girl” trend, they are so effortlessly perfect at everything they do. Top student of their class, successful in their career, etc. You name it. Virgo MCs are admired for their good reputation and clean image (or in another case, when their reputation goes to shit, they can salvage it by being clever and profiting it off themselves. Kim Kardashian became famous for being in a sex tape and ever since then she’s been one of the biggest influencers in the entertainment industry). They gain followers for posting content of their everyday routine, cleaning habits, and comfortable but stylish wardrobe. These people lose attention when they are looking messy and dirty. Sometimes engaging in reckless behavior and not always being the “perfect” girl people perceive them as can gain attention - good or bad. These people may have a harder time keeping up with the standards people enforce onto them and often face criticism more than others which could impact their mental as well as physical health.

(Ex: Yara Shahidi, Hailey Baldwin Bieber, Maya Jama)

Libra MC:

The ultimate beauty gurus omg! These are the best people to receive beauty tips from. Unfortunately, people could never look as pretty as them but they could at least learn tips that would help them enhance their appearance with makeup, skincare, etc. Libra MCs are the embodiment of beauty and style, they make the perfect influencers and a lot of them are very popular on social media. They know how to balance humor while being serious when giving advice, giving off big sister/brother vibes. The beauty standards they present could be unattainable, so they could receive both love and hate from others because they are not able to replicate them. These influencers are the type to set trends such as “#wonyoungism” and what not. Wearing pink, using your artistic skills, and being an advocate for a cause you care about could attract more followers.

Jenna Marbles most famous video is ironically about “how to trick people into thinking you’re good looking”.

(Ex: Jenna Marbles, Kylie Jenner, Michelle Phan)

Scorpio MC:

Sexy spooky gals. Scorpio MCs possess a beauty that is haunting to the mind, they are the bad girls/boys. They are daring by nature and their quirky personalities contrast with their sensual appearance. These placements could be former porn stars or be very popular on onlyfans (*cough cough* Mia Khalifa). They are often involved in scandals, dating rumors, and people view them as dramatic. Indulge in people’s fantasies and feed into others illusions. Emphasize your eyes by doing a smoker eyeliner look, contour your cheeks, and wearing a nude lip is a signature look for the Scorpio MCs. Wearing leather, revealing, or stripper type clothing and having tattoos is part of their grand appeal as well. Entertain your fans by engaging in harmless flirting and venting about your emotions.

Quenlin has been gaining popularity recently for being involved in a dating rumor that her, Billie Ellish, and Odessa are in a throuple after making a video together.

(Ex: Emma Chamberlain, Quenlin Blackwell, India Love)

Sagittarius MC:

The one everyone wishes to find. These people become the most searched in a matter of seconds. Everyone wants to know who they are, what’s their name, and where are they from. Sagittarius MCs could be praised for their “exotic” look or extravagant style. Wear clothing and jewelry from foreign countries, these people have to give off the vibe they just came back from vacation. They are often seen sporting tans and look good in “airport fashion". To gain followers, post content of videos of yourself talking in the car, traveling, going to the airport, being on vacation, driving to your favorite places, and/or speaking in foreign languages. Sagittarius MCs become famous “unintentionally” and they experience a lot of luck and success within their career. Being too stagnant could harm their success.

Cindy Kimberly went viral after Justin Bieber posted her on his instagram asking people who she was.

(Ex: Cindy Kimberly, Khloe Kardashian, Jenna Ortega)

Capricorn MC:

These mfers are always mewing. Patrick Bateman core. These are the business moguls, supermodels, and professional gamers. They are competitive and efficient when it comes to their work. They look great in black and have noticeable tattoos. Similar to Scorpio MCs with having a baddie image but instead of being just “bad”, they give off mafia vibes. The sexy super villain that’s hard to resist and secretly rooting for. People want to know how much money they make and what they did to achieve being rich (“sprinkle sprinkle”). Capricorn MCs are appreciated for their dedication and hard work. People admire them most when they talk about their struggles and how they overcame obstacles to become successful. Although, if they are someone who benefits from nepotism, people could really despise them. Be the unbothered queen/king you’re meant to be and invest in yourself, remember your time and energy is valuable.

Rihanna’s most viral video is of her saying “she could beat me but she could not beat my outfit” during a speech.

(Ex: Vinnie Hacker, Rihanna, Kendall Jenner)

Aquarius MC:

The definition of social media stars. These are the innovators and trend starters. They are the reason influencers are so big now on the internet. Aquarius MCs gain popularity for their unique perspective and usage of technology (cameras, editing content, etc). They could post about tech, talking about interests from their fandom, doing Q&As, and having a close relationship with their fans. People admire how friendly and down to earth they are. Aquarius MCs lose followers when they are cold and distant. These people could wear just about anything but look best in a hoodie, sunglasses, and jeans. They are oh so casual chic.

Madison Beer went viral in her cover of Etta James when she was only 13, she showed gratitude to her fans in the comment section and was praised by Justin Bieber as well.

(Ex: Madison Beer, Jackie Aina, Dixie D’amelio)

Pisces MC:

These people just spawned into existence. They are otherworldly in terms of appearance. Pisces MCs are quite strange when it comes to how they express themselves and people who are often misunderstood find comfort in these public figures. As influencers, their style has spiritual or mystical elements. They look like a fantasy character come to life and their makeup style can be quite bizarre. These people lose followers when they try to fit in and dim their light. They make a positive impact on others when they talk about acceptance and self love. Pisces MCs’ sexuality could be a hot topic as well and they might be very progressive with their views. These people could be psychic and are very intuitive in terms of the future.

Julia Fox’s most popular video is about how her son was born the same day her best friend who died (she also talked about how she came to her in a dream to tell her she was having a boy!)

(Ex: Julia Fox, Addison Rae, James Charles)

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jaylver · 9 months ago

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WEBS OF HURT — S.JY

synopsis: Falling for your best friend wasn't on your check list for high school. As if that wasn't enough to break your heart, his odd behaviour only added fuel to the fire along with a new crush of his. Who knew that odd behaviour would soon turn into a secret truth that you'd discover after his valiant effort of hiding.

pairings: spiderman!jake x afab!reader

genre: best friends to lovers, unrequited love, miscommunications, spiderman au, angst, romance, fluff

warning(s): profanities, mentions of alcohol, party, violence, injury

wc: 10k

a/n: tried something new! a little birthday gift from me <3 please leave a feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated! muah xx

Falling in love with your guy best friend was probably the worst thing ever to experience when it came to girlhood.

High school should be fun, right? Being a teenager should be fun, right? Well, that wasn't exactly the case when you found yourself feeling more than just a mere liking towards Jake Sim, the guy best friend you mentioned and was entirely, love sickeningly, in love with.

Jake Sim was the first guy you actually built a solid friendship with. It first started when he sat beside you in calculus, then you realised you had more classes with him and a friendship eventually developed when you started acknowledging each other. One class together soon turned into years spent with one another. You knew his family and he knew yours. Nothing could ever break the bond between you and him.

You just couldn't help but notice a slight change in him after the death of his uncle, Ben. At first, you figured it might've been grief, trying your best to offer your utmost support. But as months flew by, the oddness persisted. He would disappear in between classes, sometimes standing you up at places you were at together and returning a little scathed, making it up to you by promising for a redo hang out. All of that was weird. Let's not get started on the fact he caught your stuff falling way too many times, even when his head was faced away, his hand would reach out first. In his words, he called it his 'spidey sense', whatever that meant.

However, you never doubted him. He was still the best friend you had, even if he had some tweaks to him. You never once questioned him or brought up your suspicions, but this time, you couldn't help yourself from bombarding him with questions when he broke the news to you.

"I think I have a crush," Jake announced the moment he was in your presence, sounding a little out of breath considering he made a run to the cafeteria. The tray of food was untouched, quite unlike him since he always dug into his food first.

"You 'think'?" You hummed, ignoring the mixed feelings you had blaring loudly.

"Okay, I know I have a crush," he has yet to start eating, just staring expectantly at you, eyebrows furrowed at the nonchalant and dismissiveness in your tone.

"You're being for real?" You finally turned your head to meet his eyes, placing your fork down.

"I am! I think it's kinda crazy," his eyes twinkled, something quite rare but only you knew, like a comet in the sky.

"Who is it?"

"Gwen,"

"Gwen? Gwen Stacy?" You swallowed back a frown that was itching to make its way to your lips, masking it with your best shot of shock instead of disappointment. Of course it was the golden girl, what a cliche plot.

He nodded, a small smile rested on his face as he started digging into his food. "We … talked? Talked about some science things, about Oscorp, about the things she's working on. Oh yeah, she said there's this party on Saturday and wondered if I wanted to go, I said I wanted to bring a friend and she's cool with it,"

"I assume I'm that friend, then?" You poked at your food, suddenly losing your appetite as the conversation progressed.

"No, it's Carlos—of course it's you, dumbass," he flicked at your forehead, earning a firm scowl from you. "You're my best friend, my only ever, I'd be insane to think otherwise,"

You chewed at your lips, not because you were contemplating whether you should or shouldn't go, but it was mainly due to the word 'best friend' that got your attention. There goes your hope down the drain. First, being told your best friend who you have a crush on already has his eyes on someone else, then, getting friendzoned by that same exact guy, all in one shot. It's brutal out here.

"So what do you say?" Jake's voice broke the momentary silence, noticing your dazed expression. You snapped out of it almost immediately.

"I'll go,"

"Really?"

"Do you want me to say no instead …?" You raised an eyebrow, watching him scrambling at your words.

"N–no! I'm just shocked and very glad you agreed to come," he managed a laugh, which turned into a smile.

"Am I going to get ditched that night because you want to get your dick wet?"

Jake scrunched his face up in a look of disgust. "Can you not? I don't need you to say that. And no, I'm not going to ditch you,"

"I'm holding you to it."

Jake shot you a wink, earning a figuratively loud eye roll from you. His laughter filled your ears, and though you managed a smile, you found yourself feeling the opposite internally. You knew you shouldn't feel this way, it's not like you were even in a relationship with him in the first place. But God, why did it hurt so bad?

Who told you friends to lovers was cool when it was unrequited and one sided all along.

"You know, you look good either way,"

Jake Sim was sitting on the edge of your bed watching you put on makeup and getting ready. It was a few hours before the party and Jake had turned up looking nervous, wearing that lucky graphic tee of his that you recognised quickly. Your teasing definitely didn't make him smile, and you soon realised that the crush he had was actually serious.

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow despite feeling the giddiness from the effects of his nonchalant words. He has to stop that. "Are you trying to butter me up to get me to move quicker?"

"Whaaat? No way. You genuinely look good whether or not you have makeup on, seriously," he was genuine, you could tell, but you knew him better than anything. It was quite a fatal flaw.

"Give me ten minutes to finish the other eye then we can leave."

At that, Jake sighed in relief and fell back onto your bed, kicking his legs patiently. He couldn't stop talking about the party and the people who'd be there, but honestly, you could tell he was just trying to not bring up Gwen at any given moment. Knowing that, you wished the mascara wand would just poke into your eye, maybe it'd hurt less compared to how your heart felt.

"Does my shirt look lame—"

"Dude, shut up," just before you and Jake entered the house, he was asking for another reassurance. First, it was his hair, then his shoes, and every other piece of clothing, leaving his shirt for last. It took everything in you to not punch him along the way there. "I swear, no one will care. If anything, isn't that your lucky shirt?"

"It is my lucky shirt. But whether or not that lucky shirt looks good, that's the case," he glanced down at his graphic shirt, a picture of a rock band from the 2000s staring back at him.

"Trust me, if it's ugly, I would've asked you to change, now shut up and get your ass in there before I leave you here," you huffed and continued walking, hearing him mutter something before catching up with you.

Upon entering the house, you figured it was as underwhelming as you expected. The smell of sweat and flavoured smoke filled the air, high school students lingered around as the music blasted. You should've probably stayed home.

"So, you got your pick up lines ready?" You thrusted a cup of fruit punch into his hands, tilting your head in question.

Jake rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid Google has failed me on that one," he looked around the room, shoulders tense.

"Calm down, big guy. You're acting like you're being hunted down. She's not that scary," you patted his shoulders as he took a swig out of his cup.

"Not scary? Says the one without a crush,"

How ironic.

You brushed it off, finding yourself taking a big gulp as well. He was oblivious and you were just stupid. Stupidly in love with your best friend who has his eyes set on another girl. Perfect.

"I think I see her," you followed his line of sight, spotting a blonde in the midst of the crowd almost immediately. She made her way through, parting the mass with a certain grace to her aura.

Jake looked back at you, a mix of conflict written in his features. You read him well, too well. You offered a smile. "Go, go talk to her. Just text me when you're leaving, okay? You said you're not going to ditch me,"

"I won't," he laughed, but there was a certainty in his tone.

"Then go, what are you waiting for? I'm expecting a whole loads of information by the end of the night," you gave him a slight push, but you could see the small reluctance he had. "Go!" Off he went into the crowds and gravitated towards her.

You couldn't bear to witness it all, watching him leaning down as she laughed into his ear. The feeling of bitter jealously coursed through your veins, it was evil, so evil, but you couldn't help it. At the end, you had to remind yourself, he wasn't yours in the first place. He wasn't yours to lose.

Turning your back to them, you sat alone in a stranger's kitchen and fought off the temptation of getting drunk. Instead, you indulged in the leftover pizzas left on the counter, letting a random girl join you and overshare secrets. Wallowing in self pity was probably not what you had in store for the night.

Almost as fast as you had arrived, it was already past midnight in a blink of an eye. You realised your curfew was around the corner and it was time to signal Jake to leave too. Glancing at your phone, you were surprised to see zero messages from your best friend. Weird.

You stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, seeing a bunch of people passed out at the oddest spots, only a few still awake. One of them was surprisingly Gwen, the goody two shoes you had in mind was actually staying up past your curfew. You heaved a distressed yet exasperated sigh, walking towards her.

"Hey, Gwen," you hoped she remembered you, considering you were in the same Chemistry class as her.

"Oh, hey. Y/N, right?" She flashed you a sweet smile, and it was painful to know how likeable and nice she was. You couldn't even bring yourself to hate her.

"Right. Sorry for interrupting, but have you seen Jake around? The last time I saw him was with you," you unknowingly chewed on your bottom lip anxiously, taking the frown on her lips as a bad sign.

"He left," that was the least expected thing you anticipated as a response.

"He … left?" You repeated incredulously, almost as if she hadn't made it clear enough for you.

"Yeah, he suddenly said he needed to leave … in the middle of our conversation. An emergency or something. Kinda weird but kinda cute," she laughed, but you were holding back a disdainful scowl, reserved for both Jake and her, but most specifically Jake Sim. "Why? Were you with him?"

You bit back an immediate reply. As much as you wanted to say 'yes', you didn't want to blow off his chance either. "No, just … checking. He said he was coming tonight,"

"Oh, I see,"

"Yeah," you nodded rather stiffly and awkwardly. "I'll get going now, thanks,"

"See ya, Y/N. Until our next class," she gave you a salute, a melodious laugh escaping her lips.

You couldn't resist a smile either, saluting her back. There was a charm to her that affected people, it was understandable that Jake was charmed, but you hated to know that, and you did not want to understand it. For now, he was dead to you, just like how he has left you to yourself in the middle of a party at midnight. Was he Cinderella? Glad to know you weren't the only one who he pulled the disappearing act on.

Clutching onto your jacket tight, you cursed every cuss words there were under your breath, all of which were dedicated to Jake. He had the audacity to leave without even leaving you a text, and that got you walking home in the dangerous night of New York City. Thanks a fucking lot. To say you were seething was an understatement.

You hated the streets of New York especially at night. To prove your hatred further, you just had to be at threat of an armed robbery there and then.

"Hey! You there!" A dark figure approached from a distance, pointing at you. Oh God. "Got some money on you?" This couldn't be happening.

"N–no," you said quietly, backing up quickly. His footsteps thundered loudly against the pavement, seemingly getting closer.

"Don't lie, I see that purse on you,"

"I'm a broke high school student, leave me alone!" Was it sad to say that you were yelling the brutal truth to him?

"I don't care. Give me your purse—" his threat almost had you running in the opposite direction, but his sentence was never finished. Instead, a sharp unfamiliar noise shot through the silence, and a second figure in the distance appeared. That wasn't his partner, right?

Panic coursed through you, and yelling out was most likely the worst idea you had in ages. "Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello? Can I leave now?"

"Yeah, you can," the figure walked under the lamp post, revealing himself.

Spiderman?

Clad in red and a mask over his head, he stepped towards you ever so casually, whereas you stood there absolutely stunned to even move. It wasn't an everyday occurance where you could personally meet the hero in flesh. The media might've painted him as some criminal, but to you and many other citizens, you knew that wasn't the truth.

"Spiderman," you greeted, anxiety lowered knowing you weren't getting robbed now. "Thanks for—that," you waved in the direction of where the man originally was.

"No worries," you noticed his voice seemed familiar, but before you could think more about it, he spoke with a sudden deeper octave. "It's—uh—not safe out here. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Well, for starters, my friend left me at a party that we were supposed to leave together without telling me, and now I'm walking home alone, until I almost got robbed," it was clear that anger and bitterness laced your voice, a deep frown etched on your face as you told Spiderman your concerns.

"Sorry," his voice became lighter, somehow sincere, which made you tilt your head in question. "I–I mean, sorry that he did that to you," he cleared his throat, straightening his spine and returning back to that deep voice.

"I don't know what's up with him. He could've left me a text,"

He muttered something inaudible under his breath, then turned his focus back on you. "I'm sure he's very sorry, and maybe he's got a reason too. Try hearing him out,"

"I will. I always do. I'm just hurt, it's complicated,"

"What? What do you mean complicated?"

You shrugged, hugging your purse close to your chest. "It's nothing. I don't think Spiderman will be interested in my matters with my best friend. I'll leave you to your hero stuff and head home now. Thanks for saving me and the 20 dollars in my wallet,"

"Well—I—wait," before you could fully turn around and leave, his hand landed on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. "Let me walk you home. It's not safe,"

"Wouldn't it be weird if I turned up at my apartment lobby with Spiderman?" You crossed your arm, making quite a fair point.

"You're right. What about I give you a swing?"

"What?"

Swinging around New York City was definitely an unforgettable but scary experience. You clung onto Spiderman, screaming like a madwoman as he had his arm wrapped around your waist. The touch was as familiar as his voice, hard to put a finger on but almost feeling like you've known him for years.

You were about to point out your apartment but he had already beat you to it, not even needing you to tell you which floor or window it was, landing on the fire escape right in front of your bedroom window. That just further proved your familiarity towards him.

He pulled your window open, signalling you to head in, but you were stuck staring at him, both in shock from the swing and the way he knew your place.

"How did you—"

"Bye! Goodnight!"

You watched as he avoided your question and shot a web out to swing to some other building, leaving you stunned. How were you going to recover from this?

10/10 experience. Spiderman might just be your casual crush to get away from the thoughts of Jake.

'BREAKING NEWS: bank robbery in downtown last night caused a chaotic and frantic disturbance, luckily, Spiderman was there to save the day and catch the robbers before anything major happened. Is he really as bad as they make him to be?'

