#never say i’ve never done anything for you guys

[mimiiiiiiiiisstuff]

"Slipping through my fingers"

ok yall this is an emotional one!! it expands more on reader and jason's dynamic before he died and shows why jason is an especially sore spot for reader. it's also jason who she's most vulnerable and willing to forgive.

You and Jason ate the popcorn chicken on your bed in silence. For a moment, you pretended that everything was normal again. That Jason was still just Jason and you were still just you. That he was still your big brother that meant the world to you and that you were still his baby sister who he adored and couldn't go a day without.

For a moment, jason could pretend he wasn't the Red Hood, a vigilante who struck fear even in the darkest of hearts, he could pretend he was just comforting his little sister who meant the world to him.

Jason stares at you, his eyes locked onto yours like he’s trying to burn through the walls you’ve built between you. His breathing is shallow, tight with something unspoken, something raw. He’s been holding it in, holding it all in—his guilt, his regret, his anger—but it’s all starting to crack. The cracks are sharp now, and they’re starting to bleed.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he spits, his voice gravelly, thick with the weight of what’s unsaid. “I didn’t want to become this. I didn’t want to lose you.”

You let out a bitter laugh, harsh and mocking, and you can feel the edge of your own frustration clawing at you. “Well, newsflash, Jason, you did. You lost me the moment you decided that pushing me away was the best option. You don’t get to sit there and tell me how you didn’t want to hurt me when you were the one who abandoned me without a second thought. I ran into your arms and you acted like you couldn't care less.”

His jaw tightens and you see something almost vulnerable flicker across his face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by something darker; guilt, maybe, but also something like self-loathing.

“You think I wanted to leave? You think I wanted to hurt you?” His voice is quiet, almost deadly calm, but the tremor in his tone betrays him. “I didn’t want to drag you down, okay? I didn’t want to make you part of this... mess I’ve become. I thought if I just kept my distance, kept you away from all the shit in my life, I’d be doing you a favor. ”

“And what the hell makes you think I needed your protection, huh?” You snap back, “You think I couldn’t handle whatever shit you were going through? You think I couldn’t handle you? You never gave me the chance to help. You just shut me out, Jason. Like I was just some... some stranger. Like you weren't the closest thing I had to family. There wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for you. you were my brother. I loved Dick but he was never you.”

Jason’s eyes flash, anger mixing with the guilt, there’s an almost pleading intensity to him now. “I wasn’t protecting you,” he murmurs, voice breaking, just a little. “I was protecting myself. Because every damn time I saw you, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I needed you. How much I wanted you in my life, and I was so fucking scared that if you stuck around, you’d see everything I was trying to hide. That you’d see how broken I really am. And you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to get caught up in my shit, in the mess I was making of myself.”

Your heart clenches at the rawness of his words, the vulnerability creeping in, uninvited and unwelcome. You want to scream at him, to tell him he’s a coward, to tell him how much it hurt, how much it still hurts. But instead, you feel a lump form in your throat, something tight, constricting. The years of silence between you, the hurt, the loneliness—it hits all at once.

“You were never a mess to me,” you say, quieter now, as if the weight of his confession is slowly wearing you down. “I knew you, Jason. I knew who you were before all this. The guy I could talk to about anything. The guy who knew me better than anyone. The one who made me feel like I actually belonged. ”

Jason’s eyes widen, his breath catching as if you’ve just hit him in the chest. “I thought about you every day, you know?” he says in a hoarse whisper, his voice trembling. “Every day. You think I didn’t miss you? I thought about those times, the way we used to be... how you would just be there. You and me against the world. I remember laughing with you. Just... sitting there, talking about stupid stuff, and it felt like we were the only two people who really got it. I missed that, more than anything.”

You feel a tightness in your chest at the words, something fragile breaking open. You remember. You remember the late nights, the quiet conversations that meant more than anything else in the world. He was everything to you, back then. But now... now everything is just fractured pieces, fragments that don’t fit together anymore.

“You left,” you whisper, voice shaking, barely audible. “You left me, Jason. You left me without a word, without a reason. And I don’t care how much you missed me. That doesn’t change what you did. How you let her in after years of ignoring me.”

Jason’s face twists in pain, the anger shifting into something else, something raw and regretful. “I thought you’d be better off without me,” he admits, his voice breaking, the quiet words ripping through the space between you. “I thought if I just stayed away, you wouldn’t have to deal with my shit. You wouldn’t have to deal with... me.” His fists unclench, and he runs a hand through his hair, pulling at it in frustration. “I didn’t think you’d need me anymore. I thought I was dragging you down. I was so damn scared of ruining everything we had. But instead, I ended up ruining everything. And I can’t fix that. I know that. I just... I just wanted you to know that I didn’t want to leave. I thought if I stayed, I’d hurt you even more. I thought... I thought it’d be easier to let you go than to keep pushing you away. I was wrong.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and painful, like a confession he’s carried for too long. You want to reach out, to say something—anything—but the words are stuck, lodged in your throat. The vulnerability between you is unbearable, but you can’t ignore the truth in his eyes. He’s not the same person who walked away all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, he’s not the same person he was when he left. But you don’t know if that’s enough. You don’t know if you can trust him again.

"I wrote to you, you know? When i thought you were.... gone. I wrote to you almost every single day, I figured you'd like it, think it's something out of those books you used to read. It made me feel like you were still with me, like you were watching over me. When you, when you came back, I was convinced I wished you alive." You admitted your childish thoughts, voice breaking in between sobs.

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “I don’t know who you’ve become. I don’t know if you’re the person who cared about me, the one who sat with me and talked about everything or if you’re just some... some shadow of him. And I don’t know if I’ want to find out. Or if i'm ready to let go and forgive”

Jason stares at you, his face pale, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and frustration. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t deserve that,” he says quietly, his voice barely a whisper. “But I’m begging you. just let me try to make it right. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove that I’m not that guy anymore. I can’t erase what happened. I can't erease Tiffany. I can’t take back the years we lost. But I can try to be the person you used to know. The person you trusted. I can be your big brother again. I can still keep the nightmares away”

The silence between you stretches, each second heavier than the last. You’re caught in the middle—caught between the person you were, the person you are now, and the person he’s trying to be. But for the first time in a long time, Jason isn’t running. He’s not hiding from you. And as much as you want to shut him out, to protect yourself from more pain, something inside you is aching—aching for that connection you once had, aching for the possibility that it’s not too late to fix this.

What really broke you was seeing him cry. It was like you were a child again. It nearly broke your brain seeing Jason, your fearless big brother, your idol, cry.

“We can try” you whisper, your voice small, fragile, like it’s a decision that could break you. " it’s not gonna be easy, Jason. Things cant magically change no matter what we wish."

Jason nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours, his face stricken with the weight of everything he’s put you through. “I know,” he breathes, barely audible. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not this time. Never again.”

After Jason left, you had to sit and process what happened. In truth, you didn't know if things could ever be the same between you and jason. So many years of neglect and anger couldn't disappear with just a conversation and apology. No, you would make him, them, know what it feels like to be begging for scraps. Maybe things wouldn't be the same with jason, maybe after time and effort, they could be better. You missed him. So much. It would be easier to forgive him than Bruce. Yeah, Bruce is your father but Jason was your hero.

When Bruce reaches your door, he hesitates for a moment. The heavy weight of guilt in his chest is hard to ignore, but there’s something more, something that unsettles him even more than the tension in the air: the fear that you’re slipping through his fingers. That what happened today might have cracked something too deep to repair.

He knocks once, then opens the door.

You’re sitting on your bed, your back to him, staring out the window as if you’re already a million miles away. It’s almost as if you’ve already shut everything out, ready to move on.

His voice comes quietly, strained. " we need to talk.”

You don’t respond, not right away. Bruce steps into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. The air feels heavy, like something’s already been decided, but he won’t let that deter him. He takes a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the rising panic in his chest.

He’s careful, almost too careful, when he speaks again. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. But what happened today, what you did to Tim and Damian, it can’t go unanswered. It wasn’t just about the fight. You crossed a line, and I need to know that you’re aware of that.”

You turn slowly to face him, your eyes burning with frustration, and Bruce can see the rawness in them. The anger. The hurt. It cuts through him, deeper than any physical wound ever could.

“And what should I have done, Bruce? Sit there and take it? Let them walk all over me? Let ya'll act like nothing's wrong? Like you didn't ship me away because some bottle blonde bitch said to?” You scoff, the bitterness in your voice thick enough to choke on. “I’m sick of being treated like I don’t matter. Like I’m just an afterthought. You and your little Batfamily can keep pushing me to the side, but don’t expect me to sit quietly while you pretend I’m not even here. Not anymore. Never again”

Bruce’s face tightens with guilt, but he doesn’t back down. “That’s not what I want. I never wanted you to feel that way. I know I haven’t been there like I should have. I know we've all been horrible and cruel. But that’s no excuse for what you did.”

The words sting, but your anger doesn’t dissipate. If anything, it flares up again. You stand up abruptly, pacing, the frustration too much to keep inside. “Oh, I get it. You don’t want me to do anything that inconveniences you or your precious Batfamily. You want me to apologize for fighting back like I’m the one in the wrong here, right? You want me to crawl back to them, all nice and meek, because that’s what you think I should be. What I used to be. But I’m not that person anymore, Bruce. I’m not. And it’s about damn time you realize that. If anything, me and Damian aren't even close to even, he's hurt me before, threatened me before, that always went unanswered. Because fuck me right? Who cares about me? Tell Tim he's welcome to come get his lick back, I wasn't thinking when I hit him.”

Bruce flinches, his jaw tightening at your words. You’re right, he’s failed you. He’s allowed the distance between you two to grow, let it fester until you finally exploded. He’d told himself that you would always be there, that you were part of his family, but he’d taken that for granted.

You were right, Damian was never punished but Bruce would ensure that no one, not even Damian would ever get away with hurting you again.

But then, just when he thinks he has a handle on the situation, you drop the bombshell that completely shatters any control he had left.

You cross your arms over your chest and exhale, your voice soft but full of finality. “I’m leaving tomorrow. For the South of France. I’m staying with Ariel and her dad for the summer.”

The words land like a punch in the gut. Bruce freezes, his hand almost involuntarily reaching out toward you, though he stops himself just short. His breath catches in his throat.

“France?” His voice cracks for the first time since he entered the room. His mind races, how could you leave like this? How could you just walk away? You two were making progress, learning to understand each other. How was he supposed to fix this if you left? Was it that easy for you? Was it that easy for him to lose you? “You can’t.” He states, his tone final and unforgiving.

“I can. I already have everything packed, in fact, I literally didn't even unpack.” You shrug nonchalantly, trying to hide the ache in your chest behind a mask of indifference. “Ariel and I have been talking about this for months, it's our trip.”

Bruce takes a step toward you, voice low and edged with something darker, more possessive. “You’re not leaving. Not like this.”

You shake your head, the fire in your eyes fading just a little, replaced by something more resigned. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’ve barely noticed me, Bruce. You’ve been too busy with your missions, your family, your life, and I’ve been here, waiting. But not anymore. I’m not going to sit around and wait for you to remember I exist. I deserve more than that. That boarding school was the best thing that happened to me.”

Bruce can feel the weight of your words, the sting of rejection, and it makes something inside him snap. He knows he’s messed up. He knows he’s made mistakes. But the idea of you leaving—of you walking away, out of his reach—is something he won’t stand for. Not now. Not when he’s just starting to recognize how badly he’s failed you. Not when he can still feel the resentment rolling off you in waves.

“I can’t let you go,” Bruce says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. His eyes lock with yours, the intensity between you two growing, thick with unspoken emotions. “Not like this. Not when I’m just starting to understand everything that’s been wrong. I’ve messed up, but don’t leave. I’ll fix this. I promise. I’ll fix it.”

You stare at him, unmoving, but the fire in your eyes softens just a little. There’s a flicker of doubt now, a tiny crack in the armor you’ve put up. But it’s not enough. Not yet. Not enough to change your mind.

“I don’t know, Bruce.” Your voice is quieter now, but still laced with hurt. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this. You’re not the person you used to be. And neither am I. Maybe that’s just... something we both have to face.”

Bruce steps closer, close enough now that his presence seems to fill the room, heavy and suffocating in a way that only he can. His hand reaches out slowly, this time not hesitating, and he places it on your shoulder gently.

“I don’t want to lose you, not when I've just started to see you,” he says, his voice hoarse with a desperation he’s never let show before. “I’ll fix this. I’ll make it right. But I need you to stay. I need you here with me, please.”

The words hang in the air between you two, a fragile plea that feels both urgent and terrifying. The mighty Bruce Wayne, billionaire, playboy, the Batman, stood in front of you begging.

You don’t respond immediately. Instead, you stand there, staring at him as if you’re seeing him for the first time in a long while. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a flicker of hope in your eyes. But not enough.

"Compromise. I'll stay with Ariel for two and a half months and i'll come back here for two weeks before school." You say, eyes gleaming with the signature look all Waynes get when negotiating. Yes, you wanted to give him a small chance but there's no way you're backing out of this trip and leaving Ariel and her hot dad hanging. You weren't about to give up a summer of tanning, flirting, partying, and country hopping with your best friends for the chance that you might fix things with your father.

Bruce raised his brows, almost smiling. You were cute when you tried to be tough, but the deal is what made him falter. Two teenagers, two months unsupervised in a foreign country, who knows what could happen? Who knows what kind of influence this Ariel is? But what was really funny was that you talked like you were going back to New York for school! No, you were coming back to Gotham Prep and staying the manor, where you belonged. But Bruce wasn't cruel. He'd let you hope. "We can go as a family, a family vacation. I'll meet your friend and decide if she's trustworthy. I have a villa right in the-"

"No! Please no! I would rather die. This is a girls trip. As in only me and Ariel. We've been planning this forever. I won't cancel. Or bring my family, that's so lame. You never would've cared before." You say almost stomping your feet, playing the guilt card. You couldn't have your family there seeing what you get up to and who you get up to it with!

"One month and you take Dick with you." There was no way you were going alone. Bruce wouldn't cave, nor would he be guilt tripped.

The mighty Bruce Wayne got hustled by his 16 year old daughter. In the end he caved, you would stay with Ariel for two months and two weeks, not a day more nor a day less. You would apologize to Tim and leave tomorrow after a peaceful family breakfast. You would have your location on at all times. Yeah Bruce got played, but as he walked out your room and looked back to see you grinning from ear to ear and calling your friend, jumping up and down, he decided it was worth it to see you this happy.

He would let you have these two months, then you'd be back home where you belonged.

The morning felt too still. Too quiet. The clock ticked on in the background, but it didn’t seem to matter. Every movement felt exaggerated, every breath, every shift of your weight, every step as you made your way around the dining table. It was as if the house itself were holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Something to shift.

As you went and sat down at the table, it was quiet once again and the air was even heavier than yesterday.

Bruce sat at the head of the table, his face unreadable as he sipped his coffee, eyes occasionally flicking toward you but never fully meeting yours. He was distant, but somehow… present in a way that felt more intrusive than comforting. He hadn’t been this present in years, actually never. Not to you.

Bruce’s gaze didn’t leave you as you walked, his eyes colder than you remembered yesterday. Your fingers tightened around the strap of your suitcase, the weight of his attention pulling at your chest.

Jason sat to his right, his hand resting on his mug with a white-knuckled grip, his expression hard and unreadable. Every so often, his eyes would slide over to you, watching your movements, the way you tucked things into your bag or adjusted the straps of your suitcase. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you, like he was mentally memorizing every detail, every shift.

Bruce’s gaze was fixed on you as he slid the black card across the table, its dark, sleek surface catching the light just right.

