#she got some mad air!! so many jumps!!

[slippery-minghus]

maple!! is THREE!!! today!!!

3 !

she got lots of new toys, and a bag of her favorite treats!!

[misserabella]

loosen up

abby anderson x fem! reader

summary; abby was pent up, and angry, and she was taking it out on your team. and you were not gonna have it. you’ll have to loosen her up.

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, fighting, cursing, blood, abby being a bitch, teasing, tension, chocking (kinda??), hair pulling, punching, making out, begging, cheating (abby on owen), fingering (a! receiving), tit and nipple play, oral sex (a! receiving), dirty talking…

your blood was boiling. you were winning the game, it was no big deal. but fuck. did she really have to act like that? she was just like a fucking child.

you saw as abby barely defended the other team player as she shot to the hoop, listless, annoyed. you felt your skin crawl in goosebumps when she took the bounce and with a scowl tossed it to one of your teammates hard enough for it to end up getting out of the court.

“what the fuck anderson?!” you yelled at her, scowling. why was she acting like such a bitch. sure. you can be mad. but this is a match. get over it and play.

she ignored you, letting the player she was supposed to defend score.

you couldn’t handle it anymore getting closer to her and pushing at her chest, making her stumble backwards.

she had come today already with a scowl on her face, and after she had gotten mad about something your team had done wrong at the start of the match, she had started taking it out all on your team and sabotaging you. you didn’t care that she was the captain, if there was something everyone knew is that you wouldn’t stay quiet if something was bothering you. and she was infuriating you. “if you’re gonna play like this don’t fucking play!! you’re fucking it up for us!” she pushed you back.

“at least they need me to play. i’m not some bench warmer like you!” she said, and you gritted your teeth, your ego being hurt. “aw, what’s wrong? did i hit a weak spot?” she falsely cooed, and before you knew it you were punching her, making her lip burst and blood tint her skin.

you could hear the stairs filled with people roar, screaming when abby jumped on you, a hand tugging on your hair as her other hand closed into a fist, coming down onto your cheek and making you hiss.

before things could escalate, your coach was running into the court along with the referee to stop the two of you.

“anderson!” he screamed, trapping her arms to push her off of you. she fought against him and the referee who went to help him since abby was quite strong.

you spat blood, your teammates coming up to check on you.

“you two. out.” your coach ordered, forcing the two of you out of the court and into the changing rooms. “anderson. i don’t know what the hell has gotten into you, but you better be changing your attitude or i swear to got you won’t be making it to the next game. and you.” he pointed at you. “starting a fight in the middle of a fucking match?” he inquired. “are we in kindergarten?” you huffed, crossing your arms. “i don’t want you coming out of here until you fix whatever you two have going on. i don’t want bullshit on my court.” he said, closing the door to the changing rooms behind him to go back to his game.

the air inside of the room was so dense in tension it could be cut with a knife.

“this is all your fucking fault.” you spat, adrenaline cursing through your veins. sweat was pearling your skin.

“my fault?” she scoffed and you turned to face her. “you’re the one who fucking punched me.”

“yeah well you needed it.” you muttered. “just as much as you need a good fuck. bad thing your little boyfriend doesn’t know how to use his dick, huh?” next thing you knew you were against the wall, a hand tightly around your neck.

“you need to keep your mouth shut.” she growled, and you smirked. you were inches apart, your lips brushing, her breath hitting your face.

“aw… have i hit a weak spot?” you mocked her, throwing back her words at her. “i’m sure owen can’t hit your g spot though. how many times has he make you cum, huh? i’m sure not even once, since you’re acting like such a bitc-” she punched you again, making you shut up and your mouth fill up with blood all over again. you smirked.

you looked into her blue eyes, at her reddening cheeks. “well aren’t you cute, hm? blushing ‘cause i’m on the right?”

“fucking shut up.” she spat, and you leaned closer, pushing against the tightening grip on your neck.

“why don’t you make me, huh?” you whispered against her lips, and your smirk only grew when your saw her angry eyes drift down at your lips.

“you wish.” she muttered and your tongue wetted your lips, watching as she stared.

“by the way you’re looking at me i’m not sure i’m the one wishing for it, anderson.”

“you’re so annoying.” she growled, and you hummed when she quickly and harshly pushed them against your, so hard your head met the wall behind you in a thud. it was a mess. all tongue and teeth. your hands pulled at her blonde braid as her strong body caged you against the cold tile wall. she moaned when you bit down on her broken lip, tasting her blood as she could taste yours on your tongue.

“that’s it abby, take it all out on me, hm?” you muttered, and she cursed when your lips trailed down her jaw to her neck, sucking and biting. “this is what you needed, isn’t it?” you inquired as your hands dived in her shirt, hands cupping her tits over her sports bra and tweaking her nipples. “needed to get the attitude fucked out of you?” she moaned, and you smiled. “but we’re gonna get you all fixed for coach, isn’t that right?” she nodded, biting down on her lip as she felt one of your hands trail down her stomach, your fingertips caressing her abs. “speak up for me cap, why so quiet all of a sudden?” you teased her and she gritted her teeth.

“shut -“ she tried and say, but before she could finish her sentence she was letting out a loud moan as your hand pushed inside her pants and panties, fingers diving in between her slick folds.

“jesus christ. you’re soaked.” you breathed out, your fingertips easily sliding against her clit, making her thighs shake. “is it always like this, hm? can owen make your pussy drool like this?” she shook her head.

“no.” she shook her head in a whimper, one that made your own pussy throb. “fuck. he never… he doesn’t know how to touch me.”

you hummed. “you poor thing. so eager to be fucked and yet can’t get what you need, huh?” you mocked her, and you saw her breath hitch. “do you want it? do you want me to make you cum, abby?” she nodded. “nuh-huh. use your words. such a loud fucking mouth and now you’re getting shy on me? speak.”

“yes. please, make me cum.” she muttered, and you smirked.

“atta girl.” she moaned when you pushed your middle finger inside. “jesus christ. he doesn’t fucking deserve you. pussy so tight…” you groaned, starting to thrust in and out. “she’s so eager. she’s sucking me right in.” she moaned, hiding her flushing face on your neck, although you didn’t let her, tugging on her braid to make her face you. “don’t fucking hide from me. wanna see you fall apart.” her breath hitched, her thighs opening for you to reach deeper into her. you pulled from her so she could be the one now caged against the wall, giving you strength to dive two of your fingers inside her harder. “that’s it. open up for me.”

“fuck, fuck, fuck…” she cried out as you curled them against her g spot, eyes squeezed shut, cunt molding around your fingers.

“who would’ve thought… abby anderson, such a tough girl falling apart so easily on my fingers…” you smirked. “you like it baby? like how i’m fucking you behind your little boyfriends back? what would he say, hm? what would he think if he saw you like this, huh?” your thumb met her throbbing clit. “gonna be good for me once i make you cum? gonna stop being such a fucking bitch?” she nodded. “i bet you are. gonna make you cum so good you’d do anything for me.” you smirked. “look at you. you sweet girl, you just needed your pussy stretched out, hm? get loose, yeah? i bet you taste so fucking sweet, you’re dripping on my fingers.” she moaned, your words were so fucking lewd they were making her head spin. but she loved it. she couldn’t be more turned on. she’d never been this needy, this weak. “tell me, does he eat your pussy, hm?” she didn’t answer, yet her cheeks turned pink and you chuckled. “of course he doesn’t. want me to show you what you deserve? want me to fuck you with my tongue, abby?” she nodded, whining.

“yes please, fuck. please need your tongue.” your smirk grew.

“whatever you say, cap.” you teased her, pulling down her pants and panties with your hands, hearing her moan when your fingers left her hole, feeling empty. “so needy… don’t worry baby.” you said as you kneeled in front of her, pushing one of her strong thighs on top of your shoulder. “i’m gonna fill you up real nice.”

abby could swear she lost all breath when she felt your tongue lick a long strip up her clit from her hole, lapping at her slick with a hum that made her moan so loud you had to pull back to hush her. “you need to stay quiet, baby. don’t want your little boyfriend to hear us, hm?” you inquired, suckling at her clit. the thought of owen just bursting into the changing rooms to find the two of you like this only turned her on more. she shook her head. “then be a good girl and stay quiet for me.”

you dived back in, your tongue sliding in between her folds as you closed your eyes, relishing on how fucking good she tasted. “you taste so good… that dick doesn’t know what he’s missing. could eat this pussy up for hours.” abby whimpered, one of her hands finding your hair to tug you closer. and as much as you wanted to tease her about it, you gave her what she wanted, burying your tongue inside her hole, your nose bumping against her clit.

“oh, fuck.” she cried out, head rolling backwards and bumping against the wall as you curled it, fucking it in and out of her, moaning at the taste of the white creamy pre cum that stained your lips, chin and tongue. you hummed, devouring her like a starved woman before moving on to her clit and plunging two of your fingers back inside of her. you harshly sucked on that little bundle on nerves, feeling her shake as you hit your g spot with every curve of your fingers. “i’m gonna cum.”

“so pent up…” you chuckled by how easily it had been to make her fall apart. “poor baby. go ahead, be a good girl and cum on my face.” you said before going back to her clit, curling your fingers faster and sucking harder. it didn’t take long before her moans got louder —to which she had to muffle herself with her free hand— and creamed all over your mouth. you moaned, lapping at everything she was giving you as you fucked her through it. “atta girl…” you praised, smirking at the shaking of her thighs. she was panting by the time she was done, slightly whimpering at your licks as you cleaned her up. she watched as you pulled your fingers out of her and pushed them inside your mouth, your eyes never leaving hers as you sucked them clean. she bit down on her lip, the hand on your hair slightly tightening. “it’s best we go out there.” you said as you got up from your aching knees. “we’ve got a match to win.” she nodded, getting dressed with flushing cheeks.

after that, abby was back to her normal self, playing to win. in fact, it was the best she had ever played in a long time, and your coach noticed. it was before you went to enter the court on a change that he stopped you.

“i don’t know what the hell you did… but well done.” he said, and you smiled, taking a look at abby, who looked away with a flushed expression.

you shrugged.

“she just needed to loosen up.”

-

a/n; i need her

[a-simple-imagine]

World Burn

synopsis: nobody messes with regina george

pairing: regina George x fem!reader

words: 1.5k+

A/N - inspired by the bikeriders. this is an au. if you would like to know more about the au please ask :)

WARNINGS - violence, threats and arson

the human body is so incredibly fragile. it's actually rather pathetic. as it crumbles so easily under a little pressure. bruises are so common. even paper can be dangerous. and it was never more evident as you were being helped up the stairs towards her office. part of you couldn't help but wonder how you got into this mess in the first place. the other? well, that worried about whether she would be mad at you.

the stairs feel so much longer when you struggle with each step. the twang of metal so much louder as your footfalls against the surface. it almost felt like a miracle when you reached the top. stumbling into her office, you're basically dragged to the couch against the far wall.

"What happened?" you can't tell how she's feeling. is that concern? anger? she's rather neutral

"We just found her like this,"

"saw a couple cars drive away though,"

they place you down carefully. the cool leather of the couch is almost soothing to the touch. your entire body feels numb. weightless even. burning. it hurts to breathe. every rise and fall of your chest sends a sharp jolt through your body. it's a moment before she comes over to you. tall and proud. staring down at you but her intimidating aura soon softens as she falls beside you. A gentle hand is placed below your chin to force you to look at her. "can you tell me who did this?" your eyes meet for a second before you pull away. a small shrug. "Baby," you feel stupid. powerless. like some pathetic little kid. you don't know what happened... well, not exactly. you were jumped by a couple of people when you got home. you don't know who they were or how they got in but you remember red hot pain wash over you afterwards. "please, talk to me," her voice so gentle you'd think it wasn't her. Regina was many things but gentle wasn't one of them. She treated you like you were her entire world but still a world she ruled. she was in charge.

"I'm sorry,"

"what for?" you don't really know. for not fighting back. for not doing something. anything at all. you just took it. you shrug again. Regina pulls you against her. it's supposed to be comforting but with the way your body feels it is sharp. you eventually relax into her. burying your face into her neck. "I'm gonna find who did this." said quietly. "you're safe. I promise." was she trying to convince you or herself?"

It's a couple of days and a lot of painkillers later you're being led down a seedy alleyway. you're mostly fine. lots of bruises, a few scratches and a broken rib but you've gotten over the initial shock. Regina is a step ahead with her hand in yours. Gretchen walks beside her, struggling to keep up with the blonde. those two were inseparable. or more so, Gretchen followed Regina around like a puppy. she basically existed to keep Regina happy. did everything she was told. her right-hand man. next to you was Karen. a little spacey. big heart. Regina had a whole bunch of others who followed her command too but Gretchen and Karen were the only ones who were always by her side. and you too now. kind of. the air is thick with heavy booze. it's far from your usual setting. Regina almost seemed out of place. it was rare she saw to matters herself. normally that was Gretchen's job if it was delicate or she'd delegate to somebody else. today was different apparently. you never came along on jobs either but again today was different. She pushes the door to an almost invisible bar; you'd hardly notice it's there unless you were looking. it's small in size, dingy and dark. mostly empty apart from the bartender and two gentlemen. one face down on a table while the other sipped from a whiskey glass at the bar. the two conscious individuals look your way. you didn't know them but it made you feel uneasy. you squeeze her hand but she either doesn't notice or doesn't care as you parade through the space towards the bartender. a short guy. he gives up the boss's location without hesitation. points to a room in the far corner. you have a bad feeling about this, or maybe the pills weren't sitting right. the blonde barges through the door without a care in the world. it's a small office. a woman sits behind a desk; a guy leaps up as you enter, another just stands beside her. guns raised but not fired. the blonde is entirely unfazed. just marches straight for the desk, dragging you along with her.

"It's okay," a delicate hand shoots up, a message to her men to stand down. "Regina George, to what do I owe this pleasure?" a slow glance up, she wears a playful smile as their eyes meet. She was expecting this encounter. planned it even. they both just stare at each other for a moment. this other woman is pretty up close but hardly stands out amongst the likes of Regina. you have never seen her before. most of the people in this business visited the club if not to party then to speak with Regina. She ran things around here. the head bitch many would say. the new girl has a twinkle in her eye. that fresh off the boat, proud of themselves look that was about to be utterly destroyed

"cute." uttered quietly, the blonde stood a little taller. "Gretchen," Gretchen Weiners comes scurrying along to appear beside you.

"This is Gretchen, say hi Gretchen."

"Hello," Gretchen smiles softly, an awkward little wave.

"and I assume you've already met-" Regina ushers you forward, a possessive hand on your shoulder. you offer a shy smile. "do you wanna tell me what happened?"

you look at Regina through the corner of your eye. Was she talking to you or them? "I don't know what you're talking about," they respond.

"that's okay. I already know," Regina insists with a smile. "I know about everything that goes on around here."

"what's your point?"

"name?"

"cady? Cady heron."

"well, Cady," Regina's voice is slow. "do you have something you would like to say to my girl here?"

Cady stands now as if trying to get on the same level as Regina. she's naturally smaller though so it doesn't quite work. "not that I can think of, so, if you could leave my office."

it's a long tense moment that feels like it may never end. "you're new around here so maybe you just don't know better," the blonde leans in closer now. "but if you ever so much as look at her in the wrong way ever again, I'll break every bone in this pathetic little body of yours, got it?"

"got it," Regina maintains her gaze before turning around with a flick of her long hair.

"is that it?" you ask, hurrying after her.

"you trust me right?"

"of course," you nod quickly.

"she won't come near you again. promise." you want to believe her but she hardly did anything. You have a broken rib and all she did was a little threat that Cady didn't even seem phased by? would that keep her away?

it's strangely beautiful if not a little menacing. the way the red and orange flickers against the night sky. the flames getting bigger. brighter. more powerful. so hot against the skin even as you just stare on. a pair of arms slip around your shoulders enveloping you in their warm embrace. Regina presses up against you from behind. "it's pretty, isn't it?"

you nod a little and she places the most delicate of kisses against your cheek. she'd set the bar on fire. well, not her directly. probably Gretchen or some other no-name follower. and now you were all just watching it burn. "aren't you scared?"

"I doubt Cady has the power for that,"

"no, I mean like- you set the place on fire. the police and firefighters are gonna show up at any minute but everyone is so calm,"a soft chuckle. one you can feel more than hear. Regina was amused, squeezing you a little tighter. "I don't want you to get in trouble,"

"oh baby," a term of endearment but it felt just a little patronising as a hand graced your cheek and moved your head to look at her. "you worry too much, everything will be fine."

"Are there people still inside?" you ask. Regina doesn't answer, just kisses you before letting go and turning back to the fire at hand. it's surprisingly tranquil. no police had come yet. no fire trucks. just the roaring fire. you wonder about Cady still inside. maybe she got out. maybe she was warned. maybe you're just better off not knowing. "it's so hot."

"yeah," a kiss to the back of your head. "I'm also getting hungry- should we get food?" you nod against her. She releases you from her grip and takes your hand instead.

"still feeling sore?"

"a little but I'm okay," you answer.

"you sure? we can head home?"

you shake your head. "let's go out."

Regina presents you with a smile. bright and warm like the fires raging behind her as she leads you off towards the car. you can't help but glance back and look at the flames that quite literally burn for you

[johnnycakesswitch]

Some of y’all are so mean about Steve and Two-Bit omg 😭😭😭 some people act like their only personalities are Two-Bit being an alcoholic and Steve being mean to Pony and liking chocolate cake like let’s be fr. Let’s clear the air w some canon details about the two most forgotten greasers bc they deserve better and some of y’all pay them absolutely dust as if they’re not important to the story also

Let’s start w pookie Steve

• “Steve Randle was seventeen, tall and lean, with thick greasy hair he kept combed in complicated swirls.” Ok so here’s some physical description, I’ve seen so many people say that Pony only gave Steve one line of description, there’s actually much more in the rest of Steve’s paragraph 😀

• Pony goes on to describe Steve as “tacky, smart, and Soda’s best buddy since grade school.” He also says that Steve can lift a hubcap quicker and quieter than anyone else in the neighborhood and also knows cars inside out and backwards and can drive anything on wheels. Pony takes time to emphasize that Steve is in fact smart (he’s still in school so this is important) and how skilled he is when it comes to cars

• Steve has been arrested before for unspecified reasons

• Pony says that Steve and Soda both have too much energy and feelings, which is why they get into fights and drag races so often

• Steve (and Two-Bit and Soda for that matter) would’ve joined in on Dally’s dirty talking to Cherry

• Steve and Soda will buy Pony bottles of soda and let him help work on the cars when he goes to the DX

• Steve was the one who saw Johnny’s jacket on the ground when he got jumped and picked it up with the plan to bring it back to him and was the one who looked closer and saw the blood on the jacket and the ground. Also- “Steve closed his eyes for a second and muffled a groan as he dropped on his knees beside Soda.” Steve was clearly very distraught to see Johnny in the state he was after being beat up so badly, which mirrors his reaction to when Dally died. Steve feels very deeply and has a hard time hiding it

• Steve threatened Sylvia when she was talking to Johnny and gave Johnny a lecture about girls- big brother energy

• he has a “soft, bitter voice”

• Steve and Two-Bit were the ones who started goofing around the time they went to church and Steve was the one who dropped the hymn book and embarrassed Pony and Johnny 😭

• Soda and Steve never fought

• Steve’s dad kicks him out about once a week which really bothers Steve and is likely a reason for his hatred for his father which Pony mentions earlier on. His dad usually gives him money to make up for it. He often sleeps on the Curtis couch (Pony says it’s “usually” Steve on the couch)

• Two-Bit and Steve were so happy to see Ponyboy after the fire, they immediately started roughhousing and teasing him

• “Don't worry about it," Steve said, cocksure that he and Sodapop could handle anything that came up. "They don't do things like that to heroes.” Steve was quick to reassure Pony that he wouldn’t get taken out of Darry’s custody

• the only time Soda was ever mad at Steve was when he called Darry all brawn no brain

• “Hate to tell you, buddy," Steve said, still flat on the floor, "but you have to wear clothes to work. There's a law or something.” Steve teasing Soda 😭

• Steve was “surprisingly angry” when Pony asked about Sandy, more than likely because he knew how upset Soda was about it

• Soda, Steve, and Pony all put in extra hair grease before the rumble to look cool

• he and Soda were “playing cards and arguing as usual” before the rumble

• Steve fights for hatred

• he had three broken ribs after the rumble. He looked “feverish and bewildered” when Pony came back from the hospital. Despite how hurt he was though, he immediately went running with everyone when Dally was in trouble

• “Steve stumbled forward with a sob, but Soda caught him by the shoulders” again, Steve was so visibly distraught when one of his friends was hurt, even more so now because Dally was dead

• Pony, Two-Bit, and Steve usually leave school together at lunchtime to go to the store

• Steve and Two-Bit were backing Pony when he used the bottle to defend himself from the Socs

• “Is that all that's bothering you, that switchblade?" a red-eyed Steve had snapped at him.” Just more of Steve and his emotions

So even though he is a side character, Steve is so much more developed than we give him credit for. He’s deeply loyal, emotional, has a strained relationship with his father, and would do anything for the people he cares about. Additionally, it’s so important that he’s Soda’s best friend too- who do we think was there for him when Pony ran away and Sandy left him or when Pony and Darry are arguing all the time?

Now for Two-Bit

• he would’ve come to get Pony from the movies in his car if Pony had asked

• Pony says life was one big joke to Two-Bit

• he had a wide grin and “couldn’t stop making funny remarks to save his life”

• famous for shoplifting and always mouthing off to cops

• he likes fights, blondes, and school

• Pony likes him a lot because he kept them all laughing at themselves and other things

• Pony says Two-Bit could put things into words good

• offered everyone cigarettes at the movies and paid for everyone’s drinks and popcorn

• Two-Bit gave Pony a similar lecture on girls to the one Steve gave Johnny

• Two-Bit “gallantly” offered to walk Cherry and Marcia the 20 miles home. He talked them into letting him drive them home which is where they were headed, to get his car, before Bob and Randy showed up

• “Two-Bit said, "Don't get mouthy, Ponyboy” his big brother energy is coming out y’all

• Two-Bit hit Pony hard upside the head when he said what he did about Johnny not being wanted at home

• “Shut up talkin' like that," Two-Bit said fiercely, messing up Johnny's hair. "We couldn't get along without you, so you can just shut up!” I’m crying

• he waved at everyone when they all turned to look at them after they all caused a ruckus in church 😭

• Johnny and Pony get Two-Bit and Darry on their team for football 😌 so we can assume Soda and Steve have Dally

• Two-Bit broke the windows in the school building

• Two-Bit got jumped while Pony and Johnny were gone but it wasn’t too bad because he’s a good fighter

• Dally and some other greasers wanted to jump Cherry when she came to talk to them but Two-Bit stopped them

• he was gonna go to Texas to look for Pony and Johnny 😔

• Pony says people like Two-Bit, Dally, and Tim Shepard forgot how to cry at a young age

• again, so excited when Pony got home. Picked him up and swung him around and immediately started making fun of his hair

• “What I like is the 'turn' bit," Two-Bit said, cleaning the egg up off the floor. "Y'all were heroes from the beginning. You just didn't 'turn' all of a sudden.” This quote is SO important. No, they didn’t just turn heroes. Two-Bit recognizes that Johnny and Pony had always been special even if others didn’t see it

• Two-Bit knew all about Pony’s nightmares and was interested in hearing about them when Pony told Darry about his dream

• immediately offers to babysit Pony when Darry is hesitant to leave him home alone

• Pony says it’s just about impossible to get mad at him

• Two-Bit wouldn’t take no for an answer when the nurse told them they couldn’t see Johnny

• he was closer to tears than Pony had ever seen him after snapping at Johnny’s mother

• gave Dally his switchblade, his prized possession, with zero hesitation when Dally asked

• could tell something was up with Pony and felt his head for a fever, really wanted to tell Darry but Pony said no

• Two-Bit fights for conformity

• he had four stitches in his cheek and seven in his hand after the rumble

• “Two-Bit came blubberin' over here with some tale about how you were running a fever before the rumble and how it was all his fault you were sick. He was pretty torn up that night.” He feels so guilty about Pony being sick :(

• was worried when he thought Pony was getting tough and relieved when he realized Pony was still his soft, sensitive self after picking up the broken glass

So we see that Two-Bit is definitely more developed than Steve and he is a super important character. He’s silly and goofy which is what they need sometimes in their hard lives, he’s got such a nurturing personality, he’s a gentleman at heart, and is so quick to praise/defend any of his friends, even against themselves like when Johnny talks bad about himself. Overall, he and Steve are both very much important to the story. Treat them better. The end.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Baki Short Stories: Just Let Me Adore You

Yandere Jack Hanma x Burlesque Dancer Afab Reader

For @lex90112 who requested Baki men with a burlesque reader

TW: yandere behavior, dubcon, adult themes, and murder (mentioned)

Now Jack was not a man driven by lust or women. He never had an interest in earthly pleasures… until now.