The news of Spiderman saving a bank from a robbery right before your personal near robbery experience had you amused. The videos of him beating up the robbers and using his webs to tie them up were going viral all over the internet, even people in school were talking about it.

You were standing at your locker, digging for some textbooks before class started when Jake Sim himself appeared beside you. His presence was announced before he even spoke, but you didn't bother to spare him a glance.

"Y/N, I'm so so sorry about last night," he was heaving in breaths, as if he had ran across the school to find you, maybe he did.

"Oh, were you?" You clicked your tongue, suddenly finding the random piece of paper in your locker fascinating.

"I am. Seriously, Y/N. I know I'm an asshole for that, I'm sorry for not texting you earlier and letting you know—"

"Jake, this isn't the first time you bailed on me," you cut him off, slamming your locker door close and turning to face him. The bruise beside his right eye caught your attention, and suddenly, your anger seemed to have sizzled away. "What the hell happened to your eye?"

It has become a common practice by now apparently. Jake disappearing and turning up with some kind of injury. Like always, he just brushed you off. "It's nothing, don't worry. It's not about me, it's about you. I fucked up this time and I know it, I'm sorry. An emergency with Aunt May came up a–and I had to go home early, I was too caught up in the moment to let you know. I'm sorry, really,"

You considered his apology for a moment. He was sincere, you knew that, but there was a certain dishonesty to his explanation. However, you didn't want to press on further either. "I understand. You probably always have a reason, it's just that I hate it when you disappear on me without telling me. I almost got robbed last night!"

It took him almost a few seconds to register, then another few more to compute a reaction. "What? Are you okay?"

"I'm standing here, aren't I? Spiderman saved my ass,"

"Spiderman?"

"Yeah, Spiderman. That guy who swings around New York. He saved me from some guy that was about rob me, because someone over here decided to leave early,"

"I'm sorry, okay? I'm just glad you're alright,"

"Well, thank fuck I am," you crossed your arms, staring pointedly at Jake.

He dug something out of his backpack, a paper bag of some sort materialized in his hand. "I got you some of your favourite cookies and donuts. As a form of apology,"

You took the bag from him, glancing between him and it. "You can't just buy your way into an apology,"

"You accepted it, you took the bag,"

You rolled your eyes, unable to bite back. "Whatever," you reached in for a cookie and started walking away from your locker, hearing Jake scurrying to join your side.

"So, we're cool?"

You took a brief glance at him, taking a bite out of your cookie. "We are,"

Jake wasn't fully convinced, however. He knew you and your patterns, and he definitely knew which tricks to pull to make it better. "How about I treat you to some Chinese food tonight?"

That piqued your interest, an eyebrow raised at his question. "The one downtown?"

"That one,"

"You sure know how to get on my good side, Sim," you nudged his side, falling into one of his tricks once again. "Too well,"

"I know my ways to get to your heart, don't underestimate me," he said in a lighthearted tone, but God, you wished he would actually find his way into your heart. "Anyway, how was—uh—Spiderman, last night? Excusing your near robbery experience," he winced at the last part, though in reality, the accident hadn't shaken you as much as he had thought.

"He was nice! A little awkward but I kinda get it. He swung me back to my place, which was weird because he knew which window and level it was," you pursed your lips in deep thought, failed to realise the widened eyes from Jake and the panic that filled them.

"M–maybe, it was a wild guess," he said shakily.

"Wild guess? Don't bullshit me, Sim. A smart guy like you would know it's hard to do so," you waved him off, continuing to venture into your theories.

"Maybe he has some kind of sixth sense," he laughed rather stiffly, earning a suspicious narrowed stare from you.

"Okay, big head, quit acting so weird. Let's just get calculus over with and then stop by that ice cream place after school, what do you say?"

Jake's shoulders visibly relaxed, a sense of relief overtook his features. What was that about? "Sure. My treat,"

"God, Sim, you have to stop treating me or else I'll fall in love with you," you joked, even as it came out lighthearted, it was filled with a painful truth that you kept as a secret.

"Then fall in love with me."

You froze, almost unblinking. Something so intimate yet controversial had left his lips like it was nothing. It was probably nothing to him, maybe a mere joke even, considering how he let out a small laugh and smiled at your reaction. You tried to pretend it was nothing, but it wasn't nothing, not to you.

For a second, you wished you weren't already in love with Jake.

Trying to be happy for your best friend shouldn't be hard, but why were you struggling with it so much?

First, you were literally in love with him. Yes, you've come to the conclusion that you 'L' word him, the big 'L'. Seeing him list out the things Gwen likes and hates reminded you of yourself knowing him equally that much too, which only pained you more than it reassured you. Second, he has been hanging out with her more. Not that you were completely friendless and have no one to hang with, but Jake was Jake, he was your best friend, and losing your best friend was the worst thing to happen.

You didn't lose him, no, but it felt like you had. He barely made time for you, being caught up with Gwen, dates and school work, how could he not manage to squeeze you in there? You've always made time for him no matter what the occasion was, so knowing he didn't do the same for you just had you dying internally.

It was a quiet evening in New York. The sun had just set and you were walking home from grabbing an early dinner alone. This time around, you were smarter than the previous round. Armed with pepper spray and a pocket knife, you prayed on a shooting star that an unfortunate incident would never ever happen once more.

You were practically in your own world to even realise or hear footsteps approaching you from behind. By the time you did, your fight or flight mode was activated, almost throwing out a punch, just to freeze upon figuring out who it actually was. Spiderman.

"Walking home alone?" He kept up with your pace as you recovered from a momentary fright.

"Stalking me?" You wondered how he even spotted you in the first place. In the big city of New York, he's coincidentally strolling down the same street as you? As if. "Scared me, you know? Thought it was another round of getting robbed,"

"I'd be there to fight them off if that happens," he said with utmost confidence that it had you laughing a little, shaking your head in disbelief. Why did he remind you of Jake? It's a sign you should stop thinking so much about him.

"Really? I kinda doubt it. Unless you're keeping an eye on me or something, stalker," you teased him, egging him on further.

"I'm not stalking you," his tone gave away the withering confidence of his. You smiled, feeling his lingering gaze on your face. Maybe it was just your mind that's overthinking, but his mannerisms reminded you too much of your best friend. It was in the way he walked, talked and how he normally did this thing where he walked with you and cast glances at you from time to time. Every little detail that you wished you couldn't list out was a part of the city's hero.

He cleared his throat, straightening his back, trying to rebuild that confidence he originally carried. "So … how are things between you and your friend?"

"The one that stood me up at the party?"

He choked a little, but regardless, he nodded his head. "Y–yeah,"

You couldn't hold in a sigh from escaping your lips. Just thinking about Jake had you huffing in frustration. Spiderman picked up on it, shifting slightly beside you. "I guess not … good? Haven't seen him much and he hasn't been bothering to hang out with me anymore. I mean, I get he's making moves but why can't he just manage a little time for me? Maybe I'm too selfish but—" he's not mine anyway. You bite your tongue, holding back what you really wanted to say.

The hero beside you was silent for a bit, as if walking on eggshells and picking the best words to say. "I think he'd come around," he said slowly, "he'd say a couple of sorrys, and you should tell him what's on your mind. Let him know. He'll understand,"

You chewed on your bottom lips, considering the possibilities, but totally also not expecting to get advice from the Spiderman like it was some counselling session. "I know he'll listen. He always does. But I don't want anything to change between us,"

"Nothing will change," he said with a kind of certainty that even you didn't doubt. How did he know? Who was he to judge? You didn't say anything, but just nodded. You knew Jake wasn't the type to argue nor take your words lightly, but you shudder at the thought of a confrontation, not that it was your first with him, but it felt much more emotional this time.

"I hope so. I miss him—oh, my place is around the corner, I can manage myself," you stopped before a turn around the corner, Spiderman following suit.

Standing before him only increased your curiosity about his identity. Who was he? He was hiding under a mask that shielded his face, but something about him seemed less foreign than expected.

"O–oh, then I guess I should get away too. Swing around the city and see whose ass to beat," he laughed awkwardly, a hand automatically reaching for the back of his neck, just like something Jake would do too. You shook that thought away. "Goodnight … stranger,"

"It's Y/N," you didn't hesitate to tell him your name, he saved your life, a little information about yourself wouldn't hurt despite him being a total stranger still. "Goodnight, spider boy."

You turned around the corner, leaving the hero standing there, bewildered and helpless. It was hard to ignore the pit in your stomach that carved deeper and deeper. He reminded you too much of your best friend, and strangely, that was probably the reason why you felt gradually attached to him, a stranger that resembled the ghost of a guy you liked but couldn't have.

The space of your apartment was dark and soulless once you stepped into it. Your parents worked late as always, meaning you were alone most of the time, and this was one of them. Maybe it was the atmosphere and the countless wishful thinking, but a sense of despair knocked on the door of your heart.

By the end of the night, you laid awake in bed thinking about what Spiderman had said. Nothing will change. That was exactly what you wished for too, that your dynamic with Jake was never to change, but how was that to happen when he's got a girl around? Eventually, you're not just going to lose the guy you loved, but your best friend as a whole.

Your train wreck of thoughts were interrupted the moment you heard a knock on your window. That knock turned into a tune that you knew too well. Sitting up straight in bed, you spotted the figure standing by your window out on the fire escape. Jake.

At this point, you weren't even going to figure out how he got up this high on the fire escape. It was one too many times of him avoiding your question and you ended up dropping the matter too. Yet, curiosity itched your mind.

Unamused at the fact that he turned up at possibly the wrong timing, you dragged your legs over to the window, meeting his bashful gaze. He offered a crooked grin, but your narrowed eyes only shot it back into a frown.

"Explain to me why you're here? It's midnight, Aunt May would be worried about you," your window was opened now, but you stood in the way before he could climb through, an interrogative look of yours stared at him accusingly.

"I told her I'd be over at yours," he answered cheekily. "Just like the old times, eh?"

Judging from your unbudging stance and eyes practically shooting lazers, Jake knew he had struck a nerve that have been left untreated for far too long. He sighed a defeated breath, squeezing through forcefully and dropping his backpack onto the ground.

"I know," he didn't need to say much, yet he conveyed more than needed. "I've been a shitty best friend,"

It was your turn to sigh. You shook your head, averted your gaze to the ground and stepped aside, giving him more space. "You know a 'sorry' alone won't cut it this time,"

He followed your every movement, joining you to sit on the edge of your bed, a small space in between separated you and him. "I know. But I really am sorry, Y/N. I mean it,"

"I just want you to be honest with me, Jake. I know you're busy, I know you're trying to get the girl of your dreams or whatever, good for you, but it feels like you've forgotten about me or something,"

"I didn't forget about you. How could I ever?"

"Well, then stop acting like it! A text would suffice," you stood up, back facing him just so you could hide your face from him and the tears welling up in your eyes.

"Y/N," he grabbed a hold of your wrist, cold fingers wrapped around your skin, his touch ever so gentle. "I'm sorry. I know I fucked up … many times, and a single 'sorry' wouldn't make up all the hurt I caused you, b–but there's a reason why,"

"What is it then?" You whirled around to face him, the dark of the room casted a shadow over his face, bringing out the fatigue and injury on his delicate features. "What the fuck, Jake? Are you hurt again?"

"It's nothing,"

"You said it's nothing every time you turned up hurt, and I never ask many questions, but Jake, it feels like you're hiding something from me," your hand reached up for his face, hovering over the bruises and mild cuts on his lips and skin. "I don't know you anymore,"

Jake moved his face away a little, grabbing that hand of yours which hovered over his face, lacing his fingers into yours, the rough surface of skin contrasting your soft touch. "I–I wish I could tell you what it is right now, Y/N, I really do, but it's not the right time. I need you to trust me, I need you to believe me, I don't want to hurt you,"

There was a moment of silence where you stood before him, hands intertwined with his, your hurtful gaze scanning his every feature that you knew too well. Jake never lied to you, you knew that, but why couldn't you fully trust him this time? There was a sense of truth and lie hidden behind his words, but you knew one thing, he was genuine. Yet, it wasn't enough.

"Let me make it up to you. There's this carnival in the city tomorrow night, you and I, hang out, what do you say?" He tried offering a smile, which eventually turned uncertain. "We can spend the entire day together. Just you and me,"

"No bailing on me this time?"

"Promise,"

"You do?"

He held up your interlocked hands, then intertwined your's and his pinky fingers together, something you and him always did when it came to serious promises despite the childishness to the whole pinky promises thing. "Promise," he repeated.

"I believe you, Jake. I always do, and I just don't want you to get yourself in danger, whatever it is that you're doing. Whenever you turn up bruised and beaten, I–I just feel helpless, and you push me away every time,"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, taking your interlocked hands and placing them on his chest, near to where his heart resided. "I promise to tell you the truth soon. I just need to be ready,"

"When you're ready," you gave his hand an affirming squeeze, a reassuring smile creeping up onto your lips. "Do you want to stay over?"

"I didn't turn up with a packed bag for nothing," he laughed, the air lightening up much more compared to earlier. "I'll sleep on the ground like always,"

Once you were done manoeuvring and setting up the sleeping bag for Jake, you were finally in bed for the second time that night, except now, you had Jake sleeping on the ground beside your bed. It wasn't a rare occasion having him sleep over, just maybe this time it was a tad bit more awkward given the situation you had earlier.

"Jake," you spoke into the darkness, your eyes trained on that one spot on your ceiling.

He hummed back in response.

"Nothing has changed between us, right?"

A beat of silence, the whirring of your A/C was what remained. Then, he spoke. "No. Nothing's ever going to change. Nothing will change,"

It sounded familiar, the way he said it and the enunciation he had in every word. You shook it off, given the late night and a mushy brain, you didn't give it a second thought.

"I'm glad. Goodnight, Jake."

"Goodnight."

Despite the reassurance from Jake, you descended into sleep with a pit in your gut. You could barely sleep with him next to you, thinking you could find a cure to every trouble that existed between you and him to fix it all. How could he say there'd be no changes when there's a bigger crack forming on your heart?

The next morning was like any other whenever Jake stayed over. An empty kitchen that allowed you to make some simple breakfast and after, you bid Jake goodbye for the moment before meeting him later on that day.

Upon stepping into your room, you spotted a black lump sitting under the window. It was Jake's backpack. He was already long gone from your apartment by then.

You advanced towards his backpack, held it up to move it somewhere else, but it only caused the contents inside to spill out. Knowing how clumsy Jake always was, you figured his backpack had been unzipped the entire time.

You glanced at the pile of mess littered on your floor, a clump of red catching your eyes amongst the rest. Curiosity got the best of you despite knowing you shouldn't pry, but the moment your fingers made contact with it, the question marks in your head increased by tenfold.

Spandex material. You pinched it at first, feeling the material against your skin, then you finally got the guts to hold it up entirely, revealing something far beyond expectations.

Spiderman suit?

Was it a fake one? Jake could've always bought it from Amazon. You held it closer for inspection, noticing how it was worn out, slight tears on the bottoms. It couldn't be a fake, something in you knew. The dried blood stains on some spots gave it away.

Everything made sense to you now. Jake being secretive, hiding the truth from you every time you asked, turning up hurt and disappearing at random times just for the news to report Spiderman's appearance after. All of them were finally connected in your head, and revelations about his suspiciousness were known by you.

It hit you. Jake was spiderman. Your best friend was that vigilante swinging around the city saving people and fighting crimes. He was the one who walked and swung you home. He always knew.

You let out a breath of disbelief, knees feeling weak and head spinning. How were you to shoulder the truth after this? Pretend like nothing's wrong when everything is wrong and weird. It was practically impossible to patch up the existing crack that continued to worsen.

Shoving Jake's belongings back into the bag, you shouldered it and made your way to his place. Your mind was in a haze, the thought of him being Spiderman was hard to wrap around. Sometimes ignorance was genuinely bliss, you wished this was one of those times.

You didn't know if it was a good or bad thing that Jake wasn't home when you turned up at his door, meeting a confused looking Aunt May instead. Apparently, Jake went out in search of his backpack that was currently in your hands, so you had no choice but to call him and wait for him to be back.

How could you not have spotted it sooner? Now that you're in his bedroom for possibly the millionth time, everything seems clearer. The map of the city stuck on his wall which had random scribbles and locations circled in red marker ink stood out to you, the box of medicine and ointments sat on his bedside table that you frequently ignored. All the signs were presented before your eyes without your knowledge.

"Hey, sorry for keeping you waiting," Jake closed his bedroom door after almost half an hour of waiting for his appearance. His hair was dishevelled, clearly panicked and alarmed.

"No, it's okay, we're supposed to meet up anyway," you sat up from lying on his bed, nodding at the backpack sitting on his desk. "Got your baby back,"

"Oh my God," he crossed the room with big steps and had zero hesitation when it came to unzipping it to check his belongings. "Did I leave it at your place?"

"You did,"

"Thought I left it out there somewhere," he murmured under his breath, then zipped the bag up. You knew why he was so secretive, and it made even more sense why he always brought it around.

Jake most likely felt your wandering eyes on him judging from the way he spun around and shielded his bag from view, trying to divert your attention away. "Want to watch a movie?"

How could you possibly say no? That sly prick.

You didn't indulge in his suspicious behaviour further now that you were aware of his secret, though you pretended not to. He did say he would reveal it to you soon, but that 'soon' was quite unknown. At this point, you didn't know who was going to be the first one to reveal it. Either you or him.

You spent half of the day binging on movies, ate an early dinner and then walked to the carnival together. Along the way there, you couldn't stop yourself from taking quick glances at Jake. The street lights illuminated his features under the darkening sky, the loud chatter of the crowd drowned out and it was only him in your world. Even as he asked you questions, you blindly nodded to most of them.

How could you not fall for him? He bought you drinks without question, won you prizes at those booths, held your hand as you walked through the crowds. It was as if Jake Sim himself was blind enough to not know what he was doing to you.

"Enjoying the night?" Jake threw his arm around your shoulder ever so casually that it had you holding your breath for a minute.

"You won me a big bear, of course I am," you held onto the stuffed toy tightly, grinning at the memory of Jake winning during his first try.

"What's next? Wanna stop by that art and craft booth then we go on the ferris wheel?" Jake definitely did know his way into your heart.

"Sounds good,"

You thought the night would eventually end with peace and quiet, but before it could even end, it had been ruined beyond belief.

The big screen suddenly flashed to a news reporter, the background looking chaotic and people were fleeing. It was live news, the whole thing was happening as you breathed. You and Jake stood rooted, staring at the big screen just like many others did, listening in on the broadcast.

'Just in, a monstrous creature was seen terrorizing and climbing along the Oscorp building. It was spotted not long ago, but now it has disappeared into the building, its whereabouts unknown. Workers of Oscorp have fled the building, but not all of them, some were said to be present in the building until now.'

You glanced at Jake, a sinking feeling in your gut. It was a sour thought knowing he's about to get himself in danger yet again, but having him bailing once more cut deeper than a falling knife. As a human, you wanted him to save lives and the city. However, you were also his best friend, and you hated to be selfish, but you just wanted him to be there without having to leave every single moment.

The conflict in your eyes matched Jake's, who was evidently struggling with himself. You tried to mask it, yet hurt and sadness was hard to ignore or hide.

"Oscorp … Gwen," the faint hush of a murmur was audible under his breath, causing you to cock your head at him.

"What?"

