#she’s the real version of the her she is now

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

I have to agree with Otakuvampyre on this. Fact is I understand why the pictures had the effect they did. And I can explain in detail why. And it's not, "Men can't get women because they are terrible people with bad personalities", like suggested. It's because of the "Before and After" effect that a lot of people make the mistake of doing in pictures. Companies are especially guilty of this. Look the first picture look mellow and or sullen (this can also be accomplished with lighting failures)

So thoughts:

The first image has a large issue with it in general. The lighting on his face is actually brighter than that of the rest of his body, oddly making him look sickly.

The second image has a lot of "Other" types of issues. The lighting of this picture is well lit, but unbalanced. His hair looks more thin in this picture, and the outfit he chose to show off more of his gains, very much show off too much. Making the picture look awkward. This ignoring the MORE obvious bulge in this photo vs the first one.

Now. Let me explain this as I was raised by a family made of 80% women. And by no less than 3 generations of them. The first image is the "Teddy Bear" women like after they done fucking around and want a husband. Proof of this could be seen if you put both of the before and after into suits that fit them within reason. Version one looks like a youth pastor with love handles, version two looks like a lifer and an athlete. At least to people at face value. However, every single time I have watched a movie with women present, and a man takes off his shirt and is ripped, I've heard this inevitable, "Ugh he's so hot". Meanwhile in movies where some of these same men are less shredded, or alternatively one of the main characters is a parody of the "Hero" archetype, when he takes off his shirt, everyone laughs. No one serious, "Mhmm he's hot".

Men are pretty much trained to catch on to this stuff because every single time a shredded man comes on screen or a very LEAN character takes off their shirt, it's swoons across the board.

Long story short? The first picture is the type women "Settle for" the first is the type they fuck. Men see that. Men know that. And pretending it's not real because a few women are exceptions to this rule doesn't make it less true. Trends might well be changing, but if you were to ask most women (18-38) who is hotter between these guys, not much of a contest:

Just bodies alone, most women would simp over the first one. And let me make this very clear. The above ARE considered dad bods. What's more, actions and words speak drastically different.

Example: Woman and her husband, (my buddy) and me all go to the movies. I'm quite literally DRAGGED to this movie. This lad comes on the screen and like fucking clock work, from a lot of women in the theater I hear all the different sounds. Including from my buddies wife.

My buddy talked to me about it later and the one thing he said I remember well is that she always calls him handsome or cute, never hot. And it bothered him. Granted, I'll give a small pass to the post. Generally speaking, unless the face is very attractive, women don't prefer "SHREDDED" men. They prefer fit men. Similar to the look of soccer players:

I love hearing the whole, "Lived Experience" from people on this site who then pretend that men haven't lived their own lives and seen what women swoon over. I myself have only been called hot a handful of times by a handful of women. And those women very much did the same BS of, "Well I love you not them, I just think they are hot", To which my response is, "Ok, looks alone, what exactly is it that makes him hot that disallows me from being called such". A few of them were actually honest and said it was because I was less fit than the men on screen. Others just played if off like no big deal.

Men pay more attention than people think. And we see how rare it is in general for women to go for larger men, unless they are planning to settle. Which men take as, "You are attractive enough to be with, but not attractive enough to fuck for recreation". And realistically? That's not only how we take it. That's what it looks like to anyone not making excuses.

And for the record, before my own personal lunatics come post on this, I have for a long time had a similar body type to the last image I posted above. Prior to that I was muscularly skinny with not enough mass to show abs.

i think the reason a lot of men are screaming, puking, and crying about this is bc it forces them to acknowledge that the reason they can’t get women to like them is not actually bc of their physique but bc of their shitty personality

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Collision 15/20

Summary:

Lando always had a type : blonde, models, not ready to settle down. Yet once he met her, all his world is changed and he slowly start to realises maybe he was wrong all this time.

It's a prequel story of The Cat Distribution System, on how Lando Norris fall in love with Ariana. Could be read seperatly.

Pairing : lando norris x original female character

Genre : SMAU, Fluff, slow burn, enventual smut and angst

Warning : angst, Lando is sad (yes it's a warning)

CHAPTER 15 :

Serie Masterlist

The villa was too quiet. 

The kind of quiet that wasn’t peaceful but tense, sharp-edged, and waiting to explode. 