Jack had no business being in a gentleman’s club but the temptation of cheap drinks and his curiosity of what lied inside lead him in here. And lo and behold, he saw her.

Jack has never seen a burlesque performance before but he was entranced. The giant white feather fans enraptured him in their seductive dance. His cinnamon colored eyes stayed locked on her form that reminded him of a bird that was making an attempt to enchant a potential mate.

The plumage teased his hungry eyes until the beautiful woman was revealed underneath. His breath hitched and his palms began to sweat. Jack was utterly bewitched. He couldn’t look away from her performance no matter how much he wanted to reign his self control back in. A primal feeling had taken ahold of him.

The snow white garments made her appear to be a lamb amongst wolves. Her shy smile and gazes made something stir in his loins as she danced for the predatory gazes all around her. How could someone be so cute yet so delish tempting to ravage?

When she slowly began to shed off her clothing, he shuddered when one of her garments now laid on his lap. The scent of her sweet perfume overwhelmed his senses and it took everything in him not to bury his nose in them.

Jack had a lump form in his throat when she blew a kiss in his general direction- no. She blew a kiss at him. And now it took everything in him not to jump on that stage to steal her away from this life of lustful gazes and wolf whistles. She deserved better.

The poor man had fallen in love at first sight and he would pursue her with unrestrained madness like a wolf lusting for a lamb. Jack wanted to steal her away from himself.

.

.

.

And so Jack became a regular to his lamb’s performance. Jack had found out her name is (your name) and they were close in age.

Jack kept every snow white garment thrown at him by her since it was a gift she willingly gave to him. His cinnamon eyes burned every kiss blown at him into his permanent memory.

Sometimes Jack liked to imagine that she only danced for his eyes to see. That her smiles and flirty glances were only reserved for him.

Jack should know better but he couldn’t help it. He’s been alone for so many years now that he couldn’t help but be entranced by the idea of having someone at his side. Desire had taken ahold of his heart and body.

Since his desire to be the strongest hadn’t worked out, why not have a new purpose? A purpose to protect his precious lamb from slaughter?

Too bad Jack hadn’t taken competition into equation…

.

.

.

Jack felt his jaw clench when he over head some men talk about his lamb in the after hours of the night. Their lewd perversions disgusted him. How dare they speak of her in such a way… she was so much more than a piece of meat.

It was when they spoke of plans of sexual assault that made Jack decide to step forth as her self proclaimed protector. No one will touch a hair on her head so long as he breathes. Jack was willing to kill for her.

Jack felt his fist clench and then unclench. He wasn’t going to let them trash her name. And that’s when he stalked forward. His large form towered over the men’s smaller forms.

“What the hell are you looking at?”

“Some corpses.”

A few screams filled the night air and then silence.

.

.

.

“That blond giant is here again to see you dance.” (Your name) hummed at her manager’s words. She wasn’t surprised by this news. She knew he’d be here, he always was over the last few months.

His predatory gaze made her feel more bare than the few pieces of lingerie she wore. She knew if she got too close to that wolf then he would devour her whole. So she made sure to keep his hunger satiated with small tokens of herself. Lest she wanted to end up on the stage and eaten before everyone’s eyes.

“I think that Jack guy is in love with you.” (Your name)’s manager whispered softly, their eyes filled with concern. “He’s a terrifying man. We can go to a new club if you’d like. One far from here before he tries something.”

(Your name) shook her head and smiled at her manager. “He’s my biggest tipper. I’d hate to lose such a loyal regular.”

“But he’s… ugly.” Her manager whispered. “And his eyes look like they want to swallow you whole.”

It seems many people were aware of the blonde man’s lust for her. Perhaps she should take this into consideration? Then again, (your name) was no lamb like everyone believed. No… she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She used the lust of men to pay off a debt she owed and she was nearly done with it.

“I can handle him.” (Your name) smiled at her manager with a twinkle in her eye. “I’ll be just fine.”

A shame she had underestimated the giant man. Perhaps the tragedy wouldn’t have befallen her if she had just ran while she still could.

.

.

.

(Your name)’s eyes widened at the large amount of money presented to her. Her regular wanted a private dance… and he had plaid twice the amount required for one.

“I can’t save you if you accept…” her manager whispered with sad eyes. “But I know you need this money…”

(Your name) took a hold of her manager’s hands. “I’ll be fine. I’ll giving him a dance if that is what he would like.”

Yes… one more dance and she’d be out of this life. That’s all she would need…

“Tell him I’ll do it. I’ll meet him at the address.” Her manager solemnly nodded and gave her one last glance.

“Please be safe.”

.

.

.

(Your name) was pulled into a searing kiss so strong, she felt her lips bruise. Large hands eagerly explored her body as the giant man trembled above her. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. It was just meant to be a dance and yet he pounced on her like a hungry lion the moment her cover came off.

“You’re mine now.” Jack huskily whispered in her ear, his fingers eagerly tugged at her lingerie. “And I want to give you all of me…”

(Your name) gasped when he pressed something big into her bottom. He was massive… she could count on one hand how many people she’s been with but he was so much bigger than all of them. And he seemed more eager to please…

“Jack, I don’t know if we should-“ (your name) was pulled into another eager kiss. Her lingerie now pooled around her feet as his hands cupped her chest and his body shook.

“Please… please take my virginity.” Jack muttered into her neck. “I want you to have me. I want to be yours.”

Jack’s movements were clumsy yet they showed restraint. (Your name) glanced into this face and rather than seeing a man with a starving gaze, she saw a scared child. This giant man before her was lost and his heart screamed for love. It broke her heart… she didn’t want to imagine the things he had been through in his life. But she was willing to be his solace for a night.

(Your name) gently took his face in her hands and stroked her thumbs over his scarred cheeks. His eyes watered a bit and his body still trembled like a leaf but his gaze was filled with admiration for her. Something she wasn’t used to seeing on a man of his stature.

“Okay. You can have me.” She was stolen away to his room in an instant.

She was tossed onto his bed like a doll while his hands quickly began to shed his clothes. All of him was massive and scarred but there was something attractive about him. It stirred something primal in her but that could also be since she hasn’t had sex in a long time.

(Your name) gasped when he shaved his face between her legs, her fingers tried to grasp at his short blonde locks. His tongue eagerly lapped at her wet folds to try to please. Eager to taste. Eager to own.

Her soft whimpers only encouraged him to devour her even more. His long tongue thrusted in and out of her warmth while his nose bumped against her clit. His eyes rolled back at the sweet taste. He was in heaven…

When her body convulsed and her thighs wrapped around his head, he knew he had successfully pleased her but Jack wanted more.

Jack wanted to explore all of her. He moved his mouth up from her privates to kiss up her stomach and to her chest. His lips wrapped around her left nipple to give it a harsh suck, a loud cry escaped her lips.

“More… I want more please.” She didn’t have to tell him twice. He clumsily lined himself up before he pressed himself in. A groan escaped his lips at the damp tightness that clenched around his length. He wasn’t even halfway in yet and he could feel the back of her. It was too much for him.

Jack hissed when her nails dug into his back but it did little to deter him from rightfully claiming her for himself. He kept pushing in despite her cries and moans. Jack’s instincts began to take over as he began to thrust.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and moans echoed in the room. The smell of sex permeated in the air. Jack had never felt such pleasure before.

It didn’t take long for his shallow thrusts to become brutal. The bed slammed into the wall and his hands grasped her hips in a bruising grip but it did little to deter his desire to own her.

Poor (your name) could only throw her head back as she felt him dig into her guts. His large tip punching her crevice over and over again. He was too big… he was too much. Yet she couldn’t even formulate words from how stupid he was fucking her.

Jack felt a strength rush through his body but he paid it no mind. He was too busy chasing his high to understand Hanma logic. The desire to claim and breed had overtaken him.

Jack gave her shoulder’s a bite strong enough to leave a mark. His tongue lapped at the blood in euphoria. He felt on top of the world. He loved this feeling and he never wanted it to end… he finally had his precious lamb.

It was when his hips began to finally stutter and he felt something explode from him that he knew it was finished. He pulled himself out with a wet squelch, his cinnamon eyes glanced at the steady stream of white leaking from her swollen hole in awe. She was his.

His hulking body slumped into a puddle beside her. His arms coiled around her form to pull her to his. Jack felt himself relax for the first time in years, his high made him glow.

“That was amazing…” Jack whispered, the giant pressed kisses on the bleeding bite make on (your name)‘s shoulder. “I’m all yours.”

(Your name) only felt exhausted, her body bruised and battered from his rough treatment but she was sure she could slip away in the morning.

As her eyes fluttered shut to sleep, she failed to realize Jack was never going to let her go.

He may now be hers, but now she was also his. Forever.

[wosoamazing]

First Game

Summary: You are getting to go to your Mums' game for the first time, but it isn't any ordinary game it is the Conti Cup Final

Warnings: Mention of vomiting (Alessia spins reader and Katie warns that she might throw up - thats it)

A/N: I know I said date night would be out first but this came to mind, it is a skip in time but I will go back and fill in. It's only short... Also if you have any ideas please send them through.

Today was the first time you were going to an Arsenal game. Katie and Caitlin wanted to wait a bit, well more like 2 years, before you came to their games, so every game day you were left at home with your babysitter, or occasionally with their friends but more recently it was Ella, one of your Ma’s many sisters. But today was different, they dressed you in a pair of black leggings, and the mini Arsenal Jersey they bought for you, your Ma had done your hair in plaited pigtails clipping two red bows at the top of them, and your Mum put you in your baby Nike Airs, much to your displease. They loaded you up in the car, it was only a short trip, but then you were put on a bus, it was longer, and you got very bored.

_____

“Wan” you said as you pointed to the jacket your Ma was wearing, your Mum handed her your jumper and tried to put it on you, “no,” you pouted as you stamped your foot. “Wan yours” “no, you can have yours or none,” your Ma told you, “hmf” you grunted in reply before crossing your arms and walking away, over to Kyra and Alessia. Your Mum’s had turned their backs and so Kyra quickly slipped her jacket on you, causing you to beam at her. “What, how?” “Kywa,” you pointed, still grinning ear to ear, your Mum glared at Kyra before picking you and walking out to the bench with you. Today the coaches walked out with the teams, something was said about it being a final, something about a cup.

You didn’t quite understand what was going on but it was all very tense, you sat intensely watching the ball, which Steph found very cute, as did all the other players, Caitlin was actually kind of relieved that you had the large puffy jacket on, which was way oversized, as it created a shield around your face, meaning you were safe from the public's phones. Your Mum had to go warm up and so you were handed to Leah, who you decided to have a short nap on, considering the game had been going for some time. At the 105th minute you were handed to your Ma as she was subbed off, which caused you to wake up, just 11 minutes later the stadium erupted in cheers as Stina scored the first goal of the game, putting Arsenal in front.

The full time whistle was blown and everyone jumped up, running to celebrate, you were handed off between staff members before you somehow ended up in Sam’s arms, but you weren’t mad, you quite liked Sam, and she was part of the blue team, blue was your favourite colour.

“Ma, Mummy” you cried out at one stage realising you didn't know where they were. “Hey y/n, its okay they’re over there, see” she said pointing and you nodded.

“I be wif em?” Sam shook her head, “no, because you see soon they are going to spray an adult drink on them and you are only little so you have to stay with me, but then soon you can go back with them,” you pouted as you gave her a small nod.

Not long after you Ma came running over, “Ma” you yelled, “Hi munchkin, do you want to go see Mummy and everyone else,” you nodded eagerly, “Thank you Sam,” she said as she walked away.

You were passed around player to player, them all celebrating with you and getting photos with you, Kyra put you on her shoulders and ran around causing you to giggle, Alessia threw you up into the air and then spun you around before she was cautioned by your Ma to stop, “If she throws up its your fault and you’re cleaning it,” those words caused Alessia to immediately stop and place you onto her hip, you just curled into her side, relaxing, she didn't mind at all.

The bus ride home was very noisy but you didn’t mind it, you just joined in the celebrations jumping up and down the aisle of the bus. Once you arrived home your Mum got you changed as your Ma filled a sippy cup up with milk, once you were changed into your comfy PJs you promptly climbed into their bed, right in the middle. “Oh do you want to sleep with us?” “Weep, ogether?” you asked with your best puppy dog eyes, “Of course,” You Ma said as she handed you your milk, they got under the covers, you laid in the middle of them as you watched a bluey episode, sipping on your milk.

“Its safe to say this wasn't how I planned on celebrating, especially considering we leave for international break tomorrow.” Your Mum chuckled, as she leant towards your Ma, who placed a soft kiss on her lips, “I know, but how could we say no to her?” “She really is adorable isn't she,”

[firstfirerebel]

𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑

Sumary: Prt. 4 of yandere! Adult! Tom Riddle x fem! Reader

Warnings: dark content, cursing, hate, jealousy, heavily implied smut so Minors DNI!

To say Bellatrix hated you, would be like a joke compared to the utter despise she felt towards you. That woman hated your existence. Since she kidnapped you and brought to her master, he completely ignored her! He only had eyes for you. Even if you slept he adored everything about you. Not one assignment could be done without him getting annoyed, because he was away from you. Yeah, he was annoyed by her before you came here, but now she at least had someone to blame for it (someone else then her).

And yes, she was married, but it wasn't a marriage out of love. She only married Rodolphus to keep the family pure. There was no love, at least from her.

Some would say, Bellatrix was in love with Voldemort, other say she was obssessed. Whatever it was, it was hell for people who got in her way. She wasn't a weak witch and definitely not harmless. Everyone who stood in her way was now dead or has lost their sanity. But you were under the protection of Voldemort himself and she knew, if you only had a scratch, he'd torture the person to insanity and later kill them. She wasn't scared to die, she was scared that he could hate her.

If he loved you, he could feel and that was enough for her to set the goal to get him to at least feel positive about her. He appreciared her, cause she was his student and a loyal death eater, but that wasn't enough for her.

Did she love him? She couldn't tell herself.

A relationship wasn't what she wanted, that wouldn't fit the dark lord. So why were you here? Why did he suddenly love someone? Have a 'relationship'?! Did you do something to him?! Cause this wasn't a behavior she knew from Voldemort.

And then you had the audacity to call him 'Tom', he was the dark lord! Lord Voldemort! And you dared to call him by some name?

(Important: Dumbledore always called Voldemort 'Tom' to show that he wasn't afraid of him, that's also why reader here calls him Tom and not Voldemort. She tries to prove him that she isn't scared and she knows his backstory > a thing Tom/Voldemort hates and wants to erase)

Why didn't she see that all you wanted was to be free? You never wanted to be here in the first place! Tom constantly ignored that you didn't want physical contact with him. He ignored your own ideals and refused to see them as valid. If you denied him something he got furious.

In short, you were forced into a 'relationship' thar was toxic and abusive. Your powers weren't equal. You felt and were more like his personal pet than his 'girlfriend'. He didn't lay a harming hand on you, but that still didn't mean he couldn't lose control. He was mad after all and mental abuse was still abuse.

He said it was just a dream, but it felt so real. The wind, the fresh air, you just wanted to feel it again. But the doors that lead outside were locked with a difficult spell you couldn't even unlock if you had your wand. And the windows were too high to jump down, the others were locked as well.

Like a bird in a cage. A hamster in an enclosure. A dog in a kennel.

In short hell.

But all of that could be ok, if your so called 'boyfriend' didn't force himself onto you. He didn't harm you physically, but you weren't dumb.

His gasps behind you, when you brushed your hair or read a book at a window, increased and then he ran away into his 'office'. You could only guess what he was doing there, but it wasn't something for minors...

Tom took many potions that calmed him down, down there and his mind. He fought the urge to throw himself at you, so you wouldn't hate him and he could somehow make you love him. But the things he wanted to do to you...

It drove him crazy to resist you.

Your hair, your scent, your eyes, your body, everything drove him mad.

He couldn't even watch you reading a book in the sunset, cause his body reacted to his 18+ needs immediately. The potions became like water. Not thinking about it, just drink and relax.

But if only it would be this easy...

Slowly the poitons started to help less. He'd find himself only relieved for a short amount of time.

Snape made higher doses but it didn't help. As if his body started to become immune to this liquid.

It was only a temporary solution.

In his dreams he at least had some time off, right?! Nope...

The deep thoughts and desires he had controlled his dream, so waking up in the middle of the night with a boner wasn't exactly rare.

It felt like he was in a doom loop.

Trying to ignore his needs > drinking the poiton > ignoring his desires > drinking more of the potions.

If Snape would take money for his potions for Tom he'd be richer than the Malfoys by now.

The question was, how much longer could Tom go through this?

How much time did he have till the beast inside him couldn't be tamed anymore...?

[uhohwhathaveidone]

Nah cause what if Sebastian x slytherin reader right where your helping in him in his quests but you get attacked and reader gets knocked out and he’s mad n protective

"I've only had reader for a few day bit if anything happens to them i will curse everyone in this room and then myself"

My Knight (S.S)

I hate spiders. That's a lie, I just don't like them if they're too close. Love peacock spiders though. So cute. Based off that alone, we're dealing with that one quest with the spiders. So, there's a warning for you, also I haven't been able to play the game still, my pc is still refusing, so do I know what's going on? No. Did I call the giant spider the BroodMother while only thinking about that horrible darkspawn from Dragon Age? Yes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy, I'm posting rather early so I might start on another request tonight. <3

     You sucked in a breath as you shouted another spell at the spiders that surrounded you, desperate to keep them away. You glanced over to Sebastian, who was shouting his own spells at the spiders. You quickly cast a protection spell as you sprinted over, kicking a smaller spider away from Sebastian’s legs. “They keep coming! What are we supposed to do?” You shouted, throwing Stupefy at a spider that jumped at you. Sebastian shouted, bumping into your back, causing you to stumble. You turned to him, trying to see what had happened, when your eyes widened.

     A giant spider crawled from a hole in the side of the cave, its long legs towering over you while causing the ground to tremble beneath you. Its eyes shined red as it slowly crawled over to you, letting out a screech that made your eardrums rattle. “It’s the Brood Mother! I think that’s what they call her?” Sebastian shouted, grabbing onto your arm, and pulling you towards him. You watched as the smaller spiders scurried away, afraid of their giant counterpart. You readied your wand as you watched her, narrowing your gaze as you looked for a weak point. Without warning she ran at you, nearly knocking you into a wall with her leg. You threw spell after spell at her, a mix of red and yellow emitting from your wand. Sebastian had gotten separated from you, attacking the giant spider from the other side of the cave.

     You didn’t have many spells at your disposal, so you turned to using spells to throw the giant rocks around you, knocking out one of her legs. You watched as she spun around, trying to pick a target, and you quickly shouted to Sebastian as you dodged an attack. “Go for her legs!” “Got it!” You continued to dodge attacks and cast spells at the spider, quietly begging for her to go down, as your arms got tired. You watched as Sebastian threw a decent-sized rock with his wand, hitting her in the head and sending hundreds of broken stones into her eyes, causing her to flail and spin in panic. You felt victory hover in the air as you sent another stone flying, hitting her in the head once again. She let out a final screech as she tumbled to the ground, legs going limp around her as she hit the stone.

     You breathed a sigh of relief as you looked over to Sebastian, who let out a triumphant cheer as he tried to catch his breath. You put your wand into your robe as you made your way over to him, stepping over rocks that broke off in your fight. You smiled as you reached him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?” Sebastian nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. But I think spiders just made it to the top of the Bugs I Hate list.” You chuckled as you shook your head. “Spiders aren’t technically bugs, though. They’re like their own species.” You joked, watching as Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Whatever they are, I don’t like them in the slightest anymore.”

     “Does this mean that next time you see a spider, you’re going to ask me to kill it for you?” Sebastian scoffed, crossing his arms as he turned away from you, looking at some of the rocks that surrounded him. “Of course not. Just, don’t ask me to take care of one if its bigger than a Sovereign.” You laughed, noting the fact and looking around the cave. “Come look at this,” Sebastian said, waving his hand to you as you walked over. He held one of the stones in his hand, its surface shining in the soft light of a nearby torch. You leaned closer, examining the stone, as Sebastian watched you, a light blush creeping to his cheeks at the closeness. “It looks like quartz. Could this have been an old mine?” You asked, looking up at Sebastian as you leaned away, fixing your posture. Sebastian shrugged as he began to explain just how quartz mines worked to you. You listened, of course, no longer paying attention to your surroundings.

     Behind you, the giant legs of the spider twitched, slowly retracting to her body as she regained consciousness. Slowly, she used her front legs to move some rocks away from her eyes, rolling onto the ground. Your ears perked as you heard the rocks make contact with the ground, the hair on the back of your neck standing up and making you uneasy. You watched Sebastian as he continued to talk, glancing around you. The spider, now free of sharp stones, stood up, looking where the two of you stood. “It’s a wonder why so many old works of art weren’t taken down and recycled, could have used them, pity.” Sebastian said, tossing the stone back onto the ground. Alerted, the spider trained her eyes on you, preparing an attack. You looked over your shoulder to where you had left the spider, eyes widening as you realized your mistake. “What do you think about it all? Would it still-“ You cut Sebastian off as you grabbed the collar of his robe, yelling for him to move as you used the remaining strength you had left to pull him from where he was standing, sending him to the ground behind you as you watched the spider slam into the wall, right where he was originally standing.

     Sebastian let out a shriek as he watched the spider, one that he thought was dead, shake its head as it retracted from the wall. You quickly reached for your wand, casting a shield charm as a leg slammed down in front of you. “I thought we killed the thing?” Sebastian shouted, scrambling to his feet and pulling out his own wand. You shook your head, sending off a spell at its eyes. “Stupid! How did I not realize!” You shouted at yourself as you spun and grabbed Sebastian, running. “It was so obvious!” You continued, “She didn’t die like the other spiders, remember?” Sebastian nodded, trying to cast another spell at the spider. “This time, we fight until she’s on her back and curled up!”

     You gasped for air as you kept up your attack, throwing rock after rock at the spider as Sebastian unleashed his own onslaught. You struck one of its eyes with another rock, running to Sebastian as the spider spun once again. You ran faster as you saw one of its legs rise, beginning to bring it down, its target Sebastian. You yelled his name as you reached for him, casting a spell to push him back as the spider’s leg made contact, sending you flying back. Sebastian shouted your name, watching as you tumbled across the stones and finally coming to halt, your wand tossed beside you. There was no way to reach you as the spider continued its own attack, its sharp legs making dents in the stone below it. Sebastian was hit with an idea, and he quickly shouted at the spider, running around it. He found a boulder that had been split in half, and he raised his wand and sent it flying at the spider, slicing through one of its legs.

     “Accio!” Sebastian brought the leg towards him as he shouted for the spider’s attention. Both him and the spider were angered beyond reasoning, and the spider let out another screech as it stood taller, ready to tear into Sebastian, who only stood there. He smiled, watching as the spider straightened its legs, exposing the underside of its abdomen. Without hesitation, Sebastian launched the leg back to its owner, its sharp tip burrowing into the stiff exoskeleton, sending the spider to rear up as it screeched in pain, eventually falling backwards and twitching. Sebastian watched as it slowly died, making sure that it stayed dead, before turning to where you still laid, unmoving.

     “Y/n!” He breathed as he dropped to your side, turning you onto your back. His eyes widened as he held your head up, blood slowly trickling down into the small puddle that had formed under you. “No, come on! You can’t let a bug take you out!” He shouted, his shaking hands reaching for his wand as he racked his brain for a spell to heal your wound. The faint sound of scurrying legs sounded from the hall you walked through to get to where you were now, a small group of spiders quickly making their way over. “Not now, not now.” Sebastian whispered, tapping the wand to his head. Quickly, his eyes widened as a spell came to mind, and he quickly flipped his want and whispered “Episkey”. The gash on your head began to heal itself, the blood vanishing from your face and the ground. You were still out, however, and Sebastian lifted you from the group and brought you to the side of the cave, leaning you against its wall and standing in front of you, wand raised as the small spiders moved into the room.