“Take it,” he said quietly, his tone laced with authority. “Use it for whatever you need. You don’t have to go without. Don't forget, you're a part of this family, always have been. I want to make sure you have what you need.”

You almost recoiled at the gesture, the black card a symbol of everything that tied you to this mansion, to this family. It was a physical representation of his control, their attempts to make you feel like you were part of something. But it felt more like a chain. But it is unlimited money... You didn’t take your eyes off him as you slid it into your bag, the tension in the room making your throat dry.

Your outfit—intentionally revealing, a far cry from the usual soft layers you wore when you spent time with them—felt more out of place than ever. The shorts, lulu lemon in the shortest length, the cropped top—it had been a subtle rebellion. A way to assert yourself, to feel free. But now, as their eyes flicked over you, you felt too exposed. Too seen.

Jason’s eyes lingered on your exposed skin, his expression unreadable, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line. There was an edge to his stare, like he didn’t like what he saw, but he didn’t speak. Not directly. His fists were still clenched at his sides, his jaw taut.

Damian’s eyes flicked over you as well, but his anger seemed to burn hotter, sharper. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, too low for anyone else to hear. But it wasn’t meant for you—it was meant for himself, for the way he couldn’t control you. For the fact that you’d gotten away. For now.

And then, there was Bruce. His gaze never wavered, never softened, just cold and steady. He said nothing more about the card, but his eyes held something that felt too heavy to bear. Possession. It hung between them like an unspoken truth. And the way his eyes moved over you—lingering just a little too long on the exposed parts of her skin—made your skin crawl.

Jason’s voice broke through the silence next, but it was low, playful, but edged with something else. Something that made her skin crawl.

“No boys,” he said, his tone playful, even as his gaze flicked to the door. “I don’t care who you’re staying with, but no boys. Got it?”

The playful tone didn’t match the intensity in his gaze, though. She raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to play it off.

“I’m sorry, what?” you replied, letting a smirk cross your face, trying to make it clear that this was just Jason being Jason. They were back to normal.

“No boys,” he repeated, the humor slipping from his voice now, replaced with something colder. “I’m serious. No fucking around while i'm not there. No fucking around in general, figuratively and literally.”

Your heart skipped. You glanced at Bruce, expecting him to give a soft chuckle or a reassuring nod to say it was just Jason being… well, Jason. But Bruce didn’t flinch. His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering. His expression was cold, his lips pressed into a firm line. He wasn’t smiling. He wasn’t even looking amused.

“Jason’s right,” he said, his words steady and resolute. “No boys. Not while you’re here. Not while you’re under this roof.”

You almost scoffed, good thing you weren't gonna be under this roof for long.

You blinked, the sharpness of his words catching you off guard. He wasn’t joking. His posture was rigid, his eyes locked onto yours in a way that almost felt like a command.

Jason didn’t speak again, but the message had been clear.

No boys.

You nodded stiffly, the weight of his demand sitting in the pit of your stomach.

Duke, who had been mostly quiet up until now, was the next to speak, but his voice was softer, more thoughtful, as if he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the situation.

“You don’t have to go. You know that, right?” he said, his voice tentative, though there was an undercurrent of something else—something protective. "We could all go together. It’s better that way."

But his offer hung in the air like a dream you couldn’t quite reach. You could see it in his eyes—a hint of something, perhaps concern, perhaps something more. It wasn’t quite the same as Bruce’s cold stare or Jason’s intense grip on control. But there was an edge to it.

Cass, perched at the far end of the table, seemed as unreadable as ever. But there was something in her posture today—an intensity, like she was bracing herself, like something was about to happen, even if she couldn’t quite put it into words. She didn’t speak, but her gaze tracked every movement, every gesture, as if she were memorizing it.

Tim, seated next to Cass, had barely said anything all morning. His eyes flickered to you now and then, but it was more of a quiet observation, something far too careful and deliberate. He was almost… detached. But there was a coldness in the way he looked at you, like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was waiting.

Barbara was the exception—her smile was too wide, her eyes too bright, like she was trying to convince herself of something she wasn’t sure about. She kept trying to fill the silence with light conversation, but it always felt forced. And when her gaze landed on you, it lingered a little too long.

Steph, across from her, was the only one trying to keep things light. But the way she kept glancing at the door, at the phone on the table, at her own reflection in the polished surface—it was obvious she was uncomfortable. She was nervous. Especially after yesterday. And it was more than just the impending trip.

The room was alive with their watchfulness. It wasn’t just their presence—it was the way they didn’t speak directly to you, but everything they did seemed to be a reminder that they were there, that they could be there.

Damian scoffed from the end of the table and opened his mouth but closed it as Bruce looked at him sternly. He just rolled his eyes and went back to glaring at the wall, muttering things under his breath and gripping the table tightly.

He had been unusually quiet up until now and scoffed from his spot at the table, his eyes narrowed as he shot you a glare so venomous it was almost rivaled your actual venom.

“You think you can just leave, after everything?” Damian hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. His fists clenched under the table. “You think a simple apology makes everything okay? You punched me and left. You don’t just get to walk away from that.”

His anger seemed to grow with each word, but there was something beneath it, something that felt darker than simple sibling rivalry. As if the violation of his personal space and authority left him feeling more than just hurt, but threatened.

You knew that hitting him, striking him with all the force you could muster—had been the culmination of everything you couldn’t say, couldn’t express after all these years. But now, facing him again, you felt the weight of his anger. His rage wasn’t just directed at the punch. It was everything: the way you were walking out. The way you were leaving.

“Alright, listen up,” Dick said, his grin playful, cutting through the tension though his voice carried that same underlying weight. “Rules. You're not running off on some crazy solo adventure without us knowing every detail. I’m serious, okay?” His smile remained, but it was a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re not a little kid anymore, but that doesn’t mean you get to act like an adult. I’m gonna need you to check in—like, every single day. Got it?”

The way he said it, like it was a joke, yet his tone was so firm that it left no room for argument. And then, with a playful but almost possessive look, he added, “No crazy parties, no boys, no drinking, and if you get yourself into trouble, don't come running back here. Just kidding! If you need anything, call me.”

His words had a strange effect, both reassuring and infuriating at the same time. You didn’t need him or anyone else telling you what you could or couldn’t do, you didn't need him acting like cared. Like he was suddenly your big brother after years of ignoring you and brushing you off.

Dick was still watching you, like he was hoping you’d cave to whatever soft version of control he was offering. “Alright, just... make sure you come back. I know we don’t say it much, but we care about you, okay? I can't change the past but I do regret it and I do love you. Don’t forget that.”

And there it was—his mask slipping for just a second. His voice softened, but there was something underneath it. Possessiveness, cloaked in affection. It was hard to ignore, the way his eyes followed your movements just a little too closely, the way his words lingered like an unspoken demand.

You didn’t respond immediately, your mind swirling with everything you wanted to say, but didn't. Instead, you let the silence hang in the air, a heavy, thick thing. There was something off about the manor now. Something that hadn’t been there before. The way they all watched you, their glances lingering a little too long, the small, subtle ways they tried to control your every movement—it was suffocating, and yet... it was addicting.

It felt nice being cared about, knowing you had control over their feelings now.

Your mind wandered, thinking of the freedom waiting for you in France. The sun, the beaches, the boys, the carefree nights with Ariel and your other friends—the perfect escape from all this suffocating attention. They don’t get it.

And then you realized—it wasn't just you going on vacation. Something would change when you came back.

When the time came, you’d have to navigate this new, tense version of your family. A family who acted like they cared.

The game had shifted, and now you were part of a strange, unspoken power struggle—your power over them was now as much as theirs over you used to be.

As you were leaving to the airport, your family bid you goodbye. None of them were driving you, they all had busy days today. Jason wrapped you in a short, tight hug, telling you to text him when the plane took off and landed and telling you to be careful, his eyes hard and filled with warning.

Something is his tone set you off, you pulled away before you realized it and got in the car, ignoring Bruce and Dick's awkward attempts to hug you and not even glancing at everyone else.

As you pulled away from the manor and watched their figures in the distance, dread pooled in your stomach. You didn't know why but you were already dreading coming back.

OK YA'LL SORRY ITS LATE. Idk why is struggled writing this chapter so much! lmk what yall think of it and why the reader thinks things are off.

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@angelunatic @littledollete @cutelittlesugarfairy @darbystrange @sxftiebee @zealous0mouse @trashlanternfish360 @galaxygirlsblog @euphoria-looney @1simpchunkygirl @a-lurking-fae @analuixxy @naturallyspontaneous @horror-lover-69 @pastel-mouse @ladyrosemone @frankie-moon3 @catley1011 @justannie18 @yandereaficionado @ithoughtthinks @asdfghjklgayblog @shadowyknightbeargoth @peche4et3chocolat @boredselkie @rogueofbullshit @iamabeaner @rosesunderthegarden

[insidekatmind]

Kiara who?-Pope Heyward

Wearning:+18,smut

You're sitting on Pope's couch, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed as you watch him pacing nervously back and forth across the room.

"Y/N, you don’t understand! I had to do it, or she’d never notice me!" Pope exclaims defensively.

"Oh, sure, because stealing your dad’s boat is the best way to impress Kiara," you reply sarcastically, a hint of frustration in your voice. "Do you realize how stupid that was? If you’d been caught, what would you have done?!"

Pope stops in his tracks and looks at you, his face flushed with emotion but tinged with embarrassment. "You don’t understand how important this is to me… Kiara is special."

You sigh, shaking your head. "I know she is, Pope. But you’re Pope! You don’t need to do crazy things to prove who you are. If she doesn’t see how amazing you already are, then she doesn’t deserve you."

Pope's irritation boiled over, and he finally snapped. "You think it's easy for me? You have no idea what it's like to be the smart guy, the one everyone expects to have it all together. But no matter how hard I study or how many APs I ace, I’m not the guy girls like Kiara notice. I’m just Pope, the guy they call when they need tutoring or a study partner."

You get even more angry at his words as you can't believe that he only sees this. You get up from the couch and walk over to him. “You're an idiot if you only see this about yourself” you blurt out looking at him. "and it's not just Kiara on this damned island"

Pope is taken aback by your sudden outburst and your proximity, but he can’t ignore the passion in your voice. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. "You think you’re not enough for anyone, but that’s the farthest thing from the truth. You’re smart, loyal, and kind. And, believe it or not, you’re also really cute. There’s a lot more to you than just being the smart guy."

Pope’s anger and defensiveness soften slightly as he absorbs your words. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of sarcasm or pity, but he finds none. "You really mean that?" he asks hesitantly, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

You take a step closer to him, closing the remaining distance between you. "I do. You don’t have to steal a boat or do anything crazy just to get someone’s attention. You’re already amazing as you are," you reply firmly, but with a hint of tenderness.

Pope’s heart races as your proximity. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, and your words wash over him like a soothing balm to his wounded ego."I… I guess I just get tired of feeling like no one sees me for me, “ he admits, his voice quiet. "It’s like I have to do something crazy just to prove that I’m worth noticing."

You reach out and place a comforting hand on his arm, your touch gentle but deliberate. "You don’t have to do anything except be yourself, Pope. You’re worthy of attention and love just as you are. Screw Kiara, you don't need her."

His eyes widen slightly at your words, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face, surprised by how strongly you seem to feel about this. But he can’t help the flutter in his chest at your touch.

"I’ve never heard it put that way," he admits reluctantly, his words barely above a whisper. "I guess I’ve just been so caught up in trying to impress Kiara… I didn’t realize how much it was consuming me.”

You step even closer, your body almost pressed against his. "You don’t have to impress anyone, Pope. And definitely not Kiara," you say firmly, your grip on his arm tightening slightly. "You just have to be the amazing person you already are."

Pope’s breath hitches in his throat as he feels your body against his own. The heat from your skin seems to burn through his clothes, and his heart races in his chest. "How do you know that?" he asks quietly, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability and longing.

You move your hand from his arm to his cheek, gently cupping it. “I just do,” you reply softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your touch sending shivers down his spine. “You’re more than just the smart guy, Pope. You’re everything.”

His breath hitches again as your touch ignites a fire inside of him, a fire he didn’t even know existed. Your words hit him like a tidal wave, and he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You… you really think so?” he asks softly, his gaze fixated on yours, searching for any hint of dishonesty or pity.

Your fingers continue to trace his jawline, the delicate touch sending electric shocks down his spine. Your eyes are locked with his, and you can see the mix of surprise, hope, and vulnerability etched in his expression."I do," you assure him adamantly. "I see all of these things in you, Pope. Trust me."

The fire inside him burns hotter with each passing second, and he can’t remember ever feeling like this before. Your touch, your words, your presence… They’re all intoxicating, leaving him breathless and wanting more.“But… why?” he asks weakly, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “Why do you see all that in me?”

Your hand moves from his jaw to the nape of his neck, threading into his hair and pulling him closer. You’re so close now that your bodies are practically touching, the heat from his skin mixing with your own. "Because it’s the truth," you reply simply, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because I see you for who you really are."

He feels lightheaded from your proximity, your touch, your words. It’s all too much, but oh, how he wants more. He can’t help but take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. "And who am I, really?"Pope asks looking at your lips. He breathes, his gaze still fixed on yours, his body feeling like it’s on fire.

Your heart races in your chest at the proximity, your bodies now pressed flush together. Your hand in his hair pulls him closer, your fingers tangling in the locks. “You’re kind,” you murmur, your breath brushing against his lips. “Intelligent. Loyal. Strong. Funny…”Your words are cut off by the unexpected press of Pope’s lips against yours.

His body fully pressing you against the wall. The kiss sparks like a live wire, a mixture of passion and suppressed emotions igniting between you both. Your head spins, and you gasp in surprise before melting into the kiss, your hand still tangled in his hair and the other fisting his shirt.

Pope’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His hands explore your body, tracing your curves and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The kiss deepens, and he can’t get enough of you, his tongue pushing past your lips. His body pressing more against yours, his grip on you tight. He can’t help but release a low moan against your lips.

You gasp into the kiss and cling to him as he kisses you back with even more passion. Pope’s lips devour yours with a new fervor, his hand moving to cup your face, angling your head for better access to your mouth. His body is flush against yours, pressing you tight against the wall. He releases another low moan, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Pope's hands roam your body with a newfound confidence, Pope picks you up, making you wrap your legs around his hips and without breaking the kiss. He he quickly maneuvers you onto the couch. You straddle him, your legs on either side of his hips, and he pulls you even closer, his body heat radiating into you. His hands find their way under your shirt, tracing patterns on your bare skin.

You moan into the kiss from the position and cling to him, kissing him with your tongue. Pope responds eagerly, his tongue meeting yours in an intimate dance. He kisses you deeply, savoring the taste of your mouth. His hands continue to explore your bare skin under your shirt, running up your sides and caressing your back. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, a silent request.

You break away from the kiss to take off your shirt and shorts. Pope’s breath hitches in his throat as you undress, his eyes roaming over your body with a mixture of awe and desire. He eagerly helps you remove his shirt, throwing it to the floor before pulling you on top of him. The feeling of your bare skin against his sends sparks through him, and he grabs you, rolling you onto your back and pinning you against the cushions.

Pope’s lips move from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and small, gentle bites along your exposed skin. His hands continue to roam your body, caressing and exploring every dip and curve with a newfound hunger. He positions himself between your legs, his body almost completely covering yours, and nips at the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

You moan into his touch and arch for him, “Pope” you moan looking up at him.

Pope’s heart skips a beat at the sound of you saying his name, his own name on your lips sending heat rushing straight to his core. He looks down at you, drinking in the sight of you writhing beneath him, his eyes dark with desire.