"I–I, Y/N, I have an emergency," he removed his arm around you, the hold on his backpack strap tightened.

"Jake," to scream at him? Let him leave? All of the above? You struggled with your emotions as you tried to understand and empathise, you always did, but couldn't you just have him this one time?

"I'm sorry …" his voice was weak, he knew how much pain and hurt he caused you, and retreating away from your disappointed face wasn't going to solve anything, just the problem downtown, but not the cracks that were forming right now.

"I know, Jake," you shouted when he was a distance away from you. He turned around, eyes widened and pupils blown, a mix of confusion and surprise painted his features. "I know about you,"

He was breathless, he didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. He left without a trace, and once again, you were left alone to fend for yourself. You wanted to understand, you do, but it was hard.

You glanced at the big screen for one last time, uttering a silent curse under your breath, and decided to head to where the scene was. Crazy? Stupid? You were everything described. That was probably why you and Jake were best friends.

Taking the cab was one of the stupidest decisions you made, and that excluded the part where you're literally bringing yourself to danger. Thanks to whatever that was terrorising the Oscorp building, the traffic was heavier than usual, so you had no choice but to run on foot. It was the most running you ever did all year.

You wondered if it was a good idea to even be there. Answer: no. The police cars were everywhere, all of which were stationed with police that were armed with rifles. A helicopter circled the building, several broadcasting stations and their reporters were present too. It was a mess.

"What's happening here?" You were practically out of breath, panting, as you asked a random bystander there.

"Some freakish lizard creature. I think Spiderman swung into the building to save the remaining victims. They were all rescued but Spiderman's still fighting in there,"

"You saw him? Spiderman?"

"I did! Red suit, white webs, he was so heroic when he crashed through the glass panels,"

"That's the one," you said unnervingly, disliking the uncertainty of it all. Jake was putting himself in danger and you could do nothing about it. How long did this go on for? You were left in the dark for far too long.

Soon, which almost felt like forever, you saw a speck of red escaping from the gap in the building with somebody in hand. You held your breath out of anxiety, heart thumping, listening in on all the noises and reports coming from everywhere around you.

"There he is! Spiderman!" A reporter appeared next to you, absolutely transfixed with the superhero slinging through the dark sky and eventually landing in the distance. "He has the last hostage in hand! A girl!"

A girl?

You pushed past the crowd, trying to get a closer look at Spiderman and the entire scene before you. There he was, speaking to the police, but there was somebody else too. Gwen Stacy.

An overwhelming feeling crashed down on you like a heavy weight of boulders falling from the sky. Confusion, hurt, heartbreak, altogether they penetrated you harder than you could manage to breathe. One step, two step, you took many steps back before turning away and hailing for a cab home.

He wasn't yours, and he wasn't yours to lose either.

Returning home to an empty apartment was nothing new, except it did hit differently this time. Your heart was empty, mind in a haze, it was as if your narrator had drawn swirls over your head. You wished things had turned out in another way. You and Jake, how you found out about his secret, him hiding his secret. If only all of them had another ending than what you had in the present.

You sat slumped over in bed, the desk lamp was the only thing that provided light for the darkness in your room. The shadow looming over your window went unnoticed by you. That was until a series of knocks sounded and you jumped out of bed in alert, finding it strange how there was nothing once your eyes trained on your window.

Well, there goes your future.

You stepped a little closer. Just then, the window was jerked open by some unseen force, a red cladded face peeking his head into frame. Spiderman, or more accurately, Jake, was standing on your fire escape again.

He dropped his backpack onto your bedroom floor, letting himself in wordlessly. You stared at him, not knowing whether to speak first or let him be the one to do it. After all, he had left you hanging, it's the least he could do.

Jake pulled off the mask from his head, revealing a rather beat up face and messy, dishevelled hair that was coated with sweat. "You knew?"

His voice was tired, but the confusion and hurt punctuated through his words. He inched close to you, but you took a step back, unable to meet his gaze.

"Well, it wasn't a long time," you muttered. "Just today, actually … coincidentally,"

"How?"

"Your backpack. I swear I didn't look through it, it was unzipped and when I picked it up, everything spilled out. Your suit revealed it all," you chewed at your bottom lip, Jake's eyes boring into yours, the prickling feeling of anxiety crawled all over your skin. "I didn't want to find out this way either,"

"I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I wanted to, trust me, you're one of the closest people I have in my life. But I just didn't know when or how to break it to you. I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe," he was equally guilty for hiding it for a long time, but you understood the reason behind it. Being a hero comes with a great responsibility, that was what movies taught you anyway.

"Jake, I know, and it's okay, but I just wish to be selfish for a little. I want you to be here with me, to be there for me a–and be my best friend for a minute," you felt yourself losing the will to speak as seconds passed by. "I feel like I'm losing you,"

"You're not. I'm here," he pressed his palm against his heart, stepping closer until he was barely a few inches away. "Always,"

"I don't want to lose you, Jake," your voice wavered, a clear sheen of tears glazed your eyes. "I'm in love with you," your words came out in a whisper, a hushed confession that spilled with no warning, coming from the deepest, darkest pits of your heart. Even then, you couldn't believe you had actually said it, stilling in place and blinking in shock.

Jake's breath hitched, his movements frozen. You wondered about the possible scenarios you were about to face, ones that you thought of whenever you had the urge to spill your love confession. All of them certainly didn't prepare you for what was happening next.

"I'm sorry," shock turned into instant panic. Your hands shot out to create a small distance between you and him. "Ignore what I just said. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable—"

Jake didn't say much, and in a swift motion, he grabbed a hold of your hand, pulled you into him. One hand holding your wrist, the other cupping your face to tilt your head and his lips met yours.

You could barely register it. The weight of his mouth against yours created a mass of fireworks in both your head and stomach. The shock evaporated from your body and relief took its spot. You melted against his touch, leaning your body closer to his.

Jake kissed you like no man could have ever done. He left a part of himself, imprinted his every unspoken word into a deep and passionate kiss. You wondered if this was what it felt like being loved by him.

Forever was what you wished for when it came to kissing him. Yet, it eventually came to an end just like every one of your favourite movies. This time, however, you weren't disappointed, you were glad.

"Don't apologise. Y/N, I'm in love with you too," his hand on your cheek remained, the dim light managed to bring out the sparks in his pupils. It was your turn to be confused. Didn't he have a crush? "I know what you're thinking. Gwen—" it's freaky how he always knew, "—I was kinda dumb, to be honest. I was always in love with you but it took me years and a girl to only realise that,

"She was nothing like you. The more I got to know her, the more I thought of you. I wasn't trying to like her, I was trying to find a piece of you in her. Being the coward that I am, I ran away from facing the thought of liking you, I didn't want to ruin our friendship. So, I kept on entertaining the thoughts of liking Gwen instead, but none of it was real. You're the one who's constantly taking up space in my mind, in my heart,"

The fireworks from earlier exploded ten folds in your mind. You couldn't believe you were experiencing every passing moment listening to Jake's confession. He felt the same way as you did for him. He has had the same pining for you like the same way you had for him. Years, years of unspoken romantic love for one another that both were too scared to touch upon.

Jake took your shell shocked silence as an opportunity to continue on. "I'm sorry for standing you up all the time. I'm sorry for hiding the truth from you. I'm sorry for avoiding you. I'm sorry for not realising it sooner. But I love you, Y/N. You're my best friend, more than anything, you're the only person I want to have occupying my mind all the Goddamn time,"

"Jake," your hand travelled to place itself onto his which rested on your face. "I love you too," you laced your hand into his, the intimacy that would've been seen platonic days ago was now something more than that. You and him both felt the shift, it was apparent.

"I don't care that you're Spiderman," you continued, not once breaking eye contact with him, letting him stare into yours as you did the same. "You're Jake to me, you forever will be, and that's all that matters,"

Jake's delicate features melted into a smile. His pretty smile that had you swooning was on display like a trophy, influencing you enough to crack a small grin too. He looped an arm around your waist, dipping you slightly and pressing a haste kiss on your lips, then your cheeks.

"I guess I can now say I've swung into your heart," he teasingly sent a wink flying at you, to which you responded with an eye roll. Some things never changed, but his ego definitely was inflated now.

"Shut up before I kick you out," you threw a light punch at his shoulder, which he dodged almost unsuccessfully. "Come on, let's patch you up then we can go to bed," you patted his shoulder, walking towards your bathroom.

"Demanding," he whistled under his breath, picking up his discarded mask from the floor.

"Don't make me add a black eye to your face,"

"But you like my pretty face,"

"You want to test it out?"

"Okay, okay. I'm coming."

The night eventually ended with Jake being patched up and sleeping on your bed instead of his usual spot on the ground. These little changes was what you anticipated most, but other than that, it was safe to say nothing would be changing when it came to your and Jake's relationship. If anything, it was about to be stronger.

So what if he was Spiderman? At least you knew Spiderman was yours, and he had indeed swung into your heart.

Dating your best friend who had a secret identity was fun.

You got to discuss maths in school and listen to his adventures after. Not to mention, he would swing you around New York City at times once the clock striked past midnight. No other girl was going to get a date like this. Ten out of ten, you may add.

With the fun came the terror. You do fear for Jake's safety almost every time he's out, and it has become a routine to patch him up till the point where you had to restock your emergency kit. This time was like no other when Jake appeared through the window soundlessly in his Spiderman suit.

"Hey," he was breathless, tumbling over the window still.

You jumped, not even realising his appearance. "What the hell? Jake? Oh my God," you got up right away to support his tired body, but he ended up sliding down onto the ground anyway.

"Are you injured anywhere? Bleeding?" You checked for his body, trying to spot any obvious cuts, making yourself comfortable in the space between his legs.

"No," his hand reached for the end of his mask, pulling it up halfway only to reveal his lips. "Can I get a kiss?"

"Are you serious?"

"I am dead serious,"

You rolled your eyes, leaning down to press a kiss on his lips that eventually widened into a satisfied smile. You gently slapped his face, eliciting a sweet laugh from him and with a tug of his hand, he fully removed the mask from his head, revealing his pretty face that you missed.

"I got something for you," his hand reached out to brush your hair away from your face, his touch ever so gentle when it came to you. He dug something out of his bag, pulling out a fresh bouquet of flowers. "Ta-da,"

"Flowers?" You accepted the bouquet from him, noticing all of your favourite flowers in it. He remembered, even the littlest details about you, he remembered them all.

"I got them on the way here," you raised an eyebrow at him. He threw his hands up in defence. "Hey, I didn't steal them. I actually paid for them. They gave me a discount too because I was in my suit,"

You resisted a smile. "You're unbelievable,"

"Unbelievably cute? Romantic? Handsome?" He leaned in closer to you, noses close enough to brush against one another.

"Go away," you squeezed his cheek, and he just let you do so without any fight. You threw your arms around his neck, hugging him briefly. "I like them,"

"What about me?"

"I like you too,"

"But I like you more,"

You threw your head back laughing, a simple sound which was enough to have Jake's heart racing. "We're not making this into a competition, stupid. Now, go shower or else you're not sleeping on my bed,"

"But—"

"Nope. Shower or get exiled,"

"Fine," he dragged his body up sluggishly, looking almost like a puppy being forced to his dismay: the shower. "You're not joining me?"

"Don't make me chase you out." you threw a pillow at him that he skillfully dodged. Damn his spider senses. His laughter echoed around your bedroom until he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of it gave comfort to you and your beating heart.

Things might've changed a little in different aspects, but you knew nothing could change you or Jake altogether. He was your best friend and lover no matter what he was. Spiderman or loverboy, he was everything to you. All you knew was that he was going to be by your side no matter what, protecting your heart alongside the city.

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3K notes · View notes

the-dumpster-fire-of-life · 8 months ago

Text

Right Where You Left Me

It always ended up back here.

You sat in a corner of the Last Drop, staring at the end of the table like waiting for someone. You always were waiting.

People would pass by and they would murmur, some who knew who you are from before, and some who didn’t and got the same old story.

“What’s up with pouty over there?” Your ears twitched as you heard some man whisper to the bar keep. The man behind the bar gave the man a glare, the only one in the Drop with seemingly an ounce of sympathy.

Before he could pound some sense into the man’s head, a woman at the bar interrupted.

“Dunno. Comes in here and just sits there.” The woman stated, giving you a once over as you stared at the door for a certain blunette you know a life time ago.

Waiting for four other kids to pile in after her, taking up space in your booth as they slid in, Powder talking your ear off as she took your Shirley temple to finish off like always.

It just sat in front of you now, untouched like all the times before.

You didn’t hear Vi chastise Powder to slow down as she gobbled it down, didn’t hear Mylo and Claggor and didn’t feel the table rattle as they bumped it from their wrestling.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear Ekko and how the tools on his belt jingled as he moved, slipping through the bar and Vanders laugh as he warned the boy to slow down.

“Gonna end up steppin’ on you soon enough, Ekko.” The man would say even if he was always careful not to.

You almost heard Ekkos laugh paired with Powder beckoning him over to share his own drink with her.

Time stood still, nothing changed, nothing happened.

Right where you were left behind.

There were no more laughs, no more bickering and no more shared Shirley temples under the limelight of the bar as a song Powder chose time and time again played while Mylo would complain.

You did always catch him mumbling the lyrics to himself.

“Think she was one of Vanders.” The woman finished off.

You pushed out of your seat with a rattle, getting out of the bar as quickly as possible to leave the memories behind.

You couldn’t remain frozen in time.

But the Shirley Temple, the laughs, the echos of the past would always keep you there.

2K notes · View notes

halfmoonaria · 24 days ago

Text

ignorant

pairing: cairo sweet & reader

summary: you are the next victim for the evil of cairo sweet, but this time it’s not planned.

word count: 6k

author’s note: somebody asked for more cairo sweet and i’ll deliver

Cairo Sweet was toxic.

Everybody at school knew it, whispered it, even feared it. It wasn't because she'd ever laid a finger on anyone—Cairo didn't need to.

She had a way of ruining people without touching them, a kind of quiet, deliberate destruction that made her dangerous in ways no one wanted to test.

Her manipulation was an art form, her lies sharp enough to shred reputations into confetti. A few well-placed rumors, a convincing performance, and she could have someone blacklisted.

Jobs, scholarships, futures—they all crumbled under the weight of her fabrications. Being on Cairo's bad side was like being branded: the stain followed you wherever you went.

People had seen it happen before. Just last year, Mr. Miller had been the unfortunate target. A teacher with a spotless reputation, gone in an instant.

A single accusation from Cairo had shattered his career. The truth? It didn't matter. Cairo's version of the story had been louder, more convincing.

Even when whispers of her exaggerations began to circulate, it was too late for him. By then, she'd moved on, leaving destruction in her wake like it was nothing.

You'd heard it all, of course. Everyone had.

The looks she got in the halls said enough—half awe, half terror. But what you could never figure out, no matter how much you watched her, was whether she enjoyed it.

Did she like that people were scared of her? Did it give her some twisted sense of power? Or did she just not care? Maybe, in some corner of her mind, she felt guilty. But if she did, you'd never know it.

And yet, despite everything you knew—despite all the warnings, the stories, the very real possibility that she could ruin you too—you found yourself getting pulled in. If that's even what you'd call it.

It all started one afternoon after English class. You'd been shoving your notebook into your bag when Cairo appeared beside your desk, casual as if it wasn't the first time she'd ever spoken to you directly.

"Hey, you mind if I grab a picture of your notes? I missed a few things."

The request wasn't surprising—everyone in English class talked to each other, especially when it came to assignments or study guides.

You'd even exchanged a word or two with her before, though only ever about coursework. She wasn't unapproachable, not exactly. Just... untouchable. Like someone you didn't dare get too close to for fear of the inevitable fallout.

"Sure," you said, slipping the notebook out again and holding it toward her.

She gave you a brief, unreadable smile, one corner of her mouth tugging upward as she pulled out her phone and started snapping pictures.

"Thanks," she murmured, her tone flat but not unfriendly. She didn't walk away immediately, though. Instead, she lingered, flipping through the pages like she was checking for anything she might've missed.

"You always this neat?" she asked suddenly, her eyes flicking to you.

You blinked, caught off guard by what sounded almost like a compliment. "Uh, I guess."

"You should see mine," she said with a dry laugh, tucking her phone back into her pocket. "It's a miracle I can even read them."

You knew that wasn’t true.

It wasn't much, but it was the first real conversation you'd had with her that wasn't about group projects or exam prep.

Cairo had a way of making even the smallest interactions feel like something bigger, like a spark catching on dry leaves. It was enough to leave you wondering as you walked out of class that day why she'd bothered talking to you at all.

After that, it was little things. A nod of acknowledgment when you passed in the halls.

A quick "Hey" when she slid into the seat beside you before class started. And then, somehow, it became more. She'd catch you after school, asking about homework or offering a ride home if it was raining. You told yourself it was nothing—she was just being nice, or at least her version of it.

But the truth was, you couldn't help noticing the way her attention made you feel.

Like she saw something in you that no one else had. It wasn't long before those fleeting interactions turned into something else entirely: Cairo waiting for you after class with that same unreadable smirk, Cairo texting you late at night asking if you were up, Cairo pulling you into her orbit in a way that felt effortless.

You told yourself you should've known better. You'd heard all the stories, seen the aftermath of what she could do.

But every time you thought about walking away, you'd hear her voice in your head, low and teasing, or see the way she leaned a little closer than she needed to when she talked to you.

And then it went further.

It had started slowly. Cairo had begun finding reasons to linger after English class, asking about your interpretations of certain texts or how you'd structured your notes.

She hadn't needed the input—she was one of the best students in the subject, her essays always marked with the highest grades and her name consistently praised in class discussions.

At first, you had assumed it was just convenience; you were one of the only people who matched her level of effort. But the excuses had become more frequent, her attention more focused, until her presence became a constant thread in your life, woven in so seamlessly that you didn't even notice when it tightened.

The night she showed up at your door had felt inevitable, though you wouldn't have admitted it then.

Cairo had mentioned offhandedly how she preferred studying with someone else for perspective, and at the time, you'd barely registered it. But when she appeared, backpack slung over her shoulder, her expression calm and unbothered, it hadn't been a surprise.

There was no preamble, no hesitation. She had walked into your room with a confidence that felt natural, claiming space without even asking.

At first, it had been nothing out of the ordinary. Books and notes spread across your bed, Cairo sitting cross-legged across from you as the two of you discussed the upcoming exam.

Her questions were sharp, her observations even sharper. She had a way of speaking that made you feel like she already knew the answer but wanted to hear what you had to say anyway. You'd spent hours like that, trading ideas and bouncing thoughts back and forth, her handwriting neat and methodical as she jotted down lines in her notebook.

But at some point, the conversation had drifted. It wasn't abrupt, just a natural shift, like a tide rolling in without warning.

She'd asked about the books you read outside of class, about your favorite authors, your least favorite, and before you knew it, the two of you were sitting closer, your legs brushing as you talked. Her voice had softened, her gaze lingering on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

It had felt harmless at first. Cairo had always had a way of commanding attention, of drawing you in even when you knew better.

But when her hand brushed against yours, the air shifted. It was so subtle you almost convinced yourself it was accidental, but then her fingers lingered, trailing against your skin just enough to leave you breathless.

By the time she leaned in, it didn't feel sudden at all. Her lips had met yours with a deliberateness that left no room for hesitation, her hand sliding to the back of your neck as she deepened the kiss.