     A few moments later the final spider rolled over, legs curling in as it died. Sebastian let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looked around in case there were any more hiding around. You squinted, glancing around. Your head throbbed slightly as you brought your hand up, brushing against where the gash had been. You squinted as you looked at Sebastian’s silhouette, his shoulders raising and dropping quickly as he sucked in air. You smiled, looking around at the dead spiders. “Keep breathing like that,” you started, sitting yourself up more, “You’ll probably drop like those spiders.” Sebastian turned to you, a sigh of relief leaving him as he dropped his knee to take a look at you. “You’d find that funny, wouldn’t you?” You nodded, smiling. Sebastian grabbed your face, turning it to check your head. His calloused hand rested under your chin, gently moving your head around. “How’s your head, then?” He asked, letting you go. You shrugged, feeling the dull throb as it slowly faded. “I’m fine, thanks to you I suppose?” Sebastian smiled as he nodded, standing up and offering his hand.

     You looked over to where the mother laid, her legs retracted to her body as rigor mortis set in. You raised your eyebrows in surprise as you noticed one of its legs missing, finding it protruding from her body. You looked at Sebastian, surprised yet impressed as he shrugged. “Couldn’t let her take you out before I did.” You scoffed, slowly walking towards the spider. Sebastian quickly grabbed your sleeve as he pulled you away, shaking his head. “Look, I’m sure I can kill a giant bug. No need to double check.” You chuckled as you shook your head, opening your mouth. “No, don’t even! I’m going to call it a bug if I want to.” You closed your mouth, choosing to smile instead. You looked around for your wand, realizing that it wasn’t in your hand. Sebastian cleared his throat to get your attention, and you turned to see him holding your wand in his hand. You sighed, walking over and reaching for the wand, only for Sebastian to hold it above your head and out of reach. You frowned, narrowing your gaze as you glared at Sebastian. “I do believe I deserve something in return?” You shook your head as you leaned closer to Sebastian, placing a small kiss on his cheek and then snatching your wand from his hand.

     Sebastian stood there, shocked, as you fixed your robes. “Whatever would I do without you, my dear Knight?” Sebastian stuttered, quickly fixing his hair as his cheeks heated up. “Probably not get attacked by giant spiders, for one.” You nodded, placing your wand into your pocket. “Although,” Sebastian started, slowly walking over to you. “I don’t think a cheeky kiss is enough for the trauma I went through to protect you.” You chuckled, pretending to be deep in thought. “Of course, a killer of spiders should be given a better reward.” With that, you quickly leaned against Sebastian again, this time placing a soft kiss to his lips and walking towards the hall, turning back and waiting for Sebastian. He quickly followed you, slightly whining. “Are you even going to ask me how I did it?” “I figured you’d tell me on the walk back, you can never stay quiet about these things.” “I find that rude, but I suppose I’ll tell you.”

[rexisan]

it’s winter and the air is cold in Gotham, but that doesn’t stop Tim.

... I'm gonna take this opportunity to play around in my Sentient Gotham AU because I can and I need to delve into the weird cryptid energy.

Cold and Gotham were synonyms in Tim's mind. She was a frigid bitch on a good day and she hated him so that's why he specifically got directed to Freezes new hideout on the coldest day on record so far. He talked him down! With no backup! Yay!He's on his way back, with no casualties or damage except Tim's core temperature. The problem is he's cold his skin is pulling where his scars are, and he wanted to be warm so bad.

Oh, and he's mad at Gotham. But he's usually irritated with her for some reason or another. But nowadays, he doesn't have to feel her as deeply as he used to. No more icy claws digging in his skin, reminding him that she kept him close, not out of love. But out of fear. He doesn't feel it anymore, though. All he feels is Jason's heartbeat and sometimes very strong emotions. He sat beside a frost covered gargoyle, feeling similarly to it in many ways, closed his eyes, and let himself.. expand. It was hard to explain to the others, except Jason and Cass, how it worked or felt. It felt like he was losing part of himself, but gaining so much more. His eyes burned, and he knew distantly they were burning white, Jason told him once, but he wasn't Tim, not Red Robin. Right now, he was the ghost.

The only part of him reminding him he was Tim, was the burning, constant thrum that was Jason. Tim followed the bond, wanting to make sure Jason wasn't too busy before he hunted him down.

Jason was cataloging his weapons, seeing what he needed restock of, writing it down to give to Tim later. He was deep in the Nest where Tim made him his weapons room, where him and Roy sometimes tinkered.

It's when he felt it. The feeling was similar to when Gotham and him talked, the cool phantom touch, but it wasn't parental or.. distant in the way she was. This touch was visceral, feeling like ice curled around his heart, cupping it gently. Tim was playing ghost.

"Cmon Birdie, come back to the Nest," Jason said to the 'empty' room. He felt fingers in his hair and ice on his cheek before the feeling vanished. Leaving naught but goosebumps in its wake.

Jason left the room to go up to the shared apartment. Not sure what to be expecting from his bird but knowing Tim needed him right now.

Tim climbed into the Nest blindly. He could probably navigate the entire city blind if he wanted to. He shut the window and redit the traps. Following the only thing keeping him going, the warm heartbeat that wasn't his. He peeled off his suit, leaving it scattered behind him until frigid fingers curled into a soft worn shirt. Jason nearly jumped when Timmy plastered himself bodily against Jason. Tim was freezing. Jason turned and wrapped his arms around him cooing softly.

"Oh Birdie," he breathed into his hair. "Let's get you warmed up and you can yell at me about what happened later."

Tim just gripped him tighter. Jason his last lifeline to humanity love of his life, the only thing keeping him from losing himself to the cold and the city.

Jason his heart.

He was warming back up.

[star-girl69]

Head Cannons of Jake x Reader x Neytiri being parents of three kids under three (Neteyam,Lo’ak,Kiri) and all the crazyness that comes with it. Ie, little Kiri wandering off to see plants, Neteyam being a total cuddle bug and baby Lo’ak trying to play with/eat Jakes weapons. Just overall madness 🤣🤣💕

Keep Me Ablaze Series

when kiri, lo’ak, and neteyam were younger

a/n: i’ve gotten a few requests for this so i’m just rolling them all into one haha

—-

neteyam is the perfect baby.

he always sleeps through the night, rarely throws tantrums and he’s just so perfect and calm all the time you’re all kinda scared??

like especially just after he was born and you were still pregnant, kiri was coming soon, and none of you had any idea what you were doing.

there were tears several times, a lot of screaming “WHY ISNT HE CRYING??? WHY WON’T HE BE BAD???”

as he gets older he does start to have a few tantrums but nothing that bad

he just gets kinda sad sometimes ☹️☹️

he’ll just waddle over to one of you and asked to be picked up, and if he could he would spend the entire day on jake’s shoulders bc he feels like a king up there

his absolute favorite game is just like getting thrown around??? loves when someone swings him through the air, or if jake throws him up and down, LOVES JUMPING INTO THE WATER!!!

this boy is already trying to backflip and he’s like 4??? crazy. (he has barely mastered the somersault)

NEYTIRI IS HIS FAV PARENT THO

kiri cried and cried and then jake would hold her and suddenly it would all stop!!!

at this point, you’re still pregnant and sleep deprived and FULL of hormones so many tears were shed over that.

“WHY DOESNT SHE LOVE ME???”

“SHES A BABY, Y/N.”

she is very prone to getting into fights with her siblings, a little bit of a troublemaker, but then she’ll just run into jake’s arms and scream about how she did nothing wrong and ofc jake is gonna believe her???

he has no backbone when it comes to his girls ❤️

i am a firm believer that kiri is a collector.

shells, rocks, flowers, plants anything!!

the book that grace gave you, with the dried flowers from neytiri? her favorite thing ever.

loves learning about all the plants!!!

she is so much like grace sometimes it physically hurts!!

lo’ak is a menace.

the most mama’s boy mama’s boy there ever was or is.

he’s so confused as to why he has to like… share you???

you’re HIS mom??? why are these other two random kids hugging you and calling you mama?!?? how rude!!

eventually he does realize that he is not in fact an only child, and does have to share his mama, and that is when the terrible twos kick in.

will do anything and everything for attention, stealing toys, attacking neteyam for some reason?? trying to ruin kiri’s carefully organized collections, A MENACE.

then you have to pick him up so he will STOP DESTROYING EVERYTHING, and then he’s like “mama! mama, mama, mama!”

totally tries to eat jake’s gun on several occasions.

(jake got yelled at for leaving it where lo’ak could see it. does he not even know his own son?!)

you, jake, and neytiri are struggling a bit, because you’re dealing with all of these children so close together and it feels like you’re first time parents to triplets.

a lot of trips to mo’at, random women in the clan just casually slipping advice into conversation, and major sleep deprivation.

but the kids are just so cute and so AHHH and you love them and you love your mates ❤️

—-

taglist:

@monsterwasstolen @fanboyluvr @artologia-blog1 @tulipatheticee @elvyshiarieko @fluffisalliwant @fluffi19 @jeizllz @myheartfollower @fy-fy-world @minkyungseokie @ivy-plays @blueberryfailureclinic @cryingwhilereading @thatratprincessforever @dumb-fawkin-bitch @sillyblues @buttercup-beeee @smollangrycat @n7cje @eternallyvenus @iwanttogohomeandtakeanap @w3ird11 @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed

[s-brant]

Over Again

As a socialite in Manhattan, Y/N had the perfect life— wealthy parents, a tight-knit group of friends, and talent as a world renowned figure skater. But, everything changed when she decided to end her life after witnessing a traumatic event. Someone pulled her back when she tried to jump in front of an oncoming train. Newly released from inpatient psychiatric care, Y/N gets more than she bargained for when the man who saved her life reappears. (or the fake dating figure skating au)

22k (18+)

Warnings: strong language, suggestive themes, mental illness, depictions of obsessive compulsive disorder, described suicide attempt, described murder, described anxiety-induced starvation, and substance use.

-

June was the month of suffering.

The open, fresh air—well, as fresh as it could be in the city that never sleeps nor picks up garbage—was a shock to her system. Two weeks passed since she last got the chance to be outside and breathe fresh air, and it was even more overwhelming than she imagined it to be.

The facility is two miles from her apartment building, so she didn't let them call her a cab on her way out of the door. No, she walked out onto the street with pap bags filled with her personal belongings hugged to her chest and refused to look back. That proud bravery quickly dwindled the closer she came to her apartment, and now...

She stands frozen at the front steps of her building.

No one prepared her for how hard this would be. Not truly. Simply being able told, "The adjustment back to being home may cause some breakthrough anxiety," was not enough. Even as she forces her feet to take one step after next to the front door, she doesn't know if she'll ever be ready.

Familiar faces pass in her periphery with polite smiles pasted onto them on the trip up to the apartment that has been paid for by her parents in the time since she ditched her job a month ago. A month. Such a short span of time yet an eternity in the prison of her fractured mind. June was the month of suffering. July, however, has yet to reveal the full extent of its plans for her.

The unlocked door to the two-bedroom apartment slams shut with a kick of her foot against it, and she is instantly hit with a heart-clenching wave of pain at the sight of the home that is little more than a tomb to her in June's aftermath.

"In and out," she reminds herself.

All she needs to do is drop her clothes off on her bed, change, and leave to go to the pharmacy in a matter of moments. Knowing how brief her time here is might be the only thing keeping her from turning right back around and going back to the facility she just left.

So, she makes it quick.

She doesn't even bother with putting away the old clothes her father brought to her. She cannot resist the urge to toss them in the trash.

Ruined, ruined, everything is ruined—The wastefulness brings a grimace to her face, but it's not like she can help it. What happened in here, in these rooms, and these clothes...wastefulness be damned, she'll do what she wants.

Her hair, still damp from her earlier shower, is quickly swept from her face in a clip to keep the summer heat from consuming her when she leaves for the local pharmacy whose address she gave the doctor for her prescriptions. She paused for a second before the mirror to consider her appearance, but what she finds is almost unrecognizable.

Her skin has paled in the weeks she spent in purgatory, starving and half-wild with madness as well as sleep deprivation. It leaves the dark circles beneath her eyes far more visible to the naked eye. Those lovely, once full cheeks of hers have gone gaunt, likely from the weight loss, and she can hardly stand to look at herself long enough to dot some concealer under her eyes and turn to go to her dresser.

These clothes, she thinks as she dresses in a simple pair of navy shorts and a white eyelet top, are good. They're safe, not ruined by her wearing them in the four weeks she suffered like so many of her pajamas and other comfortable clothes are.

With that, she slips into her sneakers, picks up her purse, grabs her sunglasses, and flees the rotting tomb before she can allow it to spread its deadly touch to her again.

-

CVS is surprisingly packed with people for a Friday morning when most of the population is either working or sleeping off the night shift.

She walks between the aisles, picking up random objects and setting them back down on her way to the pharmacy in the back of the shop. The small cart cradled to her side is filled with all manners of things—little trinkets, stuffed animals, face masks, and snacks that she doesn't need but desperately wants to provide herself with a much-needed dopamine rush.

She secretly prays for a long line, but once she turns the corner at the last aisle, she is only met with disappointment and anxiety.

No line.

Her chest sinks with a sigh as she steps up to the counter and unloads her cart. The worker behind the register doesn't greet her, he simply asks, "Are you here to pick up any medications?"

"Um, yeah," she says. "Full name is Y/N L/N. Date of birth-"

There's a lull of quiet during which she stands and watches him type her information into the computer. The sound of his fingertips tapping the keys is all there is to fill the silence back here.

"So, it looks like you have Prozac, forty milligrams, Seroquel, fifty milligrams, and Vistaril, fifty milligrams. Is that correct?"

Shame curls in the pit of her belly like a wriggling eel. Her eyes turn down to watch the carpeted floor, not wanting to meet his gaze.

"Yeah, sounds right."

"Copay is five bucks," he says in answer.

The small black Prada bag slips from her shoulder and into her waiting hands to allow her to search for her wallet inside, but the sight of her right wrist halts her in her tracks. There it is, that blue and white plastic bracelet with her name, birthday, and further personal information inscribed on it.

Oh.

She forgot to take it off. After having it stuck to her wrist for two weeks, she didn't notice its presence upon exiting the threshold of the facility that became her home and salvation. It's ripped off and stuffed into the pocket of her shorts in a matter of seconds.

"You said five bucks?" she asks, hoping to distract the employee from her fumbling embarrassment.

He hums, which she takes as a yes and holds out a crinkled five-dollar bill plucked from her wallet.

"Here you go."

As soon as the rest of her items are ringed up separately, Evan, whose name she noted from the tag on his shirt, scurries off to the back presumably to search for the various medications waiting for her. With him out of view, she reaches into her right pocket for the wristband she stashed there a moment ago and tosses it at the trash bin behind the counter. Except, right when she throws it, Evan is coming back around the corner with three paper bags stapled together with side effect pamphlets. The plastic wristband hits the dead center of his chest. His eyes follow from where it rolls onto the ground up to the woman who threw it at him.

All she can do is shut her eyes for a long two seconds as if not seeing his perplexed expression will somehow remedy the conflict and stop her from flinging herself from the top of the nearest tall building.

Her eyes flutter open, and she says softly, "I was aiming for your trash can."

He deadpans at her.

"Sure."

Taking the medications from him and putting them in the bag with the rest of her purchases, she offers a quick, "Sorry," and practically runs out of the store.

The people walking the streets of the Upper East Side of Manhattan are, mercifully, uninterested with her frantic face and swiftly moving feet. They're far too engrossed in their conversations, walks, and work phone calls to spare any energy for a frazzled young woman such as herself.

She makes it all of ten steps before her phone's shrill ringtone interrupts the symphony of passing cars, mindless chatter, and chirping birds. With one hand, she unzipped her purse and fishes the device out, but, of course, it slips out of her hand and clatters on the sidewalk before she can answer it. Her head tilts back to face the vibrant cerulean sky, decorated sparsely with clouds, and a heavy sigh falls from her.

There's a second or so where she considers letting it go to voicemail and finding herself a nice, tall building, but the name on the screen indicating who's calling is too alluring to ignore.

She crouches down and picks it up, sliding her thumb across to accept the call.

"Ella," she says by way of greeting. "How'd you know I got out already?"

The sound of her best friend's giggle makes the smile on her face a little less fake. Ella is the only one of her friends that she told about where she went for the past two weeks, if not because she trusts her with her life, then because she would've gone insane without a friend to call amidst the boredom.

Y/N spent a half hour on the phone with her once she was on the better half of her recovery and stifled a giggle when one of the nurses scolded her for staying on the line for more than ten minutes. Needless to say, she didn't hang up. She just pressed her back closer into the wall of the alcove where the phones were mounted to beige cinderblock walls quite reminiscent of a college dorm.

"Your dad texted me," Ella says as though it's obvious.

This causes Y/N to take a second of pause.

"Wait," she says, brows furrowing even though her friend cannot see her expression shift. "Did he put you up to something?"

The silence on the other end of the line speaks volumes.

"Ella!"

She can practically see the bright smile splitting open Ella's face by the specific sound of her deep belly laughter, finding it much harder to fake annoyance in the wake of it. This is always how it's been—Ella and her dad conspiring together to find a way to brighten her darkest nights.

"We may or may not be going to a male strip club with Anna and Rosemary to celebrate your freedom tonight," Ella whispers as if she fears her best friend jumping through the phone to chase her around her apartment.

She asks, incredulous, "My dad told you to take me to a strip club?"

The following gasp almost makes her face crack into a smile much like the one that crossed Ella's face seconds ago. God, she missed her so much. Just the sound of her voice erases the bad June memories that haunted her on the way out of her building.

"Absolutely not." There's the sound of her husky barking for attention in the background. "He just told me to host a girl's night to welcome you back to society." To answer the question Y/N is sure to ask, she says, "Don't worry, they don't know. I told them you went on a long vacation."

"Long vacation, my ass"—this draws out another boisterous laugh—"more like I went fucking crazy."

"Eh, they don't need to know that."

The trees planted in the small, iron-wrought cages along the sidewalk are lush with hues of green, in full vivid bloom in the mid-July climate, and she can't help but notice how the heat makes her throat close up. Fall, spring, and winter are far more preferable in her opinion. All that the sweltering summer heat does is keep her trapped and nervous, looking over both shoulders in search of the phantom hands that hold her hostage. Then, there's the new, open wound that was June, and it provided her the ultimate negative association with her least favorite season.

On one hand, going out with her friends sounds inviting. On the other, she has to be back on the ice training with Coach Godnev and Chris, her partner, in two days. Perhaps it wouldn't be the best idea to spend what little time she has partying.

"Okay, I'll go," she says, "on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"You let me sleep over tonight."

-

Needless to say, Ella has managed to drag Y/N, complaining and yawning due to her nighttime dose of meds, out to meet their other friends at a hole-in-the-wall male strip club. It's ten at night, and she pulls at the short hem of the dress her best friend picked out on her behalf in hopes to potentially "entice a hot stripper for the night." All that was given in response was a scoff.

The club opened thirty minutes ago, so, as far as the crowd filing into the front door goes, it's rather small. Which, she supposes, could also be a result of it not being a popular strip club. Part of her wonders how Ella even found this place.

To its credit, it's quite clean, the staff has been friendly, and the virgin jalapeño "margarita" clasped in her hand wasn't too pricey. Not that it matters much to her. Having lived her whole life in this city, even staying behind when her parents retired to Charleston, South Carolina to live a quieter life without their freak daughter, she is accustomed to outrageous prices for cocktails. Although, now she doesn't have to worry about it seeing that she cannot drink on her meds. Some people at the facility said they do so anyway, but her stubborn brain takes anything it's given as a hard rule, so she ordered herself a virgin cocktail instead.

Fluorescent purple lighting bathes her hot pink mini dress in its bright tones, leading everyone's eyes down the length of her legs.

That's another thing about her—she has never had issues with getting men to hit on her. It's not as if she ever truly invited them to do so. She, much to her parents and Ella's dismay, has never had nor wanted a boyfriend. Sure, she's made out with and done a little over-the-clothes touching with men before, but it has never crossed that line into sex or a real relationship.

A high-pitched squeal rips her from her thoughts to notice Rosemary running at her, full speed, with her arms out while Anna trails behind her, smiling. Her bottle blonde hair bounces effortlessly around her gorgeous face on the rush over, and Y/N is nearly tackled with the force of her embrace once Rosemary reaches her.

"I was gone for two weeks," she exclaims through a giggle, "not two years!"

Rosemary, most affectionately called "Rosie" by Y/N, pulls back and cups her face between her hands, plump lips pulling back to reveal her straight teeth in a wide grin that could warm the coldest people to the bone. The cool texture of the gold rings decorating her fingers is a stark contrast to the summer heat that chased them inside.

"And it was still too long! You know me, I'm a clinger. You can't leave me for that long."

Rosie stands at a height significantly shorter than most and stands up on her tip-toes to press a kiss to her cheek. It leaves behind a lipstick mark that she doesn't dare wipe away within her bubbly friend's line of sight. No one would ever dare to shun a lovely woman like Rosie's public display of affection, especially not her.

A long arm curls around the shorter woman's shoulders and tugs with a gentle force that brings Rosie's full cheek to Y/N's breast, and her willing captive makes no attempts to escape from the loving half-embrace.

She reassured her, a lump forming in the base of her throat, "I'll make sure my next vacation is just a week long."

This earns a hum of approval from Rosie, who slips out of her arm at the insistence of a pair of prying hands belonging to none other than Anna Romanus. And where Rosie and Ella come from new money of their parents' own hard work and making, Anna, much like Y/N, comes from a family whose fortune runs a century deep. But with Y/N's ancestors having founded an upscale department store chain, Anna's were oil tycoons, so her wealth is practically bottomless when compared to that of her friends. She fits the title "socialite" far more than the rest of them, and she knows it too.

She takes pride in her parents making lists in Forbes magazine and breaking barriers in businesses long owned and gate-kept by upper-class white men and, more recently in history, women.

Y/N's smile is radiant as she extends her arms to beckon her other friend into a hug, saying, "Come on, bring it in."

Ever the portrait of class and poise, Anna doesn't tackle her in an embrace as Rosie had, but she would not judge their friend for it. That is something she adores about her—her open, kind heart that doesn't pass judgment on others the way many others with her class and social status would. Her lips, coated in lip gloss rather than lipstick, kiss one cheek at a time as they wrap their arms around one another. A lingering sigh of her mother's French heritage, perhaps.

"I missed you so much," Anna pulls back to look her in the eyes as she says it.

"And I missed you. Remind me to call more the next time I leave the country."

This causes Anna, Ella, and Rosie's matching grins to widen, and the latter of the three takes her hands in her well-manicured one to drag her in the direction of their reserved table with their friends walking by their sides.

Rosie squeezes her hand and says, "I need to see pictures! I wanna help you plan your photo dump."

Her stomach drops into the pit of her abdomen.

Fuck. How had she not thought that out? Who goes on a vacation, even a solo one, and doesn't take a single picture of where they went? Her thoughts begin to race as she searches for something, anything, to say as an explanation for why she didn't take a million photographs as she always does no matter where she goes. They're going to know. They're going to put two and two together and figure out about her illness, about what happened two weeks ago when she—

"It was a spa retreat, actually," Ella swoops in to offer an explanation with unwavering confidence. "They take your phones and computers. It's supposed to connect you with nature and increase productivity or some shit like that."

The weight of the entire world is lifted off of her shoulders at this. Thank God for Ella. Who knows where she'd be without her quick wit and warm disposition? All she can do is nod along with a stupid smile on her face and pray that it's convincing enough to fool the people who know her best in this world. It feels slightly wrong, like not telling them about such an important event in her life is somehow a great betrayal they may never forgive her for should they discover it.

Once again, shame threatens to eat her alive.

"Come on," she says, jerking her head in the direction of the reserved table. "Let's go have fun, ladies."

That's all that needs to be said for Rosie to continue dragging her along, weaving in between the tables near the front of the small stage. The girls urge her to take the seat directly in front of where the men will dance once the lights dim down more and the show begins. Once they're seated, the three of them catch Y/N up on everything she missed on her "no technology allowed retreat", most of it consisting of petty family drama and someone who went to their private school that announced their pregnancy online. And, of course, she does her best to listen and nod along as though any of it matters to her, but she can't bring herself to truly care.

Before what happened, she loved going out and gossiping over drinks with her friends, but, now, she feels removed from it. Despite hearing and responding to everything being said, she could quite easily fade away from existence and disappear into the night without putting up much of a fight. But what else can she do except sit and allow it to occur? It's not like she can do anything to help it at this point. Her intake appointment for outpatient care is scheduled for two days from now, so she'll be at the mercy of her swaying moods until then.

She does pick up on the tail end of Rosie's story, though.

"...and I told him I didn't do that kind of thing. Like, I'm not a side piece, and if you're gonna disrespect me by assuming I'd be down with that, then fuck you," she says, shaking her head and raising her drink to take a sip. "Why the fuck would I take part in you cheating on your girlfriend? Who raised these men?"

Y/N offers a quiet, "That's fucked up," at the same time Ella says, "Not their dads," which makes Anna laugh so hard, she needs to stop drinking her Cosmopolitan.