No one laughed today. No one joked. No soft teasing over breakfast. No sunbathing by the pool. The warmth of Brazil felt foreign now. Wrong. Like it belonged to someone else's story. 

Ariana had locked herself in her room since their fight. 

Lando hadn’t said a word to anyone. 

Not a joke. Not a glance. Not even a sigh. 

Max tried twice to get through to him: once with food, once with sarcasm. Neither worked. Charles suggested they go surfing. Lando didn’t answer. Carlos tried to break the tension by calling him “Romeo, version parano”, but even that landed flat. 

Everyone knew. 

Something had happened. 

Something big. 

Kika stood outside Ariana’s door at least three times, knocking gently. 

“Babe, just tell me if you’re okay.” 

Silence. 

Pietra eventually snapped. “They need to talk.” 

“Not our job to force it,” Max muttered. 

“No,” Kika said, eyes hard, “but it’s our job to stop them from breaking something real.” 

By the time sunset rolled across the sky like fire, the tension in the house had become unbearable. And Kika had enough. 

Lando was pacing in the living room. Ariana hadn’t emerged all day. 

So Kika did what no one else dared. 

She marched upstairs. Knocked on Ariana’s door. “Put on something. Five minutes. You’re talking to him.” 

Then she went straight to Lando, grabbed his wrist, and dragged him like a furious little storm cloud through the house. 

Pierre tried to interfere. She silenced him with a glare. 

“Get. In.” 

She shoved them into the smallest guest room, snapped the door shut behind them, and locked it. 

From the other side: “You’re not getting out until you talk. So fix it. Or burn it down. But decide.” 

Footsteps faded. 

Silence fell. 

Ariana stood near the bed, arms crossed. Lando by the door, fists clenched. 

The space between them felt oceans wide. 

Neither moved. 

Her voice came first, quiet but sharp. “We just have to pretend we’re fine. Then Kika will let us out. I’ll go back to my room, pack my things, and leave first thing tomorrow.” 

His jaw clenched. “Back to Paris.” 

She nodded. “Obviously.” 

“Back to your dear dancer,” he snapped. 

She froze. 

“What?” Her voice was hollow. 

Lando laughed, humorless and mean. “Isn’t that what this is? You come here, say all the right things, play with me for a week, and then go back to the guy you never stopped seeing.” 

She stared at him. 

He kept going, voice getting louder, sharper. “He’s the one, right? The one from the photos. The one you said was nothing. You still with him, aren’t you? Just couldn’t resist the thrill of sneaking around?” 

Her voice cracked. “Lando—” 

He cut her off. “Was I just a fun distraction?” 

Silence. 

Her tears welled instantly, blurring her vision. 

She took a shaky step forward. “Do you really think… I’m cheating on my ‘boyfriend’ to be with you?” 

He didn’t answer. 

“Do you really think,” she whispered, voice shaking, “that I would say all of that, do all of that, travel across the world to be here with you… if I was still with someone else?” 

Still silence. 

Lando stared at the floor, chest heaving. 

She let out a breathless, hurt laugh. “You don’t even see me.” 

“You never said anything,” he muttered. “You never explained. You refused to talk about him. I had to find out online.” 

“So that’s your excuse?” she shouted suddenly. “You believe Twitter over me?” 

He flinched. 

She stepped closer, voice rising. “You think gossip blogs and blurry pictures know me better than you do? Since when do you care about that kind of bullshit?” 

He stayed silent. 

And in that silence, something in her broke. 

“You want the truth?” she said, voice trembling, “here’s the truth.” 

She took a deep breath like she was pulling a blade from her own ribs. 

“I dated him, yes. His name is Marc. He was my partner for three years. We were together the whole time. I thought he was the love of my life.” 

Lando blinked, stunned. 

She kept going. 

“But he lied, hurt me, change me in a way I hated. Turns out he was cheating on me with half the damn company. Sleeping with students. Assistants. Anyone who smiled at him.” 

Her voice cracked fully now. “I found out. I left him. That was a year ago. That’s how old those photos are. And no, I’m not still with him. I fucking hate him.” 

Lando’s breath hitched. “Ari—” 

She shook her head. “No. You wanted the truth, so just listen.” 

His mouth snapped closed. 