You'd known then that there was no going back, that this wasn't just another moment to file away under casual study sessions. Cairo had a way of making everything feel inevitable, like it was all a part of her plan from the beginning.

The hours after that had passed in a haze. The notes and textbooks had been forgotten, your conversations abandoned as Cairo pulled you closer, her body pressed against yours in a way that made you forget everything you'd ever heard about her.

She had been as deliberate as ever, her touch calculated but intoxicating, like she knew exactly how to make you fall apart and was savoring every second of it.

When it was over, the room had felt heavier, the silence punctuated only by the faint hum of your desk lamp. Cairo had stretched out beside you, her head resting on your pillow, her expression unreadable.

She hadn't said much, only reaching for her phone to check the time before pulling her shirt back on with the same calm, unbothered demeanor she always carried.

And just like that, she had left, her notebook tucked under her arm, her goodbye nothing more than a casual "See you tomorrow." As if nothing had happened. As if she hadn't just turned your entire world upside down and walked away without a second thought.

That was when it all started.

The whole rollercoaster.

One day, it was like you were the only person in her world—her texts coming in rapid bursts, her presence at your side like she couldn't bear to be away from you.

The next day, she'd barely say a word, her gaze sliding past you in the halls as if you were just another face in the crowd. Cairo had always been unpredictable, but now, it felt personal.

One moment, she'd pull you into a corner after class, her touch lingering on your wrist as she whispered something that made your chest tighten, and the next, she'd laugh with her friends right in front of you, not even sparing you a glance.

The day after you'd slept together, she had acted like it never happened. She'd sat next to you in English like always, her notebook open and her handwriting as neat as ever, answering the teacher's questions with her usual confidence.

But there had been no acknowledgment of the night before—no sly glance, no shared moment of understanding. Nothing.

You'd tried not to let it bother you. Cairo wasn't the type to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and maybe you'd expected too much.

But then, just when you thought you'd misread everything, she'd catch your eye in the hallway, her lips curling into a smirk that sent your thoughts spiraling. She'd brush against you in passing, her hand grazing your arm, leaving you wondering if it had been intentional or just a coincidence.

The cycle was maddening. Some days, she'd text you late at night, her messages full of inside jokes and clever observations that made you feel like you were the only person who truly understood her.

Other days, your phone would stay silent, and when you saw her at school, she'd talk to you like nothing had changed, her tone casual, her demeanor almost cold.

You'd tell yourself you wouldn't let it get to you, but it always did. Cairo had a way of pulling you in, her charm disarming even when you knew better.

She could make you feel special with a single glance, only to leave you questioning everything with her silence the next day. It was a push and pull, a constant tug-of-war that left you breathless and exhausted all at once.

There were moments when you thought she might care—when she'd show up at your door unannounced, her face softer than usual, asking if you wanted to go for a drive or watch something with her.

Those nights, she'd talk about things she rarely shared, her voice quiet as she told you about her childhood or the pressure she felt to always be in control. She'd lean her head on your shoulder, her fingers brushing against yours, and for a little while, it felt real. It felt like maybe she needed you as much as you needed her.

But then morning would come, and she'd slip back into the version of herself that kept everyone at arm's length. She'd thank you for letting her crash or for the coffee you'd made her, her tone light and detached, and by the time she walked out the door, it was like none of it had ever happened.

The inconsistency was suffocating, yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go. Every time she pulled away, you told yourself it was the last time, that you wouldn't let her back in. But then she'd flash you that crooked smile, or send you a text that made you laugh despite yourself, and all your resolve would crumble.

It wasn't just about the moments she was kind—it was the way she made you feel when she was. Like you were the exception, the one person who could get past the walls she'd built. It was intoxicating, even when it hurt, even when you knew you were only setting yourself up for disappointment.

Cairo never apologized, not really.

When she pulled you close again after days of silence, it wasn't with words but with gestures—a hand on your knee during class, a smirk as she slid into the seat beside you, a text at midnight that said nothing but still made you stay up just in case she sent another.

You told yourself you could handle it. That the highs were worth the lows, that maybe someday, she'd stop running, stop retreating into herself. But deep down, you knew the truth. Cairo was who she was—beautiful, magnetic, and devastatingly out of reach.

And yet, you stayed.

Some nights, the loneliness settled over you like a second skin, cold and suffocating. You'd sit with your phone in your hand, staring at the screen, waiting for her name to light up. It became a ritual—hoping, waiting, trying not to check the time too often because every glance at the clock only reminded you of how long it had been since you'd last heard from her.

It was always the same. Cairo's excuses blurred together over time, a monotonous loop that left you questioning why you still held on. They came hours later, always casual, laced with just enough indifference to remind you where you stood.

Sorry, I was showering.

That one had been her go-to more than once. You could still remember the times you waited, your phone always within reach, even when you shouldn't have been so eager.

Multiple times, you'd been in the shower yourself, the water cascading down your back as you heard the buzz of your phone over the noise. You'd reached out instinctively, nearly dropping it as you wiped your hand on a towel to see her message. The words stared back at you, plain and detached. You replied as always, that it was fine.

It wasn't. But what else was there to say?

Sorry, I had no battery on my phone.

That excuse always came with a hint of carelessness, as if she hadn't even noticed the hours you spent waiting for her reply.

You'd been sitting on the floor that time, your back against the bedframe, knees pulled to your chest. The outlet was too far from your bed, so you stayed there, tethered to the wall like some desperate, foolish thing.

The charger stretched just enough for your phone to stay on, its faint glow illuminating your face. Her message arrived eventually, and you'd stared at it for a long moment, the words twisting something inside you. Still, you'd typed your response. It's fine.

Sorry, I was out with Winnie.

She always mentioned Winnie like she were some unspoken priority, a reminder that you were never really part of her world.

That particular excuse had come while you were in the back seat of a car, squished between your friends as they shouted along to your favorite song.

Their joy felt distant, like a muffled sound through thick glass. You'd glanced at your phone, your heart sinking as you read her words. It didn't matter that you were surrounded by people who cared about you—it only mattered that Cairo didn't. Your reply had been quick, almost automatic. It's fine. But the lump in your throat told a different story.

Sorry, I had class.

That one had come during History once, during a class you'd only chosen because she was in it too. Your phone had vibrated on your desk, and you'd snatched it up quickly, your pulse quickening at the sight of her name.

But the message itself had been underwhelming, just another half-hearted apology. You'd barely had time to respond before the teacher's shadow loomed over you, her hand outstretched to confiscate your phone. You typed back the same words as always, It's fine, even as your cheeks burned with embarrassment. It wasn't fine. It never was.

Sorry, I fell asleep.

That one might have been the worst.

You'd waited three hours that night, staring at your phone until the screen dimmed and the battery warning flashed. It felt pathetic, even in the moment, but you couldn't stop yourself from hoping.

When her message finally came, you almost wished it hadn't. The words felt like a punch to the chest, so casual and uncaring, as if she hadn't realized how long you'd been waiting—or worse, as if she had and simply didn't care. Your response had been the same as always, but this time, your hands had trembled as you typed.

These weren't one-off moments. They were patterns—predictable, painful, and yet impossible to walk away from. Every excuse carried the same weight, a reminder that you were never her priority, never the one she truly cared about. But somehow, even after all of it, you stayed. You replied. You waited.

Because part of you couldn't help but hope that one day, she might mean it when she said she was sorry.

Your friends had tried to tell you before. So many times, actually. They had spoken to you in their patient, understanding tones at first, as if easing you into a truth you already knew but couldn't bring yourself to face.

Cairo isn't good for you. You deserve better. She doesn't care about you the way you care about her.

The words had echoed in your mind, even as you'd brushed them off. You'd nodded, said you'd think about it, maybe even pretended to agree.

But the truth was, their concern had always bounced off the walls you'd built around Cairo. It wasn't their business, you'd told yourself. They didn't see the side of her you did—the glimpses of vulnerability, the rare moments when she made you feel like you were the only one who mattered.

But those moments had grown fewer and farther between. Lately, they felt like distant memories, the kind you cling to out of desperation rather than hope.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when it shifted. Maybe it was the hundredth time she'd left your messages unread, or the way she only texted back when it was convenient for her.

Maybe it was the excuses that started to sound more like indifference than apologies. Or maybe it was the way you realized, slowly and painfully, that you couldn't remember the last time Cairo had truly asked about you—your day, your feelings, your life beyond what you could do for her.

And then there were your friends. They hadn't stopped trying, even when it became clear you weren't ready to listen.

Their voices grew sharper, less patient, but not unkind. You're breaking your own heart, they'd said once. She's not worth it. And for the first time, those words didn't feel like a slap; they felt like the truth.

It wasn't just the words, though. It was the way they looked at you—really looked at you.

Not with judgment, but with something softer, something sad. You'd seen it in their eyes when they caught you checking your phone, hoping for a reply that never came. You'd felt it in the way they lingered after conversations, hesitant to leave you alone with your thoughts.

And maybe that's what finally cracked the foundation you'd built for her—the realization that the people who truly cared about you were right there, offering you more love and patience than Cairo ever had.

You started to notice the things you'd ignored before: the weight in your chest when her name popped up on your screen, the exhaustion that came from trying to decipher her mixed signals, the way her words always seemed to twist just enough to make you feel like the unreasonable one.

It wasn't a sudden epiphany. It wasn't some grand, dramatic moment where you declared that enough was enough. It was quieter than that, slower. Like a tide receding, pulling back layer by layer, until you could finally see the damage left behind.

It happened one night when you were with your friends. They'd said something—maybe a joke, maybe just a passing comment about Cairo—and instead of defending her, you'd stayed silent. It wasn't because you were angry or hurt; it was because, for the first time, you couldn't find a reason to argue.

That silence was heavier than anything you'd ever felt. It wasn't the kind that begged to be filled with excuses or justifications. It was the kind that felt like acceptance.

And that's when you knew. You didn't need Cairo to apologize again, to make another excuse, to promise she'd do better and then fall back into the same patterns. You didn't need anything from her anymore.

For the first time, you realized the person you needed to save was yourself.

Which was why you decided to pull away.

It wasn't an easy decision. Cairo had a way of pulling you back in, of making it hard to let go of the idea of her, even when she'd done nothing to deserve your loyalty. But you'd had enough of being her secret. Enough of being good enough only when it suited her.

English with Mr. Solace was where it started.

Cairo slid into the chair beside you like it was hers by default, like she hadn't spent days treating you as if you barely existed. She gave you that soft smile, the one that always felt a little too rehearsed, before it shifted into something sharper—teasing, flirty. The smirk that had once made your heart race now only irritated you.

You kept your eyes on your notebook, pen moving in deliberate strokes. You weren't writing anything meaningful, but it didn't matter. The point was to ignore her, to refuse her the attention she always seemed to expect.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw her watching you. She didn't like being ignored. You could feel her presence, her attempts to draw you in, like a weight pressing down on your shoulders.

She leaned back in her chair, her bag sliding off her shoulder and onto the floor with a soft thud. Her arm brushed yours briefly as she adjusted herself, and you knew it wasn't accidental.

But you didn't move. You didn't flinch, didn't look, didn't react the way you might have just weeks ago.

Mr. Solace’s voice filled the room as he began his lecture, his words blending into a low hum in the background. You were just starting to think you'd get through the class without an incident when you felt it—her fingers brushing against your thigh.

It was subtle at first, just the barest hint of contact, like she was testing the waters. Then her touch grew bolder, her palm hovering before she let it settle lightly against your leg.

Your heart didn't race this time. Instead, it sank.

This was Cairo, wasn't it? Always acting like you belonged to her when no one was watching, when it was convenient. Always making sure her actions stayed hidden, as if she couldn't bear for anyone else to know what you meant to her—if you even meant anything at all.

For a moment, you froze. The old you would've let it slide, let her hand stay there, and hoped it meant something more than it ever did. But not this time.

This time, you pulled away.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you shifted back, the sound cutting through the quiet hum of Mr. Solace’s lecture. A few heads turned, but you didn't care.

You felt Cairo's hand drop away immediately, her fingers curling into her palm as if she'd been burned. For a moment, you didn't dare look at her. Your focus stayed locked on your notebook, your pen frozen mid-stroke as you tried to steady your breathing.

But the silence beside you was deafening.

Finally, you glanced sideways, just briefly, and what you saw caught you off guard. Cairo wasn't wearing her usual mask of indifference. Her brow was furrowed, her lips slightly parted like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Her eyes darted toward you, then away, as if she was trying to figure out what had just happened. She looked confused, maybe even hurt—but there was something else too. Anger. That familiar glint of frustration she got whenever something didn't go her way.

You forced yourself to look away before she could meet your gaze fully.

The rest of the lesson dragged on, but the tension between you didn't fade. Cairo sat rigid in her seat, her hands resting stiffly on her desk. She didn't try to touch you again, but you could feel her presence, heavy and unrelenting, like she was willing you to look at her.

You didn't.

When the bell rang, you stood quickly, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder in one smooth motion. Cairo hesitated, her movements slower, almost hesitant, like she wasn't sure what to do next.

You didn't wait to find out. You walked out of the room without a backward glance, your heart pounding in your chest.

The hallway was a blur of noise and motion as you pushed your way through the crowd, your bag slung over one shoulder and your gaze fixed straight ahead.

You didn't want to linger. You didn't want to give her the chance to catch up, to say anything that might make you second-guess the boundaries you were finally starting to set.

You weaved around groups of students loitering by the lockers, dodging the occasional stray elbow or careless backpack.

The dull roar of conversations and laughter filled the air, but it all felt distant, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Your locker wasn't far now—just a few feet away. If you could make it there, if you could grab your things and blend into the crowd again, you might be able to avoid her altogether.

But then you heard it.

"Y/N!"

Her voice cut through the chaos, not loud enough to draw attention from anyone else but clear enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You pretended not to hear. You kept walking, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag as if holding on to something solid could keep you from looking back.

The distance and the noise of the hallway worked in your favor for now, her voice fading slightly as another group of students spilled out of a nearby classroom, blocking her path.

For a moment, you thought you might actually make it.

But you should've known better. Cairo never let things go.

Her footsteps were quick and purposeful, cutting through the crowd with an ease that only someone like her could manage.

You felt the shift in the air before you even saw her—felt her presence, familiar and inescapable, closing in on you like a shadow.

"Y/N!" This time, her voice was closer, sharper, laced with an edge of frustration.

You didn't stop, didn't slow, even though the knot in your stomach tightened with every step. You could feel her catching up, her determination practically radiating off her like heat.

And then her hand was on your wrist.

The contact was sudden, firm, and you had no choice but to stop as she turned you around to face her.

Cairo stood there, her chest rising and falling slightly from the effort of chasing you down. Her hand stayed wrapped around your wrist, not tight enough to hurt but strong enough to keep you from pulling away.

Her expression was unreadable at first, a mix of emotions flickering across her face so quickly that you couldn't pin any of them down.

Her lips parted, like she was about to say something, but for a moment, she didn't. She just looked at you, her brows furrowed and her jaw tense, as if she were trying to piece together what had just happened.

The noise of the hallway felt like it faded away, the two of you caught in a strange, charged silence.

You pulled your wrist from her grasp, the movement sharp and deliberate, and took a small step back, putting space between you.

Cairo stayed where she was, rooted to the spot as if the act of you pulling away had left her momentarily stunned. Her hand fell to her side, and she tilted her head, her gaze fixed on your face, searching for something she couldn't seem to find.

Confusion flickered across her features, quickly giving way to something sharper—something almost hurt.

Her lips parted, but when she spoke, it wasn't vulnerability that came through. Instead, there was an edge, a hint of attitude in her voice that sharpened every syllable.

"What was that all about?" she asked, her accent thick, the natural rasp of her tone cutting through the air between you. Normally, it was the kind of thing you would've found endearing, even attractive. But not now. Not after everything.

You crossed your arms, schooling your features into indifference. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Cairo blinked, caught off guard for a split second before she let out a low, almost mocking laugh. She leaned slightly toward you, her cocky demeanor sliding effortlessly back into place.

"Oh, come on," she said, her voice low enough that only you could hear over the hum of the hallway. "I tried to touch you, and you freak out?" Her lips curled into a smirk, the kind she always used when she thought she had you right where she wanted you.

Her eyes narrowed, teasing, self-assured, as she added, "Am I that intimidating?"

She said it like it was a compliment, like it was supposed to make your heart skip a beat the way it always used to. It was a flirt, the kind of thing that once would've left you fumbling for words or glancing away to hide the flush on your cheeks.

But not now.

You didn't falter. You didn't give her the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you met her gaze with a calm, steady look that made her smirk falter, the corners of her mouth twitching downward as uncertainty crept into her expression.

"No," you said simply, your voice firm. "I just don't want to do this anymore."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Cairo's brows knit together, her lips parting in surprise as she stared at you like you'd just spoken a foreign language. Then, her expression shifted—confusion morphing into something sharper, almost disgusted, as though she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.

"What?" she said, her voice laced with attitude, the word drawn out like she was challenging you to explain yourself. Her tone was a mix of disbelief and defiance, as if the very idea of you pulling away from her was both shocking and offensive.

You couldn't tell if she genuinely didn't understand or if she was playing dumb, but part of you suspected the latter. Maybe she hadn't considered this possibility—hadn't imagined a world where you would be the one to step back, to say no.

If she did understand, she was probably thinking about how this wasn't supposed to happen to her. People didn't end things with Cairo Sweet. She ended things with them.

But this wasn't even an ending, was it? It wasn't a breakup, because this wasn't a relationship. Not really.

Whatever it was, though, it was over. You weren't going to let her keep playing you like this.

The silence stretched between you, the tension palpable. Cairo's gaze darted over your face, searching for any hint of hesitation, but you didn't waver. For once, you were sure of yourself.

And it was clear, for the first time, that she didn't know what to do about it.

"Look, Cairo." Your voice came out steadier than you expected, even with the weight of what you were about to say pressing down on your chest. "I don't know what this is," you continued, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, "but I want it to be over."

Cairo's head jerked back like you'd slapped her, her brows knitting together in a sharp furrow as her lips parted slightly. For a moment, she just stared at you, blinking like she couldn't quite process the words you'd just said.

Her mouth twisted into something unreadable, almost like disgust, but you knew better. It wasn't disgust. It was shock. Maybe even hurt, though you weren't sure if it was for the right reasons.

"What?" she finally said, her voice low and almost breathless, like she'd forgotten how to breathe properly.

You could've stopped there. Maybe you should've. But there was too much left unsaid, too much that had been building up for far too long.

"I'm tired, Cairo," you said, the words simple but cutting.

Her expression shifted, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing her face before she quickly masked it with that familiar attitude, the one that had kept you hooked for far too long. But she didn't say anything, didn't interrupt, so you kept going.

"You treat me like I'm supposed to be grateful for the scraps you throw my way," you said, your voice low but firm, the words landing like a stone in the pit of your stomach. "But I'm done. I'm not waiting anymore."

Cairo's jaw tightened, her arms crossing over her chest defensively as she stared at you. There was no cocky smirk now, no teasing glint in her eye. For once, she didn't look like she had all the answers.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally, her tone sharp, almost dismissive, but the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. "Yeah, you do. You just don't like hearing it."