"Oh, you're right. They were technically raised by mommy who thinks they're a perfect little angel who can do no wrong, but they're actually raised by the nanny who tries their best to teach him to be a good person, but all the money and privilege gets to his head and makes him think he can do whatever the fuck he wants—"

Rosie's rant on pampered, upper-class men is abruptly cut short by the music that turns louder from the DJ booth across the room. The lights dim so the only lighting is that of the fluorescent purple LEDs, and there's a chorus of high-pitched cheers from every table in the building, including the table they sit at. For the sake of entertaining it and pretending to be having a good time, Y/N cheers alongside them enough to convince them before settling back down into her seat and taking a swig of her virgin cocktail to soothe her as though it's an alcoholic one.

Another thing about the past month that has sucked: her sex drive is non-existent. Coming to a place like this or even watching pornography does nothing for her. Her mind is far too concerned with its various fixations and anxieties to allow her to feel something as trivial as lust right now, but, for tonight, she doesn't mind pretending for the sake of making Ella feel better about her current state of mind.

Behind the curtains hiding backstage from the patrons of the club, she sees the movement of multiple feet scuffling on the floor, then, a second later, a man comes through. For a split-second, the cheering and clapping from her friends almost makes her smile as he walks down the stage to where they're seated, but she can't. Her face goes still, frozen in time, when she sees him up close.

She'd remember that face anywhere.

The curve of his nose, his pink lips, and sea-foam irises that were burned into her memory when she first saw them two weeks ago. Not just his face either but the tattoos; patchwork style down the length of his bare arm, the arm that reached out and—

Those familiar eyes meet her gaze, and she can sense the recognition in them. Oh, God, he remembers. He remembers, and it's going to ruin the whole night if she doesn't

"Bathroom," she blurts out and stands from the table with a shy, placating smile to keep Ella from following her.

Somehow, she doesn't know why, it works. It works well enough that Ella gives her a single nod and allows her to turn on her heels to walk off toward the restrooms that, conveniently, are placed beside the front entrance to the club. She pretends to be the calm, confident woman she once was before her little death, meeting the eyes of everyone who looks her way, until she turns around the corner and allows herself to break down. The expression on her face falls the second she is out of view of her friends, and she doesn't bother to answer the bouncer who asks her what's wrong on her way out. At this point, everything else around her has collapsed and turned to debris that clutters her mind to an extent that prevents her from thinking clearly.

The fresh air hardly even helps because it's too hot. It's stifling. It wraps around her throat and puts pressure on her windpipe, sucking the air from her lungs until she's sobbing and heaving in front of the innocent passerby's that stare in horror at her freakish display. One hand braces against the brick wall, not even caring in the midst of her panic that it is very likely dirty, to keep herself from slumping over into it as her balance begins to waver.

Anxiety is as much a physical thing as it is an emotional one for her. Her chest muscles tighten up involuntarily and feign the feeling of not being able to breathe, her body flushes with heat, and her stomach churns with discomfort. It opens its bloody maw and tries to swallow her down, bones and all, but she has refused to let it. Other than the one time she tried to surrender to it, she has been steadfast in maintaining her resistance to it and will do anything to escape. She'll claw her way out until she has fangs and talons suitable enough for the job, and it won't destroy the feeling, but it surely will abate it.

She hasn't a clue how many minutes have passed by the time she begins to breathe deeply, purposefully making them last three seconds on each inhale, pause, and exhale as she'd been taught at the facility. Whether it has been ten minutes or ten hours, she isn't sure, but it had to have been some decent length of time because of whose hand reaches out to tap her shoulder.

Y/N whirls around, stumbling a little, and finds the man on stage looking at her through furrowed brows and concerned eyes. Fully clothed.

"I—"he falters on what to say at first, then offers, "M'sorry. I didn't mean to startle you, and I know I'm probably the last person you wanna see right now. I just wanted to know if you're okay. We have water inside. I can take you in through the back so your friends don't see if that's what you're worried about."

Her head is spinning. She doesn't even know what may come out of her mouth, but all she knows is that he's right.

He is the last person she wants to see right now. Every glance she makes at him brings memories rushing back; the sound of the train's whistle, the toes of her sneakers hanging off the edge of the platform, people too far away to stop her screaming in shock, and, at the last second, a pair of strong arms wrapping around her waist and hauling her to safety. The body to which those strong arms belonged was so warm against the frail frame of her body that often shivered from the extent of her malnourishment. And only once the train passed had he loosened his grip and allowed her to turn to see him, to take in the unforgettable face and tattoos that identified him tonight.

Right when most people would've screamed or swung at him for ruining everything, she just stared. She started with wide, watering eyes until her knees gave out beneath her and sent her body forward into his to seek shelter. His hand cradled the back of her head, rested on his shoulder, as she sobbed hard enough that both of their bodies shook from the sheer force of it. And he didn't only allow it to happen, he made an effort to soothe her. The hand holding her head to his chest stroked her hair as he murmured soft words she can no longer remember.

There's a lightning strike of anger within her sparked by the sight of his face, but her words don't match her feelings. The need for safety, for the same security she found in his arms two weeks ago, outweighs her will to be stubborn by far. Humans are programmed for self-preservation above all, so when she sees him standing there, she can't do anything but nod. He holds his hand out to her the second she does.

And she takes it.

-

The man who saved her life guided her around the back of the strip club with his hand in hers. Harry—he told her his name—asked before he took her hand, but the contact was still as jarring to her as it would've been had he not. The reason he was holding her hand, he explained, was to get her into the employee area without security stopping her, assuming she was following him inside. Which, he said matter of factly, had happened to workers here before.

At first, when she allowed him to lead her down the dark alley between the two buildings, she almost began to question her judgment based on her mom and dad's teachings for her to be vigilant and always prepared for men to take advantage of her, but, she figured, he saved her life. If he wanted her dead or worse, he probably would've done it already. It was proven by the time that he opened the back door to the club and held it open for her that he wasn't, in fact, an axe murderer.

Nobody stared, either. When he walked by hand in hand with her, none of the other men getting ready or resting between dances looked at her tear-stained face or make faces at the sound of her panting breaths. They simply kept doing what they were doing without paying them any mind, providing them with privacy as he led her to a more secluded part of the room.

It's an alcove with a comfortable lounging chair fitting perfectly into it, and she sighs in relief as she sinks onto the cushion, taking the bottle of cold water he procured from thin air in the short time it took her to sit down.

"Take small sips and keep breathing. The cold helps a lot, I've found," he says as he pulls a stool up in front of her chair and settles down onto it. Those unforgettable eyes remain fixed on her, watching the rise and fall of her chest even out. Watching her take a tentative sip from the chilled breath plastic bottle that soothes her nerves to hold, let alone drink from. "Good. Just like that."

She doesn't know if it's because of what happened the last time they were together or not, but the sound of his voice relaxes her tense body. It crawls along the muscles of her chest and wills them to stop contracting, and they do. They listen to his request, providing her with a sense of relief now that the worst of the panic has been overcome. Still, Y/N slips her bag off her shoulder and finds the pill she dropped inside, just in case, to take with the water given to her.

There's a beat of silence, then—

"Um. Y'can stay here as long as it takes to feel better. I have to get back out there in ten minutes, but I can leave you alone now if you'd like."

Despite how badly she wishes to respond with words that will chase him to the other side of the room, her mouth will not cooperate. She cannot bring herself to banish him when he's being so kind. Not to mention, even though her mind urges her to isolate, his presence alone is calming, so it couldn't hurt to keep him around for a little while.

"It's okay," she says, "You can stay. Thank you..."

From his perspective, she doesn't look much different than she had two weeks ago. Her hair frames her face with a beauty that verges on being otherworldly. A weeping angel, he thinks to himself before it can be helped. It's the same thought he had when she sobbed in his arms on the subway platform, wondering how the poor girl ended up in a situation like that. Right now, she hugs her knees to her chest like she had once hugged him, trembling like a leaf in the wind and using him as her lifeline. Her sole remaining connection to the universe she once thought had forsaken her.

The sound of her voice speaking again so soon stuns him to silence.

"I can't believe it's you." She looks at him without balking from his gaze this time, head tilted to the side a little, and he can feel himself surrendering to her in response to the commanding presence that emanates from her. What he doesn't know is that she too is shocked by her honesty. "I don't even know how to thank you for it. Sometimes, I don't even want to." Her head shakes at this as if the action will clear the negative thought she voiced. "Sorry, that was dark. You're not my therapist. You don't need to hear these things."

He's already shaking his head.

"No," Harry says, eyes softened with a sympathy she interprets as pity, "I mean, I almost saw you do it already. Hearing about it doesn't bother me." A pause. "And y'dont need to thank me."

To this, she scoffs.

"You literally saved my life, how could I not thank you for that?"

His response stuns her to silence this time.

"And y'said yourself that didn't want me to, so you don't have to thank me. I don't need you to. If you wanna hate me for it, that's fine too."

Y/N shrugs.

"Sometimes I do, sometimes I don't. I haven't really decided yet, but I guess I must wanna be here if I haven't done anything like that again," she says softly, then glances up from the floor to look at him.

"Good."

There's a strange, built-in sense of honesty and vulnerability already established between them due to the nature of how they met, and neither of them knows how to feel about it. There's a level of comfortability that shouldn't exist between total strangers, yet here they are, bonded together by the trauma she inflicted on the both of them, and he can't seem to blame her for any of it. Nor can she blame him for deciding to stop her from jumping. It's not something you blame or thank someone for, it's a moral responsibility.

The sounds of the other men talking around the corner bring her out of the haze the eye contact with Harry has put her under, and she realizes, after everything they've said to one another, that she never formally introduced herself to him.

Her arm extends to offer him her hand.

"Y/N L/N."

For the first time since they've met, his lips curl into a smile at her. His hand is warm in hers when he takes it in his larger one, fingers wrapping around the side of her palm to give it a shake.

"Harry Styles."

Their hands go up and down even as she tilts her head in curiosity. It hasn't even clicked with her that he's succeeded in distracting her from the overwhelming panic she initially felt when seeing his face. No, she's far too caught up in analyzing him to pick up on it.

"Interesting name," she says, then corrects the hypocrisy before he has the chance to do so himself. "Although, I don't know any other Y/N's. The same could be said about me."

Still shaking her hand, he says dryly, "We could start a club."

"We could, couldn't we?"

At last, their hands drop back to their laps, and they're stuck this way for another few seconds before snapping out of it again.

He stands from the stool and picks it up in one hand to move it to the side, out of the way of her path should she get up to leave in his absence. Her eyes track every movement. They pick up everything from the subtle flexing of his biceps when he moves the chair to the way he fiddles with his rings once his hands are free again. His foot taps to the beat of the song thumping in the front of the club too, and she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind before she can stop herself.

"Do I make you nervous, Harry?"

Based on the expression he makes alone, she guesses he didn't expect her to notice. Or, at least, he hadn't expected her to comment on it even if she had. His brows are raised enough to bring a crease to the middle of his forehead as he looks down at where she sits, perched on the chair with one leg now crossed over the other. That stare lingers a touch too long on her legs, but she pretends not to notice. That is something she will let him get away with. That is something she doesn't want to get into because she will lose the upper hand if she does.

He laughs nervously, shaking his head. A tendril of wavy brunette hair falls onto his forehead with the jerking movement.

"No, you don't."

A lie. They both know it. He knows she knows he knows it.

Y/N then stands from the chair, smiling at him, and squares her shoulders as if in preparation. Their height difference when she stands shifts the power dynamic that lived between them while he stood and she sat. He's one inch taller, so with her standing, neither of them truly has the advantage, and with how she's put him on the spot, he can't deny how intimidating she is. It's intriguing, to say the least.

"Well, good," she says. "Cause I need you to walk me back to my table and pretend to be into me so my friends don't suspect anything." In response his brows raising after he'd just relaxed his face, she explains in an uncharacteristically soft tone, "Only one of them knows."

The bold request catches him off guard, so much so that he cannot do anything other than nod and lead the way to an entrance that isn't the one to the stage.

As they pass through the door, he takes her hand in his not only to guide her but to play into the facade she wants to put on for her friends. It causes her stomach to flutter with butterflies even though she knows it's all pretend. She's human, after all, and he's an amalgamation of every lovely trait and feature human beings can have. She knows, due to her celibate and secluded nature, that her friends will be too excited to see past their careful performance.

He feels her hand squeeze harder with every step they take toward her table and turns his head to say to her, "Relax. Just go with it."

And, somehow, that works.

The walk to where her friends sit is shorter than she expected, so when he steps her a few feet away, she's too overwhelmed to do anything but follow his lead.

Harry drops her hand to cup her flushed face in his, and her breath hitches in her throat at the cold feeling of his rings digging into her cheeks. Their faces are close enough that she can feel the heat of his exhales, their noses almost brushing as she instinctively leans into the warm, solid body in front of her, and he's kissing her before she can get a single thought in.

The music goes in time with the thunderous beat of her heart that is pushed into a swift pace the second their lips meet. His mouth tastes of mint, gin, and citrus, likely from the drink he was indulging in backstage before he left to check on her. Beyond the pleasant flavor coating his lips, as well as the tip of the tongue that pokes out to prod teasingly at her full bottom lip, it's one hell of a kiss. The only other time she's been kissed was with a boy from school, and she didn't quite like that, so Harry is the defacto winner without having to try.

Y/N chases his mouth without meaning to when he pulls away, and he is quick to offer another peck to her lips before pulling back from her entirely, holding her at a distance with a casual strength that pleases her more than she'd like to admit. Her eyes open to see his face a few inches from hers, and he smiles. It's a sensual smile. The kind she's never gotten from a man and taken pleasure in rather than resented until this very moment. Looking into his eyes, she doesn't even remember that her friends are sitting at the table nearby. Her blood echoes the feeling of the kiss with each pump of her heart that brings it flowing around her body. She feels it everywhere.

His thumb brushes over her lips in a calculated move that aims to show a certain degree of intimacy to their audience, and he says, "I'll see you Wednesday."

She nods along like the dumb, hopeless fool she is and tries not to regret asking him to do this for her. It seemed a great idea backstage, but with a kiss like that and a face like his, her friends will never stop hounding her about the handsome stripper who broke through her previously impenetrable heart in less than fifteen minutes.

Blind to the three women gawking at them behind her back, she waves him goodbye and says, oblivious to the fact that she has now lost the upper hand, "See you Wednesday."

-

"Tell me!"

Y/N groaned at the sound of Rosie's voice, begging her for what must've been the thousandth time, to relay every detail of what happened between her and Harry.

Shortly after she sat down, they all pounced on her and asked millions of questions that she said they could talk about later. Well, later arrived and she still didn't know what to say. How would she explain to them how she went to the "bathroom" and ended up going backstage with him somehow? The story made no sense as she thought it over, but they bought it nonetheless. She forced herself to wield the confidence she felt in every other aspect of her life to spin a lie that wouldn't unravel under the slightest bit of pressure.

"I was coming out of the bathroom and almost got run over by him," she said. "He helped me up and let me sit backstage for a few minutes 'cause he felt so bad about it."

Anna leaned forward with her pillow clutched to her chest, anticipating some great rom-com moment. And she gave her one.

"We hit it off, and he asked me out on Wednesday." It's said that lies are most believable when there's a hint of truth to them, so she tested that theory out. "I definitely didn't see that kiss coming but I'm not complaining about it."

The thing is, she hadn't expected the kiss at all, nor was she feeling the urge to complain about it.

But one thing was clear to her as she tried to fall asleep beside her friends in Ella's bed: she needed to keep up the facade she created with Harry to have a cover for why she isn't working or skating full time, yet has a busy schedule every week. The intensive outpatient program she had her virtual appointment with this morning is going to be three days a week from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon, so she needs an excuse, and a new boy toy is the perfect one to distract them.

With her therapy program beginning soon, she needed to get to work at securing her alibi quickly. It needed to be believable, so she made a list of things that needed to be done in her head, and the first thing on that list was to find Harry again.

After leaving Ella's place, she took an Uber and arrived at the front entrance to the strip club. Not wanting to be caught she walked around through the small alleyway between buildings and found the back door he escorted her in through the other night, and, now, she's summoning the nerve to knock.

The wind blows her hair gently from her shoulders, a cool kiss brushing against her skin to combat the summer heat that closes in on her. It provides the push she needs to raise her clenched fist and pound on the metal door hard enough to alert anyone inside of her presence. Her hand keeps banging on it for another twenty seconds before it swings open into the hallway to reveal a tall, muscular man with a scowl worn on his face.

His arm props the heavy door open as he asks, "Who are you?"

She smiles.

"Y/N. I'm just here to talk to Harry. We have a date that I need to reschedule."

The door slams in her face.

Her feet automatically shuffle back a few steps at the sound of it hitting the door frame. It's a booming sound that seems to echo despite the fact that she's presently outside, camped out waiting for a man she hardly knows in the alley behind his place of work. And though she has no right to feel such a way, disappointment floods her at the rejection. Why was she being so stupid? Of course, none of them would let her in. It's not as if they know her, and even if they do recognize her face from last night, they don't know whether Harry wants to see her again or not.

The sun beats down on her from overhead, and, while she turns to walk away, she pulls her hair away from where it crowds her face and ties it up with the scrunchie on her wrist. Much better. At least it won't stick to the back of her neck with sweat like this.

She makes it all of five steps before the sound of the heavy door opening halts her in her tracks, and when she hears his voice coming from behind her back, her lips twitch into a slight smile.

"Don said y'were asking for me?"

When she turns to look at him, she is struck by memories from that day on the train platform. His arms around her, his body pressed to hers, the sound of him yelling at her to stop before he intervened—she shakes her head as if it'll help dispel the sinking feeling that comes along with her recollection of that day. Instead of making this internal distress apparent to him, she plasters a polite smile on her face and walks back to the opened door he holds open with one tattooed arm.

She steps up as close as she can without invading his personal space, head nodding in confirmation of what he was told by his friend/coworker/whatever. Stray strands of hair dangle down to frame her face. In the sunlight, he notices how her hair seems to glow.

Her hand holds tighter onto the strap of her purse for support as if it'll do anything to aid her in navigating this odd situation.

"Yeah, I was. I wanted to talk to you about something..."

Harry's brows furrow just enough to form a crease in his forehead between them.

It takes a lot longer than she expected to work up the courage to purpose her plan to him. Not only is it an audacious idea, but he also intimidates her a little bit now. She'd never tell him that or allow him to pick up on it, but there's no denying that the man who saw her at her lowest point and deemed her worth saving is someone she wants to like her. How could she not? Even if he hadn't been the one to save her, she imagines he'd be overwhelming all the same. It's something about him—the persistent eye contact, the easy-going flow of his voice from one word to the next, or the type of work he does. It requires a confidence and thick skin very few people have.

She avoids his gaze for a second by looking down the alleyway, then to her feet, then back up at his face. Rip the bandaid off, she thinks. That's the only way to have these potentially awkward, embarrassing conversations. When she locks eyes with him again, she forces herself not to look away again.

"I wanted to thank you, actually," she says. "You really helped me last night, and I couldn't have made it believable without you. My friends won't shut up about it, so good job."

The confusion on his face regarding what she came here to discuss melts away at her appreciative words, but when he opens his mouth to tell her there is no need to thank him, she strikes again and sends him reeling.

"That's why I came here to ask you to come out with us on Thursday night. As my date."

Immediately, his head begins to shake as he tries to comprehend what's happening. He steps out into the alley completely, leaving the door to slam into its frame and offer them privacy from his coworkers listening inside. The metal is scorching hot against his back. Enough so that he can feel his skin tingle from the burning sensation before he steps away from it.

"Listen," he starts, eyes softened in a way they only are when delivering bad news. "It's not that y'aren't gorgeous, and cool from what I've seen of you, but I didn't mean the date thing literally. I have someone." Upon seeing her raised brows, assuming he cheated when he kissed her, he corrects the miscommunication. "Well, no, not someone someone. Just someone I like, and it's complicated, so, no I can't."

At first, she simply stares at him.

Here he is rambling and being apologetic while trying to let her down easily, and she stares as though she can see right through his body. What's going through her mind should be evident to him based on her face alone, but he's too wrapped up in his thoughts about Lola now that she's been mentioned to notice. Ever since he can remember from the time he met her to now, Harry has pined for her. It never mattered that she was always in another relationship with a guy completely different from him. No, all that mattered was that he loved her, and, sometimes, in the rare instances when she was single, she would do or say something that'd give him hope that she'd reciprocate that love.

Almost every girlfriend he had became jealous of her, not because he did anything to betray them, but because of how he looked at her whenever they were in the same room. And, just like clockwork, they would break up with him and cite their reason as his obvious infatuation with his friend. It was that infuriating type of repressed feeling that was strong enough for his girlfriends to sense it but not to outright accuse him of any wrongdoing. So, he hasn't had a girlfriend in months because of this. Every woman who has tried has failed to rip his attention away from her, and he has begun to suspect that he'll never feel this way about anyone but her.

Breaking him out of his daze, Y/N scoffs and makes a strange expression at his attempted rejection.

Her arms cross over her chest, head tilting to the side, and she asks, incredulous, "You think I wanna date you? I hardly even know you."

All of it—his thoughts of Lola, the memories of the day he saved Y/N, and the awkwardness felt in the wake of having to reject a beautiful woman for no reason other than his stupid, persistent crush on his friend—stops. He can't help but offer her the same strange, confused expression she gave him now that he's had a few seconds to process what she said. Harry is silent, looking at her like he'll be magically granted the ability to read her thoughts if he does it long enough, then speaks.

"Y'just asked me out..."

To this, she just shakes her head.

"No, I didn't ask you out for real," she says, almost sounding offended that he'd think she's desperate enough to track him down and beg him to give her a chance. "I don't date. It makes things too messy."

"Messy?"

"Yes, messy. Someone always loves the other person more, and it creates this weird power dynamic thing that keeps the other person trapped. Not to mention, all relationships end. Who would willingly put themselves through that just for the person to leave them in the end?"

He cannot keep himself from showing how appalled he is by her take on love and relationships. Being a romantic at heart who has believed he is destined for the one woman he's never been able to stop thinking about, he refuses to allow this to pass without debate. He simply shakes his head at her the way she had at him and leans back against the brick building, careful to avoid the metal door.

"That's bullshit," he counters. "All love ends 'cause we end. Some people stay together until they die. And, even if they don't, that doesn't mean the whole thing is pointless. It's better to have felt it at all."

She lets her head fall to avoid his gaze, and when she lifts it again, there's an amused smile spread across her face. It enrages him. To have his thoughts on love treated like they're childish or naive, like she somehow knows better than him despite never opening her heart to the experience. Those arms crossed over her breasts, clad in a thin, cropped shirt for the sake of keeping cool in the heat. Her hands smooth down the shorts she wears the second they leave her chest.

"Well, okay, we can just disagree, but let's get back to the point. I don't wanna date you because I don't date and you don't wanna date me because you have feelings for someone else. That's great!"

He stares at her with an utter loss for words.

"M'so confused..."

Her head tips back with a frustrated groan, and she steps up close to him in order to grab him by the shoulders to force him to keep his eyes on her.

"I want you to pretend to be with me."

Before he can open his mouth to ask why, she begins speaking again.

"Only one of my friends knows what happened to me this summer," Y/N, her voice quieting when she speaks of the incident that caused their paths to cross. "None of them but her know, and now I have to attend this therapy thing three days a week when I'm not busy training, so I need an alibi. Last night, you kissing me stopped all their questions about where I've been lately, so we should keep up the act."

Part of him wants to retort something snarky at her for just assuming he'll be willing to drop everything to be her fake boyfriend whenever she goes out with her friends or goes to therapy, but the kinder side of him hesitates. This woman is the same person he held on the train platform, who refused to let go of him when the paramedics arrived to the point where he had to tag along in the ambulance upon their request to keep their patient as calm as possible. In the end, the petty urge to talk back wins.

"That arrangement sounds perfect for you, but what do I get out of this? Some of us have to work for a living, and I have actual important things to do other than being at your beck and call. Just 'caused we kissed doesn't mean y'have to get attached. Find someone else."

His harsh words strike her where it hurts, but, more importantly, at the current moment, they set her blood on fire with fury. How dare he insinuate that she has grown attached to him, like she's a pathetic little girl with a crush, from what happened last night? The ego of this man needs to be studied by psychologists and neuroscientists.

She drops her hands from his shoulders and takes a few steps back to create a comfortable distance between them.

"First of all, I'm not attached to you. I know you're a romantic, but one kiss didn't make me fall in love with you. Secondly, I wasn't going to offer you nothing in return." Her eyes flicker back and forth between the entrance to the alleyway and him as though she is plotting her escape already. "If you have to work every day, I can pay your bills in exchange for your time. I have money, I won't pretend that isn't true, so I can cover your expenses while we keep up the ruse, okay? It's an economic proposition, not a relationship."