“Say it again,” he requests hoarsely, his voice low and gravelly. “Say my name again.”

You’re breathless, your body on fire from his touch, and the sound of his own plea only fuels the heat coursing through you. Your hands grip his biceps, holding on for dear life as you arch into him, your bodies flush against each other. “Pope,” you repeat breathlessly, your voice a low, ragged whisper of need. “Pope, please…”

The sound of his name on your lips, coming out of you in such a wanton, pleading tone, drives him wild with want. He captures your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth hungrily. His hands roam your body with an unbridled urgency, tracing every contour, caressing every inch he can reach. He pulls away from the kiss just long enough to reply, his voice thick with need: “I want everything,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “I want you.”

Something snaps in you when you hear his words and feel his breath on your skin. A primal, animalistic need takes over, and you pull Pope down onto you, flipping your positions so you’re now on top of him. You press your body flush against his, and he lets out a gasp of surprise at the unexpected change in position. Your lips crash into his, the kiss hungry and desperate, as your hands roam his body, mapping out every plane and contour.

Pope quickly frees himself from his shorts and boxers and takes off your underwear and immediately enters you feeling the need to feel you. You both moan into the kiss. The moment of entry brings a low, guttural moan from the both of you, and Pope clutches at you as if he can't bear to be even an inch away from you. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, as he wraps his arms around you, holding you in place against him. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark and blazing with lust, and he gasps out your name hoarsely. “You feel so good,” he murmurs.

You moan feeling his thrusts inside you. “You are so big Pope” you murmur holding onto him trying to get more. The combination of your words and the feel of your hands on him drive Pope to the edge. He responds to your murmur by thrusting deeper, his body moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that drives you both wild with desire. “You like that?” he asks, his voice a low, guttural growl, as he buries his face into your neck and kisses the sensitive skin there.

You moan in response and scratch his back. “So good,” you say, your voice cracking with moans. Every moan, every gasp of pleasure from your lips only serves to fuel the fire inside of him even more. Pope buries his lips and teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck, leaving a mark of possession behind. His hands grip your hips, guiding your movements and helping you meet his rhythm.

“You’re mine,” he grits out against your skin, his words punctuated by a sharp thrust. “Say it.” You moan excited by his being dominant. You had never seen Pope like this and you loved it.

“I'm yours Pope, all yours” you moan as you continue to scratch his back from the pleasure he was giving you. Your confirmation that you are his and only his sends a thrill through Pope that he’s never experienced before. A mixture of dominance and possessiveness takes over him, and he tightens his grip on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

“Damn right you are,” he growls, the sound low and primal. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.” His words make you shiver in anticipation, and you arch into him as he pistons into you, wanting to feel every inch of him. Your own hands roam over his back, grabbing and clutching at the skin anywhere you can reach, your nails leaving deep scratches behind.

“Harder,” you gasp into his ear, your voice an octave higher than normal with need. “Please, Pope.” Pope doesn’t need to be told twice.

The command on your lips, the need in your voice, only serve to stoke the fire within him. He growls out your name, his hands gripping onto you even tighter as he obliges and quicken the pace. He kisses, bites, and licks every piece of skin he can reach, leaving a trail of fire and desire in his wake.

The change in pace sends waves of pleasure through you, and you arch your back with a guttural moan. The sensations are overwhelming, and your nails dig into his back, leaving behind angry, red lines. “I’m getting close,” you manage to gasp out, your words intermingled with moans and gasps. “Just don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

Pope’s mind almost goes blank at your words. He doesn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to. The feel of your nails in his skin and the sounds of your gasping moans only serve to push him towards the edge. He tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging in even harder as he thrusts even deeper into you, prolonging the pleasure for both of you. “I won’t,” he promises huskily, his voice low and rough with desire. “I won’t stop until we both get come”.

The waves of pleasure crash over you both, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your bodies. Pope pulls you tight against him, his arms wrapping around you like a security blanket as he tries to catch his breath. Your body thrums with satisfaction, and you bury your face into his neck, simply content to be held by him.“Holy hell,” he gasps out, his voice rough and breathless. “That… you…”

You giggle weakly and nod in agreement, not quite trusting your voice. You press a soft kiss to his neck, feeling utterly spent and completely satisfied. It feels like your body has been through a wringer, but it was the best kind of wringer possible. “That was…” you start, but even your brain is all fuzzy still. “Amazing,” you manage to utter.

Pope lets out a weak chuckle at the sound of your ragged voice, the exhaustion in it only serving to make his body warmer in a strange way. He rubs your back gently, caressing you with a tenderness that contrasts to the passion of moments before. “Amazing doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he responds, his voice still rough, but softer than before. “That was… I don’t even know how to speak right now, honestly.”

"Did I manage to make you forget about Kiara?" You whisper as he kisses your neck. He looks up without moving away from your neck. "Kiara who?" He murmurs, nibbling on your neck

[daisyangelbaby]

After Last Night

Inspired by silk Sonic’s song, “after last night” 😩

The air between you and Satoru Gojo had always been light. Friends, nothing more. The casual teasing, the playful flirting—it had always been part of his charm. You never took it seriously. After all, Satoru had a reputation. A well-earned one. He was the ultimate flirt, making hearts race and breaking them just as easily.

But something was different now.

You were sitting on the couch in your apartment, the dim glow of your phone’s screen illuminating your face as you scrolled through messages, but none of it seemed to matter. You kept replaying last night—Satoru’s words, his touch, the way his eyes had softened when he looked at you. That kiss. That kiss.

You’d never seen him like that before.

The doorbell rang, pulling you from your thoughts. You knew who it was. Satoru had sent a message earlier, asking if he could stop by. You’d almost said no, but something in your gut urged you to let him in.

You opened the door to find him standing there, wearing that ever-present smirk, but there was something more in his eyes today. The usual arrogance was gone, replaced by an intensity that made your breath catch.

"Hey," he greeted you softly, stepping into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. His gaze immediately found yours, not with the playful glint it usually held, but with something deeper. Something more real.

“Satoru,” you said, your voice steady, but inside, you were fighting the nervous energy that suddenly coiled in your stomach. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “It’s about last night.”

You tried to play it cool, folding your arms across your chest. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He closed the door behind him and turned to face you. His gaze intense. “Stop pretending,” he muttered, almost too quietly. “We both know it wasn’t just another night.”

The tension between you two was palpable now, crackling in the air. You swallowed hard, trying to push down the emotions threatening to spill over. “Satoru, you’re the same as always. You’re the guy who flirts with every girl he meets, and I’m just… another one.”

His eyes darkened for a moment, but he didn’t flinch. “That’s not true,” he said quietly, his voice low, almost vulnerable. “Not with you.”

You furrowed your brows, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m done with the act,” he confessed, his gaze steady on yours. “The flirting, the games, all of it. I’ve been doing it for years, but it’s different with you.”

You stepped back, feeling the weight of his words sink into your chest. “Satoru, this isn’t like you. You don’t—”

He cut you off, his voice firmer now, almost desperate. “I can’t get you out of my head. After last night... I’ve been thinking about you non-stop. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the words hitting you harder than you expected. This was Gojo. The guy who could have any woman, anytime he wanted. And now he was standing here, telling you he couldn’t stop thinking about you?

“Satoru, you’re just... saying this because of the night. The way it was…” You trailed off, trying to make sense of your own swirling thoughts.

“I’m not,” he said firmly, stepping closer to you. “I’m telling you the truth. I’ve never felt this way before. Not with anyone. Not ever.” He reached out and gently cupped your face, the warmth of his hand sending a shiver down your spine. “Last night wasn’t just about sex. It was you. I want you, and I want to make this right. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you looked into his eyes. There was no trace of the usual playful mask, no hint of the cocky arrogance that made you roll your eyes. There was just him—and he was serious. More serious than you’d ever seen him.

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” you whispered, trying to hold onto your skepticism. “You’ve always been the guy who never takes anything seriously. Especially not relationships.”

“I am serious now,” he said, his thumb brushing along your jawline, making it hard for you to focus on anything but him. “I don’t care about anyone else. I don’t want anyone else. I want you, and I’m not going to stop until I have you.”

You could feel the heat of his words, the intensity of his gaze. There was no joking now, no pretending. It was just satoru—laid bare, vulnerable in a way you’d never seen him.

“You’re asking me to trust you,” you said, voice shaky despite your best efforts to stay strong. “After all this time? After everything?”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I know I’ve messed up. But I’m telling you right now: Anything you want, I’ll give it to you. Cars, clothes, diamonds, gold. Whatever you want, I’ll get it for you. No questions asked.”

His voice lowered, becoming almost a growl. “And if you want me to follow you to the ends of the earth, I’ll do that too. Anywhere you want to go, I’ll be there.”

Your pulse was racing, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn’t playing anymore. He wasn’t the cocky, carefree satoru who flirted with every girl who crossed his path. This was a man who was telling you he was done with all of that.

“I can’t just… trust you like that,” you said, your voice barely audible. “What if this is just some phase? What if you get bored?”

He closed the gap between you, his lips almost touching your ear as he whispered, “Then I’ll never get bored, because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

You pulled back just slightly, enough to look him in the eye. “You’re really serious, aren’t you?”

“I’ve never been more serious.” He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ve spent my whole life playing games, but this is different. You’re different. I don’t want anyone else. I only want you. And I’ll prove it, day after day, if that’s what it takes.”

For a moment, you were lost in the intensity of his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. The doubt, the fear—it was still there, but something else was beginning to take its place. Hope.

And, maybe, just maybe, a little bit of desire.

Slowly, you reached up and placed your hand on his chest, your fingers brushing against his shirt. You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t need to. Because when satoru kissed you then—gentle at first, testing, waiting for your response—it felt different. It wasn’t just passion. It was raw, vulnerable, real.

And for the first time, you kissed him back.

When you pulled away, breathless, he didn’t look away, didn’t hesitate. He was looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“I’ll be here,” he promised softly, his hand still on your face. “And I’m not going anywhere until I have you. All of you.”

You couldn’t help but believe him.

And, for the first time, you didn’t want to fight it anymore.

[tgmsunmontue]

White Hot - 3/? - Hangster

A TGM AU - Blacksmith + Metal-artist Jake and History Teacher Bradley.

ONE TWO

PART THREE

              Bradley isn’t sure about how booking fieldtrips work at his new school, so it takes him a few days to get the paperwork all lined up and organized so It fits in with his schedule. He’s commended for making the class more interactive in general. Apparently the school principal’s kid is in his AP History class and has been raving about him to her, so Bradley guesses he’s grateful for small blessings.

              He finally unpacks his last box and surveys his apartment, glad to have that job finally done after months of procrastinating. It’s not like he needed anything that was in the box, but Mav and Penny had helped pack and obviously thought the contents was important enough to ship across the country. Bradley isn’t going to be ungrateful for their help, but he really doesn’t know why he even owns a cherry pitter. He’s never pitted a cherry in his life.

              Once all the paperwork is done he finds he can simply book everything online, so he does that at home in the evening one night, then looks at the photo gallery and there he is, Jake, shirtless but wearing the leather apron and gloves, denim jeans, a range of photos showing him working the forge and doing a variety of things which Bradley only has a vague understanding of but look… interesting.

              Jake.

              The guy he didn’t even manage to give his name to before he’d almost fallen over in front of, before fleeing the scene like he was on fire. No no, just his face on fire from embarrassment. God he’s shocking. A hot guy and he can’t string more than a couple of sentences together. Although he’s not asking a guy out in his place of work. That’s not cool, he always hated being put on the spot like that when he was working shifts in the diner.

              It doesn’t stop him scrolling through the photos from the start and studying them more closely. Zoom in on a couple and studies them some more. God he hopes no one ever looks at his internet history and can tell how long he’s been looking at a picture.

…          …          …

              The thing is Jake doesn’t work at the village very often, but he finds himself dropping by almost daily. He has his own forge and workshop situated a short walk from his little house he started building with the payout from his first big commission. It’s located on a part of his family ranch, on a piece of land they’d gifted him. He knows he’s lucky, but he still works hard, helps out around the place when they need it, and then works on his own projects in between the commission works.

              The village is a side gig though, and he only does a day a week usually, maybe two if someone else wants time off. Most of the others are hobbyists, or retired and they use it to keep fit. So there are plenty of people to share the work around.  Except he doesn’t want to miss the hot history teacher’s visit so… he’s standing in front of Natasha, the woman in charge, the one who dresses as the Sheriff and is a fantastic shot, who does demonstrations of sharp shooting. She’s also one of the nicest people Jake knows, and he’s known her most of his life.

              “Hey Natasha, I’ve got a favor to ask.”

              “Jake, hi. Yeah, of course. What is it?”

              Jake scrunches up his face, because he’s asked for favors plenty of times, but they’ve always been related to work, or the forge, or ensuring he had a weekend off.

              “There’s a school visit coming up…”

              “You want to make sure you’re not down for it?”

              “Uh. Opposite actually. Johnson High?”

              “You want me to make sure you’re here for that visit?”

              “Yeah,” Jake says slowly, drawing the word out.

              “Mind telling me why?”

              “Do I have to?” he asks with a laugh.

              “No, of course not. I just… I’m curious is all.”

              “Uh. It’s stupid. Probably stupid.” She doesn’t say anything and Jake guesses he’s going to have to fall on his own fucking sword. “The history teacher is hot okay? I wouldn’t mind getting his number…”

              “Oh. Um. I have it. It’s on the booking sheet. They’re not coming until March.”

              “March? That’s weeks away…”

              “You could have the number off the booking sheet though?”

              “That’s kind of… creepy though. Right?”

              “A little. Yeah. Maybe.”

              “Ugh. Fine. I’ll wait. Just… thanks.”

              Of course his resolve cracks that night, he can’t wait to find out a name at least and the school website is public. That’s not that creepy right? He tells himself it isn’t as he brings up his old school website. There’s a whole page for Faculty members and there he is.

              Mr B Bradshaw.

              He wonders what the B stands for. He has a name now at least, even if it’s just a last name. The school has social media pages and he heads over to them, has been following them for years since they got sent to him in an alumni newsletter and only really uses social media to promote his own work. He scrolls back to the beginning of the school year, when they usually do posts welcoming new staff and give a little history about where they’ve come from, experience etc.

              Mr B Bradshaw, coming from California, to replace Mrs Watson for her well-deserved retirement. Over ten years' experience teaching history and geography. Also going to be the new baseball coach when the season starts. Enjoys travelling, history and baseball. Then there are some photos clearly taken from Mr Bradshaw’s previous school and yeah… Jake isn’t remembering wrong. The guy is definitely hot.

[lovedeluxelove]

because i can never just leave an idea alone. here is camboy! jayvik au inspired by my post

-

‘Thank you sooo much for a million guys! Never thought we would hit it so fast :) As a special thank you, I’ve decided I’m gonna do any request (within reason) for my next video. Comment below what you guys wanna see me do, and most popular request gets done! If there’s a collab you guys want, a toy you wanna see, or just anything, I’ll do my best to make it happen. Thank you guys so much again!’ 

Jayce took a deep breath and opened the comment section of his post. It had been a week since he sent it out, long enough for a popular response to emerge, but he was sure he already knew what would be at the top. 

He had half expected, when sending this out—half dreaded and half hoped, maybe—that most people were gonna ask that he collab with Mel again. It had been a long while, and though they said they’d remain friends and keep things professional, working together since their breakup was… awkward, to say the least. It didn’t help matter that whenever chat brought her up during any live events, he squirmed in his seat and changed the topic. His chat always did like to see him flustered. But he could never let down the people who had changed his life so much, so he would muster up all the courage he had to reach out to Mel if a collab was what his chat wanted.