Her brows furrowed even deeper, her mouth opening like she was about to argue, but she hesitated, the words catching in her throat. For the first time, Cairo Sweet looked uncertain.

And it was oddly freeing, seeing her like that, knowing that for once, you weren't the one left doubting everything. You were done playing this game.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you looked at her one last time. She still hadn't said anything, her mouth slightly open as if the words were stuck somewhere between her throat and her pride. Her arms were still crossed, but you could see the cracks in her armor now—confusion, maybe even hurt, flickering across her face in ways she couldn't quite hide.

But it wasn't enough to stop you.

"Maybe you should find someone else to play with," you said evenly, your voice low but sharp enough to cut through the tension between you. You didn't say it with malice or anger, just a quiet, undeniable finality.

Her lips parted further, her eyes narrowing as if to mask the shock that was written all over her face. She didn't respond, and you didn't wait for her to.

Instead, you turned and walked away, your footsteps firm and deliberate, even as the noise of the crowded hallway swallowed the moment whole. You didn't look back, didn't let yourself wonder what her expression looked like now or if she was still standing there, watching you leave.

Because this time, you weren't leaving to get her attention.

#jenna ortega x reader #mabel x reader #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #wednesday addams x reader #melissa barrera x reader #sam carpenter #ask #sam carpenter x reader

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seospicybin · 3 months ago

Text

I DARE YOU.

Felix x reader. (s)

Synopsis: The shy you meet the charming stranger, Felix, through a dare that leads you both into a whirlwind of a night filled with new, unexpected things. (17,6k words)

Author's note: It’s a late bday fic for Felix. I had soooooo much fun writing the smut in this one and I rarely said that so I hope you had fun too reading it x

Not this—being in a loud, dark club with Rex and her friends, a group of people you barely know, and the alcohol in your glass isn't any less foreign, a poor substitute for your usual chamomile tea.

A typical Friday night for you usually means snuggling on the sofa with your favorite blanket, a book in hand, and a cup of tea.

The music is thumping, the strobing lights flickering incessantly, and the sheer chaos of it all overwhelms your senses. It's overstimulating, like stepping into a world where you don't quite belong.

But here you are, trying to push past your comfort zone for one night, specifically for your best friend, Rex. You make the exception because it's her birthday.

You've known Rex since high school, and to this second, you're still not entirely sure how you two became best friends.

Rex is everything you aren’t—fierce, vibrant, and unapologetically confident—while you are introverted, shy, and awkward. Yet somehow, in that contrast, you found something that clicked. Maybe it's the way she effortlessly pulls you out of your shell or the way she always has your back without needing to say much.

For almost eight years now, this unlikely bond has stood the test of time, bridging the gap between your quiet, dull world and her wild, colorful one.

However, at times, the stark contrast between you and Rex pushes you to the edge. She thrives on excitement, constantly seeking new experiences, while you cling to routine. You like the comfort of predictability—having the same breakfast every day, enjoying the calm of your familiar surroundings. Rex, on the other hand, is always nudging you, sometimes even shoving you, to break free from that comfort zone. She wants you to explore, to live a little, and while you appreciate her intentions, it can feel overwhelming. She never seems to understand that trying new, exciting things isn’t natural for you the way it is for her.

Just like tonight. Rex has convinced everyone to play Never Have I Ever, and it quickly becomes apparent how out of place you are.

Every statement, every confession, is about wild, reckless things—everything you’ve never done. With each round, your glass remains untouched while everyone else takes shots, laughing as they reveal their mischievous pasts.

By the time the group is tipsy and lightheaded from confessing their wild and naughty escapades, you are still as sober as ever, quietly sitting there, feeling even more like a fish out of water.

Rex eventually notices your lack of participation. She puts down her glass and says, “Alright, this is getting boring. Let’s change the game!”

You notice her eyes flicking to you, and you feel your heart sink. “But I’m having fun,” you assure her, forcing an awkward laugh.

Your words are not entirely false. It isn’t like you aren’t having fun—it just isn’t your kind of fun.

Rex smirks, knowing you too well. She can see through your calm façade. “Sure you are. Alright, Never Have I Ever cheated on a test?"

Everyone else laughs, raising their glasses to take a shot, but your glass stays put.

“Guys, you shouldn’t cheat on...” your words trail off as you notice the looks they give you.

“See?” Rex says, turning back to you. “It’s not fun if you’re not participating.”

You scoff, but you can't really argue. It's true. The game isn’t exactly designed for someone like you.

“I’m still having fun,” you insist with a faint smile, but even you can hear how fake that sounds.

Rex lets out a sigh and scoots closer to you. “It’s my birthday, and I want my best friend to have fun on my birthday.”

One of her friends groans, putting her glass down with an exaggerated eye roll. “Whatever, I’m hitting the dance floor.” She slides out of the booth, and the rest follow, leaving you and Rex alone.

Maybe Rex’s birthday has become a bit boring because of you, but you told her before that you would’ve preferred a small gathering at your apartment, maybe just the two of you.

“I’m sorry I’m ruining your birthday,” you mumble, feeling guilty for being a party pooper and aware that it's unfair to her.

However, Rex’s attention has already drifted elsewhere—on someone, to be exact. She turns her head back at you with her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“He’s been checking you out,” she whispers against the loud music.

You snort and shake your head in disbelief, glancing in the direction she subtly nods toward, checking if she's telling the truth.

Across the room, a guy with bleached blond hair and tattooed hands sits casually, dressed in a leather jacket. His fair skin and delicate features are striking, but you can’t help but laugh to yourself. There is no way he is checking you out—not when Rex, your stunning, lively best friend, is sitting right next to you.

Before you can argue, Rex turns your head toward him. Your eyes lock with his instantly, and your heart skips a beat. You tell yourself it's just the loud, thumping music making your chest pound like that. He smiles faintly at you, and you quickly look away, feeling heat rise in your cheeks.

“Okay, new game!” Rex suddenly announces, clapping her hands.

You blink in shock. “Wait, what?”

“Don’t worry, it’s just between you and me,” Rex says with a mischievous grin, taking a second to sip her drink.

You raise an eyebrow, wary of what she has in mind. “Okay...?” you respond nervously.

“Truth or dare,” Rex finally reveals, her eyes gleaming with trouble. “But here’s the twist—there’s no truth.”

“Rex, I don’t—” you begin, but she cuts you off by covering your mouth with her hand.

“It’s my birthday,” she says, her voice low yet commanding. “You’re obliged to do whatever I ask.”

You sigh, nodding reluctantly. Rex removes her hand and holds yours instead, her fingers cool and reassuring despite her devious smile.

“My dear best friend,” she says, that mischievous grin lingering on her red-painted lips, “I dare you to kiss that guy.”

Your eyes follow her finger, and it's pointing at the bleached blond guy with the tattooed hands across the room.

“What? No way!” You blurt out, eyes widening in shock.

“Come on! It’s just a kiss. You can do it," Rex says casually, showing how different the two of you view this dare. She then squeezes your hand and adds, "Besides, he’s been staring at you all night.”

Your heart pounds, not from the music but from the sheer terror of Rex’s dare. Kiss a stranger? In a club? You aren’t Rex—confident and fearless. You’re the girl who barely participated in Never Have I Ever because the wildest thing you’ve ever done is stay up late to study for finals.

“But I… I don’t know him,” you stammer, your palms getting sweaty on your lap.

“That’s the point of the game!" Rex says lightly. "And it’s not like he hasn’t noticed you. He smiled, didn’t he?”

The idea terrifies you, but there is also a small part of you—buried deep under all the shyness and caution—that is curious. What if you step out of your comfort zone for once? What if you do something wild, something you’d never do on your own?

As if she hears your thoughts, Rex leans closer and softly says, “You’ve spent your whole life playing it safe. It’s just one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You glance back toward the guy. He’s still sitting there, calm and collected, his long bleached-blonde hair falling effortlessly around his face. He hasn’t looked away since your brief, flustered glance earlier. Instead, he seems… unfazed, but there’s something curious in his eyes, like he’s still watching, waiting.

“I can’t,” you mutter again, shaking your head, feeling that familiar wave of discomfort rise in your chest.

Rex leans in closer, holding your hand gently. “Look, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable. I just want you to have fun for once, not think about everything so much. You trust me, right?”

Of course you trust her. Rex has been by your side for eight years, through thick and thin. As wild as she is, she always has your back, no matter what.

The logical part of your brain screams at you to refuse, to stay in your lane. But there’s another voice, quieter but growing louder with each passing second, telling you to just do it, to be bold, even if just for one night.

You inhale deeply, your hand still in hers, and with a shaky voice, you say, “Fine. But if I make a fool of myself, I'll kill you and leave your body in a ditch.”

Rex bursts out laughing, not finding your words threatening at all. “Deal! Now go get him, tiger!” she says, giving you a playful slap on the butt.

“I can’t believe I’m about to do this,” you mutter under your breath, standing up on legs already turning to jelly.

You look over your shoulder and find Rex grinning, clearly delighted. As encouragement, she gives you a nudge in the guy's direction.

As you walk toward him, each step feels surreal, heavier than the last. It doesn’t take long before the guy notices you, and to your surprise, his faint smile grows.

When you finally stop in front of him, you don’t know what to say. Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you regret even considering the dare. But despite everything, you hear your own voice ask, “Do you mind if I kiss you?”

There's no turning back now, and it’s not like he's the type to say no, not with the way he's looking at you—intrigued. And despite the panic in your chest, there’s something thrilling about the way he watches you.

He looks at you with a mix of surprise and amusement, then his smile turns soft. “How could I say no to that?” he says, his voice surprisingly low and deep.

Not giving yourself time to overthink, you close the gap between you and him, leaning in as he does the same until your lips and his meet in the middle.

The kiss isn’t wild or reckless like you imagined it would be. It’s gentle, slow, and—much to your surprise—perfectly in tune with the moment. It feels like the first time you’ve ever kissed anyone, full of nerves, fluttering excitement, and the kind of tenderness you hadn’t expected from a stranger.

When you pull back, your hand flies to your lips, barely believing you’ve just done that. Your heart is still racing, but this time, it isn’t just from fear. You feel the thrill and rush of stepping out of your comfort zone, and you think... maybe you can push yourself a little more, just a little bit.

Absentmindedly, you open your mouth and ask, “Do you want to get out of here?”

It's a typical Friday night for Felix—hanging at the club with his friends, having a few drinks, casually watching the scene. The same kind of night he's had countless times. His eyes wander across the room, drifting from one group of people to another, and then… he sees you.

You're completely out of place, dressed in something someone would wear to church on Sunday, your glasses slightly sliding down your nose, sitting with your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The glass you're holding? He's pretty sure it's just an accessory for your idle hand. Then he observes the people you're with—they're clearly here to let loose and have fun, his usual type—the kind of girls who are bold and uninhibited. But you? You're different, and that’s what intrigues him.

Felix isn’t being judgmental. He knows everyone needs to blow off some steam once in a while, but there's something about seeing you in this environment that captivates him. You don’t belong here, not really, and yet here you are. The juxtaposition of your quiet presence amidst the chaos of the club fascinates him. He finds himself watching you without meaning to, drawn to how out of place you are.

Then, your eyes meet. You look right at him from across the room, and he doesn't look away. He holds your gaze, wondering if you’ll hold it too, but you drop your eyes almost immediately.

The shyness in that simple act is oddly cute because most girls he meets in places like this are bold, forward. They don't shy away from eye contact, but you? There is something sweet in your hesitance.

The second time you glance over, Felix notices a change. You're a little braver, and this time, you don’t just look—you stand up. Your steps are hesitant but purposeful as you cross the room, and before he can think too much about it, you're right in front of him.

“Do you mind if I kissed you?” you ask, your voice soft, small yet determined.

Felix raises an eyebrow, surprised but amused. He can’t help but smile at the way you asked for permission. Most girls don’t ask—they just do. But your politeness, your shyness, the way you're so out of place in this club yet standing in front of him, asking so sweetly—it's irresistible.

He looks at you, his smile widening. “How could I say no to that?”

A kiss has always just been a kiss for Felix—a simple way to satisfy some biological need, with no deeper meaning behind it. But this? This kiss doesn’t feel like that.

The kiss takes him back to something he hasn’t felt in years—the thrill of a first kiss. The kind that's innocent, pure, and full of nervous excitement. He can’t remember the last time he had a kiss that made him feel like this—something chaste but electrifying all at once.

As you pull away, Felix almost groans in protest. He wants more, needs more of that flutter, that spark. His lips tingle, and he can tell yours do too, as your hand flies up to your mouth as if you can’t believe what just happened.

"Do you want to get out of here?" you ask, your voice shy, but with a daring edge that Felix hadn’t expected.

Your charm is something else—shy and demure one moment, then bold and forward the next, endlessly fascinating him. There's just something about you that makes this feel less like a random encounter and more like something worth exploring.

Consider his curiosity piqued, eager to see where this unlikely encounter will take him next. He meets your gaze, a playful smile tugging at his lips, then he says, "Lead the way!"

You turn, feeling the heat of his presence close behind you as you make your way through the packed club. The noise slowly recedes, replaced by a focused, almost intimate atmosphere between you.

As you reach the exit, Felix places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. Once outside, the cool night air hits you, a refreshing contrast to the club’s stuffy heat.

Felix glances at you, his smile still in place, and asks, “So, what’s the plan?”

To be honest, you have no idea why you asked him out. You acted spontaneously, which is unlike you, but you know what you want. You crave the thrill and the excitement, and ultimately, more of that explosive kiss.

Without thinking, you reach for Felix’s arm, pulling him toward the dimly lit alley next to the club. The urgency between you both is palpable, the energy from that brief kiss still simmering just beneath the surface.

As soon as you're out of sight from the street, Felix pins you against a stack of old crates filled with empty beer bottles. His hands find your waist and pull you close. Your lips collide again, this time more passionate, more intense. Your heart is beating out of your chest as your fingers tangle in his long hair.

In the intensity of the moment, you lean back slightly, misjudging the proximity of the crate. Your head strikes the edge with a sharp thud, and the sudden pain makes you wince.

You gasp and accidentally break the kiss for a second, but you decide to laugh it off—you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice tinted with concern.

“I’m fine," you say, half-laughing.

Felix smiles, though concern fills his eyes as he leans in close. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m—” you begin to blabber, wanting to resume the heated moment by leaning in for another kiss, but you immediately stop when you notice the shift in his expression.

His hand reaches up to the side of your head, and that’s when you feel it too—the warm, sticky sensation spreading through your hair. Then, he shows you his fingers, coated with your blood.

“I don’t think you're okay,” he mutters, his voice suddenly serious. “You’re bleeding.”

You can feel the adrenaline and embarrassment mingling as the pain begins to set in.

Felix gently touches your shoulder, trying to comfort you as he guides you away from the alley. “We need to get this checked out. We need to go to the hospital.”

Oh, no! This was supposed to be your night of finally breaking out of your shell, not a night where you make a fool of yourself in front of a hot guy.

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t need to go to the hospital,” you insist, trying to brush off the situation.

He shakes his head firmly, but his hand remains gentle on the small of your back. “We’re getting this checked out. You can’t just ignore it.”

Without taking any of your excuses, Felix hails a taxi until one stops and pulls to the side of the road. He helps you get in, and on the ride to the nearest hospital, he checks on you every once in a while, asking if you're okay. His tatted hands and rough exterior are such a contrast to his gentle, attentive demeanor.

That only makes you hate how the night has taken a turn. The two of you could have done more than just kiss by now if it weren’t for you bumping your head on a stupid crate.

“Come back if you feel dizzy, nauseous, or if there’s a ringing in your ears,” the doctor says as she takes off her latex gloves, leaving the nurse to finish the rest.

Despite the night’s earlier excitement, you feel a tinge of embarrassment about the whole incident. You're thinking of faking a concussion just to stay the night in the emergency room, but you're aware that would only make him worry more about you.

Guess there's no other option but to push your way through this humiliation.

As you step out of the emergency room, you see him standing against the wall, looking impossibly cool in his rough leather jacket. With his striking features, he could’ve been doing a photo shoot for a magazine.

“Hi,” you nervously greet him.

The adrenaline has drained from your body, leaving you feeling deflated. It's like the girl who kissed a stranger in a dark alley has vanished, replaced by your usual shy, awkward self—plus, you now have a bandage on your forehead.

The magic of the night has faded, and you wouldn't blame Felix if he decided to leave now that he’s met the real you. He glances up from his phone, a soft smile stretching across his lips.

“Hey. You okay?” he asks, putting his phone back into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“Three stitches, no concussion,” you say, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, that’s a relief,” Felix sighs, visibly relaxing.

“You know, you don’t have to wait for me. I can deal with this myself,” you say, feeling a little guilty. He’s already done enough by helping you get to the hospital.

“I can’t do that,” Felix says, his voice steady.

“Why not?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“I can’t just leave when you’re hurt,” he answers simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

That's such an unexpected answer from an unexpected man. He barely knows you, yet here he is, waiting outside an emergency room just to make sure you're okay. That thought warms you—but then it hits you: you don’t even know his name.

“Unless I’m actually concussed… do I know your name?” you ask with a shy laugh. “Or did we skip introductions?”

Felix chuckles, holding out his hand to you. “Felix,” he says, his deep voice sending a pleasant shiver through you.

You take his hand, offering your name in return. “Nice to meet you, Felix.”

It's about to get awkward from here, you can feel it. The momentum of the night has stalled, and now you aren’t sure what to say or do. You like him, but it feels like the window to continue this spontaneous night has closed. Maybe it’s better to retreat.

“I’d better head home,” you mutter in defeat, but deep down, you hope the end of the night won’t feel as anticlimactic as it seems.

To your surprise, Felix straightens up from the wall and turns toward the exit. With a warm and genuine smile, he offers, “Let me take you home.”

As Felix stands outside the emergency room, leaning against the wall, he notices you stepping out, looking more like yourself again—shy, awkward, but also kind of endearing. He can see the hint of embarrassment in your eyes, like you're expecting him to vanish now that things aren't as wild as they were earlier. But you have no idea he isn’t that kind of guy, not when it comes to this.

You walk over, your voice soft and uncertain as you greet him, “Hi.”

“Hey. You’re okay?” he puts on a smile, relieved that you're okay.

“Three stitches, no concussion,” you answer, trying to play it down.

“That’s a relief,” he sighs.

Honestly, if anything worse had happened to you, he would’ve felt responsible, and he can’t live with that. Sure, his appearance might have given off the wrong vibe, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You need help, so he helps you.

“You know, you don’t even have to wait for me. I can just deal with it myself," you awkwardly clasp your hands in front of you and keep avoiding his eyes as you speak.

“I can’t do that,” he says; there’s no way he leaves you alone after everything.

“Why not?” you ask, genuinely confused.

Felix doesn’t really have an answer to that, so he slowly shrugs and says, “I can’t just leave when you’re hurt.”

You give him this look, like you're trying to figure him out. He guesses you don't expect him to care, but he does, and that is that.

A moment passes in silence, and you shift awkwardly in front of him. “Unless I’m actually concussed... do I know your name, or did we skip the introduction?”

It only hits him now that you both indeed haven't introduced each other. He chuckles and holds out his hand. “Felix.”

You take it, and your hand feels warm and delicate in his. “Nice to meet you, Felix.”