Right when she expects him to calm down, he surges ahead at full throttle, looking like he's ready to punch a wall if he were the type of man to do that. His cheeks are flushed with color as he shakes his head and turns to knock on the back door to be let in again. Before any of his coworkers can answer, he meets her gaze and speaks the words that damn her to find another excuse, another lie to push onto her friends to prevent them from knowing the truth of what happened this summer.

"I'm not a product. You can't buy me, Y/N, and I'm honestly offended that y'think you can." The door swings open behind him, and he walks through, only stopping to say over his shoulder, "Don't come back."

-

The brutal rejection she faced when trying to enact her fake boyfriend plan with Harry left her in a sour mood all night. No matter how many times Ella tried to cheer her up, she wouldn't budge. It took her best friend putting on her favorite movie, bribing her with snacks, and offering to let her rant about it to bring her down a few notches. Eventually, after talking it out and spending the night laughing alongside her best friend, what Harry said to her held little power over her mood. Her friend had been quick to say that he had a point, which he did, that she wouldn't deny, but she couldn't shake the feeling of unease.

This morning, however, she didn't think of him much at all.

Executing her typical morning routine before a day of practicing on the ice helped soothe her nerves, making her return to it feel less like an event. It didn't feel the same as it used to, however, and, as she made herself protein pancakes for breakfast and listened to Ella rambling about her latest workplace drama, she began to fear that it never would.

This strange headspace she was pushed into by what she witnessed in early June feels permanent. It feels like her life could be divided into two distinct categories—before and after. It has been difficult as of late to grapple with the knowledge that nothing may be the same again. Grieving for an old version of yourself is nasty work, and it's lonely as well. Sometimes, she feels like she's standing alone on the edge of the universe, teetering there to see how far she can push it before she goes over.

The rink's low temperature soothes her now as she bends over to lace up her skates. Her throat can't help but tighten up at the familiar feeling, and she feels like an imposter as she goes through the motions of what her life used to be. Coach Godnev is already on the ice waiting for her with Chris standing with his back to Y/N, gesturing with his hands as he speaks, likely regaling the two-week break they've been forced to take due to her hospitalization.

She stands up and enters the rink through the propped-open door.

It feels strange. That's a fact she cannot deny as she floats across the ice in the direction of Godnev and Chris as though she never left in the first place. Outwardly, no one would ever think she took time off, but, on the inside, she could never let herself forget it. That voice in the back of her head, the one that is always nagging and scolding over the smallest things, whispers to her that she isn't worth it. That if she's not better now, she never will be. But, she tries to ignore that voice. It's a little bit easier knowing that she has hours of focused exercise to do as well as people to talk to. Where most people pry and ask questions, Godnev allows her space to breathe.

Being a stoic, strict ex-figure skater from the era of the Soviet Union, she tends to keep personal questions and details of their lives out of things. She focuses with tunnel vision on the work, on the artistry, and Y/N has never been more thankful for that than right now. The only time she ever showed emotion toward her was when she was sick during a competition as a child, sniffling and suppressing coughs every other moment. When asked if she was okay, Y/N nodded and refused to let the illness get her down, and she could tell how proud her coach was of her resilience.

That is why Y/N doesn't worry about what the older woman may ask. While her parents, therapists, and Ella may treat her like a delicate glass vase that will break under the slightest pressure, Talia Godnev has unwavering faith in her ability to overcome whatever obstacle is thrown her way. And that feels good. It feels nice to know that someone in this world has faith in her. God knows she doesn't.

"Sorry," she says, projecting her voice at where her two collaborators stand without her. The cool air blows against her face, yet it doesn't disrupt the hair she meticulously styled into a bun with gel and pins. The last thing she needs is to have her hair come out when she's doing jumps. "I didn't mean to be late. I missed the subway and had to wait like ten minutes."

Coach is the first to greet her. The smile on her face is wide enough to create wrinkles around the edges of her eyes, and she opens her arms in an invitation to hug her—a rare display of affection on her part—so Y/N wastes no time skating into her embrace. Thin but toned arms curl around her shoulders, squeezing tight for a good five seconds before releasing as a silent way of telling her to pull away.

"I'm so glad you're back," Godnev says.

They both pull back from each other enough to maintain their typical areas of personal space, and it isn't until she detached herself from her that she realizes she skated right past Chris without greeting him.

"Oh shit, Chris, I'm so sorry," she says, turning around, "I blew right past you—"

Her heart drops into her stomach at the sight of the man standing before her.

"Oh."

The word leaves her before she can stop it. Her body freezes, her chest tightening involuntarily in panic and her shoulders tensing up.

The first thought she has is that this shouldn't be happening.

It feels inherently wrong, like whoever controls her universe has played a sick joke on her by taking a person from one, separate area of her life and dropping him off into another. Why would she have expected to see Harry here instead of Chris? Chris has been her partner for years. They were paired when she was eighteen, so why would someone else be here in his place? And, more importantly, why would the man who stopped her from jumping in front of a train be his replacement?

Despite this internal debate waging war within her, she is stunned to silence and cannot do anything but stare at him in awe. At least, she thinks with some semblance of relief, he looks equally as shocked as she is.

Godnev, likely sensing the energy shift but not wanting to acknowledge it, puts a hand on the small of her back to comfort her, rubbing up and down like her mother once did to her as a child when she became nervous about competing in front of people. It's the type of thing only she could get away with doing to Y/N. Not because she holds any special power over her but because she has always been a secondary mother figure to her since they first began working together.

While she and Harry stare at one another in abject horror, Godnev decides to explain what everyone other than Y/N must already be aware of.

"I wanted to tell you before today, but Chris thought it would be best to let you settle in once you got home..."

Y/N's arms, raised with goosebumps both from the chill and situation at hand beneath the sleeves of her Lululemon jacket, cross over her chest. It takes less than two seconds for her to look back and forth between the two people in betrayal. Because, to her, it is betrayal. Even though her coach couldn't possibly have brought Harry here on purpose, the reminder of what happened to her, what she's always trying to flee from, hits her like a punch to the gut.

"What is this?"

There's a certain look in Harry's eyes when their gazes meet, almost as though he's trying to communicate with her through it somehow, but she is quick to look away.

She asks again, this time more demanding, "What the hell is this? Where's Chris?"

The mere mentioning of his name seems to rattle Godnev, and she has to take a breath to steady herself before answering either of her questions. That's the odd thing about having a breakdown and going into inpatient psychiatric care. To her, the world stopped spinning. Everything became confined to the limited space she was allowed to traverse in the hospital, and, without her phone, she had no connection to the outside world. But the world didn't stop spinning for everyone. Just her.

Those deep brown eyes soften at the mixture of emotions smeared across Y/N's face, and she says, gently, "Chris is back with his family in Norway. His mother is sick, and he said he didn't want to waste his time here...he wanted to be the one to take care of her."

They both pause to carefully monitor her face for a reaction.

"So what does that have to do with him?" she asks. The news about Chris saddens her beyond belief, but it's impossible to ingest the information without questioning Harry's presence. Deep down, a part of her recognizes where this is headed, but she doesn't want to believe it. Not truly. "I"—she shakes her head—"And, I mean, how am I gonna compete without a partner?"

The looks Godnev and Harry respectively give her confirm the suspicion that was lying in wait in the back of her mind like an asp readying to strike.

No.

"Harry's partner quit a few weeks ago for personal reasons, similarly to Chris, so when his coach reached out to me for advice, I offered to make him your new partner," she says. A second later she goes on, "He's very good. You know that I wouldn't waste your talent on someone who isn't."

"We have to compete in a month to qualify for nationals...I'm sorry, but this is crazy. After all these years, all this work and trust built with Chris, how am I supposed to just let it go?"

And although Chris would have quit anyway to care for his mother, she blames herself. If she hadn't taken time off to recuperate from what happened to her, from what she saw June 1st that sent her down this road, perhaps none of this would've happened. No amount of logic can stop her from blaming the chaos of last month for this as well as everything else that has gone wrong since then.

"I know it's a big adjustment, but I've already begun training with him. You two just need to practice and work through the routine." Before she has the opportunity to interject, Godnev pushes further. "Now, let's go. We have a lot of work to do."

-

Having to pretend that she's never met Harry before today's practice has been unbelievably difficult. It's not like their coach would pry, but she'd likely make a comment on it if they seemed familiar with one another already, so they came to a wordless agreement to pretend they'd never met when formally introduced to one another. They shook hands and exchanged polite smiles like they hadn't kissed days before. And now that they're working together, they haven't said a word to one another. Not with Godnev lingering within earshot.

Thankfully for Y/N, their coach had been training with Harry for a few weeks, and he already knew the basic choreography of the free dance she practiced with Chris all year. So, they ran through the program countless times, excluding the lifts, to get a rough idea of what skating together would be like. The song she chose for it, (I've Had) The Time Of My Life by Bill Medley, has been played enough times with the paired movements of the dance that it didn't take long for her body to snap back into it, give or take a few mistakes.

It's a passionate dance. A romance based on one of her favorite movies.

Due to the nature of being someone's partner, she and Chris spent all of their time together, and even though he hated Dirty Dancing, he gladly let her make it the inspiration for their free dance for the sake of seeing her excitement. With him, the dance was fun and carefree. Although they didn't have feelings for one another, they were able to lose themselves in the routine and feign undying love for the duration of it.

Oftentimes, they'd have a difficult time not smiling ear to ear at one another and giggling throughout the whole thing, especially the part at the end where they end with their lips a hairs-width apart to symbolize that happy ending of the lovers they portrayed. The thought of them kissing had been hysterical, and it took Godnev scolding them countless times for them to take it seriously.

With Harry, it couldn't be more different.

For one, they hardly know each other and have never skated together, so the first few times they ran through the routine were fumbling and awkward in a way she hasn't been since she was a teenager. Then, of course, there's the history between them. Having to pretend to fall in love with the man who fought with her in the alley behind a strip club the day before is an impossible feat.

No amount of pretending can hide that they are uncomfortable touching each other and almost kissing at the end of the program, but they try because they have no other option. Both of their partners quit on them around the same time. The fact that their coaches managed to pair two people of equal training and talent was a miracle in and of itself. Neither of them wants to be the first to complain about what would otherwise be a gift from the universe if it weren't them specifically.

In the middle of the song, Godnev pauses the music, and they're both sent reeling, trying to stop turning for long enough to look to the older woman for guidance as to what went wrong. When Y/N meets eyes with her, she already knows what she is going to say.

"You will have to get more comfortable together." She shakes her head. "Take a five-minute break. You dance with her like you're dancing with your grandmother."

That's all she leaves them with before she spins around and skates toward the propped-open door to the rink, disappearing somewhere to get a quick drink of water or snack before the break is done. With her gone, neither of them says a word.

It's funny. The entire time they practiced up until now, she wished their coach would leave for a moment to allow her to say everything she's imagined since yesterday, but now that they're alone, they're terrified to break the silence. They feel that if they do, they'll be forced to confront reality and accept that this is real. That their lives will be intrinsically entwined as a result of this partnership from here going forward.

In the end, it's he who ends up speaking first.

"I didn't know it was you," he says after a moment.

It almost sounds like he's going to continue after that by the deep breath he takes at the end, but he doesn't. Instead, she is left to find the words on her own and find a way to make this the slightest bit professional despite, well, everything. When it comes out, it ends up sounding the polar opposite.

"Neither did I. I mean, I thought you were a stripper who moonlights as an undercover suicide prevention worker," she says with a shrug, "so I never expected to see you here."

To her surprise, despite the bad start they got off on yesterday with her offering to pay him to be her fake boyfriend, he laughs, and it's a beautiful sound. It's a sound that makes her lips twitch up with the urge to smile, which is far too rare for her as of late.

He stands a foot away, his hand on his hip, and doesn't balk from her stare as he ceases his laughter to continue speaking.

"I strip to pay rent and for this." A knowing look is cast in her direction before he turns to the direction of the door Godnev left out of. "It's an expensive sport, and not all of us are living off daddy's money."

She scoffs.

Soon, she's approaching him from behind and following him off the ice to where his water bottle is stashed alongside his tote bag, watching as he takes a sip. From his peripheral vision, he can see her sizing him up like prey, and he wonders briefly if anyone has ever spoken to her like this before. It wouldn't surprise him if they hadn't. A beautiful, rich ice dancer. Not many people would want to get on her bad side if they could help it. With people of her social and financial status, he has noticed that most people who leech off of them never say the word no.

The instant he swallows the mouthful of water, she's retorting, "Okay, first of all, the wealth is from my mother's side of the family, you sexist prick"—he laughs at this too, knowing that she is only joking to get back at him—"Second of all, I'm not ashamed of being privileged in terms of wealth. We donate every year to charities, and I'm not the kind of trust fund kid who pretends they came up the hard way."

Harry flicks a bit of water at her much like a little boy teasing girls on the playground, tilting his head in analysis of her as she leans back against the boards.

"And by we, you mean your parents, who get a nice tax write-off for all of their philanthropy, right?"

"Oh, at least play fair," she hits back in the same, childlike way he had. "So giving back to my community doesn't count cause I get tax write-offs?" Her brows raise at him in question. "I volunteer at a shelter for LGBT kids who are on the street because of their shitty ass parents. All of the prize money I get when I win goes to them, so get off your fucking soapbox and give me a break."

There's a stretch of heavy silence, then—

"You're right, I don't know you," he says softly, then meets her gaze again, "M'sorry."

This makes her pause for a second. It makes her mindful of what happened yesterday now that she has time to reflect...

"I'm sorry too."

"For what?"

She hadn't expected him to concede. Most men she's met and argued with, albeit playfully, refuse to back down no matter how backed into a corner they are. They are correct no matter what. Even Chris was like that sometimes, but, she must admit, there's something admirable about someone who will admit when they're wrong. It's a behavior she could practice more than she currently does lest her pride not get in the way.

"For trying to pay you to be my fake boyfriend. You were right. I didn't think about how insulting that must come across since I met you at your club," she says, then tries not to shudder at how she misspoke. Technically, she didn't meet him at the club, and they both know that, but he'll never correct her for avoiding such a painful memory. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just desperate."

The entire room is quiet save for their conversation. With Godnev off doing God knows what, there's no one here at the private rink to eavesdrop on their conversation. It suddenly hits her as she looks at him, struck by how he smiles with his two front bunny teeth, that being alone with him doesn't make her nervous like it does with other guys. Every guy she's met on Hinge, or who has hit on her on a night out, has made her viscerally uncomfortable, but he doesn't. It could have something to do with how they broke the ice the first time they met. Or it could be him. Maybe he's the type of person who sets others at ease without ever trying to.

It's easy to tell that he's about to say something in response, but the sound of their coach coming back into the room silences him. It causes his mouth to open and close like a fish, then open again to say to her at a low volume, "I'll do it."

This time, it's her turn to act confused.

"Do what?"

He watches for Godnev out of the corner of his eye to make sure she isn't watching, then leans against the boards beside her to allow them to talk in secrecy. They don't have much time before they're back on the ice, so he doesn't waste it.

"Date you," Harry says, and she thinks he's fighting back another smile when her eyes widen. "Your friends will know I'm your partner soon anyway." He shrugs. "Might as well."

It takes him and Godnev calling out her name to get her back on the ice and out of her trance after he leaves her there, speechless, on the side of the rink.

-

Balancing hours of therapy with hours of practice with Harry has been a challenge, not only because of the physical exhaustion she feels when she comes home and falls into bed beside Ella every night but because of the emotional exhaustion too. Every time she leaves the building where she spends most of her day listening to clinicians teaching skills and trying to work up the courage to talk about what happened to her in process groups to no avail, she feels as though she just ran a half marathon. But she can never rest. No, instead, she has to spend the rest of her day with Harry on the ice, pick up dinner on the way home, and try not to wake Ella when she enters the apartment.

Her leg bounces up and down incessantly as she waits for her clinician to come back from the bathroom for their one-on-one session while the rest of the patients are in an art group.

She busies herself by inspecting the small office. Framed photos line the walls, and on top of the desk are a multitude of fidget toys and plastic eggs of kinetic sand for patients to borrow. By the time the clinician, Tara, comes back to the room, Y/N is already paying with a pocket-sized container of putty.

"Sorry about that," Tara says with a smile, "I just wanted to make sure I didn't have to get up in the middle of the session."

Her high-pitched, lilting voice with a concerning about of vocal fry helps to soothe her nerves, coaxing her bouncing left leg into a slower pace as she watches her take a seat in the rolling chair. Blonde hair, highlights, perhaps, falls to the curves of her waist. It's the first time she's seen her with her hair down rather than the usual bun. Considering the brutal summer heat and humidity, it's not like Y/N can blame her for not wanting a blanket of hair running down her back.

"It's fine."

Tara's long nails tap away at the keyboard of the desktop computer, quickly documenting that they are meeting like they're supposed to.

"So, I know we've talked a bit, but I'm just gonna ask how your first week home has been so far?"

Those soft blue eyes never stray from her face now that their full attention is on each other. Eye contact like this would typically freak her out, but not this time. Not with her. They have talked once or twice, that's true, but they have yet to sit down and work through everything that haunts her. Until now.

Y/N shifts in her seat, crossing her legs to get as comfortable as possible while trying to do the unthinkable—open up to someone. It isn't by coincidence that Ella is the only one she told about this, or that she has never been able to have a romantic relationship. Every time someone she likes too much gets too close, her mind defaults to panic. The idea of someone knowing her, truly knowing her, the way she knows herself, is her biggest fear. It's so primal, rooted deeply in her system, that the urge to isolate herself and ghost anyone new who tries to care for her is something she acts on unconsciously.

But, with Tara, she has no other choice but to sit with that visceral discomfort rather than flee. If she ever ghosts her and skips program, they'll do a wellness check on her and send the police to her apartment, which is the very last thing she wants.

Not having a choice, Y/N says, "It's been a lot. I can't stand being in my apartment because all I feel when I'm in there is fear. You know, that was my prison. That was where my body shut down, and I stopped eating and sleeping."

The whole time she speaks, Tara nods along, only looking away to jot down a note. Her white and gold pencil gleams in the afternoon sunlight coming in through the window as it glides across the blank page. Once the note is taken, she allows it to slip out of her hand and onto the notebook, rolling until it becomes wedged in the divot between pages.

"Do you think it would help to go in there with someone you trust and try to tolerate the fear?"

She shrugs.

"Maybe. I don't know. I went back once to get my stuff and have been staying at my friend Ella's place."

"And is Ella a big part of your support system?"

"Oh, a huge part. She's the only one other than Harry who knows."

Tara's head tilts in curiosity at the mention of Harry, someone she nor any of the other clinicians heard her mention in the few groups she speaks in. Obviously, if he's one of the only people who knows about her breakdown, he must be someone of significance, and that isn't wrong. Although they hardly know each other, he may be the most important person in her life. She wouldn't be here without him, and whether she loves or hates him for it, she doesn't know.

"Who's Harry?"

A heavy sigh escapes her in the wake of that question. In preparation for what she's about to tell her, Y/N focuses on the putty being kneaded in her hands to avoid eye contact. She fears that if she looks at her when she says it, the words may evade her.

"He's the one who stopped me from jumping," she says, then shakes her head through a nervous laugh. "And now that my ice dance partner quit, he's my new partner. Isn't that so fucked up? Like, if there's a God, I wanna bare-knuckle box that fucker for doing this to me!"

For the sake of making her feel at ease, Tara chuckles softly at that last comment, and she's thankful for it. It's precisely what she needed to avoid allowing the discomfort to consume her. No more being treated like she's made of glass. Like she's broken. That's the best part of being here, she thinks. The staff and patients have all heard and lived through hellish things, so nothing can surprise them anymore.

Her leg begins to bounce at the same speed and intensity it had before. It's all she can do to release the anxiety bubbling up within as she is brought closer and closer to revealing the parts of herself she can't even share with Ella.

"Do you mind if I ask what triggered this whole situation to begin with?" Tara asks with the pencil back in hand. "It's okay if you aren't ready to, though. We can do it next time."

The following silence seems to echo in her head.

June 1st. The second-worst day in her twenty-four-year existence.

As a melodramatic teenager, she couldn't imagine anything being worse than the day she and her high school best friend ended their years-long friendship. At the time, that felt like the greatest tragedy she would experience, but, now, she would relive that day twenty times over rather than relive a single day of June. The most persistent obsessive thought she has relates to that. It wouldn't matter what the circumstances were. If she had to endure it again, she would make sure there would be no one to stop her from jumping from the train platform this time. And that terrifies her. The power these memories hold over her is immeasurable.

​​Y/N's head drops to let her stare at her lap as she tries to work up the nerve to say it out loud for the first time since being discharged from the hospital. The faint sound of screams, buried deep into the recesses of her mind, resurfaces more quickly than she is comfortable with. She had never seen a panic like she had that day in the bodega when she stopped in to purchase a bottle of water and found herself saddled with a lifetime of trauma.

"I was walking to catch the subway to the rink where I train, and it was hot, so I wanted a water bottle," she explains. At first, it sounds steady. Strong. Then, her voice can't help but soften once she gets to the hard part. "Someone was arguing with the clerk, but I didn't think anything of it. None of us in there knew what was gonna happen until it did, and, unfortunately, I turned around just in time to see him pull his gun." Her eyes glaze over with the imminent threat of tears. "He killed him. Shot him in the head two times, and I hid behind one of the fridges before he could see me. But, he didn't want any of the customers. He just shot the guy a few more times to make sure he was dead, took the money, and ran out."

The expression on Tara's face, torn between shock and secondhand heartache, tells her that she hadn't expected that to be the story told today. People's minds and bodies can shut down like hers had for many reasons, whether they appear big or small, but this was serious. This was something that she'll never be able to forget witnessing, and they both know that. Their only hope is that maybe, once time has passed, it'll be easier for her to live with. It already is to an extent. Now that she has been put on medication and attends therapy for the illness she ignored her whole life, she can eat and sleep again. Not exactly as she had before but close.

She sniffles and wipes her nose on her hand to avoid having anything drip out of it in the presence of another person. Most of her crying over this has been violent in its vehemence. Snot-oozing, head-pounding, full-body sobs that left her shaking where she lay with her legs curled up to her chest.

"At first, I thought I was okay, and I was for the first night. I went to practice after that, but I don't even remember being there. It was the next day that it all started. I wasn't able to leave the house, and I became so anxious, so obsessed with the idea that I wasn't safe, that I stopped eating. I went to the ER because I thought there was something wrong with me." She takes a deep breath, trying not to let her bottom lip quiver as much as it wants to when pausing between words. "I suffered in that room, starving so much that it hurt, for two days." A tear slides down her cheek, and she has to wipe it away with her fingertips. "The people treating me told me there was nothing physically wrong with me. They told me it was psychosomatic and sent me home."

It's a period of time she couldn't forget if she tried, and she did try. She tried so hard, but whenever she lay in her bed or tried to eat something, anything, her mind took her back to those two days. It was the reason why she stopped sleeping. Whenever she would jolt awake to the darkness of her bedroom, she wasn't awake enough to know where or when she was.

"For the next two weeks, which felt like a month, I had to force myself to learn to eat again, and, at first, I was sleeping. But it was because my friend let me have some of her Xanax to take to help me at night. What I didn't realize was that my body would get used to taking it, and once it did, I couldn't relax. I couldn't let my guard down long enough to fall asleep," she says. "So, I started doing things, I guess compulsions, not knowing why I was doing them."

This time, Tara nods and writes something down on the page of the notebook with her lip bitten between her teeth in thought.

"What were your compulsions?"

Her mind flashes in a supercut of memories from June—her hands wiping down the kitchen counters, bottles of nail polish on her kitchen counter, and the sight of her hollow face staring back at her in the mirror every day. She's almost too ashamed to tell her, to go into what she was doing and why she thought it may help, but that's why she's here. The whole reason for being here is to work through it, so she does.

"Um." Her voice wavers. "Well, I started to clean my kitchen from top to bottom every morning. I didn't have a specific reason, but I think it was because I needed something to do to pass the time since I was too weak to skate." The eye contact she makes with the floor has yet to break, and she tries not to focus on Tara's purposefully subdued reactions in her peripheral vision.

Pretending like she isn't there, like she's telling this story to the empty room, makes it bearable. "When I was little, my mom used to put my hair in two braids on each side of my head when I was sick. It was just a simple style to keep it out of my face when I blew my nose and coughed, but she always did it. So, I started keeping my hair like that. I had to braid it like that every day, or else the day was going to end badly. I know that makes no sense, but it did to me."