What actually ended up happening was something Jayce couldn’t have expected at all. Someone had posted a comment earlier on in the week, probably as a joke saying ‘haha i’d like to see golden boy try to handle somebody like @ machineherald’ and suddenly, the comment caught like wildfire. It was everywhere and everything people were commenting all of a sudden, to the point where people were already making memes about how Jayce was gonna lose his mind working with him. Jayce hardly had to look far to tell that this had indeed become the most popular request by far, and in resignation, decided to pull up this ‘machine herald’s page to see just what he was in for.

Jayce considered himself relatively professional. After two years working as a camboy now, he felt pretty secure in his ability to handle most things he encountered now, compared to the squirmy, shy boy he was when he started. To be fair, Mel deserved most of the credit for that. Mel was another, incredibly popular online personality who had taken him under his wing when he first started, most of his original supporters being her fans who took an interest in him. She added a softness to his online character that drew in a lot more feminine fans for him and he added a masculine edge that drew a lot of his male fans to her as well. It was mutually beneficial, and when they started dating, a lot of people saw it as perfect, looking forward to their couple collabs and cute interactions on each other’s posts. 

A lot of people would make the argument that their content was ‘tame’, but Jayce found no fault in being a perfect standard. It worked for him, and he never felt like he needed to stray outside of that. He had a loyal fanbase of people who liked his usual content, and it made him enough money to support his living. Trying to get your master’s degree was expensive and the research he was conducting even more so.

That being said, Jayce didn’t get flustered by much anymore, and his fanbase had clearly enjoyed teasing him with whatever could still get him to blush. 

That has to be the reason why they’d recommend a page like this.  

Jayce scrolled through the page of the Machine Herald, a man who, like his title boasted, seemed to specialize in all kinds of devices. His pinned video was him using a sybian and Jayce had slammed his laptop shut in shock before he’d even fully processed it. He closed his eyes, trying to relax. He was an adult man, he made content like this himself, for crying out loud. Well, he amended, he didn’t make any content like this. He tried to relax, steeling himself as he opened his laptop back up and continued to scroll down the man’s page. Jayce briefly remembers the time Mel brought up butt plugs and Jayce blanched, firmly denying the request. As Jayce scrolled past a video of the man using a device he called a ‘fuck machine’, he couldn’t help but feel as his response to butt plugs was an overreaction. 

His fans wanted him to collab with this guy?

He continued scrolling, starting to feel a bit dizzy. Jayce gulped and looked down at his lap, realizing, oh, he was more interested in this than he thought he’d be. He looked back up at the screen at a suggestive photo of the Machine Herald’s stomach that he had posted between videos, something visible under his skin, distending his belly slightly, with a caption reading ‘guess what toy this is’. Jayce shuddered out a breath and very impressively ignored how hard his dick was getting. It didn’t help that this man was so… attractive. 

He kept his face mostly out of frame, though he didn’t hide it either, sometimes ducking into frame to comment on all his favorite qualities of whatever toy he was using. But more often than not, just the bottom half of his face would be in frame, his plush looking lips opening around a moan, or squishing around the bite of this teeth, or warping around the girth of a toy and—Jayce closed his laptop again, trying to collect his thoughts. He needed to focus. He couldn’t just scroll this man’s page forever, he was—he was doing research! Yes. Research. He should be looking at this man’s collabs, not his solo content. He opened his laptop again, redirecting around his page. He just needed to see if the way this man worked with others was able to mesh with his style. 

The Machine Herald was on the same platform Jayce was, more niche content with less followers at around 500k, but a no less dedicated fanbase. In fact, it seemed like most of the equipment the Herald worked with was fan bought or sponsored. Jayce scrolled onto a video of the Herald standing over a large man strapped down into a chair with leather binds and a gag, dragging a vibrating toy in his hand over the man’s nipples, making him arch in the chair. 

Yep, Jayce could work with that.  

Jayce opened his page back up, navigating to the messaging tab and opening up a conversation with the Machine Herald. 

‘Hi! Some of my followers have brought my attention to your work,’ Jayce typed casually like he hadn’t acquainted himself with the Herald’s work very well within the last hour. ‘I promised them i’d do any of their special requests and they seem to like the idea of us collabing together. Would you be open to that?’   

He waited for a response. While idly browsing his page, of course. Jayce had lost track of time by the time the Herald responded, startled back into reality by the ‘ding!’ of a notification received.

‘You’re cute. Sure’ the Herald had replied.

Jayce had a feeling he was in over his head. He found he didn’t really care.

[sossolei]

things I learned after shifting to Hogwarts ‧₊ ᵎᵎ⋅ ˚ △⃒⃘

SIDENOTE: hogwarts was not the first reality I shifted to ! this is a uni reality ! there is no war ! ask any questions you want !

.☘︎ ݁˖ BATHROOM. I’ve genuinely never seen anyone talk about this but ( at least in my reality ) there’s a bathroom on the Hogwarts Express and holy fuck??? On the outside it looks tiny asf but I went in there to change into my robes and it’s wayyy bigger than it looks on the outside. It works like the tents in Goblet of Fire basically. The toilets and everything look relatively new so I’m assuming they change it every couple years just to keep in good condition.

.☘︎ ݁˖ MUGGLES. Have you ever wondered exactly how the muggles don’t notice wizardry, or at least at the platform? In my personal experience, unless it’s magic very intentionally and obviously done in front of muggles, there will usually be a moment distraction where they don’t see the magic happening. In the sense of platform nine and three quarters, there’s usually a couple trains that arrive around the same time and blare the horn so everyone usually gets distracted by that. But a personal example of this happens when I was standing in front of the barrier getting ready to cross through the wall, a young child was watching me from afar and as soon as started walking forward, he tripped over the wheel of his mothers luggage and didn’t see me go through the wall.

.☘︎ ݁˖ THE GREAT HALL. The candles are never ending. They don’t drip. They don’t melt in any way. I just had to say that cause I legit stared at them for almost an hour trying to see if it would melt. You have to talk pretty loud to be heard at the front where Dumbledore usually gives his lil speeches, which means the students who sing have lungs for DAYSSSS it’s actually so impressive. The benches are uncomfortable, not unbearable but not recommended for sitting for a long time lol. There’s no menu or anything, the food rlly does just appear there but there’s always something for everybody. Some people even walk up and down the table looking for what they want.

.☘︎ ݁˖ OTHER SCHOOLS. I didn’t stay in this reality for very long but I was always asking questions ( sorry mcgonnagall ). Ilvermorny is currently trying to admit more Native American wizards into their school but Native American wizards (as far as I know) have their own kind of magic and legit do not want anything to do with Ilvermorny. Kind of similar issue in Australia and Aboriginals I’m pretty sure. There’s a lot of, like a fuck ton of wizarding schools in Africa. I know JK Rowling has like one wizarding school in Africa but geographically speaking, that never made sense to begin with and I wasn’t surprised when I found out there were different/smaller wizarding schools around Africa.

.☘︎ ݁˖ STUDENTS. I don’t know how many students are in Hogwarts but I do know that it’s never a surprise who comes to Hogwarts. The ministry genuinely keeps track of every single wizard who has children, and even hold records of wizards who have families without wizarding abilities, just in case someone pops out with it. Easiest way to think of it is that families like Ron’s are always kept track of as well as Hermione’s, so it’s never usually a surprise when someone turns up muggleborn cause they’re usually expecting it.

.☘︎ ݁˖ PROFESSORS. The professors are not as silly goofy as they are in the movies guy :( They’re not miserable or anything but they all just remind me of the standing emoji LMAOOO. But seriously, someone like Mcgonnagall is not as welcoming or “chill” as she is in the movies or towards Harry. But some definitely are more chill, especially the younger ones. Slughorn is my silly king but even he has his moments.

Since this is a uni, Snape isn’t as uh…violent (?) as he is in the movies. Neville is a grown ass man, Snape is def not his biggest fear but Neville in general has a strong urge to prove himself and it reflects in his relationship with Snape. Snape isn’t scary, he just demands lots of respect and has respect for people that have proven they are “worthy” of it, i.e., high marks, put together, confidence, strong willed, etc.

.☘︎ ݁˖ DIVINATION. Did you guys know that being a witch/wizard doesn’t automatically make you good at all forms of divination? I scripted Mattheo Riddle into this reality and me and him are soooo good at other forms of divination like tarot, coffee grounds, and even the the crystal ball, but Theodore Nott fucking sucksss at it. Hermione also didn’t do as well in the class as I know she could’ve done, but according to Treylawney, all forms of divination require open mindedness towards something you can’t understand. Someone like hermione, for example, wants to know everything all the time and doesn’t beat around the bush, so tarot isn’t her cup of tea because she doesn’t think it’s giving her exactly what she wants.

.☘︎ ݁˖ HOMEWORK. Homework can either be really fun or really time consuming. It’s just like regular homework where you recall everything you learned in class but homework isn’t very common the more you move up in classes, mainly because the magic you start to do becomes more hands on rather than memorizing. This doesn’t apply to Snape though. He loves homework.

.☘︎ ݁˖ UNIFORMS. THE ROBES ARE INSULATED. It’s very thick, good quality fabric and keeps you real warm during the winter but during the later hot months like September, it’s not uncommon to walk around with the robes open or in your hands, but you have to wear them in your body during class, no exceptions. They absorb stains??? This is one I wasn’t expecting but it’s a magical robe so…okay! I dropped cranberry juice on the sleeve and it just completely absorbed and it didn’t stink or anything. This doesn’t apply to the tie or anything else, those have to washed for sure.

.☘︎ ݁˖ REALITY. If you haven’t shifted yet, you’ll often hear people say “it’ll feel natural because you’ve already lived there your whole life” and while that is true, it’s also not because how am I supposed to be natural walking past Robert fucking Pattinson to get to Defense Against the Dark Arts???? In my mind, he’s always been Edward from Twilight and seeing him in the hogwarts robes just made me stop in my tracks and stare. Some things come natural and some things don’t but I embrace everything with open arms.

.☘︎ ݁˖ EXTRA. Draco is blonde as hell! Like Targaryen level blonde. I do think it’s natural tho cause Luna has the same platinum type of blonde going on. Harry’s scar is soooo much cooler in this reality, it’s thin but branches out on the side of his face and it’s much more noticeable than the one in the movie. Hermione has curly curly hair! I don’t know if she straightens it in the books but I know she does in the movie, in this reality she literally just got a better curl routine. She has a ton of products and really cares for her hair and she’s lowkey embarrassed cause it’s the one thing she considers “vain.”

There’s a “club” of sorts where a bunch of students get together and run around the castle at the crack ass of Dawn for exercise ( best believe they have NEVER seen the likes of me ). I was told there are wizards who are famous in muggle spaces, typically for music or art. The painting will warn people when the stairs are about to move lol. That whole house discrimination stuff doesn’t happen as often as it does in the movies/books, most people don’t actually care and Slytherins get along with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs well—however, Gryffindor does have the tendency to poke fun and Slytherins respond with dry sarcasm so sometimes it’s not a perfect fit! House discrimination was bigger in our parents age but as the years have gone by, the current gen doesn’t care fr.

That’s all I can think of atm, thank you for reading and yes I will be doing this with other places I’ve shifted to!

[hsangel64]

bandmates pt. 11

synopsis: time to start over

warnings: nothing really! a little saucy and some angst!

a/n: this will probably be the last chapter but i might do a sequel smau for this if anyone wants it! thanks to everyone that read this i’ve got more to come!

“hey bee.” you heard ellie say from behind you. you were sitting at a small booth in the cafe waiting anxiously for her appearance, you even thought maybe she got too scared to meet up and she was going to bail. you inhaled and let out a heavy breath, you haven’t seen her for almost a month, probably the longest you’ve gone without each other. your heart is raising as you both stand there and stare at each other, she’s messing with her fingers and tapping her foot. you finally speak up.

“here come sit…” you told ellie and she slowly walked to you and sat.

“so talk ellie.” you both sat in front of each other, you ran your eyes up and down ellie. she was twiddling her thumbs, you could tell she was trying to figure out where to start.

“okay, i know you hate me right now and i get it i really do, i am a complete asshole. i want to first genuinely say sorry, for everything, for cat, for not taking you out, for just being a genuine dick to you. you don’t deserve what i’ve done. i wish there was a way i could make it up to you but i know there isn’t and there probably never will be.” she sighed and you stayed completely focused not wanting to interrupt.

“do you remember that time when you had your birthday party and no one came but me?”

“well dina and jesse came too….”

“well still- do you remember the pact we made?” you looked at her confused and nodded.

“that we would stick together no matter what happens.”

“ellie what does this have to do with anything-“ you hated that day, despised it even.

———————————————————————————

flashback to the birthday

you were so excited for the day, everything was decorated and you had your prettiest dress on. you were turning 16 it was a big birthday for you. you had made custom invitations and everyone had RSVP’d for the day. you weren’t the most popular but you invited everyone you knew and they told you they were coming. your mom got the coolest cake you had ever seen, the decorations was everything you had wanted and more. streamers hanging from the ceiling, the tables laid out with table cloths and set with center pieces. your mom already bought the catering and you were just sitting waiting for guests to come, you kept checking the time as it was close to 2pm, the time of your party. you heard the door bell ring and ran to open it excited to see who was on the other side. you opened the door to find ellie jumbling three big gifts in her hands.

“hey bee!”

“um do you need help…”

“no no….well maybe.” you laughed at her and grabbed the two gifts on the top of the pile.

“why so many gifts els?”

“because you’re 16!! its a big birthday you deserve it!” you laughed at her response and led her to the gift table. once you dropped the gifts on the table she came and gave you a huge hug picking you up off the ground. you giggled at the feeling of her holding you.

“is anyone else here yet?” she asked as she was putting you down.

“no no yet but it is also barely 2pm.” she nodded and then you guys heard the door bell ring again. you both ran to see who it was.

“heyyy happy birthday!!!” dina and jesse were behind the door. you smiled at them and then giggled at jesse carrying all the gifts you assumed dina brought. she pushed jesse slightly and gave you a huge hug.

“ugh i’m so excited for this! i got you so many things i know i went a little crazy…”

“you didn’t have to really.”

“but its your big day!! i had to go all out!”

“damn it d, you got more than i got…” ellie lightly punched dina and you laughed at them fighting over the gifts. jesse walks over to you and hugs you.

“happy birthday dude! you look great!” he pulled away and you smiled up at him thanking him. you had been suck into a convo with jesse you didn’t even realize your mom coming into the living room.

“hey guys what’s up!” ellie immediately running over to your mom hugging her, you almost had thought your mom liked ellie more than you.

“is it just you guys right now?” they all nodded and you all went out to the backyard to grab some snacks while you waited for everyone else to come. as the hour went it was 3 and then 4 and then 5 and still no show of anyone else. you were inside talking to your mom while the three were in the backyard.

“are you sure you gave everyone the invites?”

“yes mom i did i swear!”

“maybe they got the wrong date?” you shook your head, you knew everyone knew the date because everyone had asked you yesterday that it was today, you knew they knew.

“no no i-i know they kn-know.” you felt that awful feeling in your throat, it was burning. you felt the tears built up and then heard your mom say a light, oh honey, as she pulled you in for a hug. once you felt your head on her chest the tears falling and the sobs taking over your body. you must’ve been so loud that everyone came in and was silent. you looked over at them and they all had sad looks on their faces, you continued to sob as they all walked over to you and hugged you.

“they’re not coming.” you let out a hiccup as your tears started to subside. everyone pulled away and waited for you to say something.

“i feel so stupid.” you started to walk to your room, you threw your little crown off and took your sash off, you stumbled into your room and fell onto your bed face first. you groaned into your pillow and heard someone walk in.