You seem like you're about to wrap up the night, but he can see it in the way you're fidgeting, like you're ready to go but also unsure about how to end things.

“I’d better head home,” you mutter, your voice almost apologetic.

But Felix isn’t ready to end the night, and he can tell you don’t want to, either—you just don’t have the nerve to ask. And honestly, he doesn’t want the moment to slip away, so he decides to give you an out.

“Let me take you home,” he offers, and when your eyes meet his, he can see the relief flicker across your face.

When the taxi pulls up outside your apartment building, he watches you try to act cool, but he can tell you’re hesitating. You don’t want the night to end any more than he does, but you aren’t going to say it.

Felix has been with enough people to know when someone is too shy to speak up, and you are definitely in that space. He leans in slightly and asks, “Do you mind if I come in for a bit? I’m afraid I need to use your bathroom.”

Your face lights up with a smile you can’t hide, and he has to hold back a grin of his own.

“I don’t mind at all," you say, trying so hard to conceal the excitement in your voice.

The two of you head inside. You lead the way to your apartment, climbing the stairs, giving him a view of your back as the hem of your dress sways while you walk until you reach the fourth floor.

Thank God for that! If you climbed another flight of stairs, he would have followed his intrusive thoughts and dropped to his knees to peek under your skirt to see what kind of underwear you’re wearing.

Felix bets it's white, cotton, probably with cute floral prints. He shakes the thought away when you abruptly stop walking as you arrive at the front door of your apartment.

Once you unlock the door, you open it and step aside to let Felix in. He flashes you a smile as he steps in the small yet cozy apartment. He glances around and sees the pictures on the wall, mostly of you and a tall girl with curly brown hair. He remembers her as one of the girls you’ve been with at the club.

“The bathroom is that way,” you tell him, and Felix makes his way down the hall.

Once inside, he wastes a bit of time washing his hands, fixing his hair, checking the hair products, all the while giving you a moment to settle.

When he comes out, you’re in the kitchen, your hair now tied back into a low bun, exposing your neck and the soft tendrils of hair on the nape of your neck. You look… different, but still really cute.

“Would you like a drink?” you ask, sauntering your way to the fridge.

“Anything cold would be nice,” he answers.

You take two cans of soda out of the fridge, bringing them with you to the living room and sitting on the small sofa.

“Sit down, please,” you say, permitting him to sit in the space next to you since there’s no other place to sit.

“This is a nice apartment,” he comments, his eyes glancing around while his hand works the tab on his soda can.

“Thanks,” you mutter with a smile, holding the can of soda in both hands. It has been opened, but you're not drinking it.

"I can safely assume you live with a roommate?" he asks, then takes a gulp of his soda, which instantly refreshes him.

"Yes," you answer. "Rex, she’s one of the girls... back in the club," you awkwardly explain, confirming that he's right—she's the same girl from the club.

"Is it short for Tyrannosaurus—" he pauses for dramatic effect, "—Rex?"

You let out a chuckle and push your glasses up your nose. "Her real name is Rebecca, but she insisted on being called Rex because it's..."

"Sounds cooler?" he easily guesses.

"Yeah," you nod in confirmation, "and it's her birthday today, so..."

"That's why you were at the club?" he asks, slowly getting his curiosity answered.

"I think it's obvious that I wasn't there because of my own volition," you openly admit.

Felix can see it now—the way you seemed out of place back at the club. It isn’t your scene, and it makes sense now that you explained it is Rex’s thing. He hesitates, feeling a question burning in his mind, one that he needs an answer to, regardless of what it might reveal.

"And the kiss?"

Oh, no! Not this again.

Please don't say that Felix is actually interested in Rex and that he was checking her out instead of you. This wouldn't be your first time, but what a pity! What a pity it would be if that turned out to be true.

Until Felix asked about the kiss and whether it was Rex’s idea or not.

Your throat tightens, but you know you have to be honest. “Rex dared me to do it,” you admit, your words tumbling out faster than you wanted.

He nods, but you can see a flash of disappointment in his eyes—brief but noticeable. Before he can respond, you rush to explain the rest of the truth.

“But the one we shared in the alley? That was me. I wanted that,” you add.

Felix gives you the chance to explain more, so you continue, determined to make him understand. You put your can of soda on the table and inhale before speaking.

“Earlier, during this game Rex and her friends played, they were talking about all these wild things they’d done, and I just sat there... realizing how much I’ve missed out on.” You pause to let out a sigh as the weight of your confession settles between you. “I’ve spent so much time focused on studying, hitting all my academic goals, that I never gave myself the chance to live. And I don’t want to wake up one day full of regret for not taking chances.”

You look up from your lap at him—not necessarily meeting his eyes, or else you'll be a nervous wreck. “So tonight, I decided to push myself for once. The kiss might’ve started as a dare, but when I pulled you into that alley… that was real. For the first time in my life, I felt so alive.”

Felix remains quiet for a moment, his eyes searching yours, taking in every word. You can feel his hesitation, though—a cautious distance. His concern isn’t just about your head injury; it's something more.

“You don’t have to do all that just because your friends have done it,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You do it when you’re ready.”

His words hit home, and you feel a wave of realization. The thrill and the pressure you’ve felt earlier are starting to clash with a deeper understanding of what you really want.

You may be naïve and know little about this intimate stuff, but you're also the one who knows you best, and you know what you want—you want this.

“I’m doing this for me. I want it. I'm ready," you unequivocally say, full of conviction.

Felix’s expression softens, but doubts linger in his eyes. “I think you know what kind of guy I am. I don’t do relationships. I… casually date. I’m not a good guy.”

You can’t help but smile at that, shaking your head in disagreement at his last statement. “You insisted on taking me to the hospital, waited until I got treated, and then made sure I got home safely. If that’s not a good guy, I don’t know what is,” you lay out all the facts on why he isn't what he says he is.

He sighs, clearly conflicted, running his hand through his long, bleached hair. “I’m just not sure if you really want to do this… with me.”

“I want to do this with you," you say without the slightest doubt.

There's a reason why he's here when he had his chances to walk out of this situation. He could have ditched you back there in the club, in the dark alley, or at the hospital. He could have gotten into that taxi and gone home, but instead, he chose to come in here.

Felix is quiet again, his eyes locked on yours as he considers what you said. Then, after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a sigh, letting the last bit of hesitation slip away from him.

"We should go to your bedroom," he says, his voice low but confident.

The excitement flares up in your chest, your heart racing as you rise from the sofa. This is it. The feeling you’ve been chasing all night—the sense of truly living, of stepping out of your comfort zone. You lead him to your bedroom, each step heavy with anticipation.

When you open the door to your bedroom, you pause for a moment, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It’s strange—no one ever warns you how personal it feels to show someone your bedroom. It’s not just a room; it’s a reflection of you, of your habits, your life. You close the door behind you, your breath catching as Felix steps in and takes a quick look around.

He glances over the shelves, where countless books are crammed into every available space. A small smile tugs at his lips, a look of slight amusement crossing his face as he takes it all in. It’s like he doesn’t expect this—your quiet, introverted world clashing with the chaotic energy of the night.

But then his eyes land back on you, and your pulse quickens. You’re alone now, really alone, in the privacy of your bedroom, and the reality of it all settles over you. You can feel the weight of the moment, not knowing how to begin but wanting to. You step closer to him, hoping he’ll take the lead.

Felix sits down on the edge of your bed, his eyes still on you. He pats the space beside him, an invitation, and you sit down next to him, nerves tingling under your skin.

"You have a very interesting room," he says with a playful smile, but there’s no mockery in his tone—only genuine surprise.

You shyly chuckle, your hands fidgeting in your lap. "Yeah, I’m… very aware."

He turns to you, his gaze softening. He’s studying you, taking you in, and when he looks into your eyes, you feel like he’s seeing something deeper. Then, as if realizing something, his brow furrows slightly.

“Can I take them off?" he asks, nodding toward your glasses. "Will you still be able to see without them?”

“I’m nearsighted, so yeah,” you confirm, your hand halfway to your face to take them off, but Felix gets ahead, gently removing them for you. Then he places them carefully on your bedside table.

The world around you becomes a soft blur, but Felix… Felix is in perfect focus. He’s all you can see. His delicate features stand out, his warm brown eyes locking onto yours, his freckles like tiny constellations dusting his cheeks and nose. It’s like he’s become the center of your universe, and nothing else matters in that moment.

You get a little overwhelmed as you take him in—his beauty so striking, so close, making your heart beat out of your chest. You wonder if he can hear it too.

"Can I take your hair down?" Felix asks, his voice soft but deliberate.

Unable to provide a verbal answer, you nod. His hand is quick to reach behind your head, releasing your hair from the tie, and you feel an unexpected wave of relaxation wash over you, like the tension you’d been carrying all night had been held there, in your hair.

Felix’s fingers move through the strands gently, combing through them, letting the ends slip through his fingers. The tattoos on his hand catch your attention, and as his sleeve rides up, you notice even more ink snaking up his arm.

"How many tattoos do you have?" you ask, unable to hide your curiosity.

"I stopped counting a long time ago," Felix chuckles, a lightness in his voice that makes you smile.

He notices your lingering gaze on his tattoos, and without hesitation, he starts unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt. He lets the fabric fall back, giving you a clearer view of the designs that cover his skin. The sight of his muscles beneath the inked patterns, the veins trailing down his arm, captivates you.

"Is it okay if I touch you?" you ask, your voice quiet, unsure if it’s too bold.

"You can touch me," he says with an encouraging smile, "anywhere."

The last word unexpectedly provokes you; it was just a word until Felix gives it a new meaning now, and it's been echoing in the back of your mind in his deep, low voice. Anywhere.

With a tentative hand, you reach out, slowly rolling his sleeve up higher. The tattoos become more detailed—the lines and shading intricate—but what holds your attention is the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. The combination of the ink and the physicality of him makes you feel a strange sense of intimacy. Afraid that you're overstepping, you let the sleeve fall back and flash him a smile of gratitude.

“You know this will be easier if you sit closer,” Felix says, his tone suggestive but gentle.

You shift closer, trying to keep your breath steady. The space between you shrinks, but the heat from his body seems to rise, making your heart race.

"Closer," Felix murmurs, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You move another inch.

"More," he says, his voice a bit firmer this time.

You scoot a little more until finally, there’s no space left between you. Your body is pressed against his, and the warmth from him feels overwhelming, your skin tingling from the proximity.

"I think you should put your hand around my neck," Felix suggests, his voice a low rumble.

"Are you sure?" you ask, still worried about overstepping.

"Of course," he reassures you, guiding your hand up to his shoulder.

From there, you let it drift to the back of his neck, feeling the strong line of muscle beneath your palm.

The two of you are incredibly close; you can feel his breath brushing against your cheek. As if the proximity isn't enough, his hand cups your jaw, his thumb softly rubbing your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine.

It doesn't take a genius to know what comes next; you can feel it coming as the tension intensifies with each passing second.

"I'm not a good kisser," you blurt out, your insecurities successfully breaking through the haze of the moment.

"You did just fine earlier," he says, watching as his thumb swipes across your lower lip.

You try to argue, but before you can say another word, Felix presses a soft kiss to your cheek, leaving a searing warmth behind.

"Stop thinking and just..." he trails off, kissing just beneath your eye, sending a shock of sensation through you, "… do it."

Before you can process his words, his lips find yours. The kiss is electric and powerful, wiping away every doubt and insecurity. The world narrows down to the feeling of his mouth on yours, the sound of your breath mingling in the quiet of your bedroom.

Felix pulls away just enough for you to catch your breath, his hand moving to brush your hair to the side. He does it carefully to avoid accidentally touching the bandaged wound on your forehead.

"Now," he says, voice deep with desire, "we’re going to put in a little tongue."

Dazed and a little disoriented from the kiss, you nod, your brain unable to compute a word.

He kisses you again, this time slower, more deliberate, teasing you with his tongue as it slides across your lips. It’s sensual and intimate, and when you let him in, the kiss deepens, and you try your best to move in sync with him.

When Felix pulls away, he’s grinning, looking impressed. "See? You’re a natural."

Flustered, you look down, but he isn’t having it. He wants your eyes, your full attention on him, so he puts his hand under your chin, gently angling your face back toward his.

Not giving you a moment to think, he plants a kiss on your lips again—gently, but there’s intensity to it, a sense of hunger that needs to be satisfied.

At the same time, his other hand travels down to your back, tracing down your spine before he withdraws it back to your front, reaching for the button of your dress.

You've been handling it well so far, but when he touches you there, it triggers the alarm bells in your head. You try to convince yourself that it's okay; you trust Felix, and he's not going to harm you, but your body abruptly freezes, and you stiffen against him.

Felix notices immediately and takes his hands off of you, concern painted on his small face.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks softly, not wanting to alarm you further.

First, it was Rex’s birthday party, and not long after that, you did it again by bumping your head during a makeout session in the dark alley, and now this. You sigh and look down at your lap, wondering why you keep sabotaging your life like this.

"I’m sorry, I just... I–I wasn’t ready for that," you meekly say, looking down at your lap, feeling embarrassed.

"That’s okay," he says with a soothing voice. "I’d rather you tell me when you’re uncomfortable."

Anyone else might have been annoyed or disappointed, but Felix—he’s patient, gentle, and very understanding. You feel a rush of gratitude for him.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding.

"Or you can just slap me next time," he jokes, trying to lighten the mood.

Slapping his face would feel like vandalizing the Mona Lisa, so you shake your head in strong disagreement while softly laughing, "No. I wouldn’t do that."

Thanks to you freaking out without reason, you have to start all over again, and you can only hope that Felix has some patience left for you.

You watch as he glances toward your bedside table, eyeing the small stack of books. "Are these the ones you’re reading?"

"Yeah," you reply, your smile returning.

"You’re telling me you’re reading five books at once?" he asks. His tattooed fingers trail along the spines as he reads the titles under his breath.

"Three are for school," you say, chuckling, "but the other two are for fun."

"Oh, so you do know how to have fun," he teases you with a charming smile that makes his eyes lively.

You know he's trying to lighten the mood, and you feel thankful that he indeed still has some patience left in him.

Felix picks up the smallest one from the top of the stack and flips through the pages. "Poetry," he remarks.

"Yeah," you nod, feeling a bit shy.

He looks at you with something new in his eyes. "Would you read me one?"

"A poem?" you stammer.

"No, the index page," he teases you yet again.

You laugh, feeling a bit silly for asking, and then take the book from him. You open it, easily finding the page you marked as your favorite poem.

"Okay... I’ll try," you say as you clear your throat.

Your fingers nervously brush the edges of the page, eyes glancing at the words, but you’re aware of Felix’s gaze on you. His presence is overwhelming—his closeness, the subtle intensity in his expression.

Despite everything, you begin reading, your voice low and a little shaky.

"Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which I cannot touch because they are too near."

Felix leans in closer, his breath warm against your cheek. His hand moves to the back of your neck, brushing the loose strands of your hair away.

You pause, feeling the pressure of his nearness, but he nudges you gently.

"Keep reading," he whispers against your skin, the warmth of his voice sending a shiver down your spine.

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus. Your voice is a little shaky as you continue.

"Your slightest look easily will unclose me though I have closed myself as fingers; you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens—"

Felix’s lips press softly against the corner of your mouth just as your voice falters. You draw in a breath, trying to steady yourself, but his kiss lingers, feather-light and teasing.

You glance at him, the lines of the poem slipping from your mind.

"Go on," he murmurs, his mouth now brushing your jawline. His hand slips to your waist, holding you in place as if keeping you tethered to the moment.

"I... I—" you stammer, your focus crumbling under his touch, his lips trailing a path down to your neck. You grip the book tighter, trying to maintain the thread of the poem, your voice coming out as a breathy whisper: "you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose—"

Felix presses another kiss just below your ear, making your breath hitch. He’s being gentle but deliberate, his lips grazing your skin with an intention that makes it almost impossible to concentrate.

Your heart bursts, the words on the page becoming blurry. "Felix..." you murmur, caught between the poem and the sensation of his kisses.

"Don’t stop," he whispers again, this time against the curve of your neck, sending a rush of warmth through you. "I want to hear the rest."

Your voice quivers as you try to continue, the lines of the poem mixing with the feeling of his lips.

"Or if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending—"

His kisses grow slower, more languid, as if savoring every inch of your skin. Each one draws you further away from the poem, your pulse quickening under his touch. He pulls back just slightly, and his eyes meet yours, his gaze heavy with desire, but still, he urges you on.

"Finish it," he says softly, his thumb tracing your lower lip as he holds your gaze.

You exhale shakily, barely able to focus anymore, but you try.

"Nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals the power of your intense fragility..."

Before you can finish the last line, Felix’s lips capture yours, cutting off the rest of the poem. His kiss is deeper this time, not asking for permission but claiming the moment as his own. The book slips from your hand, forgotten, as you lean into him, your breath mingling with his.

The poetry becomes a distant memory as his kisses consume you, every touch drawing you further into him. And for the first time, you don’t feel the need to pull back or hesitate. You melt into the moment, into him, as the poem fades into the background, replaced by the quiet intensity of Felix’s lips on yours.

The poem may be incomplete, but the moment is whole.

Felix watches as you fumble with the edges of the poetry book, your nervousness plain in the way your fingers tremble. He can sense how hard you’re trying to focus, trying to find your voice in the moment.

There’s a certain charm in how unsure you are, the way your eyes keep darting up to him, like you’re looking for some kind of permission. But he knows you don’t need it. You want this—he can feel it in the air between you.

When you finally start to read, your voice is soft, hesitant.

“Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence...”

Felix can barely concentrate on the words. It’s your voice—that shaky, uncertain quality—that pulls him in, and you’re so close. He leans in, pressing the warmth of his lips against your cheek, testing, teasing. He feels the way you stiffen, your breath catching. He doesn’t want to overwhelm you, but the urge to touch you, to close that gap, is too strong.

"Keep reading," he murmurs, his lips brushing your skin, barely above a whisper. He feels your pulse quicken beneath his touch.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice even softer now, trying to hold it together.

"Your slightest look easily will unclose me though I have closed myself as fingers..."

As your voice trails off again, Felix can't resist. His lips graze the corner of your mouth, light and fleeting. He watches your eyes flutter, sees the way you're barely hanging onto the thread of the poem, and it makes him smile inwardly. He pulls back just enough to see the heat in your cheeks, the uncertainty fighting with desire in your eyes.

"Go on," he urges, this time pressing his lips to the soft skin just beneath your jawline. His hand slips to your waist, fingers curling lightly around you, holding you steady, grounding you as he teases.

"I–I..." Your voice falters completely as his lips trail lower, brushing the sensitive spot near your neck.

He loves the way you stammer, the way your breath comes in shallow gasps.

"You open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens—"

Felix hears your voice waver again, and he chuckles softly against your neck. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The poem doesn’t stand a chance against his kisses, but he likes this game, this slow unraveling of your composure.

"Felix..." you murmur, barely able to hold onto the words.

He pulls back just enough to speak, his breath warm against your ear. "Don’t stop." His voice is low, coaxing, as he brushes another kiss just below your ear. "I want to hear the rest."

You try—he can see you trying—but the way you tremble beneath his touch makes it almost impossible for you to concentrate. He watches you struggle, a mix of amusement and desire in his gaze as you fight to continue.