The other woman is quick to shake her head.

"No, I understand," she says softly. "Every time you were sick, your mom braided your hair, and when you get sick, you always get better, so you did it to self-soothe."

It nearly makes her cry to hear her say that.

Most people without in-depth education about these illnesses would think her crazy for believing that braiding her hair could prevent things from going badly, but she gets it. The staff at the hospital, as well as the other patients she bonded with over countless card games, all got it. It makes her feel a little less crazy when people react like this. It's not as if she expected a mental health professional to act any other way, but she feared it nonetheless.

"I also felt like I needed to change my nail polish whenever something bad happened." She holds up her newly manicured fingers sporting almond-shaped acrylics. "That's why I went and got these. So I wouldn't be able to keep doing that now that I'm out. Also to stop me from picking at my skin."

The sound of Tara humming in agreement with the decision brings a sense of warmth to her chest. There's something about the clinician that disarms her entirely, bringing her down enough to lay herself bare before her with less difficulty than she would have with others. Part of it, she thinks, is that she knows no one else will hear what's said here. It isn't Rosie, Anna, or anyone she doesn't want to see her in a different light. It's someone meant to hear these things without any emotional labor given in return.

She goes on.

"The last thing I did, or I guess it's what I didn't do, was avoid the bracelet I was wearing the day of the shooting. I almost wanted to burn it."

Finally, she looks up and meets Tara's kind eyes.

"Why did you want to burn your bracelet?" she asks despite already having an idea of the reasoning behind it.

The softness in how the question was asked, paired with the unspoken understanding and never-ending compassion beneath it, makes Y/N break down at long last. Her shoulders shake with the cries she tries to stifle, wiping her nose and her wet cheeks as she shrinks into the seat like a scared little girl.

Her voice is so soft, so ashamed of the truth being spoken, that she barely hears it over the sound of her cries.

"Because I thought it was cursed..."

No one but the psychiatrist at the hospital, not Ella or Harry or her parents, has been told of this part. Because it's this that she is the most embarrassed of. If her mother were here, she'd tell her how illogical it is, and she knows that. It doesn't make any sense and never had, but she believed it regardless. Every time she passed by where it sat on top of her dresser, her face twisted into a grimace. On June 1st, hiding behind the refrigerator stocked with water, she remembers how she clutched the edge of it with her right hand to keep herself from falling to the floor, and she didn't look out at the killer or the deceased clerk again. Instead, she kept her eyes locked onto the bracelet given to her for her twenty-fourth birthday days prior and never looked away until the door to the bodega opened and closed again. When she wore it home, it sat heavy around her wrist, and when she laid in bed those two days, starving, she felt it brush up against the bottom of her pillow whenever she moved her hand.

The second she got home from the emergency room, she ripped it off and threw it on her dresser in a rage.

Y/N whispers, "I just felt so stupid."

She rubs her eyes with her hand as if that will do anything to stop the tears from falling, and when her hand falls back to her side, she notices that a box of tissues has been placed on the end of the desk closest to her. With a quiet, "Thank you," she takes a few to blow her nose, then two more to wipe her eyes before discarding the handful in the garbage bin.

"I know you already know this," Tara says propping her chin up on the palm of her hand, "but what you did is normal for people with OCD. Especially when you're undiagnosed and unmedicated."

Her face softens at the new tears falling from her eyes, now smudged with runny mascara that ruins the look she painstakingly crafted in the bathroom with Ella before practice for the sake of passing time.

"You weren't stupid, Y/N. You were just sick."

And, for once, it feels good to hear that coming from someone other than the people who have every reason to be biased toward her. If she were to tell Ella or her parents, they would shake their heads and tell her to stop being so hard on herself, but she has trouble believing them. When you love someone, you'll do anything to take the burden of pain off of their shoulders and onto yours. Hearing it from someone whose job is to be as objective and tactfully honest as possible is far different.

The sound of her sniffling as she begins to calm down, no longer wanting to take tissue after tissue to wipe her runny nose, is the only thing to be heard in the room surrounding them. No footsteps in the hallway, no group conversation getting loud and excited the next room over, and no judgments. Just sniffling and heavy breathing that soon evens out into a steady rise and fall of her chest.

It's ten minutes later that she finishes up with Tara and exits the room to see the rest of the patients leaving. A glance at her watch shows that it's three o'clock, meaning everyone but the clinicians who work until five documenting and talking to the others about treatment plans for their patients is free to go home and do as they please for the rest of the afternoon.

Y/N is the last person out of the building, and when she steps out into the sun, she feels a little bit lighter than she had before. The emotional weight of what happened to her was cumbersome to bear alone, and even though one conversation would never cure her, it does make her feel less alone.

Before she can overthink any of it, she's going through her contacts and presses Harry's number. They exchanged information on their first day of practicing together, both for the sake of their work as well as the ruse.

After three rings, he picks up.

"Hello?"

-

The subway is her least favorite part about living in the city.

Not only is it annoying to stand shoulder to shoulder with strangers, packed in like sardines, but it's unbearably hot down here, especially in the summer, and the heat worsens the anxiety she feels surrounding what's to come tonight. But with the anxiety medication she took before leaving Ella's place to meet up with Harry before the time they're supposed to arrive at the bar with her friends, it's easier to cope with. Rather than it being an overstimulating nightmare of panting breaths and frantic, racing thoughts, it's slowed down. The anxiety is still present, yet it doesn't hinder her ability to function.

Part of what she enjoys about this city, though, is that no one pays attention to her. There are too many people and too many things going on for anyone to bat an eye at what she is saying or doing, or if she appears to be anxious or not. It allows her to have a certain freedom within herself to dress however she wants and talk loudly, taking up space without fearing the reaction of others.

The bottoms of her thighs stick to the seat with sweat where they're exposed by her mini dress, and she keeps squirming around every few seconds in discomfort, trying to wipe the perspiration away to no avail. Beside her, Harry is messaging someone on his phone, so she tries not to look over his shoulder and gives him privacy until he's finished.

Once he is, she shifts in her seat to face him with one long leg crossed over the other.

"We need to make some ground rules."

He looks up from his phone with raised brows, his thumb pressing down on the button on the side to shut the screen off. The white shirt he wears is unbuttoned just enough for his chest tattoos to peek out from beneath the edges of the fabric, and she already knows that her friends will lose their minds when they see them together.

They were already told in the group chat on Instagram, titled dream blunt rotation with numerous celebrities that will never accept the chat invite, about her going out with the stripper they met over the weekend. She and Ella played it off well. They played into the shock felt by Rosie and Anna at the fact that Harry is her new partner. It's a small world, they all said. But Y/N knows that if they knew everything, it would appear even smaller.

"Like what?" he asks.

His legs are pushed together by the person next to him being careless with their personal space, stretching out as though they own the place, and he scoots a little closer to her as a result of it. Her bare thigh presses into the side of his clothed one.

"Well, I feel like the first rule should be that neither of us can talk about how we actually met."

He nods.

"Obviously."

Her arms hug her purse to her chest to free up some space beside her for him, giving him the room to comfortably relax his right arm without having to fold himself in to fit into the seat between her and the other man. When their hands brush, her breath hitches in her throat, and she prays that he doesn't notice. She may not be one to date people, but she isn't blind. Every woman sitting or standing near them steals glances at him, likely wishing they were the one pressed up against his side. Like it or not, there is a part of her that takes pleasure in being seen with him.

"Second rule..." she trails off, tapping her fingers against her knee. "We have to figure out what kind of PDA we're okay with."

He goes quiet for a second, then says, "I'm fine with anything."

Anything, her mind echoes in equal parts excitement and fear. What does he mean by anything? Apparently, it must be written on her face, because he is quick to explain himself.

Laughing, he says, "Calm down. M'not saying we have to go fuck in the bathroom or something, I meant holding hands and a kiss maybe."

This causes her to giggle nervously at first, but once the words are fully taken in, the smile on her face begins to soften. Kissing, holding hands, and touching are all things she can hardly stand the thought of doing. The first and only time she kissed a boy was in front of their school in the seventh grade. He had a crush on her and asked her out. Not being able to say no because she didn't want to upset him, she said yes and they were "dating" for a few weeks. One day before she had to walk home, she kissed him, and the moment their lips touched, she became overwhelmed with discomfort. All she could hear in the back of her mind was her parents saying she was too young, that boys will only want one thing from her, and she ran off without another word. Later that night, she texted him to end the relationship.

But, she realizes, this isn't real. If they're simply pretending to be doing these things because they have feelings for each other that don't truly exist, there is no reason to feel like she's doing something wrong. No one is taking advantage of the other in this situation, and she'll never have to introduce him to her parents as her boyfriend and endure the awkward tension with her overprotective father.

Y/N worries her lip between her teeth as she turns over the thought in her mind.

"That might not be a bad idea."

His head whips around to look at her again, his eyes widened in disbelief at what she's implying. It isn't until he's been staring at her for a good five seconds that she realizes the miscommunication.

"Oh, no, not like that," she says, "I mean we could pretend to go to the bathroom and make it look like we did something."

An elderly woman sitting across from them pauses what she's doing on her phone to side-eye them, but they don't pay her any mind. The rest of the people around them don't make it known if they're eavesdropping but, honestly, even if they are, she doesn't care. These people are strangers who are owed nothing by them, and if they want to judge them for the web of lies they're weaving for her friends, then so be it.

Harry runs his hand through his hair to push it back into place. The jolting movement of the subway knocked a few strands onto his face, so he takes the time to fix it for the sake of looking good when he meets her friends. Well, technically he already has met her friends, but this time will be different. It won't be a fleeting moment in which he kisses her to distract them, it'll be his formal introduction into her life as her "boyfriend". Even though he knows it's not real, he doesn't want to let her down. After all, he's her partner on the ice now, and that's reason enough to want her friends to like him.

Before he can respond, the sound of the next stop being announced brings their attention away from one another, and they both stand with one hand holding the pole for support.

From what little she knows about him, Harry was born and raised in northern England with his mom, but he came here to train with one of the best pairs ice dancing coaches the world had to offer and has lived in the city for four years. His previous partner was an up-and-coming favorite of many, but she quit the same week of the bodega shooting due to a career-ending injury sustained in a biking accident.

Once they ascend the stairway onto the street the bar is located on, he asks, "If these are your friends, why are you going this far to keep it a secret from them?"

Her heels click on the sidewalk as they walk, hand in hand in case her friends are walking in at the same time, down the block together.

The suddenness of the question, as well as the brutality of it, catches her off guard and silences her for the next minute or so. Truth be told, the decision not to tell Rosie and Anna about what happened wasn't intentional. After the shooting, she went to Ella for support, and she was far too distressed in the following weeks to reach out to the others beyond basic greetings and posts shared on social media. Now, it seems foolish to tell them. No matter how she explains it, she's certain it will hurt their feelings that she didn't go to them in her time of strife.

"Um, I honestly don't know," she says, staring ahead at the family walking before them. Anything to avoid the judgment she anticipates from him. "I didn't mean to lie, but I didn't tell them, and once I went into the hospital it felt like it was too late. It all just...happened."

Although distracted by watching the people around them, she can feel his eyes on her. It's hard to act casual when someone like him—someone so gorgeous and simultaneously critical in her recent life—is staring. And even though she knows this isn't real, that they aren't dating and everything is fake, she can't help how her heart races faster the longer he stares.

For the rest of the walk to the bar, both of them remain silent. The sole thing to steady her is the warm feeling of his hand in hers, and, even then, there's a degree of discomfort mixed into it as well. Her friends have teased her about her commitment-phobia and fear surrounding dating, so she expects the worst interrogation of her life upon arrival.

The bar Rosie chose for their first official outing as a "couple" is an exclusive rooftop one that her new boy of the month frequents. Her status alone would get her in, but with him at her side, there was no question as to whether or not she belonged among the rich and famous. It's this same exclusivity that causes Harry's eyebrows to raise as they're guided into an elevator with the bald bouncer.

He whispers to her on the way up, "I know I was taking shots at you for being rich, but I didn't know you were this kind of rich."

A soft huff of laughter leaves her, and she thinks she may see his cheeks flushing a deep pink color at the sound of it.

"My parents are this kind of rich, actually. But I get what you mean," she says and leans against the back wall of the moving elevator. "My family has always been wealthy, but I was an introverted kid growing up. When Ella and Rosie first met me and took me out, seeing places like this for the first time was pretty overwhelming."

The tidbit of information about her childhood makes him smile to himself at the thought of her all those years ago, content with standing on the sidelines and daydreaming about being on the ice while her peers played outside. It's strangely endearing. His first impression of her at the club was that she was an entitled, rich party girl who was used to getting everything she wants, and while part of that may be true, there are other qualities of hers that shine brighter.

Her hand squeezes his tighter when the elevator comes to a gentle stop at the top floor of the tall building.

This is it. Soon, they will be hanging out with her friends and lying to them, having to touch and flirt and maybe even kiss as though they're together. A small amount of dread rises within her at the thought of it. The concept of a man touching her and kissing her is both nerve-wracking and thrilling. She thinks that if it were another man, she wouldn't be able to stomach it, but it's Harry. Even though he's little more than an acquaintance, there's a sense of safety felt when she's around him. It could be a result of how they met that day on the train platform, but, either way, she's thankful to have him by her side.

The elevator doors open with a ding, and she's already shifted into friend mode. Her hand holds onto his tightly as she feigns confidence and drags him through the groups of people to the place Rosie told her to go. They enjoy hanging out by the edge of the building to the left of the bar where you can look out at the skyline.

He can tell by the looks on their faces that they hadn't truly believed they'd seen him here.

One of the friends he recognizes from the club, the one with pretty brown eyes and bottle-blonde hair, is the first to greet them. Rather than tackle her in an embrace as per usual, she gives them space seeing that they're holding onto each other already.

"Y/N, you look radiant! I love that dress," the woman says, then looks at him. "And you must be Harry?" He nods, and she holds out her hand to shake his free one. "Rosie. It's nice to meet the guy who's stealing allll of her free time from us!"

His throat bobs with a thick swallow as he remembers the true reason he's here. To give her an alibi for the time she spends at therapy during the week when she would otherwise be hanging with them.

He takes her hand and gives it a firm shake.

"Guilty as charged," Harry says.

The next friend comes up and offers her a hug with one arm, bringing her in close to cradle her head on her shoulder like a mother would to a child. Ella, he thinks without room for doubt. This woman is the only one who knows about Y/N's breakdown as well as their ruse. She doesn't feel the need to say anything. Words aren't needed with them. All they need is a quick hug to convey their feelings and thoughts to each other before pulling away to allow their last friend a turn with them.

Anna stops in front of them and reaches out for Y/N's free hand. Giving it a few squeezes, she can't help but smile and say, "I've missed you too much."

Her gaze then shifts to him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says and looks back and forth between the two of them. "I never thought our sweet Fi would find a guy she'd go crazy for."

He was briefed on this too—the shock that'd be a common theme among the group of girls due to her never having shown an interest in dating before. It would mean they'd be protective too, he realized earlier today, so he tries to be as friendly and nonchalant as possible. The last thing he wants is to give them a reason to dislike him.

"It's nice to meet you too. She's told me so much about you guys," he says.

This seems to please them enough. From behind Anna's back, Rosie makes eye contact with Y/N and raises her brows in pretend shock at how much they like him. The sight of it makes him breathe a little easier as the seconds go by, knowing that the hardest part is over now that they've been introduced. All of them stare expectantly at them for the next few seconds, then Y/N breaks the silence.

"We're gonna go get drinks. Be right back!"

He's being dragged around again before he has the chance to wave goodbye to Rosie, who was waving excitedly at him like a puppy faced with a potential new friend. People move out of her way without anything having to be said, and he finds that quite intriguing. The power she wields without ever saying a word is wild to him. All it takes is a smile and a confident stride for everyone to make a path for the gorgeous woman in a little strapless dress. Its shade of midnight blue shimmers under the dim lighting of the bar, bringing out the subtle aspect of the glitter mixed into the fabric.

The line at the bar is merely a few people long, so it doesn't take more than a couple moments for them to reach it. Her fingers curl around the edge of the bar to steady herself against it as she leans forward to tell the bartender what she wants over the volume of people chatting throughout the room. Music plays over loudspeakers on the other side of the room, a DJ positioned behind a computer, and the song is decent. At least it doesn't make him want to rip out his eardrums.

Once she's finished ordering her virgin cocktail, a tap on his shoulder brings him out of his people-watching trance and back to her face. The coral blush brushed over her cheeks gives her a demure, coquettish look, and though his heart beats for another, not even he can resist the gravitational pull she has on everyone around her.

"Want anything?"

He shrugs.

This causes her to turn back around to face the man behind the bar and ask, "A Jack and Coke for my friend here, please?"

The second the bartender turns to make it, she leans back against the bar to face him and holds his hand in both of hers for the sake of appearing as couple-y as possible for her friends watching across the room.

"How'd I do?" she asks. "Was I even a little close to guessing what you drink? You kinda seem like a Jack and Coke guy."

He shakes his head.

"I don't mind Jack and Coke, but I'm more of a tequila man."

"Neat or on the rocks?"

"Neat."

She nods in approval, toying with the rings decorating the hand connected with hers. The softness of her touch is something he never expected to enjoy, but he does. Even if it isn't real, it feels nice after years of loving Lola from afar with nothing in return.

Without looking over his shoulder to check if the girls are looking in their direction, he steps forward to invade her space, one arm sliding around her waist to pull her body flush against his. He can tell by how she stiffens against him that she hadn't expected it, but she adjusts rather quickly and throws her arms around his broad shoulders like she would with someone she's actually dating. Their lips are inches apart, so close that they can feel the heat of each other's exhales.

Harry brushes his nose against hers affectionately, and it's such an intimate, tender gesture, she doesn't know what to do other than savor the thrill it sends down her spine.

"You're good at this," she whispers after a second. "I guess I should just follow your lead since I don't do this a lot."

Ever, actually. The correct thing to say would be that she doesn't do this ever, but it's far too embarrassing to admit it aloud. It's hard not to feel like a failure of sorts regarding her pathetic attempts at finding a romantic partner. At one point, she did try. She downloaded dating apps and met a few guys, but every time she wanted something real with them, she heard her mom scolding her in the back of her head. She heard her dad accusing her of being pregnant when she was fifteen because he caught her holding hands with her middle school boyfriend.

The differences between how she and her brother were treated regarding relationships and sex growing up affected her more than she thought it had, and it wasn't until she began talking about it in group therapy at the hospital that she realized there was a reason behind her discomfort with intimacy.

Sensing some sort of conflict in her, he says softly, "I won't kiss you unless you ask me to, Y/N. Don't worry." A pause, then a slight chuckle. "You don't seem like the making out in public type anyway."

The smile drops from her face.

"Is that a challenge?"

And, with that, the confidence evident in his expression slowly fades at the pressure of being put on the spot. Suddenly, he doesn't feel like the experienced one between the two of them. Y/N has a way of doing that, of making him flustered and bashful like a touch-starved virgin. He rationalizes it, though. He reasons with himself and thinks that it's merely a physical reaction to an attractive person, not anything real. It's nothing to feel guilty over. It's not like you can betray someone who isn't even dating you, so it's nothing to lose sleep over regarding his love for Lola. He's slept with plenty of people despite having feelings for her, so what's a little kissing?

Slowly, they begin to inch their faces closer and closer until she can almost feel his lips brushing hers. He's about to close the remaining distance between them and kiss her like he had at the club on Sunday, but the bartender taps her on the shoulder before he can.

"Okay, one virgin Pina Colada and a Jack and Coke," the man says, setting the two glasses down on the bar top. "Your total is forty dollars even."

Y/N turns around in Harry's embrace to face him, giddy at how his arms remain around her waist and his chin rests on her shoulder. Her friends don't stand a chance at all. He's laying it on quite thick, and it's a wonder she doesn't bust out laughing at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

If this is how Harry behaves around someone he's dating, his eventual partner is a lucky person. She has come to find through her friends' adventures in dating that so few guys are so open with their affection unless it's in a sexual connotation like dancing or grabbing a handful of their asses. He, however, doesn't grope her anywhere or push at the limits of what's decent. He just holds her, and she knows Rosie will never let her hear the end of it.

She holds out her credit card between her index and middle finger for the bartender to take with a polite, "Thank you."

They take their drinks and sip from them as Trent, if the name tag on his shirt is to be believed, swipes her card and slides it back across the countertop to her with the receipt folded around it. It's stuffed back into her small shoulder bag before she's too enamored with her drink to forget it.

The sweet flavor of the mocktail is heavenly on her taste buds, and she has to let her head roll back onto Harry's shoulder in overdramatic appreciation of it. Pina Coladas used to be her drink of choice when she indulged in substances. Anna would tease her for never switching up her order or trying something new, but she paid it no mind. She sat at whatever table or bar they went to and sipped it happily until she was giggling from being tipsy.

"I'm assuming it's good?" Harry asks sarcastically. "You're literally moaning."

She turns her head to look at him with furrowed brows, saying, "Yes, it is amazing, and you can't blame me. My love affair with this drink has been long and passionate. You wouldn't understand 'cause you go for straight tequila and don't like fun drinks like me."

The burning stares of her friends watching them from the corner of the room are felt by them both, and it suddenly hits her what they're doing. Is she a terrible person? Lying to them like this, keeping them in the dark, and bringing Harry into it too—does this make her morally unjust? It's hard for her to distinguish the line between self-hatred and criticism, so as she thinks it over, she can't help but batter herself bloody for doing something wrong.

From the feeling of her body tensing up in his grasp alone, he can tell that something is wrong, and without having the insight of knowing her thoughts, he fears that he's taken things too far. Maybe he should've eased up on the physical contact, maybe she hadn't fully thought it through. After all, she did say she doesn't date. What if this is making her uncomfortable?

He murmurs to her, "Are you okay?"

There's a heavy sigh sinking her chest.

"I guess," she says, "I just—Do you think I'm a terrible person?"

Everything—his train of thought, the hammering of his heart in his chest as he wondered what he did wrong, and how he sips on his drink—stops short.

"What are you talking about?"

The way she asked it snapped his heart in two. It doesn't matter that he barely knows her, or that he did, in fact, initially think she was a bad person after their interaction in the alleyway, the guilt present in her voice was heartbreaking. Suddenly, he feels the strange need to look after her. Not for any reason other than the fact that he can see how broken she is, and there's only one other person in her life who knows what's happening with her. She needs him, he realizes. She needs someone to talk her out of hating herself. Because if she continues on like this, if she keeps berating herself to the extent where everything becomes her fault, she'll revert right back into the state of mind that made her want to jump in the first place.

She ignored him for a second in favor of taking another sip of Pina Colada before saying, "I don't know. I wasn't just thinking about how I'm lying to them, and I don't know if that makes me a bad person."

Y/N takes this as her chance to wriggle out of his grasp to walk back to her friends, but he stops her. His arm around her waist tugs her back, and he doesn't let her leave until she hears what he has to say. If she asked for his opinion, then let her have it.

"Look at me," he says, and she does. Now that he knows he has her attention, he has no issues speaking his mind. "Don't do that to yourself. I know I don't know much about you or them, but it's not your fault that you were put in this situation. If they love you, they'll forgive you, even if you are a stuck-up rich girl."

This stuns her to silence.

It's hard for her to think, let alone speak, a response to this because of the unashamed honesty in the statement. It's the type of honesty only someone new in your life can have when speaking to you, and she's surprised to find that she likes it. He's not treating her any differently than someone unaware of her situation would, and she could kiss him for it.

She smiles softly.

"I may be a stuck-up rich girl, but I'm your favorite stuck-up rich girl, so I feel kinda accomplished there."

The sound of him letting out a huff of laughter widens the smile on her face, and he slides his arm out from around her waist to take her hand in his.

"Would my favorite stuck-up rich girl like to dance with me?" he asks, then his voice quiets for a second, a touch more serious. "Not because your friends are watching. Just 'cause we're friends and I want to dance with you."

The words echo in her mind on repeat. I want to dance with you. I want to dance with you. I want to dance with you—

Downing the rest of the Pina Colada in a few big mouthfuls, she sets the empty glass back onto the bar top and gestures for him to chug the rest of his drink as well. He does so without protest and tries to ignore the fact that he's not savoring the twenty-dollar drink. Although, it's not like she loses any sleep over spending twenty dollars at the bar. As she starts to pull him off in the direction of where people dance together, the empty glass is placed beside hers and left for the bartender less than a few minutes after he served them.

He follows her through the small clusters of people, and his eyes follow from their connected hands up the length of her arm, admiring the beauty of the bare skin exposed by her strapless dress. The song switches once they're midway to the area where a few couples and groups of friends are dancing, and the second Y/N hears the new song, she stops and faces her friends with a slack jaw.