“hey bee.” she walked over to you and sat on your bed next to you, taking her hand and rubbing your back.

“hi els.” you mumbled and turned over slightly to look at her. she had a sad smile on her face and moved the hair from your face.

“i look stupid don’t i.”

“no you look beautiful.” your face turned red and you smiled slightly at her comment.

“hey there you are.” she pulled your limp body up to sit against her, she ran her hand through your hair.

“you know what fuck those guys you know? we have always had so much fun together, we don’t need anyone else.” you looked at her and smiled. you both sat in silence for a second until ellie spoke up again.

“lets make a pact.”

“okay like what?” you looked at her with curiosity.

“we will stick together no matter what, nothing and i mean nothing will get in between us and if it tries to we stick together no matter what.” you thought about her words for a second and not a second more you respond.

“okay deal.” you both shook on it and nodded at each other.

“good, now we have a shit ton of food, games and you have gifts to open, a fuck ton! so lets get in some comfy clothes and go have fun with our friends!” you shook your head and that day flipped around and ended up being the best night ever.

———————————————————————————

you shifted in your seat wondering where she’s going with this.

“that we would stick together not matter if one of us is a complete asshole and doesn’t deserve the other. i know you don’t even want to see me right now and i know what i did was so fucking shitty. i feel like an asshole, i know that won’t change what i did and i don’t know what will but i want to at least start over.” ellie stopped and grabbed your hands to hold.

“we can be slow, stay friends for now and whenever you are ready we can be more, o-or we don’t even have to at all and just stay friends, whatever is best for you. i will really do anything for you.” you stayed silent and it felt like your body was stiff, not wanting to move in inch letting her continue.

“i love you bee to the moon and back, even farther than that. i care about you a lot and i was so stupid to do what i did, i will be apologizing for the rest of my life. please just give me one more chance.”

“who says you’ll stick to your word, i’ve giving you so many chances ellie.”

“look i know i know and i really am sorry that you even had to give me one chance to begin with but i promise you this time is different. i blocked cat on everything and told her to leave us alone, yo-you can even talk to dina if you have to i promise this is the last time we will ever have to do this. you deserve the world and more and i want to be the one to give it to you.”

“let me see that you blocked her.” ellie pulls away and immediately pulls out her phone, she hands it to you unlocked. you go to every social media app and she was right, she blocked her on everything. you even went and checked her apps and saw no evidence and there really was nothing. you nodded and handed her the phone back, she took it and grabbed your hands again. you have since made up your mind and took a deep breath and finally spoke.

“fine, but we can be friends for now and we will see how i feel later.” she smiled and kissed your hands.

“i really am serious bee i will give you the whole world and more.” you sent her a soft smile, you felt like you could trust her. something felt different this time, you didn’t know if it was the way she apologized and even came with evidence that she was ready to start again or the fact that it just seemed genuine.

“i believe you.” she did, she has been everything you could’ve ever dreamed of. everything went back to normal, but it was different this time. ellie took you places, bought you things, took care of you when you didn’t feel good. it was the bare minimum but the way she did it seemed to mean more. after the talk you guys had it seemed like you two were back to normal, you went out for dinner that night and went to watch a movie. not once did her attention leave you that night, her eyes had been on you even during the movie. she was so happy to see you happy again, and it was happy with her. you couldn’t stop smiling that night.

———————————————————————————

fast forward (a year)

you woke up to the sun shining on you from your big window in you and ellie’s shared room. you looked over at her side and felt the cold bedsheets on your fingertips, you frowned at the emptiness of the bed but the smell of pancakes woke you up. you stretched and got out of your bed, putting on a robe feeling the cold of winter and throwing some slippers on. you made your way to the kitchen and saw ellie dancing to dolly parton, you giggled and ellie turned to see you peaking at her. you made your way over to her, she pulled you into her and swayed you back and forth to the music.

“good morning beautiful.” the pet names never got old. after your talk it only took about two months till you were together. once the school year ended you all got a gorgeous apartment close to campus but in the city. you all lived together still of course, you couldn’t think to leave each other. you all were still doing gigs and getting your names out there. you guys were getting big doing gigs at bigger places and actually having a fan base. all your lives changed for the better and it felt amazing. ellie had been amazing, taking you out, posting you everywhere, bragging about you at any chance she could. she spoils you like crazy, and you mean crazy. she really proved herself right and kept her promise.

“good morning.” you giggled at the swaying and she started to kiss down your neck.

“you came out too early actually i was going to bring you breakfast in bed.”

“awe how sweet of you honey.” you gave her a peck on the lips and she pulled you back again for a longer kiss. you both smiled into the kiss and she immediately turned away.

“oh shit my pancakes!!” she flipped the pancake on the pan and it was burnt. you laughed at her cussing at herself.

“you gotta go lay back down baby you’re distracting me.”

“oh im distracting you?” you giggled at her and started to walk back to the room, you were fully turned away and you had a devious thought. you slowly removed the top half of your robe to show you didn’t have anything underneath and turned to make sure she was looking.

“oh baby you can’t do that!” she started to walk towards you and you ran back into the room yelling out.

“your pancakes though!” you heard her groan as you sat back into the bed. you laughed out loud and laid back down. as you waited for ellie to finish you went on your phone and looked through your photos. you were reminiscing on the tons of pictures and videos of you and ellie. it felt super cheesy but you were so glad about the position you all were in. you didn’t realize how long you had been looking until you heard footsteps entering the room. you turned over to see ellie holding a tray of delicious looking food a small card and a huge bouquet of flowers.

“what’s all this!” you sat up and helped her as her hands were full.

“i wanted to celebrate.” you looked at her confused.

“what’s there to celebrate?”

“i haven’t told anyone else but i got an email this morning about a company that wants to sign us on.” you gasped loudly and hugged her.

“oh my god are you serious?!”

“yes they want us to come in on monday and sign the contract. bee were getting signed.”

“holy shit this is huge are you kidding me?!” she nodded yes and kissed you. you fell back into the bed as she kissed all over your face.

“okay lets eat and get ready i have the day planned for us all.” you smiled at her and gave her another kiss.

“why did you get me flowers though and a card-“

“because i like spoiling you.” you giggled at her response and started eating.

———————————————————————————

you guys finished and ellie proposed the idea to announce the news together. so that’s where you both were now, standing in front of dina and jesse in the kitchen.

“so we have major news.”

“oh my god are you guys engaged?!” dina excitedly screeched.

“no no, not yet at least.” ellie said and you shoved her arm.

“well what is more major than that-“ dina elbowed jesse and told him to shut up.

“i got an email this morning from a major company…” ellie started and gestured you to finish.

“were getting signed on monday!!!” we all cheered together and it all felt surreal. we were getting signed, our dream for years and its finally happening. you felt so many emotions at once, you really just felt the love of your best friends, the excitement of what’s to come and the feeling of relief that everything worked out for you all. you hugged ellie and kissed her.

“i love you bee.”

“i love you more els, so so much.”

“together not matter what?”

“no matter what.” you kissed again and celebrated with your best friends, your people.

———————————————————————————

tag list:

@gold-dustwomxn @lil-elliesgf @hithrresblog @ariianelle @mysticfqall @hopelesssheaven @elliestears @cjrights @depressedbratsworld @amberputh @bready101

a/n: last chapter ahhhh!!! i kind of built it up to have a second story so if anyone at all wants a second one please let me know and ill start working on it! i had a couple ideas for it anyways! i hope you enjoyed this series this was my first one and it was very fun to write it. i have tons of ideas for other things for the future that i am very excited about as well!

[maudie-duan]

A/N: I hope everyone had a beautiful weekend! We're drawing to a close only one Chapter left! I hope you guys enjoy this one. I love getting Harry's POV!

Tag List: Always Open

All Chapters<-

Word Count: 9.9k

Warnings: 18+, Language, Smut, Eating Disorder, Talk of Pregnancy, Mentions of Abortion, Teen Angst, Emotions. (If I miss anything, let me know.)

Is it strange that I knew she was pregnant? Aside from all the other tell-tale signs, something about her felt different; after a few quick searches, it was self-evident. If I’m honest, I kind of had the feeling when I dropped her off after we hooked up the first time, like what was I thinking not using a condom, but the truth was I wasn’t thinking. I felt like if we didn’t have sex with her right then and there, it would never happen.

It wasn’t that I was expecting her to take all of that on herself; I just figured if worse came to worse, she would tell me. There were so many questions that I wanted to bombard her with, but none of my emotional burdens felt fair when her body was the one going through so many changes—The fact that she could cry at the drop of a dime made me feel like I had to be even more careful with my words.

If my mum and sister had instilled anything, it was that sex has consequences—How long would Marlowe have waited to tell me? Did she want to keep it? Was she for an abortion? Was I? Does my say matter? 

“Her body, her choice,” they say, but in all reality, it was confusing as hell. 

“Hey, I’m sorry to wake you…I know it’s late there.” I told my sister because I had forgotten it was already 2 a.m. in England when I called her. 

“You’re fine—is everything okay?” She asks.

“No—” And I burst into tears, sucking in a deep breath of cold air, “I just—I just…didn’t know who to call…” I mutter.

“Harry, what’s wrong, Darling?” Sometimes, Gemma’s voice sounds so much like our mums that it’s scary, and I have to pull the phone away from my ear to make sure I have the right number.

“I’ve really fucked up this time, Gem.” I force out as another wave of emotions course through me, the tears streaming.

“What have you done? I’m sure it’s not that bad. Mum said you’re doing quite well, even though you never call.”

I draw a hard breath through my nose, “I’ve gotten someone pregnant, and I think I love her—and now everything is ruined…and it’s all my fault—” And the news is abrupt, but it’s the only way to get the words out of my system before I become a blubbering mess. 

“Oh, Harry—” she sighs. 

“Are you sure she’s pregnant?”

“Well, I didn’t see the test…but she told me she went to the doctor today,”

“And are you sure it’s yours?” She questions.

“Yes—” I breathe, “I don’t think she would lie to me.”

“Who is she, Harry?” 

“Marlowe Asher…” I answer.

“Asher, as is Sienna Asher’s sister? The one that had a major crush on you when you were younger?” And I’m not surprised this is the one thing she refers to. 

“Yes, that one—” 

“Wow—I never saw that one coming—”

I clear my throat, wiping my nose, “That makes two of us...”

“And have you asked what she wants to do?” 

I take a seat on the paved walk overlooking the lake. From where I’m sitting, I can see my house off in the distance, but I’m far enough from Marlowe’s Grandma’s that she can’t hear me talking. The whole point of my leaving was to take a walk, but I barely made it through her back gate before I was dialing Gemma’s number in a panic:

“Harry? Are you there?” Gemma asks, pulling for my attention.

“I haven’t asked…that’s why I was calling you?” I tell her.

“I see—” is all she says.

“I just didn’t want to say the wrong thing because she seems really fragile right now.” I confide.

“Well, that’s a good start and how did you take her telling you the news?”

“I think I handled it fine. I mean, she was crying, but it’s all really emotional.”

“Especially for Marlowe—” Gemma adds.

“I know…” I agree.

“Harry, I’m sure this feels really scary for you, but whatever you’re feeling, times that by ten, and just know that this will have a bigger impact on her than you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“I mean, that even if this feels like a burden to you, it’s really her burden. Marlowe is the one who’s going to have to make the right decision; whether you like it or not, the decision is ultimately hers.”

“I know—I know—her body, her choice…but that’s all just a bit confusing. This will affect me too.”

“I’m sure that it will, but she’s the one carrying the baby…or whatever you would like to call it, depending on how far along she is—I don’t know.” Then she sighs into the phone again.

And my eyes dart to the ground as I drag the back of my hand over my eyes, “It’s just all really scary…”

“It’s terrifying—” she agrees.

“I just want to do the right thing…”

“Harry, the best thing you can do is be supportive in any decision she makes. If Marlowe decides she wants to keep it, you have to be okay with that. If she decides abortion is her best option, be supportive.”

“Both are scary—” I confess.

“But they’re both consequences. I don’t think either of you gets to walk away without the impact of this. The change is unavoidable. 

“I know—Gemma.”

“It’s not a lecture. I’m just trying to be honest. I’ve had several friends go through this. It all makes an impact…just be supportive, H.”

“I’ll be supportive…I just don’t think that I’m ready to be a dad,” I tell her, rubbing the collar of my shirt over my wet nose.

“Harry, it’s okay to be honest with her about how you feel. As long as you’re both honest, that’s all that matters. Lay everything out, weigh out your options, and then make your decision…and whatever you do…wait to tell mum. You know she’s going through a lot right now with Robin’s cancer scare.”

“I probably won’t tell her unless I have to,” I assure her.

“I hate to cut our conversation short, but I have an exam in the morning, and I really need some sleep…”

I laugh, “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be. I love you, bubs. Hang in there. I’m here if you need me. Any time, obviously…” She laughs, then hangs up the phone.

I stand, lifting my shirt to wipe my face, a cold breeze chilling me to my core, and I turn to take one last glance at my house—the pull of safety it brings makes me homesick for a life that will no longer exist in the morning, and there’s a deep thread of yearning aching at my chest, but I turn away. When I return, Marlowe’s already asleep, so I crawl into bed next to her, trying not to press my cold limbs to her body.

That morning, I woke to the sound of the shower running, Bon Iver playing over the speakers in the bathroom, just loud enough that I could hear the last verse of Re: Stacks:

This is not the sound of a new man

Or a crispy realization

It’s the sound of the unlocking and the lift away

Your love will be safe with me.

And now I could never listen to this album again without thinking of Marlowe, frozen in this moment, anytime I hear this song again— the feeling of complete and utter helplessness, me surrendering to Marlowe, putting my future in her hands.

When Marlowe opens the door, my eyes move to hers as she stands there, hesitant to walk back into the room, “Hey…” I speak, clearing the sleep from my throat. 

Marlowe’s eyes drop to the floor, and she walks to the closet, skimming through the outfits she brought from home. “I’m breaking up with Trent today—” she divulges.

“Are you sure,” she turns, glancing over her shoulder, then back to her clothes, “I just feel like—what’s the point.”

Although I agree, I don’t say anything. It feels like another layer that I keep forgetting to factor in. Though I’m supportive, I don’t know what this means for us, if anything at all.

“He’s cheating on me…” and she lets out a light laugh, her shoulders bobbing up, “I guess I’ve cheated too—”

“I don’t think it’s the same, Lowe—”

“But isn’t it? Harry—!” She yells, and I leap off the bed. My first instinct is to wrap my arms around her. 

“He’s a fucking prick—He deserved it…” I whisper, leaning down, pushing the words into her ear, trying to kiss her neck, but she rips away from me, and stomps to the bathroom, then slams the door. 

“I’m sorry!” I shout, returning to the bed, and I sit there, burying my face in my hands.

The sound of the knob sounds, and I look up then. Marlowe opens the door and then goes back to getting ready. From the bed, I can see her reflection in the mirror, the fog around the glass clear at the center. I don’t know if her opening the door is an invitation, but I take my chance and lean against the door frame, shoving my hands in my pockets.

“I’m sorry—” she starts.

“You don’t—” I try.

“Harry, please…” and she turns around, pressing her body to the counter, “I’m having a hard time controlling my moods. They’re like—all over the fucking place…like even now. I’m talking to you…and I just want to cry…” 

“I understand—I mean, I don’t, but I can try…” I tell her.

She smiles, eyes darting to the floor, and crosses her arms, “You’re so confusing…” 

“I’m confusing?” I ask, genuinely curious.