"...Or if your wish be to close me, I and my life will shut very beautifully..."

Felix’s lips move slowly across your skin, savoring every inch. He can feel the tension in you, the way you’re holding onto control by a thread. But then, something shifts. He presses one last kiss to your neck, soft and lingering, and watches as your resolve crumbles. The book slips from your hands, your breath hitching in your chest.

“Finish it,” Felix whispers, his thumb grazing your lower lip. He can see the words have all but left you, but he waits, eyes fixed on your trembling lips.

"...The power of your intense fragility..."

Before you can finish the line, Felix presses his lips to yours. The words are lost as he kisses you, claiming the moment. There’s no hesitation in the way your body responds, melting into him as if you’ve been waiting for this all night. The book falls from your hands, forgotten, as his hands move to pull you closer.

He feels the way you surrender to the kiss, how every bit of uncertainty you held before dissolves. His kiss deepens, slow but deliberate, until he pulls back just enough to look at you, lips still close, your breaths mingling.

Felix takes a quick check to see if you're comfortable enough to continue, his thumb brushing across your cheek as he leans his forehead against yours. He can feel the way you’re still caught in the moment, still wanting more.

His hand slides down to your shoulder, tracing the curve of your spine. He brushes your hair to the side, kissing you again—slower this time, deeper. The way you respond, your lips meeting his with growing confidence, only pulls him in more.

Felix takes your hand and gently places it on his chest. He feels the way your hand stays immobile for a moment, but then it starts to move, roaming curiously over his body. Your touch is tentative but warm, and soon enough, your fingers tug at the opening of his shirt, revealing a peek of inked skin underneath. Felix notices the way your curiosity lights up your face. “Do you want to see the rest of my tattoos?”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you think about it, unsure if you should say yes. To avoid letting him hear how eager you are, you nod instead.

“But you have to help me with the buttons,” he says, glancing down at his shirt.

It’s a subtle invitation, but the way he says it makes you feel like you’re in control. You start undoing the buttons, one by one, your fingers working carefully, as if each button is a gateway to something unknown. When you finish, you stop, leaving the fabric still draped across his chest. There’s a moment of hesitation, as if parting the shirt will reveal something too intimate, something more than just skin.

Felix senses your nerves, so he does the rest; he shrugs the shirt off his shoulders, revealing the ink that covers his chest and arms. Normally, he’s confident about his body, but under your gaze, he feels a flicker of vulnerability. You’re studying him, and he can feel the weight of it, like you’re looking past the surface.

“It’s all over you,” you mutter in awe.

One, in particular, seems to draw your attention—the dragon on his ribcage. Felix notices the way your hand lingers there, eyes fixed on the intricate design. He smiles softly, taking your hand and pressing it gently against the dragon.

“Here... feel it,” he says, guiding your touch.

Your fingers trace the lines of the tattoo, feather-light and full of wonder. Every slight graze of your fingertips sends a rush through him, and the way you’re touching him so delicately is like you’re trying to memorize the feel of each tattoo.

“Do you like it?” he asks, his voice soft but laced with curiosity.

“I had no idea I liked tattoos until now,” you innocently answer.

There's something so honest in your words, and Felix can’t help but smile, feeling the tension between you shift into something deeper, more intimate. He watches you as your fingers continue to explore, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a kind of peace in this closeness, like it’s more than just physical. There’s something in the way you touch him, like you’re seeing him for the first time—not just his body, but all the stories inked into his skin.

Then you take your hand back and fidget in your seat. You open your mouth, but no words come out. After a while, you ask, “Should I undress?”

“Only if you want to,” he says, not wanting to pressure you and also trying to make it clear that this is on your terms.

With a shy nod, you start moving, fingers flying to the buttons of your dress, fumbling a little in your nervousness. Felix notices and, sensing your discomfort, turns his head away, giving you the privacy you need. He helps by dimming the lights on your bedside lamp, knowing that a girl like you prefers the softer glow to ease the tension. Now, the room is bathed in a quiet, warm light, making everything feel more intimate, more comfortable.

“Do you need help?” he offers after a moment, his back still to you.

“I’m done anyway,” you respond, your voice softer now.

Felix hears the faint sound of your dress hitting the floor, and he inhales, preparing himself for what he's going to see. He turns his head slowly, careful not to look directly at you until he’s sure you’re comfortable. His eyes first meet yours, searching for any sign that you’re nervous, that you want him to stop, but you hold his gaze, and that’s all the permission he needs. His eyes travel down, finally taking in the sight of you.

The first thing that catches his attention is the unexpected—the matching silk and lace set you’re wearing, soft and delicate against your skin. It’s a contrast to the image he had in mind, and it takes his breath away. The colors, the fabric—it all highlights your natural beauty in a way that almost overwhelms him.

Beautiful. That’s the only word that comes to mind, but even that feels like it doesn’t do you justice. You’re beyond that. You’re captivating in a way that makes him hesitant to even touch you, as if the act itself would somehow break the spell between you.

“I want to touch you,” he admits, his voice trembling with restraint, overwhelmed by how much he desires you but not wanting to rush.

“Okay,” you say, so simply, so openly.

The intimacy of the moment is overwhelming. Felix is sitting there, shirtless, and the way he’s looking at you makes your skin tingle. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

After a while, you finally manage to speak. “Should I undress?”

Felix’s gaze is soft, his voice gentle when he responds, “Only if you want to.”

His words reassure you, but still, your hands tremble as you reach for the buttons on your dress. You fumble with them, nervous fingers struggling to move faster. Felix, sensing your discomfort, turns away, giving you a moment to compose yourself. It’s a small gesture, but it makes you feel better, like he understands without needing to be told.

You manage to undo the last button, letting the dress slip down your shoulders and fall to the floor with a soft thud. You glance at Felix, and he still isn’t looking. He’s turned the light down, creating a softer, warmer atmosphere that eases some of the tension in your chest. It’s as if he knows that you’d rather not be fully exposed in the harsh glow of bright light.

“Do you need help?” he asks, his voice careful, like he’s afraid of pushing you too far.

“I’m done anyway,” you reply, your voice shaky but steady enough.

Felix exhales, turning back to face you slowly, almost cautiously. He looks into your eyes first, making sure you’re okay before letting his gaze travel down. When his eyes finally take in the sight of you, you see something shift in him. His expression softens, and you feel your heart pounding in your chest, almost painfully so.

You weren’t sure what he’d expect to see, but the look on his face—like he’s in awe—makes you feel beautiful in a way you’ve never felt before. You're wearing your favorite matching set, silk and lace, in a color that contrasts perfectly with your skin. You chose it thinking you might need something that makes you feel confident, but now, under Felix’s gaze, you wonder if it was the right choice. But then you see the way he looks at you, like you’re something precious, and all your doubts melt away.

“I want to touch you,” Felix says softly, his voice trembling, almost as if he’s afraid to break the moment.

“Okay,” you answer, trying to sound calm even though your heart feels like it’s about to explode.

Felix doesn’t rush. His movements are slow, deliberate. He brushes your hair aside, his fingertips barely grazing your skin, but it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. His knuckles trace down your chest, stopping at the center, right between your breasts. His hand rests flat there, and you feel the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin, the beat of your heart thudding loudly under his touch.

“You're so beautiful,” he softly murmurs as he looks into your eyes.

You can feel heat spreading across your face. You want to say something, but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead, you just look down, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, by how gentle and caring he’s being.

Felix leans in, and when he kisses you, it’s not rushed. His lips are soft, and the kiss is gentle, as though he’s trying to coax you out of your shell. You kiss him back, a little more confidently this time, the warmth of his body pressing against yours making everything feel more natural.

The more time you spend with Felix, the more certain you feel that you’re in the right place, with the right person. His presence is calming, his touch patient and careful. Every kiss, every gentle brush of his hand against your skin reminds you that he’s giving you all the time in the world. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t push you beyond what you’re ready for, and that thought alone is enough to make your heart swell.

Felix holds back so much—it’s evident in the way he slows his movements, adjusting to your hesitance, waiting for you to catch up, to feel comfortable. You notice how he looks at you, always checking, always making sure you’re okay with what’s happening. He’s so understanding that you can feel your insecurities start to melt away, one by one, like the weight of them no longer matters in this space you’ve created together.

As the kissing becomes more intense, your breathing picks up, and the room feels warmer. You feel his strong yet gentle hand resting on your shoulder, his fingers playing with the strap of your bra, and you know what comes next.

This time, you decide to take the initiative and ask, “Do you want me to take these off?”

“If you allow me to,” he answers with a soft smile.

You’ve always known your body isn't the kind men fantasize about, or at least, that’s what you tell yourself. “They’re not—They’re not my best features,” you meekly admit.

Felix’s eyes don’t waver, and his smile turns into a playful smirk, one that both teases and comforts at the same time. “How can I know for sure when I haven’t seen them?”

You feel a smile tugging at your lips; he has a fair point, and you can’t argue with him when he looks at you like that—like he sees you, not just the parts you want to hide.

You nod, giving him permission, and lean forward slightly to make it easier for him to reach behind you. His fingers find the clasp of your bra almost immediately, without hassle.

The sound of it unclasping makes your breath hitch, anticipation swirling in the air between you, and then he pulls back just enough to let the bra fall away, his fingers gently sliding the straps down your shoulders. His movements are slow, with excitement simmering underneath, as if he’s unwrapping a precious gift.

And then, you’re bare in front of him, vulnerable in a way that sends a nervous thrill through you.

Felix doesn’t rush to fill the silence. He doesn’t gawk or make you feel exposed. Instead, he looks at you with a soft, quiet admiration that makes your heart flutter.

“They're perfect,” he says, and the sincerity in his praise makes your insecurities seem small, insignificant.

Felix's breath catches in his throat at the sight of you, bare in front of him. The soft curves of your chest stir something deep inside him, and for a moment, he has to hold back from letting his hands act purely on impulse. He swallows hard, trying to keep his cool, even though the urge to touch you is overwhelming.

“They’re perfect,” he says softly, his voice rougher than he intended. He means it. It’s not about size or shape—he just likes seeing you, just like this.

If he's being honest, you’re not what Felix thought he always wanted. But now, with you in front of him, he finds himself thinking that you’re more than enough—perfect, in fact.

He lets himself lose a bit of that self-control, his hand reaching out, grazing your skin before cupping your breast, his gentle yet curious fingers exploring the softness of your chest. They fit perfectly in his tattooed hands, and he feels heat rising in him.

“See? They’re perfect,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin as if to prove the point.

You remain quiet as he touches you, but your eyes go wide, lips parting slightly, and then, unexpectedly, you run your palms over your own breasts, fingers grazing your nipples with a restless, almost nervous motion.

The sight of you touching yourself, so innocently but also with that hidden desire, nearly drives him over the edge. He has to clench his jaw to stop himself from groaning aloud.

"Why are you looking at them like that?" you curiously ask in a shy voice.

“Like what?” he asks, his voice deep and low, almost a growl as he leans in closer, needing to hear you say it.

“Like you want t-to…” You hesitate, stumbling over your words.

“Lick them? Suck them?” he finishes the sentence for you, the words falling from his lips with an intensity that makes you look down at your lap, cheeks heated.

You nod, too shy to say it aloud.

Felix exhales slowly, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Come here!” his voice is rough, almost commanding as he gestures for you to sit on his lap.

Biting your lip, you crawl onto him and sit right on his lap.. You freeze for a moment, probably feeling his hard flesh prodding under you.

"You can ignore that," he tells you, at least for now, but he knows both of you can’t ignore that for long.

Somehow, that thought worries him, and he expected you to sit stiff as a board on his lap, but you immediately settle in close, and when he puts his arm around you, you let out a ragged sigh, instantly melting into him.

Fuck, you're so close, especially that part of you, hanging so close to his mouth. He gulps air and reminds himself to take things slowly. This is about you, not him.

You put your hand under his arm and grasp at his back, your hard nipples grazing his chest in the process, and Felix can’t resist cupping your breasts and rubbing his fingers over them.

Soon, your body softens around him, but his hands grow rough as he touches you, molding you to him as he claims your mouth. The kiss is a savage thing of teeth and tongues, but there’s no hint of protest from you. Instead, you match his roughness for roughness, kissing him back until you run out of breath.

As you come up for air, he covers your nipple with his mouth and sucks hard. He pulls you close so he can do the same with the other one; this time, he has your nipple rolling on his tongue. Oh, he can do it all night, just playing with your soft mounds.

Your fingers make their way through his hair, tugging at it as you arch your back with unconscious demand. It's apparent that you love this, losing your mind over his touches.

Felix lets go of your breast, then drags his lips upward, climbing the column of your throat until they find yours, kissing your mouth with such intensity that it causes you to sharply inhale air.

As he's kissing you, his hands refuse to remain idle. He cups your breasts, stroking the buds until they ache and pinches them, sending a burst of sensation straight to your core. With caution, he takes it to the next level, shifting his focus to another sensitive part of you. He's smoothing a hand over your stomach, and he can feel your muscles clench. Cautiously, he slides a hand up your inner thigh.

“I want to touch you here,” he says while gently palming your sex with a bold grasp, and the heat of his touch spreads through the fabric of your panties, searing hot.

Your hand immediately flies to grip his wrist, intending to pull him away, but your hand stays there; if anything, you pull it back and let it rest on his inked forearm.

“Is that permission?” he whispers into your ear.

He sees the conflict in your eyes. He guesses the reason you hesitate is that this is new to you, and you don't know how to handle this side of yourself. After a while, your body wins over your hesitant mind as your hips arch against his hand, asking him to continue, asking him for more.

He pushes your underwear to the side, and as he kisses your neck, his fingers trace your bundle of nerves, circling it, then applying the gentlest of pressure to test whether you like it or not.

A low moan slips out of you, and he can feel you tugging at his hair, hard.

"Do you want me to keep my hand there?" he asks as he looks into your dazed eyes.

You innocently nod.

"All right. I'll do that," he says with a hasty kiss on your lips. He continues by tracing your slick entrance with his fingertips, touching you there lightly, trailing around and around in dizzying circles.

"Does that feel good?" he asks, barely audible.

Still unable to give him a verbal answer, you nod again.

He aims his parted mouth toward your neck and purposely scrapes his teeth against your skin before he licks and kisses you there, causing goosebumps to spread over your skin.

"Will you let me get inside?" he asks for permission as his fingers tease your entrance.

It's obvious that you want it from the way you're arching your hips against his hand, but he doesn't want to risk losing you to the nerves again; he needs to hear you say it this time.

"Yes," you breathlessly say with a small nod.

With your consent given, his fingers search through your folds, coating them with your essence, and he lingers around your entrance for a little while before pushing one finger into you.

He feels your sharp intake of air as your head rests so close to his, your teeth faintly biting your lower lip to muffle the noises you make.

Felix gives you time to adjust before adding another digit. Two fingers are inside you now, pumping them, and he curls them, finding that spot that makes you...

"Oh!" you gasp, your hand grasping at the end of his hair like it gives you a lifeline. Your legs tremble, causing you to lose your balance, and you almost topple back, but Felix is quick to grip your waist to keep you steady.

The whole thing is so cute. Felix rubs his lips to hide a grin as you steady yourself on his lap and fold your hands in your lap. He knows that if he continues, you’d likely fall to the floor. You're the kind of girl who gets weak when you get hot, and don’t get him wrong; he loves that. If anything, it makes every bit of effort it has taken to get past your guard worth it.

"It's better if we lay down," he suggests as he removes the strand of hair caught between your lips.

"Okay," you say, your voice small and filled with obedience.

Once you get off his lap, Felix takes the lead again. He stretches out near the center of the bed, propping himself up on an elbow, and pats the space next to him. No moment of hesitation this time, you crawl across the bed and lay down next to him.

Felix leans over you and kisses you, starting right back at the beginning with innocent brushes of both of your lips and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again. He wouldn't say you're that great of a kisser, but it's entertaining feeling you learn. You may lack in skill, but you make up for it with your eagerness.

He puts your hand on his bare chest, letting you roam free from there; he needs you to feel him too, how his body heats all over from his desire for you. You drag your hand down his chest, fingers trailing the hard ridges of his abs, and then you keep heading down south, meeting the waistband of his jeans.

Felix is unprepared when your hand suddenly goes to his crotch and strokes over the fly of his pants. Pleasure courses through him, and his cock jumps in excitement, a hoarse groan slipping out of his parted mouth.

He remains calm even though you've just awakened a part of him that he wants to keep tamed, for now. He notices the curious hand and then the curious eyes.

"Want to touch it?" he offers, his eyes half shut, heavy with lust.

"Can I?" you ask back instead of answering.

It's about time to set it free anyway; his jeans have been tightening around the crotch for quite some time. He unzips the fly open, then tugs at the waistband of his jeans and pulls it low enough to let his swollen member out of its confines.

Your hand lingers on his abdomen, hesitating to put your hand on the thing you're curious about.

He takes your hand, puts it on his cock, and then makes you close your fingers around it. The sight of your soft, delicate hand wrapped around his cock makes his heart thrumming inside his chest.

"This is my cock," he says, trying to keep his voice calm.

He guides you to stroke your hand on it, pumping it up and down his length, showing you the pace he prefers: slow but steady. "I want you to tell me when you want it."

You swallow air and look down to see that he's no longer guiding you; you're stroking his cock on your own, and he must say, you're doing so good at it.

He returns the favor by reaching down between your legs, touching you there again. His fingers meet your wetness, hot and slippery, tantalizing him.

After a moment, he decides to hover above you, letting go of your lips to start making a trail of kisses down your front. Your chest is heaving as he gets closer to your core, but he does the unexpected by detaching his mouth.

"Do you mind if I take this off?" he asks, fingers tugging at the elastic band of your underwear.

You lick your swollen lips and lowly mutter, "No."

He flashes you a soft smile before doing what he asked. His palm scrapes up the outside of your leg as he pulls your underwear down. You help by lifting your hips to make it easier for him to take it off.

Felix stands at the end of the bed with your underwear in his hand. He lets you watch as he takes a long sniff of it; you smell so heavenly that he wants this smell all over him. But first, he has to make it fair. He takes his jeans off along with his underwear, exposing his naked body in all its glory for you—just for you.

In return, he gets to see all of you, your body wrapped in miles and miles of soft skin. His eyes feast on every part of you, but you cross your thighs together, blocking him from seeing the thing that tantalized him all night.

He runs his tattooed hands down your legs, offering you his warmth and comfort as a way to assure you that he wants nothing but to make you feel good. When he deems you're relaxed enough, he parts your legs open, and his eyes widen as if he sees something that goes beyond what his brain can comprehend.

"You're so wet for me," he says, swallowing air as the sight suddenly makes his throat dry.

Felix satisfies his need by taking a closer look at it, his eyes darkened and fixated on the thing that endlessly tantalizes him. He licks his lips in reaction to the overwhelming urge to taste you.

He uses his thumb to circle your clit, which engorges with every motion. "It wants my mouth so badly," he tells you, his eyes dark and heavy with lust.

Felix presses his cheek to your inner thigh and, ever so softly, places a long kiss on the skin. It's close to where he wants to be but not enough. His need grows desperate.

"Put us both out of our misery and let me taste you."