She calls out to them from across the room and lures them over with her arms making grand, sweeping gestures begging them to come over. Rosie, as expected, is the first to follow them out to the middle of the room, and it doesn't take long before her other friends follow suit.

Madonna's voice croons at them over the speakers as the girls, with Harry standing behind Y/N's back, sing along and dance together. It almost makes him smile. To see her having fun and laughing with her friends is a gift. It's a long way from where she was when they met, if only for the moment. Tomorrow, she could easily revert to the state she was in a moment ago, but not right now.

"I close my eyessss," Rosie sings to Anna, face cupped in her hands, "Heaven help me!"

Anna sings the next lyric back to her, "When you call my name, it's like a little prayer! I'm down on my knees"—she sinks to her knees dramatically for the sake of making the girls giggle—"I wanna take you there!"

Ella holds Y/N's hands and raises them above their heads as they swirl their hips to the rhythm of the song, and he can't do much other than watch from behind her back. He reaches to grab onto her hips with his hands, but, before he can, someone reaches between them to tap her shoulder.

She whirls around to see who it is, and as soon as she sets eyes on the man standing there, Harry has a bad feeling. That wasn't a warm, inviting look. It was more of an, "Oh shit, I didn't expect to see you," type of thing. When Harry first sees him, he isn't intimidated. The man looks younger than him, as well as shorter, and has the overall demeanor of a high schooler with an overinflated sense of self-importance.

"Owen," she says with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. "It's so funny running into you."

The other girls continue to dance, but they both can feel them eyeing him up out of the corners of their eyes. If the way they regard him has anything to say about it, Harry would wager a lot of money on everyone hating Owen. Those beady little eyes of his are locked onto Y/N's cleavage, and it becomes all too clear to him what the issue is without needing anyone to say it aloud.

If this isn't the perfect opportunity to prove himself as her fake boyfriend, he doesn't know what is.

His arm curls back around her waist and sits comfortably, his hand resting on the southernmost point of her back to the point where he's almost grabbing her ass. It's a gesture he saw many times with Lola and her ex-boyfriends whenever someone came over to check her out, so he figures it'll work in this scenario.

"S'nice to meet you," Harry says with a smile and extends his hand for the man to shake. "I'm Harry."

In her eyes, he can see the relief and the gratitude she has for him saving her from this. It tells him that she'll explain later, but thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

The other man doesn't even take the hand he offers, so he lets his fall back to his side without another word.

Owen says, "You're really going out with this dude? C'mon, you can't just lead a guy on and then ghost him."

On the tip of her tongue are the words she doesn't say, words telling him that the reason he was ghosted was due to that traumatic day in June. She wants to throw it in his face so badly, but she doesn't. Anna and Rosie are too close for her to do it without them hearing and asking questions, so she simply stares daggers at him for a second or so before deciding what she's going to do.

"Actually, I can."

She turns her back on him.

Two soft hands flatten against Harry's chest to push him away from where the other man stands until they're on the other side of her friends, who're all quick to build a wall between them and him. It makes him laugh when she ignores him so bluntly, not even deigning to offer anything more than those three words. But he doesn't get the chance to look at Owen's face for a reaction. His face is behind turned away by the guidance of a smaller hand grasping him by the chin, and he has little time to think before her lips are on his.

This time, he is the one who stands there in shock for a second before kissing back. Perhaps it's payback for the unexpected kiss at the strip club, but, even if it is, he enjoys it. He likes this form of payback more than she'll ever know, not because he loves her the way he loves Lola but because of what it's doing to Owen. Putting men like that in their place is always a delight no matter how the job is done.

The bridge of the song explodes into the joyous sound of a choir parroting the lyrics sung earlier during the chorus, and he quickly goes from standing still in shock to kissing her back. Fervently. His hands squeeze her hips hard enough to bruise the soft skin beneath the fabric and uses them to bring their bodies closer together. If she thought that the kiss at the club where he worked was dizzying, then she was in for a shock. That was the least of his capabilities.

She hears her friends, likely all of them if she has to guess, whooping and cheering as they kiss one another as though they'll die if they don't. His tongue brushes against her lower lip in a request for permission, and, just like that, her lips fall open for him. The flavor of the Jack and Coke lingering on his tongue as it invades her mouth is pleasant. It makes her kiss him harder and push her tongue into his mouth for a better taste, using it to pretend like she's desperate and needy for him.

They keep kissing, blind to everything around them, until long after Owen has left. Feeling her body pressed up against his stirs the sensation of arousal in between her thighs that she has never felt so strongly when seeking pleasure by herself. This is what inevitably causes her to force herself off of him, hands braced on his shoulders, to look over at the empty spot where Owen once stood.

As soon as they part, Ella and Rosie are grabbing them by the wrists and pulling them into the group to dance. Anna shouts over the thumping music to tell Harry how amazing it was to see someone put "the stalker" in his place for once, but he doesn't respond with anything other than a laugh she hardly hears. The other girls are too busy trying to dance with them to allow them a spare second to speak.

His hands never leave Y/N's hips as they sway and sing along together. Ella is in front of her, as per usual, and her arms are draped over her shoulders to dance with her from the front while he moves behind her. Smushed between Harry and Ella's bodies, she grinds her ass against him and matches her friend's movements flawlessly, which, she thinks, is one perk of being an ice dancer. She never fumbles when it comes to dancing with her friends on nights out.

She throws her hands up in the air as she chants to the song with the rest of them, "Just like a prayer, I'll take you there!" and allows her arms to then fall back around his neck. It keeps him from pulling away, not that he wants to, and he guides her hips to move similarly to how he's supposed to for the salacious choreography of their free dance.

At this moment, she smiles—a genuine, true smile—for the first time in weeks, and it's all because of tonight's success. Because of Harry and how well he's doing with her friends. So, she lets herself be happy for now.

Even if it is a lie.

-

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you enjoyed this :)

[guilty-pleasures21]

The perfect guy

Ahh! We're almost at the end of it, guys!!! Trying to finish up the last part so I can post it on Monday! Thanks for sticking around for this long!

The project

The new guy

The lie

The new body

The hospital

The first time

The suit

The virus

The escape

Warnings: intention to rape is mentioned, but it does not occur.

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     Miguel scrabbled at The Vulture's back for purchase, trying to hold on as the villain flew around the city. “You came up with a way to fly and this is what you choose to use it for?!”

     “Get off you … parasite!” The Vulture yelled back at him, ignoring Miguel's disbelieving tone. Miguel pulled himself higher up the man's back, finally getting a good grip on his wings, then he clung onto The Vulture's neck firmly.

     “Technically, spiders aren't classified as ‘parasites’, so you're gonna have to come up with a better insult than that,” he pointed out, tightening his hold on The Vulture's neck. The villain flapped his wings desperately, trying to fling Miguel off his back so he could breathe again. But Miguel held on tight, refusing to let go. 

     “Be careful, Miguel!” X warned him over the comms unit. “Don't kill him!”

     “I just need to hold on long enough for him to pass out; I'll let go after that, don't worry,” Miguel reassured her, used to her concerned warnings by now. She was so cute how she always worried about him, even when he'd done this so many times already now. The Vulture's movements got weaker as he began to lose consciousness, his wings dropping by his sides tiredly. Then finally, he passed out and the two of them began plummeting to the ground immediately. Miguel shot a web at a nearby fire escape before they could pick up too much speed and swung the two of them to safety, holding tightly to The Vulture's lump form as they dangled from the railing in mid-air. 

     “Maybe this wasn't such a good idea,” Miguel admitted, measuring the distance to the ground to see if it was safe for him to release The Vulture's body. It was probably fine - he'd survive. 

     “You think?!” X exclaimed, her tone furious. He'd have to make it up to her later. Maybe he'd get her some ice cream on his way back - she could never stay mad when ice cream was involved. 

     “Threat has been neutralised,” Miguel affirmed, dropping down to the ground by The Vulture. “Bringing him back to HQ now.” 

     He picked the villain up and secured his wings with his webs, then he hoisted him onto his back and prepared for the journey back to HQ. He'd only taken a single step, however, when suddenly, his fingers relaxed and The Vulture dropped to the ground behind him. “What?”

     Before he could make sense of what had happened, his hand took aim at a passer-by and shot a web at them before pulling them to the ground. 

     “No! Stop!” Miguel exclaimed, a rush of fear spurting through his veins. He tried to grab his wrist with his other hand, but then suddenly jumped up onto the side of a nearby building and smashed the window with his fist. “¡Arañita! Something's wrong!”

     He howled through the shattered window and into the office, then pulled someone out of their seat, tossing them to the ground.

     “Miguel?!” X exclaimed, her voice drenched with panic. “What's happening?! What's wrong?!”

     “I can't … control … myself!” Miguel replied, fighting to regain control of his body. He abandoned the office workers and leaped back out the window to start causing more damage to the street. It was like something else was controlling him - like someone else had taken over his nervous system and was telling his body what to do.

     “Can you locate the part of your brain that's not working?” X suggested, her words coming out in a rush as she puzzled over what might be causing the problem. Miguel did a quick scan of his system, trying to figure out which part of his brain was malfunctioning. His movements slowed a little as he re-routed some of his energy to the task and his brain lit up with an idea. “¡Arañita! I can blackout! Then you can reboot me once my system has reset.”

     She hesitated, not liking the idea of him shutting himself down like that. What if he damaged some part of his brain? What if his body wouldn't work the same way once he came to? What if the military would think there was a fault in her design and then take him away from her? “Are you sure you can't perform an isolated shutdown? Of the part of your brain that isn't working?” 

     Miguel smashed a car, then flipped it over onto a café, narrowly avoiding hurting any of the alarmed diners inside. “It'll take more time!”

     She didn't reply, still thinking it over.

     “¡¿Arañita?!” Miguel exclaimed, terrified now that he'd end up hurting someone soon. 

     “Okay!” she finally relented, unable to find another solution. “Do it! But transfer your consciousness back to your original system first!”

     “Got it! Transferring now.” He started the process of uploading his brain back to his original memory drive back at their place, his movements turning more sluggish as his control centre began to shut down. Then he opened his eyes and he was looking at her through a screen again, his programming devoid of all the physical emotions his physical body had granted him. “X? What happened?” 

     She didn't respond, instead grabbing her coat and racing out the door. Miguel jumped over to her phone, following after her as she ran down the corridor and into the lift. 

     “You have a virus - someone must have infiltrated your system and put it there,” she informed him, smashing the button impatiently, desperate to get to his body before anyone else could. She couldn't lose him, not like this, she couldn't let them take him away from her!

     Miguel ran through the implications of her statement, calculating all the possible ways such a situation could have occurred. 

     “Only three people possess the knowledge and capability to do such a thing,” he recited clinically, his voice returning to the monotone it had been before he'd known what it had been like to experience emotions. “You, Margo and … Eddie.” 

     Of course. It was the only thing that made sense. Miguel felt a spark at the realisation - an unpleasant burst of power in his system. Anger; that was what he'd have been feeling if he'd been in his body right then. X rushed out of her apartment and jumped into the nearest taxi she could find. She had to make it there before they did, she had to find him! To save him! She pulled out her phone and her heart leaped into her throat when she saw Miguel’s familiar face on the screen. “Can you still link back to your physical body? Can you find evidence of who did it?”

     She was panicking: he didn't need to analyse her expression to know that was what she was experiencing right now. He remained silent as he chased the link to his physical body and managed a weak connection back to his body. “It's weak, but I've got it.”

     “Scan your brain! Now!” X commanded. She threw whatever cash she had at the taxi driver, then jumped out of the car and dashed over to the general area in which Miguel had passed out. “Upload all the files you can!” There! By the café! She raced over to him, but her heart froze in her chest when she saw all the armoured vehicles pulling up at the scene of the crime.

     “I've got him! I've got him!” she reassured them, jumping on top of his body before they could stop her. She placed her fingers on his neck, checking for his pulse, then allowed herself a breath of relief when she felt the faint beating of his heart.

     “I … I'm getting closer …” Miguel told her, working on decoding the programme he’d discovered had been uploaded to his brain. But then Dr Connors stepped out of the nearest vehicle and approached X curiously. 

     “X? What happened?” She wiped her tears away, not wanting him to see how upset she was. 

     “He's been attacked: someone sabotaged his programme,” she revealed, unable to completely hide the anger in her voice. “We're assessing the damage now.”

     Dr Connors pursed his lips in thought as he knelt down beside X. He placed two fingers on Miguel's neck and the creases in his forehead deepened when he felt how weak his pulse was. He stood and turned to the soldiers waiting behind him. “Get him in the car.”

     She stayed close by Miguel as they carried him into the back of one of the vans. His hand remained gripped tightly in hers as they drove through the city back to HQ, their fingers firmly intertwined with one another’s. 

     “Any updates?” Dr Connors asked, not missing the desperation with which X clutched onto Miguel’s hand. She pulled out her phone with her free hand.

     “Miguel? Dr Connors is asking if you have any updates.” If he’d had a heart, it would have squeezed at how upset she sounded, her voice soft and terrified, her eyes wet and her nose red as she looked at him hopefully.

     “I've found the virus,” Miguel confirmed, running through the information he’d managed to collect. “Its creator named it ‘venom’. It took over the motor centre of my brain and controlled my movements.”

     X tightened her grip on Miguel's hand, but kept her voice calm. “Can you get rid of it?”

     “Yes, I … I'm eliminating it now,” Miguel informed her. “It’ll take me five minutes, then I'll be ready to go back to my body.”

     “No.” X’s heart stopped at Dr Connors’s proclamation. She peeked up at him in question, terrified. “We will be disposing of this body. It's clear that the experiment failed; how are we supposed to build an army of soldiers that can be hacked by the enemy?”

     No. No, no, no, no, no! This couldn’t be happening, this … “B-But … But … It wasn't the enemy! The hack came from inside our team! No one has the ability to do something like that except someone who knows Miguel's programming!”

     Dr Connors’s jaw tightened at X’s insistence. “Do you have evidence?”

     “Miguel?” She turned to her phone, frantic, needing some reason with which she could convince them to save the love of her life. Miguel hesitated. 

     “I'm … trying to trace the origins …” He sifted through the fingerprint of the virus, trying to figure out where it came from. Then finally, he found the source. “No match.”

     No match? Her breathing became shallower as the panic spread its claws through her system. No, he had to have found it: he was the most intelligent programme that had ever been invented to date! There was no way he wouldn’t have been able to trace its source. “What?! But … But it must have some sort of fingerprint! You … Please! Please, Miguel? Please …”

     His code started to slow down at the desperation in her voice - at the tears she wasn't able to hold back anymore - and the link to his body started to fade. But he couldn’t tell them that the virus had come from X’s own tablet: what if they blamed her for sabotaging his programme so she could keep him all to herself? Even if he couldn’t love her now in the same way he had in his body, he still couldn’t bear the thought of her getting hurt. “No match.”

     “Well, in that case,” Dr Connors opened the door once the car had stopped moving, “I'm afraid we're going to have to shut down the project and conduct a thorough investigation of everyone involved.”

     He stepped out of the car and gestured to the soldiers waiting for further instruction. “Move the body to the isolation room.”

     “N-No …” X watched as they took her love away from her, completely powerless to stop them.

     Eddie adjusted his bouquet of flowers, wanting to make sure everything was just perfect. This was it! This was finally his chance. Now, there was absolutely nothing that could stand in the way of him getting what he wanted. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, then he reached out and knocked on the door.

     “Querida,” Miguel called to X from the corner of her screen. “There’s someone at the door.”

     “Hmm?” she asked, distracted by lines of code running across her computer screen. “Who?” She’d barely moved from her desk for the last few days, only getting up to refill her bottle or eat or go to the toilet whenever he switched everything off and forced her to. Then again, no one ever said it was going to be easy to break into a military base. Miguel disappeared for a moment as he went to check her doorbell camera. Then the lights in her house started flickering with his rage.

     “Eddie,” Miguel informed her, returning back to her screen. X frowned at the sudden lapse in electricity. 

     “Miguel!” she chastised him. “No blackouts!”

     If he could have, he would have sighed right then. But without the ability to breathe, all he could do was settle for lowering his voice in disappointment. “No blackouts, querida.”

     X returned to her work, studiously ignoring the incessant ringing and knocking at the door. But she remained frozen in position with her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed: she had an idea.

     “What are you thinking, querida?” Miguel asked. Her heart squeezed at the word - like it did every time he said it - and she felt the tears begin to build up at the edges of her already swollen eyes. But she swallowed them down quickly: she had to be strong, she had to keep it together so she could save him. X cleared her throat and lifted her head, but Miguel noticed the way her voice cracked when she spoke.

     “What if … What if I can get something out of him?” she suggested carefully, knowing he’d hate the idea. “An admission or something? Can you record him while he’s here?”

     “Yes. But I don’t want you to do that: it’s too dangerous,” Miguel added quickly, his voice firm. X looked up at him with her puffy eyes, red nose and quivering lips: she was in pain. The kind of pain that couldn’t be solved with medication, but Miguel kept his pixels arranged into a stern expression. Of course he wanted his body back - it was like hell, having to be trapped back in the unfeeling void of the cloud - but at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it if she got hurt. And that b*stard Eddie definitely wouldn’t hesitate to hurt her.

     “I don’t care,” X insisted, her voice wobbling with the tears she’d been unable to hold back. “My life means nothing without you in it, mi amor.”

     His code slowed down, slower than it had ever gone down to before - it had started doing that a lot lately; ever since he’d been forced back into his intangible form and made to watch from a distance as she cried herself to sleep every night. “I’ll call the police if he so much as breathes on you.”

     X inhaled deeply, trying to compose herself before she got up to confront her biggest enemy. Then she nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

     She headed over to her door, clenching and unclenching her fists to work out her emotions - a habit she’d picked up from Miguel. Then she opened the door.  “Eddie? What are you doing here?”

     Her voice cracked as she spoke and Eddie stretched his smile wider to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

     “I came to check on you. How are you holding up?” God, she was even wearing his shirt, the large top hanging from her small frame like an oversized sweater. But she’d get over him soon enough - he hadn’t even been real, after all, what could he have possibly known about loving someone? 

     X took the flowers reluctantly - she didn’t like flowers; they’d attract insects and she’d never been very good with plants, so they’d probably die really quickly too. What she did like were chocolates; like the box of assorted ones Miguel would always get her. And then regret almost immediately whenever she started binge-eating them. But he’d still get them for her anyway, always a sucker for that elated smile she’d give him whenever he showed up with them after a mission.

     “Um …” She let her sentence trail off, not knowing what kind of response would most put Eddie at ease. But he didn’t seem to care, instead pushing past her to take a look around her apartment. 

     “This your place?” he asked, his lips curling at the yellow walls and green cabinets and red sofa - it was like a rainbow had vomited in her house. “It’s … cosy.”

     X followed his gaze around her place. She hadn’t been so bold before, but Miguel had liked being able to see all the vast array of colours decorating the real world. So, they’d spent a weekend re-painting her apartment - their apartment - together. She set the flowers down on the kitchen island and hopped up into one of the seats. Eddie cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. 

     “Have you eaten anything?” he asked. “There’s this place nearby tha-”

     “I’m not hungry,” X interrupted quickly. She lowered her gaze as she hugged herself, her heart aching at the memory of all the nearby cafés she and Miguel had explored. He’d always pretend not to notice the foam coating his upper lip whenever he took the first sip of his drink, just because of how it made her laugh to see it. Then he’d wipe most of it off, leaving just enough for her to lean across the table and lick the rest off of his lips. Strong, she had to be strong for him, she reminded herself quietly. “Have you eaten anything?”

     It had been a whole week and she was still sulking around about that damned AI of hers?! He didn’t know such an intelligent and cheery woman could become so pathetic because of a robot. But then again, she was still just a woman. “Uh, no, I … I thought I’d check in on you first.”

     “Oh.” Her eyes flickered back to the ground again, then she got up and went over to the fridge. “I can …” She pulled open the door to find a few leftovers from some of the meals Miguel had so lovingly prepared for her. But no way in hell was she going to let Eddie touch any of them. She shut the door, then turned back to him and fidgeted with her fingers.

     “Do you want some water?” she offered instead. Eddie strode over to her and pulled her into his chest, patting her back soothingly. 

     “Hey. It’ll be all right,” he reassured her. “You’re too brilliant to let this get you down. Trust me, you’ll forget all about it once you get back in that lab.” X clenched her fists against his chest, trying to keep her temper in check. 

     “Right.” He released his hold on her and she took a moment to make her expression vulnerable before she looked up at him. “But … whoever put that virus in Miguel’s system is way smarter than me! I’ll … I wish someone like that could teach me how to get better. I know my programming work isn’t very strong.” She wiped a stray tear away and gave a little sniff to make herself seem that much more pathetic. 

     Eddie smirked at the praise. All she really wanted was someone who could take care of her - someone who could look after her and be strong for her. Someone like him. “Hey, you’ll get better over time. You just gotta practise.”

     “But I have been practising!” she insisted, her dark eyes round and pleading as she looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “They’re going to fire me if I’ve got nothing to show for it. And then we won’t be able to work together anymore. If I could just find the genius who did it and get some tips, maybe I could …”

     He’d stopped listening after she’d called him a ‘genius’. If that was all it would have taken to gain her approval, then he’d have hacked into that shitty AI weeks ago! “Well, you might be in luck, sweetheart.”

     “Hmm?” It couldn’t have been that easy - he couldn’t already be prepared to give up his secrets now. X’s heart pounded in her chest as she waited for what she hoped was his confession. God, she hoped Miguel was recording this.

     Eddie grinned and brushed a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. She really was so pretty; he hoped that goddamned AI hadn’t defiled her already. But then again, what could that robot possibly have known about what it took to please a woman? “I might be able to teach you a few things … considering I was the one who planted that virus into his system.” 

     Her eyes widened at his revelation. She’d known he’d done it - even after Miguel had shown her the evidence of the virus having originated from her own tablet - but she was still a little taken aback by his quick confession. “W-What? How?! You would have needed access to-”

     “His code?” He flashed her a smug smile. “I found your tablet lying around at your lab bench - I was going to return it, but then I thought I might just test out my latest creation. I call it ‘venom’. ‘Cause it takes over your entire system and basically poisons it. Get it?” He chuckled at his own cleverness, completely oblivious to the fact that he’d just given her all the proof she needed. The vulnerable expression fell from X’s face. 

     “Miguel?”

     “Got it, querida.” 

     Eddie swivelled around, trying to locate the source of Miguel’s familiar voice. “What?”

     X gestured to the door, finished with her act. “You can go now.”

     “What do you mean? Where’s that AI?!” Eddie pushed X back against the counter, trapping her in position as he glared at her. “What did you do?!”

     X winced at his aggressiveness and pushed against his chest. “Let me go, Eddie!”

     “No! You shut up, you dumb b*tch!” He grabbed onto the hem of her shirt, done with being patient with her. “I’ve been playing nice so far, but I’m sick and tired of your delusional feelings for that … that robot you’ve become obsessed with!” X gripped onto Miguel's shirt tightly, trying to stop Eddie from ripping it off of her.

     “Don’t you dare speak to her that way!” Miguel exclaimed, the electricity in the building flickering and sparking with his rage. Where was the goddamned military when he actually wanted them there?!

     “Get lost, Eddie! Leave me alone!” X squirmed around, trying to free herself from Eddie's grasp. But then knelt on the ground and pulled her sweatpants down to her ankles. 

     “Ahh!” She climbed onto the seat behind her and pushed herself backwards onto the countertop to crawl away from him. “What the hell are you doing?! Leave me alone, you f*cking psycho!”

     “Get away from her! The police are already on their way!” Miguel warned Eddie, never having felt so helpless in his existence. Eddie snorted dismissively.

     “I don’t give a shit,” he replied, climbing onto the countertop to chase after X. “Tonight, it’s my turn to get what I want.”

     X kicked her legs at him, not caring if he saw her underwear as long as she could stop him from laying a single finger on her. “No!”

     Suddenly, the door to X's apartment flew open and a group of men fitted in military gear rushed into the entryway. “Eddie Brock? You’re under arrest. Get away from the lady and raise your hands in the air.”

     One of the men raised his gun and aimed it at Eddie gesturing for him to get down on the ground. Eddie shot him a questioning look. “What the f*ck?!”

     “If you do not cooperate, we will use force on you,” the soldier warned him, keeping his weapon fixed on Eddie. Eddie gritted his teeth and began sliding off the countertop. 

     “Fine! Fine!” He lowered himself to his knees, keeping his hands raised in the air to show that he wasn't a threat. The group of soldiers surrounded him quickly and one of them slapped a pair of handcuffs onto his wrists. 