Marlowe looks up then, smile still painted on her beautiful face, “Yeah—it’s just crazy that you’re like single…I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you dating anyone…”

“Because I haven’t—”

“Why?” she questions.

I shrug, “Don’t know…heartbreak and stuff—” Then she laughs, making me laugh.

“That’s the most elusive answer I’ve ever heard.”

I laugh again, “But is it?” And my pitch raises, trying to keep that smile on her face.

Marlowe licks her lips, eyes moving away as she bites down on her lower lip, “But you could like—have annnnnny girl…” she tells me.

“I don’t want other girls—” I tell her, with absolute certainty, driving home the point when I say:

“I’ve already told you that I like you.” And my gaze doesn’t leave her face. 

She clears her throat, “Well, now, you’re stuck with me for a little bit longer.” 

“Good…”

She perks up and laughs, “Oh yeah…I heard there was a mystery girl that gave you a gross hickey.”

I roll my eyes, bounding next to her, playfully pushing her out of the way to get a better look at my neck, “I know it looks gnarly—”

“I can’t believe I did that…” She tells me, eyes gazing at the hickey reflected in the mirror, “That was my first one—”

My eyes flick to hers, “Wait—really?” 

“Yes—I’ve always thought they were gross. I think I was pissed that Trent was walking around with another girl’s hickey on his neck, like I gave it to him, lying about it…”

I turned to face her, then, “What was his answer?”

“That it was a rash…and then Skylar came over the other day, and she had a hickey on her neck—she was the one that told me about yours, by the way, but still…”

“And what does that mean?” I ask, trying to pry, seeing if she has pieced it together herself yet. 

She shrugs, reaching up to my neck and pulling me closer to get a better look. “I didn’t know that hickeys were a trend,” she laughs, and my heart drops.

I try and keep my expression neutral, but Marlowe is too quick, “What?” She asks, smoothing her thumb over my bottom lip, and I press my lips to it, making her smile.

“Nothing—” I tell her, grabbing her hand to kiss the tips of her fingers, “You’re just beautiful…that’s all. Then she stands on the tips of her toes and kisses me, wrapping her arms around my neck.

Passing by Marlowe at school was like living in a parallel universe, where we were the same but abiding by the bounds of a law we no longer fit.

She didn’t tell me how or when she would break up with Trent; all she told me was that she would. I sat on the edge of my seat all morning, listening in on conversations, hoping to catch a clue or a tidbit of information, trying to stay ahead so I knew how to show up for Marlowe when or if she needed me.

Would she cry? Or rage? She was teetering on the edge of every emotion right now; there was no telling how this would play out. I still found myself second-guessing my position in her life. Even though we had this epic situation, it didn’t mean she owed me anything. At least, that’s what Gemma made it seem like, and it made sense, even though it made me doubt myself.

So many times, I picked up my phone, wanting to send her a text, but I knew I needed to give her space. I was only desperate because I wanted her to choose me. 

By lunch, I was still on the outs. The only news circulating was about some random girl being pregnant, except, so far, the people around me didn’t know her name. I knew it wasn’t Marlowe, or people would really be talking because dating Trent made you popular by association. 

Skylar was the first to sit at the table, flicking a glance my way the moment she sat at the table, and maybe there was a ghost of a smile, so faint I could barely see it, but something about her didn’t sit well with me, and as their table filled with the usual crowd, Marlowe and Trent were nowhere to be found. 

“Dude, did you hear?” Josh says, crashing his tray to the table. 

“What?” I ask, half interested.

Andy speaks up then, “Yeah, I heard too, but somehow I’m not surprised…”

“Oh my god—” Miley says as she slides into the seat next to Andy.

“Yo, your ex-friend Trent got Marlowe Asher pregnant—” He announces loud, and I peer around, guessing that the news was already buzzing around us, eyes shifting toward Marlowe’s table as she walks in with Trent, anger etched on every muscle of his face, and as soon as she takes a seat next to him, he leans down and starts whispering.

Each word he pushed into her ear looked sharp and pointed. His mouth scrunched like the conversation was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth; then, out of nowhere, Marlowe’s chair scrapes across the floor and stands to her feet, rage sweeping her features. 

“Can you just shut the fuck up—!” She screams—it’s like time itself stops, her voice echoing through the room as the voices around me start to silence, and I’m gripping my tray, unsure of what to do.

Trent flies out of his chair, his tall stature towering over Marlowe, sending my heart pounding in my chest. I couldn’t imagine that he would ever put his hands on her, but hopefully, he wouldn’t fucking dare try.

“You want me to shut my fucking mouth,” he booms, getting in her face. I hit Josh on the arm, scooting my chair back a few inches, and he gives me a slight nod; then Mikey stands, and I know they see it, too.

“I don’t care what you have to say anymore!” Marlowe yells, but she doesn’t stand down, even though he’s inches from her face, his anger visible to every person in this room, and I’m clenching my jaw, a cold sweat spreading over my palms. 

“So you think you’re going to have my baby and not say a fucking word…god—you’re so fucking stupid.”

“Trent, I’m not having a baby—and if I were, it would never be yours—I would rather die than be stuck with you.” Her words send a flutter to the pit of my stomach, and even though it’s not the time, the thought of her loathing him this much makes me happy.

This news hits his ego because he leans up, crossing his arms over his chest, and smiles, “Oh really—because if I can recall correctly, it didn’t take you very long to spread those legs for me…what was it…like a week after we started dating…” He laughs then, brushing a finger under her chin, and she smacks it away. 

Chatter erupts in low whispers, “Do you feel good about that one? Only a loser would dig that low—” She says, pushing him against the wall, squeezing a handful of his shirt, “I fucking hate you with every fiber of my being,” She seethes. 

Trent grabs Marlowe’s wrist, and she winces, a pained look overtaking her face. Joshes chair grates across the tile, getting Trent’s attention; then I stand, locking eyes with him.

Marlowe glances over, eyes flitting between the three of us standing, then around the lunch room, all eyes on them. She laughs then, releasing the fabric of his shirt, turning to face everyone, “If any of you girls were ever wonder what Trent would be like in bed—He fucking sucks!” She announces, bringing her hands up to her mouth. 

“Well, maybe if you were more like this—crazy,” He yells, moving his hands around, “I wouldn’t have to beg you to sleep with me.”

She smiles, “And you just proved my point, you fucking idiot…We’re done—” 

“Well guys—” Trent says, needing the last word, “Marlowes single now…and I’ve heard she’s pretty easy.” 

This pisses Marlowe off, and while Trent is trying to put on a show, she snatches an empty tray off the table and slams it across his face the second he turns around, slapping that stupid fucking smirk right off his face, taking everyone by surprise as the tension thickens in the air, everyone holding their breath, Trent momentarily silenced, and all you hear is the tray hitting the ground.

And while I don’t condone violence, he fucking deserved getting put in his place, and honestly, the sound of that tray hitting his pretty face was so damn epic that I felt it in my soul, soaring on the fact that he’ll never be able to live that one down. 

Marlowe stands there blank-faced, taking in the damage, I think stunned because she didn’t even flinch, no uncertainty in her action, and then, like a badass, turns and walks out the lunch room, running a hand through her hair, completely unphased by the wreckage as cheers implode.

It’s like a scene playing out in a movie, except there’s no director that’s yell cut, and the aftermath is Trent, standing there clutching his pretty face, crying, yelling “Bitch,” as Marlowe walks off. Blood drooling from his mouth between sobs, Skylar rushes over, panic gripping her manic movements as she attempts to help—Trent pushing her away like a big baby, his pride still getting the best of him, shouting, “I think she broke my tooth,” over and over like anyone cared. 

I went straight home and packed a bag. This would be the last week that Marlowe would be house-sitting for her Grandma, so I wanted to make it count. I wanted to give her the perfect week so that she could forget about all of the big things—and even then, a part of me wanted to show her that we could work; that part of me thought everything could work because what if she wanted to keep this baby? I needed to show her that I could be there during the hard times:

The first night was an emotional blur. I sat outside Marlowe’s Grandma’s house for two hours before I even heard a word from her. I was stuck in one of those helpless loops of second-guessing myself, raking my brain for any reason why she wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore, thinking maybe my existence would become a reminder of everything going wrong in her life.

I kept thinking maybe I was to blame for all of this; if I hadn’t sought her out, would we be in this same mess right now? Would the universe have found a way to bring us together because everything about this felt right, like maybe this was my future, and whatever I had planned before was just an idea jotted down on a piece of paper, crumbled in a waste basket, getting pushed to the back of my mind like a forgotten memory?

I had never felt so sure about something in my life, and when Marlowe finally pulled into the drive. She got out of her car and stood in the middle of the lawn, waiting for me to approach, staring helplessly, her big brown eyes puffy. She had definitely been crying—it was also the first time I had noticed the exhaustion etched into her features like the world was ringing her out—I had so many questions, but I shoved them aside, leaping out of the car, my heart hammering in my chest as a smile spread on her face. She had never looked more beautiful to me than at that moment. 

Her presence hummed through my body, a shiver of joy racing up my spine, chills spreading across my skin like wildfire the second she lifted herself onto the tips of her toes, her arms wrapping around my neck. When her mouth crashed into mine, I knew this was it; I knew I was in love because I’ve never wanted something so bad in my life—call it what you want, but at that moment, she was my entire world, whether it was changing for better or worse, this kiss was familiar, her hands on my body were real, and when she breathed, “I want you,” into my mouth, I was lost.

We had barely made it through the door before she tugged at the button of my jeans. I had never seen this side of her, the hunger undoubtedly apparent in her blown-out pupils. Then she kicked the door shut, her eyes never leaving mine. 

I kept my gaze focused on hers, trying to get a read on the situation, waiting for the smile to reach her eyes, and when I wasn’t moving fast enough, she started taking off her own clothes, pushing me down to the ground, yet I went down willingly, abiding by whatever she wanted because I knew I was good at this, making her feel good, and that’s what I chalked it up to—she just wanted to feel good.

So, I played into it, taking the lead, climbing on top of her, pushing into her without warning—doing all the things that she liked—and when she said “more,” I pushed deeper as she gasped out in pain or pleasure I don’t know, because we were both lost in it, in that rhythm that had become ours and then Marlowe yelled, “More—deeper—” and so I listened, I listened every time she wanted more until I was burying myself inside her, harder, deeper, listening to every moan, that rolled off her lips.

I knew she was close when the grip on her legs tightened, calling out my name, so I drove deeper, basking in my own pleasure as she called out my name, her body tensing underneath me. I knew I had her, gave her exactly what she wanted, and then I was coming, pinning her to the ground with my last final thrusts, lost in the euphoria of satisfaction, sweeping through every muscle in my body as I went limp over her, burying my face into the crook of her neck.

At first, I thought she was laughing, her body trembling under mine, something I’d witnessed before. I thought, “Yeah, that was really good.” I breathed, but then her hands started pushing at my chest, and when I lifted my head, big, wet tears fell from the corners of her eyes, landing in her hair, now sprawling across the carpet. 

I was confused, stunned by the tears, and when her push became a shove, forcing me off her, I pushed myself up, ripping out of her as a loud yelp filled my ear, making my slowing heart pick back up, my eyes trained on her face. Marlowe burst into more tears then, grabbing at her lower belly as panic started surging through my body, my hand shaking as I tried to reach out to her. 

She started moving away then, crawling backward, her hand now pushing into her stomach, and all I could think was that I just fucked up because the pained look on her face was agonizing, and I didn’t know. I didn’t think I was hurting her, and then I’m saying it out loud, “I didn’t—”

“I didn’t know—I’m—” I force, past the lump in my throat, tears stinging at my eyes.

Marlowe shakes her head, clutching her belly, and pushes herself up to stand on wobbly legs. Then she turns and runs toward the stairs. I’m up on my feet in a matter of seconds, debating what I should do. Then I dart up the stairs, hoping to catch her. 

As soon as I reach the top landing, I hear the bathroom door slam, feeling my heart drop in my chest, guilt swallowing me whole.

The only thing I could do was wait.

And that’s what I did. I waited outside the bathroom until the fog of my thoughts crept in. Stealing me entirely until I was so lost in myself that I forgot where I was and what I was doing here— realizing I could no longer hear Marlowe’s sobs muffled behind a door I couldn’t open, physically or emotionally, not a single word enough to let me in, and I swear I tried. 

Begging until I was in tears, promising over and over that I didn’t mean to hurt her, promising I would never do it again, I never meant to hurt her, convincing myself it was all my fault until another stream of thoughts broke way, making me question if I had even done anything wrong—I did what she asked. Isn’t that what she wanted? 

Was I the reason for the tears, or was it the weight of the day, and all I needed her to do was open the door? To open the damn door until I was banging, yelling, “Open the damn door, Marlowe, anger forcing me under, until I didn’t even recognize the person banging on the door, jiggling the handle like some mad man. She was making me crazy, like maybe I was going crazy.

At some point, I must have gotten defeated, scorned by her words on the other side of the door, “Stop it, Harry! You’re scaring me—” Did Marlowe scream those words, or was it all in my head? 

Am I still here? That’s all I can think when the sound of the knob stirs me from each of those devouring thoughts as the door creaks open; as Marlowe steps out, and with her, the scent of her body wash, freshly showered, my soccer hoodie swallowing small frame, hidden below. The warm air ghosts over my skin as she stands there in the doorway, looking down at me, and the moment we lock eyes, I break, my head falling to my knees, hoping that I didn’t ruin this.

Stripped and bare, I am alone, I am nothing, but I want to be everything for this girl, this girl standing before me—because Marlowe is holding out her hand, and when she leads me to her bed, taking me into her arms. She lets me fall apart as I press my head into her chest, and I close my eyes, drifting off to the rhythm of her heartbeat—because this is love, right? I am in love; I am miserably and hopelessly in love. 

The next day was a blur. I skipped school, turned off my phone, and disappeared to the world outside these walls. Whatever I thought I needed was wrapped in my arms as we drifted in and out of sleep, only stirring to use the bathroom. At times, I guzzled gulps of water from the faucet in my hands, parched, only sneaking away when I knew Marlowe was asleep—thinking maybe misery is the light at the end of the tunnel because how could I have everything I want, and still feel this ache of longing?

Sometimes, I slept, and sometimes, I watched her sleep, leaning in to kiss my favorite parts of her face, trying not to wake her. When she chose to open her eyes, it was only long enough to cry until she drifted back to sleep, crying in short bursts that stole what little energy she had. 

At times, she turned away, wrapping my arms around her body, clutching my hands to her chest, then to her stomach, and every time I pressed my hand flat to her lower belly, she cried harder, whispering “Sorry” like it was her fault; like this was all her fault, and then I was crying, and she would turn to face me, stroking her thumb over my cheek, tracing her fingers along the lines of my face like she was seeing me for the first time, a pained look in her eyes, the saddest look I’ve ever seen, and even today if I closed my eyes I can still see that look of goodbye like she was letting me go, but I didn’t want to believe it then.

Because there she was in my arms, and there was nothing else but this, my hand pressed to her belly, thinking of the life we created, how we could make this work, that all I would need was for her to just give me a chance—and how fickle we are when we’re young when we think we know everything like we’re invincible to the world—Only if we’re lucky enough that the world hasn’t swallowed us whole, because that’s what I thought. That I could take on the world—It’s crazy how quickly the world can knock you on your ass when you think you’re on your way to figuring it out. 

I skipped school the rest of the week, refusing to leave the tiny nibble of hope I found myself holding onto. I wanted to spend every second that I could with Marlowe, no matter the consequence. 