Felix is perfect. He stands there like carved stone, but his skin is smooth and hot to the touch, firm but giving, alive. His muscles hunch and shift as he moves, and the dragon tattoo winks at you as he steps out of his pants; the motion alone is so sexy.

This is Felix in all of his naked glory. He is perfection, even that part of him—gosh, especially that part of him. His erection demands your full attention, hard and veiny, in flawless proportion to the rest of his beautiful body. You have never given a man oral sex before, but your mouth waters at the sight of it. You want it.

You can’t remember how to breathe as he puts his tattooed hands on you, rubbing them up and down the outside of your legs, making you tingle down there. You see how he quietly inhales air before parting your legs open and lets all the air out of his mouth as he shifts his eyes to see what's between your legs.

It's the most private part of you, and you expect him to see it in disgust, but the way he looks at it... you see nothing but pure admiration. He puts his focus there, needing more time to process what he's seeing.

"You're so wet for me," he says, barely audible as he holds his breath.

He bends down close to your wet flesh, making your nervousness spike to heart-pounding levels, and his eyes never stray away from what he wants. Then his thumb meets the peak of your sex, gently rubbing it, and you quietly moan under your breath.

"It wants my mouth so badly," he says, receiving your body's signals too well.

The little kisses he places on your inner thighs feel soft, but you can see that it's not quite what he wants; he's so close to it, yet he handles his self-control really well.

He closes his eyes for a second, and when he opens them, they immediately find yours. Then he murmurs, "Put us both out of misery and let me taste you."

It hits you now that he truly wants this, you. He likes what he sees, and his craving for your most private parts is real. It's dirty but highly erotic and exciting. You want to give it to him; you do, but you doubt that the reality will meet his expectations.

“Will you be disappointed if I don’t like it and I don’t respond like other women?” you ask, feeling a little anxious, thinking that you’re about to ruin the moment. Again.

“If you don’t like it, then we’ll move on,” he simply says, spreading your legs wider and then landing a gentle, closed-mouth kiss on your clit, catching you off guard.

Your body stiffens for a second, not expecting that sensuous jolt, and then you relax in the next second.

"Hate that?" he asks with wistful, downturned eyes.

"I..." You still can't decide if you like it or not; you need more—

Felix lands another kiss, followed by a slow tasting of his tongue on it. He hums his approval and covers your sex with his mouth, sucking with slight pressure as his tongue laps over your clit, repeatedly.

Your mind shuts down; your body slowly goes limp as heat blooms inside you, and your face buries in the blanket as the pleasure intensifies. This feeling is new to you; your body is in a state of shock from the immense sensations, and you feel like you're about to cry when he abruptly stops.

"You don't like it?" he asks after getting no answer from you. "Let me try it another way..."

Felix pushes two fingers into you, and your eyes roll to the back as he begins a steady pace, combining it with his tongue flickering over your cunt, and somehow, you can’t stop your hips from rising to meet his thrusts.

Oh God! You're riding his hand and smothering his face with your wet cunt. You tell yourself to stop, but you can't; you find your hands tangled in his long, bleached-blond hair instead. You're tightening around him, so wet now you can hear the slippery sounds every time he pumps his fingers into you.

"I'll stop," Felix says as he licks his glistening wet lips, then rubs his tongue over you fast and hard, making you clench helplessly around his fingers.

"Felix..." you breathlessly call his name. You can't believe how needy you sound—almost pathetic even.

"One last taste..." Felix says before planting his mouth on you again. He sucks with perfect pressure, his tongue cleverly dragging out the pleasure to keep your release out of reach. He presses a parting kiss to your sex and lifts his head, stopping for real this time.

"Yeah, you look ready now," he says it so low it's almost like a whisper.

Truthfully, you've been ready for a while now, and you love the idea of demanding his... cock and him providing it; you just can’t get those words past your lips.

Apparently, the look on your face tells it all. As he props a hand next to your waist, he looks at you and asks, "Do you want it?"

You stifle a nod, and you're aware that's not enough to convey how much you want it.

His hand reaches for the strand of hair covering your face and asks again, "Do you want it now?"

Want, want, want. You eagerly respond in your head, but you force yourself to remain calm and say, "Yes."

Felix nods and lands a kiss along your jaw, then drags his lips close to your ear. With a hoarse voice, he whispers, "I'll give it to you."

His warm, soft yet firm body blankets yours as his lips bombard you with kisses, each kiss peeling away your senses along with your worries and insecurities; you eventually stop thinking altogether.

"Excuse me for a second," he says with a kiss on your lips, getting off the bed to look for something on the bedroom floor.

As Felix picks up his jeans from the floor, you watch the muscles on his back bunch and shift as he moves, admiring the twin indentations at the base of his spine. The view is nothing compared to when he turns around, showcasing his ethereal visuals and a godly figure of chiseled abs, not forgetting his cock in a size that demands your attention.

He gets onto the bed, kneeling and using his teeth to tear through the foil packet to extract the condom.

"Want to help me with it?" he offers, his eyes sparkling in the dimly lit room.

You swallow air and say, "Yes."

Your hands aren't steady, so you and he end up doing it together, and once you’re both done with it, he pulls you close. You shiver at the feel of your skin coming into contact; your nipples graze his chest, and his length burns against your lower belly. You suddenly feel very self-conscious.

Felix runs his hands up and down your back as he angles his head, trying to catch your gaze but keeps failing.

“Why won’t you look at me?”

You look at the hollow in his collarbone and hunch your shoulders forward. "I feel—I feel naked."

“We’re both naked," he states the obvious with a light smile.

You don’t know how to explain that you’re not only feeling naked on the outside but also from the inside, and that if he looks into your eyes, he’d see all of you. No one wants to see that. This is supposed to be fun and educational, not soul-baring.

Felix flashes you a smile as he tilts your head by your chin, and you catch a glimpse of tender eyes before you close yours, knowing that he's about to kiss you.

Soon, his warm lips brush over yours, tasting of him, you, and sex. His hands caress you, gently kneading the flesh of your waist before grabbing you by the thighs and hooking them around him.

Slowly, he lowers you onto the bed and then covers your body with his. He places sweet little kisses on your jaw, your neck, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, and eventually, your lips.

“If you don’t like it, if something hurts... I want you to talk to me, okay?"

As always, you give him a nod before saying the words, "Okay."

"Okay," he repeats, then sweetly kisses your lips. "Now, can you turn over for me?"

You obey him, turning over on the bed and lying on your stomach, taking in the sight of the rumpled pillows and wooden headboard.

"Lift your waist for me, please?" he politely demands, and you do what he asks, lifting your waist off the bed as he slips a pillow underneath.

It takes you a moment to understand what he's doing. In this position, he chooses not to let him see you, and at the same time, it makes you less self-conscious.

"Is this better?" he asks as he places a hot kiss on the skin behind your ear.

"Yes," you say, feeling comfortable already, but you don't think about how you can't see him and what he's going to do to you.

A low sigh escapes your lips as his rough hand glides down your back and massages the flesh in voluptuous motions. His firm chest brushes against your shoulder blades as he props an arm on the bed next to you.

You take a deep inhale as his hand reaches between your thighs, his fingers searching through your folds and sinking deep, pumping fresh essence out of you until it drips around them. As if that isn't enough, he teases your clitoris with gentle touches.

"Felix..." you desperately call his name.

"You're ready, mmh?" he asks, planting a soft kiss on the nape of your neck.

Soon, his hard length prods at your entrance and pushes its way inside, painstakingly slow, as if he wants you to feel every inch of that delicious cock stretching you out.

All this time, you thought sex was repulsive, uncomfortable and painful—something you kept avoiding because your past experiences validated those thoughts—until now. With Felix, you feel nothing but intensifying pleasure even after he is fully sheathed inside you.

"Oh, you feel too good," he whispers into your ear with a low growl.

His words make you feel all sorts of things, and you should say something about him too—how good he feels inside you, how he fills you perfectly. You try to speak like he’s asked you to, but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure. Instead, you try to communicate with your body, spreading your thighs wider for him and trying to match him thrust for thrust.

His tattooed hand propped against the mattress captures yours, and he interlaces both of your fingers together.

“Now, it's perfect," he whispers.

For a timeless moment, you're hovering on the brink until orgasm crashes over you. He knows, but he relentlessly drives into you. You try to meet his thrusts, but you can’t quite match his strength and intensity.

With your eyes closed, you dare to look over your shoulder, and he immediately captures your mouth, stroking his tongue deep into you. Before the last orgasm has finished, you feel another building. You're clenching hard, the tiny muscles fluttering around his cock.

With a hoarse groan, Felix surges into you one last time, hard and shallow, sending you both to your highs. He rubs his lips against your jaw and neck, then lowers your shaking body to the bed. He holds you, wrapping his tattooed arms around you and drawing you even closer, holding you like his.

With your eyes still shut, your fingers trail his forearm, feeling the defined muscle and the smooth skin—a combination that is utterly distracting. His scent, his warmth, and his solidness surround you, slowly lulling you into a dreamless sleep.

Now, it's perfect, you say in your head.

Felix breathes in deeply, letting the warm, comforting scent of your space envelop him as he burrows into the sheets, a happy sigh escaping his lips.

Slowly, he pushes himself up from the bed, and your room looks slightly different basked in the morning sunlight. Like this, he can see the colors of the books on the shelf, the hats and scarves hanging on the bedroom door, and the succulents you keep on your windowsill. Under a different light, your room looks a lot more alive.

It's also illuminating the memories of last night—your shared laughter, the sweet sounds of pleasure that echoed around him, the rustles of the sheets as your naked bodies tangled under the duvet. A rush of warmth fills him at the recollection, but as he looks around, reality settles in: he is in your room, in your apartment, and he shouldn’t overstay his welcome.

Collecting his clothes from the floor, he dresses methodically, and once in a while, he can't help but glance back at the bed where you shared such an intimate night.

Once he's decent, he steps out of the bedroom, finding you right away in the kitchen. Your hair is in a messy bun, glasses perched slightly askew on your nose, and you're dressed in a simple white t-shirt and pajama pants. You are focused on reading something on your phone while quietly eating from a bowl.

“Morning,” he greets, his voice deeper in the morning air, startling you slightly.

“Morning,” you reply, a soft smile lighting up your face.

As he continues buttoning his shirt, he slides onto a vacant stool at the small dining table.

“Orange juice?” you offer, “or do you prefer coffee?”

“Not a coffee person,” he honestly replies, and you immediately pour him a glass of orange juice, your movements easy and familiar.

You turn around to put the carton of juice back into the fridge and come back with a plate of breakfast for him, serving it in front of him.

“I don’t know what you like for breakfast, but this is what I usually cook for my roommate,” you say, sliding a plate of scrambled eggs and toast toward him.

“Wow! Thank you,” he says in utter gratitude.

Felix can’t recall the last time he enjoyed a nice breakfast with the person he had a one-night stand with; usually, he’d be gone before his partner even woke.

He glances toward the door of your roommate’s bedroom, wondering if she's inside.

“The birthday girl isn’t home yet?” he asks as he lifts his fork.

“She’s probably staying over at one of her friends,” you reply, your tone casual, suggesting you are used to this arrangement.

Felix finds it convenient this way. He enjoys the intimacy of just the two of you in the calm of the morning. The presence of another person would only ruin that.

“Is that what you usually have for breakfast?” he asks, peeking into your bowl, which contains slices of fruit, granola, and yogurt.

“Yes,” you answer with a small smile.

“Ah, that explains…” he absentmindedly says, not realizing the implications of his words until you catch his gaze.

“Explain what?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

“Uh... that explains why you’re so smart,” he lies with a casual smile, hoping to brush off any suspicion.

The truth is, your diet explains why you smell and taste so good; the thought makes him bite back a smile, recalling the events of last night.

"Oh..." your reaction is a mix of surprise and gratitude, but he's still unsure if you understand the meaning behind his words. If you do, just know that it's a compliment.

After breakfast, Felix uses your bathroom for a quick wash-up and retrieves his jacket from the sofa. He adjusts his shirt before putting it on, realizing the time has come to leave, even though he wants to stay longer.

With heavy steps, he approaches you as you stand by the door, sensing the moment is drawing to a close.

Your eyes are on him, but your hands are clasped behind your back, your eyes shimmering with a different kind of light than when he first met you. They seem more alive now, filled with warmth.

“I want to thank you for last night,” you say, a smile creeping onto your face as the memory flashes through your head as it does for him.

“No need to thank me,” he replies. He refuses to accept your thanks when you're not the only one gaining something from last night.

“We had fun last night,” he remarks, not fully realizing he is speaking for both of you.

“I mean, I don’t know about you, but I had fun last night,” he corrects himself with an awkward laugh, pressing a hand to the pulse point on his neck out of nervousness.

“I had— I had fun last night,” you shyly remark, looking away for a second to compose yourself before looking back at him, a shy smile still lingering.

“That's good to know,” he replies, catching your shyness as it creeps into his demeanor.

A moment passes in silence as you look at each other. He has so many things to say, but no words are spoken. He can see that you're struggling to fathom your thoughts into words too.

“Felix,” you call in a different tone from the way you called him last night, yet it makes his heart flutter the same.

“Yes?” he answers, his heart beating in anticipation.

You open your mouth, but no words come out, then close it again, thinking hard about whether to say it or not.

“You can talk to me,” he assures you, his hand flying to your elbow and gently holding it.

Taking a deep breath, you finally close the distance between you, pressing your lips against his in a quick, unexpected kiss.

The surprise electrifies him, but the briefness leaves him wanting more. He quickly decides it's best to ask for forgiveness later rather than permission. He cups your jaw and leans in for a proper kiss; eventually, his lips meet yours in a kiss that means so much more than that: it's a tender connection that feels just right.

As much as he likes it, he knows he has to let go eventually. He slowly pulls away, only to see a smile blooming on your face, and his lips reflexively follow suit, smiling back at you.

“I hope that’s okay,” he murmurs, but he knows he's not sorry at all for what he did.

You nod, your smile shy yet genuine. "That’s—”

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Rex stumbles in, making a ruckus with her arrival as the keys jangle in her hand and her shoes drop onto the floor, oblivious to the intimate moment unfolding between you two.

“Oh?” she gasps, stopping in her tracks when she finally notices the two of you. Her eyes glance between you and Felix.

“Oh!!!” she exclaims again when she recognizes Felix as the guy you kissed for a dare last night.

Realizing she's interrupted something private, she hurriedly clutches her purse close to her chest and dashes into her bedroom, shouting, “I’m not here!”

The moment is shattered nonetheless, and Felix knows he can't stay here for as long as he wants, not when your roommate is now present.

“I'd better go,” he says, even though he hasn’t planned anything beyond that.

“Okay,” you say in a way that makes you sound defeated.

“Okay,” Felix repeats, hoping you would say something to extend the moment just a bit longer.

But good things often come to an end. Felix shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and takes a good look at you one last time, imprinting it in the back of his mind.

“It was nice to meet you,” he earnestly says with one hand on the doorknob.

“Me too,” you reply, your smile soft and genuine, lingering in his thoughts even as he steps out of your life.

At least, for now.

Here you are again, surrounded by the pulsing energy of the club with Rex and her friends. You’re still the same shy, nerdy girl, yet somehow, you handle the scene better now. It's a familiar chaos, except that tonight, it's harder to ignore Felix’s absence.

Noticing that you're not having fun like everyone else, Rex leans in closer to talk against the loud music playing in the club.

“Are you disappointed that he’s not here?” she asks, her alcohol-tinted breath brushing your ear.

“Why should I be disappointed?” You scoff, trying to mask the truth. But deep down, you are counting every second since you walked in without seeing him.

“You think I didn't know that you’ve been secretly watching the door?" Rex chuckles, almost spitting her drink. "Or the way you get a little excited whenever you spot a blonde guy?"

Guilty as charged. You are caught, but admitting it feels like opening a wound. You tried not to dwell on it, convincing yourself it was just a one-night stand and these feelings... they'll eventually fade, right?

“Don’t worry,” Rex says as she gently squeezes your knee. “He’s probably still on the way.”

“He didn’t even ask for my number, Rex,” you confess, finally voicing the disappointment that has been gnawing at you ever since that day.

“Then fuck him!” she exclaims, fierce as always. “There are plenty of cute guys, and I'm sure we can find one tonight.”

"No, thank you," you flatly reject the offer.

"Why not?" Rex asks, her eyes studying you.

You scoff again, but inside, the truth lingers: you're still hung up on him.

“Because you’ve already drunk too much," you choose to lie instead, taking her drink from her hand.

Suddenly, someone enters the booth, and you recognize him instantly, even with his bleached hair slicked back. Your heart leaps at the sight of Felix. He looks just as perfect as you remember, but doubt creeps in. Does he remember that night as vividly as you do?

He stands across the table, drink in hand, smiling at you, but you manage a polite smile back, not wanting to set yourself up for another disappointment.

“How about a round of ‘Never Have I Ever’?” he suggests out of the blue, his deep voice drawing everyone’s attention.

"Yes, let's do that!" Rex enthusiastically responds while raising her drink higher in front of her.

Felix trails the rim of his glass with his tattooed finger as he thinks of something, and a while later, his eyes fiercely stare at you with a sly smile dancing on his face.

“Never have I ever... made out with a guy in a dark alley, bumped my head on a crate, gotten three stitches, and still proceeded to give him a night he can’t forget?”

A rush of warmth washes over you, either from his eyes that don’t stray away from yours even for a second or the fact that he still remembers everything. You smile nonetheless, feeling the flutter in your chest returning.

Everyone goes silent, glancing around, unsure who might have done that, except for Rex, who squeals next to you like a giddy child.

“I have,” you confidently say, out loud with a proud smile.

You take the drink from Rex’s hand and drink it in one go, wincing at the bitter aftertaste but recovering quickly.

You daringly stare back into his eyes as you take the next turn. “Never have I ever regretted not asking someone for their number?”

“I have,” he replies without missing a beat and downs his shot in one gulp.

Felix places the empty glass on the table, walks over to you, and holds his hand out to you. “Now, I dare you to come with me.”

It isn't a dare when it's exactly what you want; it's a wish come true. You take his inked hand, feeling the warmth radiate from his skin, and let him lead you away from the table and into the night.

In the dark alley where it all started, Felix pulls you close until your bodies collide, wrapping his arms around you. Impatiently, he kisses you hard and deep, full of longing.

The kiss is intoxicating, even better than you remember, and as he steers you away from the crates lining the alley to avoid any mishaps, you softly laugh.

Felix leans his back against the brick wall and holds you close, his face lingering only inches away from yours, breath mingling in the cool night air.

“Let’s avoid visiting the hospital tonight,” he playfully says.

In that dark alley, with the world falling away around you, you realize you don’t want this to ever end. You lean in, capturing his lips once more, and you melt into the kiss, bracing yourself for what you're about to ask and the answer you'll get.

“So, what now?” you ask, your fingers caressing his cheek, tracing the contours of his face.

“We can start by finishing the poem,” he says, a playful glint filling his eyes, reminding you of the lines you have barely gotten through that night.

You grin as the weight of the time you spent worrying about not seeing him again lifts off your shoulders. “Okay, but I think I need a new beginning for this one.”

This time, you know what you want, and what you want is more nights like this, more moments, and more of whatever this is between you and him, and that’s the only dare you're doing tonight: to find out what that is.

“(i do not know what it is about you that closes and opens; only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands.”

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