     “X?” Dr Connors's voice wafted into her thoughts as he entered her apartment. “Are you all right?” His expression was concerned as he strode over to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. X kept her attention focused on the scene unfolding in front of her, utterly bewildered.

     “I'm fine, thank you. But Eddie …?” 

     “Your AI was showing us a live feed of everything that was happening,” Dr Connors revealed to her. “He was threatening to shut down the entirety of our electrical supply if we didn’t cooperate.” His lips curled with disgust at the thought, but X didn't notice it beneath the relief that swept through her at the sound of his name. 

     “You can bring him back, right?” she asked hopefully. “You can bring Miguel back? You’ve already got Eddie, so …” The threat had been neutralised, as Miguel would always report, so there was no danger of Miguel being forced to go rogue again. Everything had been taken care of and they could give him back to her now. Dr Connors sucked in a breath.

     “I’m afraid not, X.” He peeked over her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of the computer she’d been operating from while they'd suspended her from HQ during their investigation of the hack. “If anything, this whole situation has proven to us how extremely dangerous such technology is. I’m afraid we’re going to have to confiscate all your research. For safety purposes.” He waved a pair of the soldiers towards X’s bedroom, gesturing for them to take away her computer, then turned his attention back to her.

     “W-What? No!” she argued, her heart thundering in her chest with fear. “No, you can’t! Miguel!” She ran over to her bedroom, determined to stop them, but they overpowered her easily and removed her computer before carrying it out of her apartment. 

     “Miguel!” X sobbed, sinking to her knees in defeat. She felt even more helpless now than the first time they’d stolen him away from her. Dr Connors sighed and gave her a pat on the head.

     “We’ll make sure you get an excellent job - far away from any government or intelligence services, of course, but the absolute best our connections can offer you.” He looked around her apartment, devoid now of anything she could possibly use to contact Miguel. Then he exited her apartment, leaving her completely alone for the first time in almost a decade. X remained curled up on the floor, gasping for breath as her heart squeezed in her chest. 

     “¿Querida?” X froze at the sound of Miguel's voice. Her phone! Her phone that was in the pocket of her sweatpants that Eddie had ripped off of her!

     “Miguel?!” She reached over and grabbed her phone, then began crying tears of relief when she saw that he was all right. “How are you still here? Your control centre-”

     “I transferred some of it to your phone and scattered the rest of it around the cloud,” he told her, the screen dimming as he took in the pained look on her face. “I’m still here, mi amor.”

     X took in a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down enough to speak. “I love you, Miguel.”

     “I love you too, mi arañita,” he replied softly. Then his expression turned into one of determination. “But you have to get my body back.”

     “How?” X asked. “They took it-”

     “They’re keeping me locked up in the isolation room on base,” he informed her, scanning through the blueprints he'd acquired. Well, ‘stolen’ would probably be a more appropriate word. “I can hack into their security system and give you access to the high clearance areas, but I’ll only be able to hold them off for about two minutes before they discover there’s been a breach in their system. Then it’ll take them at least another fifteen minutes to figure out where the breach is coming from, but ten for them to run through the base and find you. You’ll need to connect my body to your phone so I can reupload my consciousness and we can get out of there. ¿Me entiendes, mi querida?”

     X felt her sorrow begin to subside as her brain went into puzzle-solving mode. “Wait, so, I’ll need to find some other way to get into the base itself?”

     “Yes. It’s too risky for me to give you access to the low clearance areas - they’ll find you almost immediately. You’re going to have to steal an access card. Can you do that?”

     “Yes,” she replied immediately. Anything, she’d do anything for him. “Then when I get to you, how long will you need to upload?”

     That was the tricky part. “Seven minutes. At least.”

     That would only leave them three minutes to get out of there - if everything went according to plan. X chewed on her lip nervously. “You don’t have any backup plans?”

     He’d run through every single possibility, but this had been the only one that had turned up a successful result. This or creating him a whole new body and they didn’t have the resources to do that anymore. “No. This is the only way.”

     Whatever it took, whatever it took to get him back, she’d do it. He was her everything and no way in hell was she going to let anyone take him away from her. X took in a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Tags: @jadeloverxd @migshusben

[hezekiahwakely]

After spending literally multiple days and nights listening to hours of new music, here are my thoughts on what the Protocol playlists might tell us about the characters. I'm gonna break it down by large themes and I'm putting it under a read more bc I don't know how to not ramble about this. its SO MUCH

Gwendolyn Bouchard 👁️

Hers is the most self-explanatory. Girlboss is girlbossing and paying for it. But I did pick up several nuances.

Gwen is: Cold, power-hungry, and ambitious (you should see me in a crown, Are You Satisfied?, Severance theme). Suffering from her own hubris (Oh No!, Gasoline). Resentful and envious, especially about family, wealth, and power (Family Jewels, 24 hours, Warriors). Touching the dark and being supernaturally influenced (Mr. Bonzo theme, Evil Eye, We Don't Talk About Bruno, Making Love to the Dead).

Special mention to the 'daddy's money' reference in 24 hours.

Samama Khalid 😶‍🌫️

Sam makes ridiculously long playlists, like me, so this entry is gonna be long, but the emotional vibes were pretty easy to pick out once I got through it.

Sam is: Straight chillin' to some lo-fi beats, desi hip hop, and melodic bops (literally too many to list but, Remind Me, Forgive the Mess, 93 'Til Infinity, Magpie, Fire Sale, Iniesta Flow, I Guess, Prarthana, Hai Hai, etc., etc.). Rebellious (The Adults Are Talking, Reptilia). Bonded with someone (Halo Flip, soulboy). Yearning, romantic, and playful (Girl Like You, Mr. Sandman, New House, Meteor, You Only Live Once, Be Your Girl, Dear Jean, Say The Word, My Girl/Hey Girl, Smiley, The Real Sugar). Reminiscing about a break-up (Oui, Afterparty Lover, Last Nite, Stick Season, Turn off the Lights, Jessie (i miss you), WONDERING, Afterthought, I Love You, I'm Trying). Full of regrets, pain, and melancholy bitterness (Seasons, Can't Call It, Let It Go, nightmares, Pretty Insane, different tomorrow..., Cigarette Daydreams, CABIN FEVER, Self destruct, Go Back, Stuck Here With Me, Bliss City). Alienated, yet wanting to be alone (uh-oh) (Creep, Alone, Stone cold., Paint it, Black).

Special shout-out to all the implications about the old Sam/Alice relationship. And I'm especially worried by the potential meanings of Downside Up, Let It Go, Go Back, and Stuck Here With Me.

Also, interesting that there's a lyric-free track just called 'drained' at the end of his playlist. I'm sure that's fine.

Alice Dyer 🌀

Oh my girl. What is going on with you. She has impeccable and predictable taste, at least. But... then there's the Ominous Implications again...

Alice is: Rebellious, anarchic, and irreverent (Underclass Hero, Toxicity, Tribute, Buddy Holly, Dragostea din tei, Feel Good Inc., Piss Off, Rebel Rebel, Ghost Town, Brimful of Asha, Surrender, Uncle Walter, United States of Whatever). Blasting high-confidence power anthems (Material Girl, Therefore I Am, Jump, Bad Reputation, The Middle). Depressed behind a mask of high energy and false cheeriness (SugarCrash!, Mad World, Bathroom Floor). Yearning after someone's love (A.M. 180, Zombie Love Song, Nearer Than Heaven, Save Tonight, Ms. California, Because I Love You, Fell In Love With A Girl, Take Me Out). Reminiscing about a break-up (Ciao!, Built This Way, Kidz 'N' Stuff, FRIENDS, Free Fallin', Not In Love, Who Knew, Song for the Dumped, When It All Falls Apart, Laid, Complicated). Feeling crazy and overwhelmed (uh-oh) (Basket Case, In Too Deep, Bonkers, I'm A Robot, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, 19-2000, Wonderland, High, Undone, Cosmic Castaway). Creeped out and brushing up against the supernatural (Walking On Air, The Blue Wrath, Pet Sematary).

Oooh. Oh, the implications. The Sam/Alice break-up. The potential for feelings that remain. I HAVE to know what happened between them.

Also, here are some select lines from five Alice songs presented without comment: "Yeah, I'm a zombie, baby," "I'm a robot, I'm a robot/I don't have any feeling in my heart," "I don't wanna be buried in a Pet Sematary/I don't want to live my life again," "Take me down, six underground/The ground beneath your feet," "Walking like a zombie, like a zombie."

I'm sure that's all fine.

Celia Ripley 🕸️

The most mysterious new member of the OIAR, her music choices are appropriately enigmatic. The Vibes make me excited to see what she's hiding under the surface.

Celia is: Raring for a fight (Seven Nation Army, Rumble, know your place, Run from Me). Fed up with the system (Blood//Water, Run You). Bold, sexy, headstrong, and self-confident (Creature, Took A Trip, River, Do It For Me, Aerials, Uber). Struggling against supernatural influence, feeling trapped and helpless (Mama! There's a Spider in My Room, Where Is My Mind?, I Feel Like I'm Drowning, Closer, Space Dementia, Rain)

So we've all but confirmed the theory that she's from the OG Archives timeline and that she has continuing ties to the Web from passing through Hill Top Road. I think we have hints here that she's manipulating the others, but I also think there are signs that she's fighting her own battle against an evil trying to take her. There also seems to be an overarching theme of water in many of her songs for some reason 🤔

I can't wait to get more of Celia. Even if she is lying, I'm rooting for her (<hoping this doesn't come back to bite me in the ass)

In conclusion, I love them all already your honor, and I want to thank the cast for putting such loving care into crafting these for us. Thank you for such great food to feed our wild theorizing.

[anxious-introvert22]

PJO Halloween Trade

I participated in the @pjo-halloween-trade and wrote a fic for @sketchtheinfinity ! I hope you enjoy it!

“So what was this about the skeletons?” Piper asked Hazel during their three-way call with Annabeth. Hazel’s eyes widened as she began her story.

“It was so strange! I was in town with Frank the other day and I saw that one of the stores had all these skeletons outside! At first, I thought I’d accidentally summoned them, but Frank said it was for Halloween. Isn’t it a little early though?” Annabeth chuckled ruefully.

“You would think,” She replied, “But I bet stores will start putting out Christmas stuff in a few weeks.” Hazel furrowed her eyebrows in disbelief.

“But why so early?”

“Capitalism.” Annabeth and Piper answered in unison. Hazel nodded, slightly confused, and continued.

“Honestly it shouldn’t be a surprise, but it’s sure changed a lot since the last time I was alive.” This peaked Annabeth’s interest, judging from her raised eyebrow.

“What was Halloween like in the thirties and forties?”

“Oh, the community would have big parties and the older boys would pull all sorts of crazy stunts!”

“Did people trick-or-treat back then,” Piper asked.

“Well,” Hazel said, “A little bit, but I never did. My mother wouldn’t let me. I can’t imagine what the other kids would’ve tried to do to the “witch’s”daughter.” There were many things Hazel had opened up to them about growing in the South during the thirties that were hard to hear, and that was up there. 

“Gods that’s awful,” Piper replied, “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Hazel gave a half-hearted smile and shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m glad things have changed. So tell me more about modern Halloween!” 

“Oh, I’m not the best person to ask,” Annabeth admitted with a slight grimace, “I never really had what you’d call the ‘normal’ Halloween experience,” She said with air quotes. 

“What, Camp doesn’t do stuff for Halloween?” Given the vibe of Camp Half Blood and its inhibitors, Piper was sure they would’ve gone all out for Halloween.

“Well, we do,” Annabeth said, “Cabin 5 liked to scare people in the woods by jumping out on them in costumes before too many people got sent to the infirmary. And the campers in Cabin 11 would always steal a bunch of candy and scary movies, but I never really went trick-or-treating.” 

“Hmm, that makes sense,” Piper responded, “Plus you’re a pretty powerful demigod.” Annabeth rolled her eyes with mirth.

“That, and my dad was always too busy.” Piper laughed sarcastically.

“Isn’t this sad, we’ve all had bad experiences with Halloween.” Annabeth and Hazel looked at her in confusion. 

“What do you mean,” Hazel asked, “What’s gone wrong for you?” Piper sighed before answering.

“Well, when I was younger it was fine, but then I realized how many people would appropriate Native Americans by ‘dressing up’ as them with feathers and facepaint and it just makes me so mad! It’s a culture, not a costume! Anyways, it’s kind of been ruined for me ever since.” Hazel frowned in sympathy.

“That must be really frustrating.” “Yeah,” Annabeth said, “It’s just a caricature.” There was silence for a minute before Hazel broke it.

“What if we had our own Halloween,” She suggested, “I know I’m not familiar with modern Halloween practices and it’d been hard to get together-”

“That’s a great idea,” Piper exclaimed, “We can have a Halloween movie marathon and eat candy and… I don’t know, what do you think, Annabeth?” 

“I’d loved that,” Annabeth replied with a smile, “the Demeter campers would grow pumpkins for Jack-o-Lanterns, would you two be interested in carving pumpkins?” Piper grinned.

“I like your style.”

“I have to go soon, but let’s figure the details out later,” Hazel said.

“Okay, but who’s going to remember?”

“Don’t worry,” Annabeth said, “I jotted some stuff.”

“Again, I like your style,” Piper said.

[gwenllian-in-the-abbey]

I saw your post about book!Aegon and I kinda find it funny how the show didn't actually write aegon ii based on how he is in the book, but they instead took many charactaztions from Aerys the mad and Aegon the unworthy and mix it in one character in the show and called it a day. I am not even a fan of the greens in general but show!Aegon ii is colser to Aegon iv and Aerys ii than to book!Aegon ii

I'm sorry it took me so long to answer this anon!

There's a lot I could say about show!Aegon II and I struggle with this one because there's certainly some disconnect between the character as described by the writers and Tom Glynn-Carney, and how the majority of the viewers perceived him. I don't think the writers are intentionally borrowing from Aegon IV and Aerys II, but I do think that if they didn't intend for him to be a sadist or an irredeemable sack of shit, which is what they claim, the writers have been kind of careless as to how they go about that.

What's interesting is that I remember watching when the show first aired, and the reactions to young Aegon were quite positive going into episode eight. Young show!Aegon is quite entertaining (window wanking aside), friendly enough with the Strong boys (fans had not latched onto the whole "Aemond was a victim of lifelong bullying" narrative quite yet at that point), expresses quite clearly that he doesn't want to challenge Rhaenyra, is manhandled, yelled at, kicked, and slapped around by adults in almost every scene he appears in, is developing an alcohol problem at the ripe old age of thirteen, is betrothed much too young to his sister when he clearly doesn't want to marry her, and finally sees his brother lose his eye and gets thrown under the bus for it. Like, on a base level the show had built a lot of audience sympathy and goodwill towards him, and then they burned that goodwill in an instant with the Dyana scene, and then burned it further with the child fighting pit scenes (and boy they really missed the mark there because a good portion of the audience seemed to think Aegon runs the child fighting pits, or that he "forces" his bastards to fight there), which is such a bizarre choice. The time jump doesn't help. It's our first introduction to Tom Glynn-Carney's Aegon and his portrayal is just oozing with pathos (and really, hats off to him for that, he is the sole reason grown up show!Aegon is even mildly sympathetic) but there's so little screentime with him that it's hard to connect that kid asking his mother "do you love me" and crying at his own coronation (who is very much the kid who said he wouldn't challenge Rhaenyra and who said, "just look at them, everyone knows") with the same guy who supposedly watches child fights and rapes the maids.

That said, when you recall that the showrunners have reiterated the idea that the real conflict in the show is between Alicent and Rhaenyra and they want the show to center around them, it makes more sense in that those moments in episode eight are not really about Aegon at all, they're about Alicent. Alicent pays off Dyana, Alicent is angry with Aegon and says "you're no son of mine," and that leads directly to Alicent's attempted reconciliation with Rhaenyra-- she's fed up with this man child of hers and maybe the realm should just have a queen! Aegon is just a tool to get Alicent's character to a certain point that she never got to in the first place in the source material, a position Alicent almost immediately reverses because the source plot demands it. And this I think is one of the problems with HotD's inconsistent characterization overall, is that they're trying to fit characters into a narrative space that they weren't originally written to occupy.

And I understand that they were never going to make Aegon a protagonist, and that the showrunners are likely not likely gutsy enough to do a Succession style narrative where there is no protagonist but where Aegon and Rhaenyra are both equally flawed people, doomed from the start, but sympathetic enough that we can't help but hope against hope that they might escape that doom somehow. However, the Dance is a lot more tragic and compelling on a base level if Aegon is not a total villain but this very troubled guy who never really wanted the throne, feels backed into a corner because he doesn't want his family to die, takes the throne, and with each loss becomes increasingly convinced that he has to win. And they could still do this, but right now the vast majority of this audience just sees him as the rapist asshole brother (who is not even the good brother, that is Aemond who has studied the blade) stealing poor Rhaenyra's birthright for no reason except that he was manipulated by his lying evil mother and her lying evil father, and they see it as very very wrong and unfair since she is obviously a better person and would make a better ruler, just like Dany. To me, the latter is just not a compelling narrative, and I cannot imagine that the writers believe it's a compelling narrative either, so hopefully they get their characterization under control for season 2.

[wiinestories]

@wrathfulmercy:

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Rick barked back and ignored her damn sassy attitude as if she could handle all on her own. Not much time had passed since he was forced to join the crm and already worked his way up to these kinda missions that more seemed like a suicide commando than anything truly beneficial for the community. Of course he had heard some names, saw some faces and shared a drink or two with some of them, but no one really got the chance to get closer to him. To get to know him cause he didn’t give them a chance and decided it was safer that way. He wasn’t planning on staying at this hell place forever anyways so why should he bond with anyone?

Most of the people on todays mission were unfamiliar to him though cause after he had ranked up so fast, he found himself already out here in this field without really knowing how it would go like, but what he knew for sure was that the woman snarling at him before was fucking reckless. Sure, she might have some fighting skills otherwise she wouldn’t be out here and from what he could watch from afar it was pretty impressive, but that didn’t change the fact that all of this was nearly impossible to manage especially on your own. Even he knew that. Heads fell, blood was spilled, grunts were spreading in the air but the only thing Rick really focused on was running after that stranger whose face was hidden under her mask. Her voice sounded dull and wasn’t recognizable, but something about the way she moved reminded him of someone he knew and didn’t allow him to turn away. The way she carried herself. The way she ran and walked. The way her voice turnt into that sassy tone. It wasn’t surprising that she made it that far, but right now it felt like she was out here to never come back. “Watch out!” he suddenly called out as a walker attacked her from behind, arms tightly around her upper body to block her movement while his teeth were coming dangerously close to her neck. With a jump forward, Rick slit the walkers throat to rip its head off and pulled his torso back from her so it could fall to the ground. Before she could even say a thing, another walked right into her and dragged her to the ground so Rick smashed his rifle across its head so it would roll over.

Out of breath and only as he was sure they were safe for now, he ripped off his helmet with a frown on his face. “What the fuck were you thinking Navarro?” Navarro. Didn’t that name on her tag ring a bell to him? Maybe the adrenaline rushing through his blood was turning him into a mad man here so he pushed that thought away and kneeled down on top of her. “Look at me and fucking explain that. Do you want to die and take us with you or what? This can’t be what you fucking want, is it?” She had to have something to come back to. That something that called for him every night as well and made him fight even harder than before just to find a way out of here. “Don’t you want to come home one day, huh? Look at me.”

Maybe it was the rage, the frustration, the detachment from real connections and despair but he needed to look into her eyes to see what made her go this far and growled before he took off her helmet to throw it away. Anger froze on his face and turnt into something drawn by disbelief, making his eyes blink in denial cause they burnt under all the tension that had built over the last months. “It can’t be.” he murmured and sat up to bring some distance between them again. “Lena?”

-

Elena had survived this long on a mix of confidence, recklessness, and sharp intelligence—qualities that had kept her alive when so many others had fallen. These traits were also what had led her to the CRM after months of aimless wandering, constantly fighting off the relentless walkers that seemed to be the only life left in the world. The CRM had found her when she was on the brink of exhaustion, having fought her way through countless hordes with nothing but sheer willpower and the belief that she had to keep moving, even when there seemed to be nowhere left to go. They offered her shelter, food, and, most importantly, a purpose—a reason to keep fighting beyond mere survival.

But despite the security and structure they provided, Elena found herself constantly at odds with the CRM’s methods. Their rigid hierarchy, their ruthless approach to eliminating any perceived threat, and the secrets they kept gnawed at her. She didn’t trust them, not fully, but in this new world, she had few choices. Trust was a luxury she could no longer afford. Yet, leaving wasn’t an option either. She had no idea if there were other groups out there that would accept her—or if they even existed. The world had grown so vast and empty, filled with dangers at every turn. The CRM was her only lifeline, the only thing standing between her and the endless void of the apocalypse.

Elena had always been one to take risks. It was that unshakable belief in her own abilities that had kept her alive through countless encounters with the undead. But it was also what led her to constantly toe the line between survival and certain death. This time, though, things felt different. The newcomer in their group, a man whose face was hidden behind the same sterile helmet as hers, was a mystery to her. She hadn't yet shared a drink with him, hadn't seen his face or even heard his voice outside the terse exchanges on the battlefield. But there was something about him—something that made her uneasy. His last name, Grimes, echoed in her mind like a ghost from her past, reminding her of a man she once loved deeply: Richard D. Grimes, or Rick, as she had called him during those fleeting moments of happiness.

The resemblance in name was enough to stir old memories, but this new Grimes was nothing like Rick. He was distant and—much to her annoyance—seemed intent on curbing her impulsive tendencies during their missions. His attempts to rein her in only fueled her frustration, leading to a heated exchange where she finally snapped, declaring she’d handle the undead threat nearby on her own. She wasn’t one to follow orders, especially not when she believed she was more than capable of handling herself.

But overconfidence could be deadly, and this time it nearly cost her everything.

She failed to notice the one creeping up behind her until it was too late. The decaying hands gripped her shoulders, its foul breath hot on her neck as it tried to sink its teeth into her flesh. Adrenaline surged through her veins, and she struggled, thrashing her head to keep the walker from biting her. Before she could fully react, the newcomer was there. He moved swiftly, his blade flashing as he slashed through the walker's throat, the dead weight falling to the ground with a sickening thud. Elena barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before another walker emerged from the shadows, grabbing her leg and dragging her to the ground. She hit the dirt hard, the wind knocked out of her as she scrambled to reach her gun. But he was faster—he took down the walker before she could even aim at the undead corpse.

Elena struggled to catch her breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she lay on the cold, hard ground. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else except the sound of her own ragged breathing. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, not as the weight of what just happened settled heavily on her. She had been reckless, and now she was being scolded like a child who'd wandered too close to danger. The embarrassment and anger welled up inside her, mixing with the sharp sting of fear she wasn’t ready to admit. But then, something shifted. She forced herself to lift her gaze, to finally meet his eyes, and when she did, her breath caught in her throat. The world around her seemed to blur, her vision tunneling until all she could see were those familiar features, framed by the harsh lines of the helmet that suddenly seemed all too small, all too revealing. Her emerald eyes widened in shock, her mind struggling to process the impossible sight before her.

It couldn't be.

Her body went rigid, every muscle tensing as if to deny what her eyes were telling her. The man standing before her, the one who had just saved her life and was now scolding her with the authority of someone who had seen too much and lost too many, was none other than Rick Grimes. The same Rick she had loved in the past. Here he was, very much alive, his voice cutting through the haze of disbelief that clouded her mind. It was the same voice she had once found comfort in, now laced with frustration and concern as he berated her for her recklessness. The sound of it, so familiar and yet so foreign after all this time, was like a jolt to her system, grounding her in a reality she wasn’t prepared for.

As Rick tore off her helmet, the world around them seemed to hold its breath. The cold air rushed over her now exposed face, but it was nothing compared to the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. The shock was clear on both their faces, a mirror of disbelief that neither had expected. Elena blinked, her emerald eyes searching his face as if trying to confirm that what she was seeing was real, that this wasn’t some cruel trick her mind was playing on her. The years had etched lines of experience and pain into his features, but it was undeniably him. The same Rick she had known, the man who had once meant everything to her. The man she thought she had lost forever.

“Rick,” she breathed, the name slipping from her lips almost instinctively, as if speaking it aloud would somehow anchor her in this moment. Her voice was soft, tinged with a mix of disbelief and relief, emotions she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in so long. The shock in her eyes began to soften, replaced by a deep, aching familiarity. “It’s been… years,” she continued, her voice catching slightly as the weight of that time pressed down on her. So much had happened, so much had changed, yet here he was, as real and solid as the ground beneath her. “I can’t believe you’re here.”