After spending that whole day in bed, I decided that instead of both of us wasting away, I would get up and show her that I could handle this, take care of her, and make everything perfect. She wouldn’t have to lift a finger—Yes, this meant leaving her side, but she needed nourishment, substances. I didn’t think she could afford to lose any more weight, and the fact that she was so good at skipping meals made me wonder if there was an underlying problem, or at least a hint of one, because I’ve seen her eat plenty of times, just not consistently—and now she would have to eat for two, right?

When I knew my mum wouldn’t be home, I stole a few cookbooks and random stuff on soups. I wanted to make a cozy meal that would warm Marlowe’s insides up like a warm hug and keep her full if she decided to stay in bed. 

I took care at the store to pick out the right ingredients, double-checking the list I left open in the cart, the book taking up space at the top of the basket, apparently where a baby would fit. I had never paid much attention to this part, never thinking twice about a baby’s tiny legs fitting through the slots, until I passed by a mother and her baby, watching for a few seconds. Taking in their interaction, watching the mother lean down to kiss the top of the baby’s head, and every time she moved away, the baby would swing its tiny little legs dangling from the cart, with a huge grin on his little face, watching every move she made. 

I had no clue how old the baby was; to me, they all looked the same until today. The way he interacted with his mum blew my mind. I didn’t know they could do that; notice their surrounding, and when the mum looked over at me and smiled, the baby stared over at me until I smiled back, and it was like a light turning on in his teeny mind. He smiled back, watching me as they strolled out of the aisle, and I wondered how much Marlowe knew about babies or if this was something I should hold off asking.

It’s funny how many babies we’re out that morning, how many I actually noticed. When I got back, it was all I could think about: chopping vegetables while visualizing myself loading a baby into the car. Some of the babies were small enough to stay in their car seats—I knew it was a car seat because after I loaded all of my belongings in my trunk, I looked it up—Those were newborns, not like the ones I interacted with. I kept trying to picture lugging around one of those things. I knew I was strong enough to do it, but would Marlowe want to take that on?

While I was deep cleaning the bathroom on my hands and knees, I kept running over different scenarios in my head, wondering if Marlowe would be open to breastfeeding or if she would rather bottle-feed. I also looked up that topic because I remembered seeing another baby holding its own bottle, and that was another thing I didn’t know they were capable of.

While the stew was cooking, I cleaned. All the while, I was building these little facts up in my head, my Google search putting in more work than ever as I started making a list in my notes, typing away on my laptop every time a new thought popped up in my mind. With every new interesting fact, I found myself getting used to the idea—that maybe this could work, that maybe we could do this.

I was vacuuming the stairs when Marlowe appeared, stopping midway to kiss me. She looked lively, the minty freshness of her breath filling my mouth, and when I kissed her neck, she smelled like vanilla bathing in the sun on a warm day. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, and my eyes flitted over the curly strands as she made her descent down the stairs.

When I made my way back to the kitchen, Marlowe had a jar of peanut butter in her hand, bringing a spoonful to her mouth.

“Your stoop smells gwood,” She voices with a glob of peanut butter stuck to the roof of her mouth; then she laughs, trying to force down the rest as she dug her spoon into the jar again.

I laughed, glad that actual words were leaving her mouth. “Are you hungry? “ I asked, grabbing the bowls.

“I’m starving—” She answers.

Me too—” 

She shoves the spoon back in the jar and sets it on the counter, “I’ve never had a guy cook for me…” she tells me, walking over to the stove.

“Well—I’ve never cooked for a girl…” I confess, “Unless my mum and sister count?”

She smiles, “I think that counts…” and moves behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“Fine—I’ve never cooked for a girl I’ve liked before…”

She squeezes me, then, “So you still like me?” She asks, pushing the words into my back, sending a muffled vibration to the top of my spine. I stretch my neck to try and look over my shoulder, but she’s holding me in place.

“I would never clean the toilet for someone I don’t like…trust me…” I joke, a bowl in each hand, and I lift my arms up in the air, Marlowe unmoving, glued to my body as I shuffle my way to the silverware drawer.

“You know where everything is.” She states.

I chuckle, “I’ve had time to grow familiar…I guess—”

“That’s hot—” She tells me as I place the soups on the counters.

She’s making me smile, everything she’s doing, “Yes…the soup is hot—”

And she scoffs then, pushing away with a smile on her face, “I meant you—”

“I know…I’m just teasing…” I tell her, scooting a bowl of stew toward her, and she picks it up unreluctantly, making me grateful that I wouldn’t have to push.

She brings the bowl up to her nose. “God—this looks so good!” she coos, making my heart leap because she looks so happy that I could cry at the thought of what the alternative would have been—me coaxing her out of the dark cave, the room had become, the blinds drawn, curtains closed, blacking out any ray of light desperate to push through.

“It tastes even better than it smells…oh my god, Harry, it’s so good,” she blurts, trying to shove another bite into her mouth, but it’s too hot, and she nearly burns her lips with the effort. 

“Careful—Careful…I want to kiss those lips later…” I kid, passing her a napkin.

I place my bowl on the counter and pull my open laptop toward me, typing my current question into the search engine; “What should pregnant women avoid eating?” A list pops up, and I start reading down the list, stopping near the top, when the word “alcohol” catches my eye, “Oh shit—” I say under my breath, looking over at Marlowe.

“What?” Marlowe’s eyebrows jut up in surprise, “Is it homework? Did you forget an assignment?

I shake my head, panic rising, “There’s wine in that stew…” I tell her, eyes wide.

“So—?” She asks, confusion pulling between her brow, “I’ve had wine before…”

“Well—I mean—” I start.

She shakes her head this time. “What? Was it not part of the recipe? It tastes delicious either way,” she tells me, casually shrugging her shoulders, not a care in the world.

“Well—it’s not good for the baby…” I answer hesitantly, not sure if I should say anything.

“Mmmm…” She hums, letting her spoon sink into her soup, and she steps forward and swipes a finger over the trackpad, bringing the screen back to life.

The low light of the screen casts a soft glow over Marlowe’s face as her eyes roam over the computer screen, then fall to the list, moving her fingers over the touchpad, the list much longer than I expected, “Wow—so nothing good, huh?” She says flatly, then takes another bite of her soup.

When she finishes the list, I watch the arrow move across all the tabs I’ve left open at the top, my heart racing every time she clicks over a new one, evidence that my mind has been busy.

“I guess I was just bored…” I tell her when she moves away, silently spooning a bite of soup into her mouth. Her face is totally neutral; I don’t know what she’s thinking, and when I exit Safari, my notes app is open, clear as day as to what I’ve been up to.

“Wait, “ she says when she catches me trying to clear the screen. “May I?” 

Marlowe sets her bowl on the counter, moving back to the screen; I step away without pause, not wanting her to think I’m hiding anything, nor am I ashamed of what I’ve been doing, even though I can feel my face growing hot. 

Her eyes shift to me and then back to the computer screen. “You’ve been busy…” she implies, and I watch as she mouths the sentences silently to herself.

“It’s kind of a mess. They were all just quick thoughts…really random—”

“Rear-facing and forward-facing car seats?” She says, pinching her brows together in confusion.

“Yeah—I know—” I say.

“I never even heard of that…what does that even mean?” she asks, not looking away from the computer, and I’m not sure if she wants me to answer or if she’s just thinking out loud.

I chime in anyway. “I think they said the baby should be rear-facing—like the seat facing the back windshield—” I explain, placing my bowl on the counter next to me. 

“Oh—wow—”

“But that’s only for the first year—” I continue, her gaze moving to mine, “Or like if they reach a certain height and weight…but I couldn’t figure out if it was one or the other…like if they had to be a certain weight or if they were a tall baby—if they got the pass…”

“Hmmm…” She says, scanning my face, then her eyes are back on the screen.

“Yikes…Breastfeeding…sounds yikes—” and Marlowe shakes her head, moves past that one quickly, and I wonder if she would reconsider it later, like if we decided to keep this baby.

“Wait—they can smile as early as six weeks?” She questions, brows shooting up, eyes wide, the whites of her eyes brighten with the light, “That seems so little…”

“That’s exactly what I thought…I saw a baby at the store, and I couldn’t tell how old it was, and then I looked it up when I got here…”

She peers over at me, swallowing hard, “Yeah?”

“Yeah…I guess I’ve been kind of thinking about it today…” I confess, running a hand up the back of my head.

Marlowe moves away from the counter and back to her soup. “And does it scare you?” she asks, raising her spoon to her mouth.

“I mean kinda, but I don’t know…I would rather be informed than go into anything blindly…you know…seems like a big deal. I want to be supportive in any way that I can…”I answer, trying to force a smile, but the look on Marlowe’s face is anything but interested. She looks panicked, her eyes darting back to the screen as our silence mounts.

I pick up my bowl, taking a tasteless bite as the worry sets in. When Marlowe walks over to the stove and fills her bowl with seconds, she wanders to the fridge, taking in the cards and pictures pinned between magnets. Marlowe takes a bite, then reaches up and yanks a pink card from the refrigerator.

“My cousin just had a baby…” She announces, breaking the silence, and she holds up a pink card that reads, “It’s A Girl,” then she flips it over, reading the words printed on the back.

“She’s my sister’s age—” she tells me.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“I should check in on her…see how she’s doing,” Marlowe says, shrugging her shoulders.

Then she lets out a light laugh, “Random, but I do remember her saying she was always horny…it makes so much sense now…” Then her eyes flick to me, a smirk turning up at the corners of her mouth.

“Marlowe—” 

“I didn’t see that on your list…” She expresses, nudging her head at my laptop with a smile.

I shake my head, unable to bring myself to smile, not after last time, “I don’t know Marlowe…after—”

“No—No—No—we’re looking this up!” she interrupts, rushing over to my computer, then her fingers move over the keyboard as I lose my appetite at the thought of another repeat, unwilling to subject us both to another moment like that. 

“Okay—” she says, dragging a finger over the screen, reading the last line out loud, “Some women also have cramps, similar to period cramping, after an orgasm.”

Her face lights up with excitement over this line, taking me by surprise, “This Harry—” she says, grabbing my arm, “This is what happened the other day…it just took me by surprise…It was just a pain I wasn’t expecting, but now that I know—”

“I don’t know…Marlowe, it looked excruciating…” I push, my throat tightening, and I gently place my bowl on the counter, starting to feel sick to my stomach.

Marlowes is the complete opposite because her bowl is back in her hands, mindlessly shoving a big bite into her mouth, eyes moving back to the screen, reading the information to herself, “It basically says do what makes you comfortable…I mean, we obviously don’t have to be rough—”

“God—Marlowe…” I breathe.

“What? Is this upsetting you?” she asks, tugging at my arm, “Talk to me—”

“Like, would that be worth it to you? I question, trying to keep my anger at bay.

Marlowe’s face drops then, “I mean—I don’t know. I’m already pregnant. What’s the worst that can happen now?” Then she laughs, “Harry, how many times are we going to be able to just have sex…like no worries—no, man, I hope I don’t get pregnant, thoughts eating away at me…or you…we can just like…do it.”

And I mean, she had a point, so there I was, reading over every bit of information, typing in question after question as Marlowe ate at another bowl, and then after, I felt sure. I closed out of all the tabs and shut the computer, feeling somewhat better. 

“I bet you have really good grades…” She says, eyeing me over her shoulder as she puts the stew away, gathers dishes, and places them in the sink.

I smile, “I mean, I had to keep my grade up for sports…” 

“And were you this thorough before you had sex for the first time?” She pries.

I shrug, shooting her a grin. “Okay—that explains a lot,” she tells me, wrapping her arms around my body.

“Okay…there’s one other question I’m dying to know…” She says, glancing up at me, “Who was your first…who was so lucky?”

I click my tongue, looking away, “I don’t know about lucky…is anyone’s first time great…” I say, slowly swaying us back and forth.

She shrugs, “I’m sure you at least tried to make it good for her…” 

“I did—” I confirm.

“Okay…so tell me who…”

“I don’t know…why do you want to know…?”

“I’ll tell you mine…” she jokes.

“I already know—” 

“Exactly—the whole school knows—” She says, burying her face into my chest.

And I press a kiss to the top of her head, pushing the name out in an exhale, “Meily Jenkins…”

“Really?” she asked, lifting her head.

“Yeah…”

“Hmmm…that makes so much sense…” She expresses, “Like that’s exactly who I would picture you dating—”

“You picture me dating?” I question.

She laughs, “I’ve pictured a lot of things—” she grins, “But I guess if I had to choose a girl, it would be her…two soccer captains…you guys are made for each other…like really hot athletic sex…”

“Athletic sex, Marlowe—?”

“Yes…like wild, aggressive, just ran 100 miles on the field, I have all this energy…let me take it out on you…kind of sex.”

“It was never like that…” I tell her.

“Really…hmmm…” And she looks down, pressing her lips together, pondering the information, like she should be disappointed, “damn, what a waste…that sucks…”

“I’m fine with it…” I laugh, “You know what doesn’t suck?”

And she straightens, curious, “What tell me? Is there more?”

“What doesn’t suck is our sex…it’s without a doubt the best I’ve ever had…like hands down. All I can think about—”

“Really?” she asks, a shy smile spreading across her face, “The best?” 

I nod, “The best—and maybe we should do some more exploring—” I tell her, hunching down to lift her onto my shoulder.

“Harry—wait—wait—” And I stop in my tracks, “My stomach is so full, I don’t want to throw up!” she laughs out.

“Oh right—I’m sorry…” 

If I’ve ever thought of paradise, I’ve thought of this: three blissful days of Marlowe. Not a care in the world, just this: eat, sleep, and breathe Marlowe. 

If anyone needed me, I wouldn’t know; if my mum had been calling, I didn’t care. No one else existed but us, tucked away in bed. It felt like it couldn’t get any better than this. It was strange how it was all working out. We only had a couple of days left at her Grandma’s. I wanted to end the week with a bang, so I got her a ticket to the Wilco concert tomorrow night. 

Marlowe and I seemed to click in so many ways, not just in bed but in our interest. I’ve never talked to someone for hours on end without running out of things to say. I’d never met someone I could fully be myself with—Never afraid to say the wrong thing or feel the constant need to impress her or uphold this image that everyone held me by—I was just Harry, no other labels.

I woke early on the morning of the concert, running out to get flowers and sneaking by my house to print off the tickets. Thankfully, no one was awake, but I left a note for my mum, placing one of the roses I bought on the counter next to it. I thought this would be a nice touch, maybe lessen the impact of my punishment later, if there was one.

I knew I would have homework to make up since I ended up skipping more school than I expected, but I didn’t care. 

When Marlowe woke and found me downstairs, the vase of roses was the first thing that caught her eye, and then me, of course. The look on her face had me reeling for hours afterward. The genuine surprise left the topic open all day, kissing me every time the thought popped into her mind.

That afternoon, before the concert, we dropped by her house to grab an outfit that she had to wear. She knew her mother would be gone all day and begged me to come in with her—This would be a side of her I had never seen before, and although she was playing it casual, she kept periodically glancing over her shoulder as we reached her room, which said otherwise.

“You’re room is exactly how I pictured it…” I tell her, peering around.

She laughs, flipping through the closet, “You’ve pictured my room?” she jokes, looking over at me.

“Yes—I’ve pictured a lot of things…” I retort, using her line from last night.

I’m scanning a finger over her well-curated CD collection when she says, “I’ve definitely pictured you in it…except it was always on the bed…” And I peek over, catching the grin widening on her face. 

“Yeah?” I ask, licking my lips, “Show me…” 

That’s all it took, and then she was locking her bedroom door, pulling her shirt over her head as I kicked my boots off, unbuttoning my pants, and god, this part was easy, so easy that it scared me, how good we were at this part—How little we had to say, how well I knew her body, the way she knew exactly what I liked, this mutual trust I had never had before, to this extent, and as she pinned me to the bed, with her hips, with that stare that I don’t think I’ll ever forget, she moans, “I think I’m falling in love with you…” and I know she’s on the verge of coming. Without thought, I’m thrusting my hips up, driving into her, coming harder than I’ve ever come before as she comes undone, and I lean up and wrap her in my arms, letting her ride out wave after wave, and she hugs me then, laughing, a giggly shy laugh rolling out of her mouth into my neck and I start laughing, her words a haze swirl seeping into my mind. 

I didn’t know how to respond, but I’m glad it turned into this—pleased that she wasn’t waiting for an answer— I guess I never dreamed of her saying it or if I would ever hear the words fall from her mouth. 

We lay there for a while, the subject never returning. While we were getting dressed, I spotted an acceptance letter posted on a corkboard right next to a school logo, and I held my breath, walking over to read it.

“Is this where you’re going to school?” I ask, wondering how this subject had never come up, feeling like an idiot.

Marlowe glances up from adjusting her bra, then smiles, “Yeah, I’ve already got everything set up—” She says as my heart plummets to the pit of my stomach, “My dad’s mom lives there. So, it kind of works out perfectly. I’ve been working my ass off to get into that school…”

“Do you know where you’re going to school?” she asked as if we didn’t have a whole situation on our hands. 

I can’t look at her because I’m not sure if I could keep it together, “I was thinking about going back to England, but I’m not a hundred percent sure yet…” And this is a lie because my future is laid out similar to hers, a knowing plan waiting for me just on the other side of this reality we’re in. 

“Oh yeah—” Marlowe says, coming up to next to me, making me jump, and she smiles, then turns to stare at the board, her face beaming with pride—a look of absolute certainty, and this is the first time it hits me that I may not hold any space in her life beyond this.

“England is so badass…” She notes.

“Is it?” I question, turning away, “It’s just another place…”

Thankfully, she isn’t picking up on the shift in mood. “Well, Mr…” she says.

“We can’t all be so lucky to be born and raised there for most of our lives…” Then she wraps her body around me from behind, “We should get out of here. My mom will be home soon…”

I know I’m too quiet on the car ride back to her Grandma’s. I couldn’t help how bummed I felt, replaying the song that had just ended, Wilco filling the car with the song ‘Please Be Patient With Me’ now bleeding my soul, the lyrics cutting at my frayed edges, and maybe Marlowe is more in tune than I thought because she reaches over then, resting her hand on my knee, sorrow washing over her face while her eyes stay pinned to the road, and it’s the last lines that stole me the first time we listened: 

How can I warn you when my tongue turns to dust like we’ve discussed?

It doesn’t mean that I don’t care

It means I’m partially there

You’re gonna need to be patient with me

Next plays You Are My Face, and I grab hold of her hand, squeezing as I watch her profile light up, a small smile playing on her lips. This brings me back, and she grips my knee, then moves her hand away to drive as the song takes on a whole new meaning—and that sinking feeling of what we are doing is back, but I don’t let it take me, not completely. 

I didn’t want to ruin the night, so I put on a smile, and when we got to the house, we blared Wilco the whole time, changing between CDs: showering, getting ready, talking to her while she managed to line her eyes perfectly, those wing things, that every girl says is hard to nail, and she does it with little effort, leaving her hair curly and free, and she’s a fucking site, and it’s so hard to be mad when she looks like a star I’ve just plucked from the night sky, glowing under the soft, warm lights of the bathroom, and I want to kiss her whole face, but I don’t want to ruin her makeup.

It was a two-and-a-half-hour drive to the venue, talking the entire time. I was so swept up in my feelings for Marlowe that I didn’t see it coming—The end. 

Later, this would leave me with only one question: What is love? Something I keep asking myself, still to this very day, so far removed from the situation, from a past that could never be taken back, and when I think of her, I’ll always go back to this night because I still don’t know where it went wrong.

Was it love leading up to this point, or did I love the idea? How long had she known? Did she know that night in the kitchen when she read through my entire list? Me taking time to show her we could do this. Did she know when we fell into bed together? How many times was I inside her before she thought, hmmm, maybe this isn’t what I want?

The concert was perfect. Every second was like a picture reel of tiny beats, where I could see this working out for the best. We were so good together, and Marlowe fit me so well. 

When I was wrapped around her body, swaying to the music, whispering lyrics into her ear, getting lost in the moment, the world around us fading away, I felt it; I felt her running through me like a storm, a storm I couldn’t outrun.

She held onto me the whole time, clutching my arms around her as if I’d leave, inching us forward every chance we got until we were front row, starring up the stage in awe, the music humming through our bodies, taking every opportunity I could to kiss her neck, her cheek, breathe in the scent of her hair. I wanted to remember every second, I wanted to look back and be able to tell her, this was the night I knew without a doubt that I loved you. 

And maybe love is erratic when you’re young, but the heart knows even when we don’t—I was madly, deeply in love, and I know she felt it too. Every time she looked up at me, her big brown eyes reflected the stage lights, sparkling as her head fell back against my chest, and she pursed her lips, silently asking for a kiss, the smile on her face magnetic when I pulled away, sucking me in further, until I felt like I couldn’t breathe without her. 

Then our song started playing, and she turned around, slinging her arms around my neck, jumping up and down, excitement buzzing through her. She pressed her lips to mine, stealing the words from my mouth when she leaned up and whispered, “This is our song…” Then she pulled away with a smile, wrapped her arms around my torse, and buried her cheek into my chest.

Marlowe turned around just as the bridge was about to take off, and I grabbed hold of her, enveloping her in my arms once again. Then I lean down, nuzzling my nose against the shell of her ear, and push out the words, “I love you…” Hoping they land at the perfect moment.

A/N: Love always has a funny way of showing up! What are your thoughts?

All Chapters<-

[yourartmatters-itswhatgotmehere]

this, YES. i was so upset, like i actually gasped out loud. because, well, long story short i've never been team Adam for J, BUT as the first born child especially i understood Adam and where he was coming from SO. WELL, and i didn't like how much he was sidelined in shatter me series, or how much people hate him stil?? (literally, you all could never do half of the stuff Adam has done for James, and you're still mad about one slip, one harsh outburst he had with Juliette? give me a break) THAT was long story short, i was HOPING the spinoff series would show THREE brothers bonding and developing a relationship with one another now that their asshole of a father is gone and I just.. it was only a sneak peek so i still have lots of hope, i love Tahereh, i love these characters, i love this series. But just thinking about James LEAVING ADAM to live with Warnette?? how did that look like? How often was he seeing Adam?

THIS PART HERE:

"Allow me to quote Fracture me for you:

“James, to me, in many ways, feels like my own kid. I raised him. Took care of him. Protected him. Fed him and clothed him. Taught him most everything he knows. He’s my only hope in all this devastation – The only thing I’ve always lived for, always fought for. I’d be lost without him.

James gives my life purpose.” "

I don't know how i feel now, uncertain and doubtful, that's for sure, but i won't say anything more because YEAH the whole book is not out and i still have hope. BECAUSE yes Adam might want a quiet life suuurreee, but no James in his life? No relationship with ANOTHER brother he learned he has? That is NOT Adam Kent, and you can hate him, don't like him, don't give a fuck about him or do not understand him frankly doesn't matter how you feel about him, if you love the series YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS. And James? Where is my little Jamie who LOVED Adam more than anything? The VERY FIRST pages we got from Watch me(James' POv) made me think he was a mix of Kenji/Adam/Juliette, and Warner with having the least from Warner's personality which made me GLAD, and now i wonder how DEEPLY having Warner around affected my sweet baby who is not a child anymore because WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN YOUR OLDER BROTHER WAS NEVER AROUND TO TAKE CARE OF YOU?? he is the reason you are ALIVE. HE raised you. Warner didn't even want you at first, seeing you as a problem and connection to his trauma/father. (love Warner but having so many people around him being like THERE'S THE PERFECT GUY which he never was and never will be is making me so mad. HENCE why i love Kenji, my number 1 beloved sm series babe, because he was always telling it like it is with Warner)

it turned out longer than i meant lol. I APPRECIATE YOU!! and was so glad to see someone else feeling their feelings(not good necessarily) because seeing ppl being like "oh i'm sad for Adam but actually i don't give a damn about him Warner being a father so awesome" is INFURIATING to see, and it's beautiful to see someone else who seems well SANE about this.

i hope i won't be dissapointed when the book is out and actually get THREE brothers dynamic. Plus Kenji. Let's add him to anything because that's how i love it.

The newest Watch me sneak peek - RANT

(If you're excited that Juliette and Warner got to have James as their first child: I'm happy for you, but don't read this post. Because I'm a Debbie downer.)

Could someone wake me up? I don’t like whatever fever dream this is.

What do you mean James, the ten-year-old (or, eleven now, apparently), walked up to Warner and asked him to adopt him? What do you mean “The man practically raised me” ?! What do you mean Juliette and Warner “took him in”?!

“This man practically raised me.” NO, JAMES, ADAM DID. – You ungrateful little-- and Adam did everything in his power to keep James safe.

He hid James from Anderson.

He lied about his age to join the military to take care of James.

He refused to let James join the fighting because he was, you know, a child.

He kicks out Juliette, to make sure James’ safety isn’t risked.

In the second trilogy he chooses to try being pardoned by the RE, to keep James safe.

He let the RE use his powers, to keep James safe.

“Juliette and Warner took me into their home without hesitation.”

They whaatttt

Okay, let me just start with how inconvenient that would be.

We all know that Juliette was trash garbage at ruling North America in Restore me. Two months later, in Believe me, she undoubtedly still is trash garbage. + She has a whole ass house she wants to renovate now apparently. And you're telling me you want to add a ten-year-old into the mix?

James thinks Adam was barely around to look after him. Well, I have news for you, kid, your new parents are either going to be busy a) trying to rule the world, b) having sex around the clock because if the state of the world peace didn’t bother them before, a child sure as hell isn’t. (My expectations of them as parents are so low.)

Second, have they no regard at all for Adam?

This thing that Mafi has made James, Warner and Juliette do, would literally break Adam.

Allow me to quote Fracture me for you:

“James, to me, in many ways, feels like my own kid. I raised him. Took care of him. Protected him. Fed him and clothed him. Taught him most everything he knows. He’s my only hope in all this devastation – The only thing I’ve always lived for, always fought for. I’d be lost without him.

James gives my life purpose.”

And James has the f*cking nerve to say that Adam was barely around ahajhkdjviduvnlav WHY DO YOU THINK THAT IS, JAMES?! He was working to pay the bills, JAMES.

The nerve of all these people, I swear.

I actually wanted to buy the book on release day for old time’s sake, but now I’m not so sure.  

Welp, at least I have an answer to how James learned how to fight though. Adam had no say in it at all, because I guess eleven-year-olds are allowed to just transfer guardianship.  

@effei-s Girl, you and I would have a field day picking this apart.

[apollos-boyfriend]

i would love to hear about indie horror rpg number 957!! i adore indie horror rpg games

WELL since u so kindly asked. it is now time for one of my Many corpse party rants ^_^ and yes ik corpse party is not as like. unknown as like, jimmy and the pulsating mass or smth (which is something i REALLY need to get around to playing, actually) but with the recent sequel announcement i have been spinning it in my head much more than usual. more accurately, how bad the writing got by the end and how disappointing the ending to the heavenly host arc was, because it had SO much potential!! the initial game was such a hit for a reason!! (initial referring to the like, DS version era, which feels weird to say but you get my point. initial full version of the main story.)

book of shadows highlights this issue the most for me, because like. it has Such a good concept. the idea that everything is contained in a horrifying time loop in which these characters slowly regain the memories of their past loop, including their gruesome deaths. that’s fucking terrifying!! having to face the fact that not only have you done this before, but you didn’t survive, and maybe you’re fated to never make it out of this alive, no matter how hard you try. that your fate will actually worsen the deeper you go into the loops. that nothing you do matters. it never did and it never will. (it also does some other things i like, such as delving into the alternate endings/realities and fleshing out more characters, dynamics, and backstories. that was good!! i enjoyed that!! largely bc the new stuff they introduced was actually yknow. new. and not characters from a novel they just threw in and acted like you should already be acquainted with them.)

the issue with book of shadows for me is that like. the characters are SO stupid. like. fucking mayu?? she REALIZES the marks on her body are there because that’s how she dies, then just. never fucking tells anyone?? and SPLITS UP??? i don’t care how self-conscious she is i will never excuse that choice. she recognizes the room that killed her. she makes a conscious decision to not enter it. and then enters anyway!!! because fuck you!!! if she’d ended up there again in any other way i wouldn’t have cared so much because like. again. they’re fated to always die in exponentially terrible ways yadda yadda. but the way they got her there is SO stupid. had she not ran into i THINK ayumi and yoshiki(???) it would’ve made everything a hundred times better. have her panic over her situation and not pay attention to where she’s going. running into others and not saying anything just makes it all so frustrating to play through. the concept is fun but it just becomes annoying instead of horrifying because you’re forced to sit through these characters being idiots and get distracted by that instead of the actual horror of the situation.

book of shadows just has gameplay issues as well, like jesus christ did we need such insane completion goals 😭 having to spam click through 30+ endings is more torture than anything they ever put their characters through. it’s not even worth it considering how much the ending sucks either. you had a good premise!!! an amazing one even!!!! why did you do her like that!!!

anyways. mods are asleep post mayu splatter dot jpg

[designernishiki]

it’s kinda funny to me how that dumb scene in kiwami 1 of majima getting shot and left for dead in the harbor was basically just added as a half-assed way to explain majima not being around for a bit of the plot, but they accidentally(?) just made it seem like start of a chain reaction where majima ended up feeling slighted and heartbroken after being abandoned like that and then lashed out about it via smashing a big truck into the building kiryu was in. and yeah that isn’t inherently a romantic thing as-is but then they go and add the part where majima grabs a hostess and performatively hits on her as in-kiryu’s-face as possible, she says she’s already in love with someone, and majima lets her go immediately, no questions asked, making a big fucking point of it just to say see THAT kiryu? I appreciate when people are HONEST about their FEELINGS. people who won’t just BACKSTAB someone who CARES about them to save themselves. is that so crazy kiryu?? huh??? anyway make it up to me get down here and fight me right fucking now

[steviescrystals]

MY LIFE IS NOT REAL WHAT IS GOING ON

[trashbaget]

tell me your failed/embarrassing flirting stories to make me feel better, i’ll go first: today i said “get out of my way” forgot to say “i’m kidding” then immediately said “bye”

[peppermint-candy]

I kind of want to write a cute little fic where the reader is a guitar shop employee who’s bored of their mundane life and dreaming of some excitement. Wes is a customer that comes in all the time. The reader has a crush on him and they start to make small talk whenever he comes in and then one day to their surprise he asks them out. After the reader gets off work they go on their first date and well I could go on but you get it

[seilon]

text them shit about ur ex then, ruin his rep right back

just talked to one of my friends on the phone for a while and dw they already know everything I have to say more or less about him it’s just. I can’t force them to cut contact with him or anything especially without sounding like exactly what he makes me out to be (manipulative, controlling, whatever) so. as much as my friend has reassured me in a lot of ways I’m still sort of stuck at an impasse when it comes to Him

[milo-is-rambling]

My mom was just like ahhh Im anxious to go out of my comfort zone and I was like you’re good how is this out of your comfort zone you’ve done this before and she was like why do you always judge my feelings and say I’m not allowed to feel that way I should feel some other way and I’m sitting here like :| as if she hasn’t done that to my my entire life and as if I didn’t mean you’ve done this before as a you got this sentiment not get over urself