“I still have to dance with him. Still have to see him. Smile. Be civil. Pretend everything is fine because it’s my job. Because it’s the fucking Royal Ballet and I can’t let heartbreak cost me everything I’ve worked for since I was a kid.” 

She wiped a tear off her cheek, furious with herself for crying. 

“And this fucking jerk is still around me, remembering me of how much an idiot I was for falling for him, to believe all his lies and manipulation. He still posts about me or hugs me after a show like I am still his and it’s killing me. But I can’t say a thing because he is the fucking lead dancer, he had power and connection, so I had to work with him and pretend I get along, until the day my contract end and I will return to Paris, until now.” 

Lando didn’t say a thing, he just looks at the ground, his heart fill with guilt and shame. 

“So yeah. I lied that night at the Opera in London. I told you he was just a friend because back then, you were a stranger, Lando. A stranger I met at a Christmas party. And I didn’t owe you anything.” 

He stood frozen, every muscle in his body aching. 

“But now you know. Now you’ve ripped it out of me. Congratulations.” 

Her voice dropped. 

“Do you know what hurts the most?” 

He lifted his gaze. 

“I told myself I would never trust another man again. Never fall for someone. Never let anyone in after him. And then I met you.” 

His throat burned. 

“I fell for you. I loved you,” she whispered. “I know I should've explain it to you but Lando I was scared, and it's a part of my life I prefer to forget, to not talk about. You could've understand it, be patient, be kind, but no the moment it got hard, the second you felt doubt… you turned on me. You threw everything I gave you in my face and treated me like the villain."

She tried to breathe, to find words through the mess clawing at her throat. 

"I never asked you about your past," she whispered, voice cracking with hurt. "Because it didn’t matter to me. Because I trusted you." 

He was crying now, silent, hot tears that slid down his face like punishment. 

"After everything I've been through..." she pressed on, voice breaking, "after everything, I still chose to trust you." Tears blurred her vision, but she refused to look away. "I saw the pictures too, Lando. I'm not blind. The girls at the clubs. The rumors about you. About the way you used to be." 

His mouth parted, chest shifting with a sharp inhale. 

"Ariana, I—" 

She shook her head sharply, cutting him off before the words could leave his mouth. 

"Don't," she whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. "Don't you dare try to explain now." 

He stepped forward instinctively, reaching for her, but she stumbled back, out of reach. 

"I ignored all of it," she said, voice trembling. "Because I knew you. Because I believed the Lando I fell for was different." 

He flinched at that, visibly. 

And then she added, softer, broken, like it was costing her everything, "But maybe I was wrong." 

The silence that followed was suffocating. 

Lando stood there, hand half-lifted like he didn’t know whether to reach for her or let her go. 

She turned to the door. 

“Kika!” Her voice was sharp. “Open the door.” 

Seconds passed. Then a quiet click. 

The door swung open. 

Kika stood there, silent. 

Ariana didn’t look at Lando again. 

She walked out. 

Up the stairs. 

Straight to her room. 

And the sound of her suitcase unzipping was the final note in the symphony of everything falling apart. 

The house was still dark when she left. 

6:04 a.m. 

No sunrise yet. Just a dim grey light casting long shadows across the marble floors of the villa, painting everything in the dull palette of goodbyes. Just her suitcase in hand, hair pulled back, eyes heavy but dry, the tears had already come in the quiet of the night. 

Ariana descended the stairs like a ghost. 

Kika stood first, wrapping her in a long, warm hug, whispering things into her ear that Ariana would later forget the words of, but not the warmth. Pierre kissed the side of her head gently and said nothing. Alexandra gave her a sad smile and Charles a long squeeze of her hand. Max, still in his hoodie and socks, looked heartbroken. 

“Are you sure?” he whispered. 

Ariana nodded. 

Pietra was crying in Rebecca arms while Carlos had no words. 

Lando stood in the doorway. 

He hadn't slept. Hadn’t eaten. His hoodie was stained with salt from silent tears dried and cried again. 

Ariana didn’t look at him. 

Didn’t say a word. 

Not goodbye. Not even a fuck you. 

Just silence. 

The kind that broke bones. 

And then she was gone. Out the door. Into the waiting car. Into a plane. Out of his world. 

Back in their room, it was still dark. 

The air was heavy. Still. 

Lando stepped in slowly, as if the room would collapse if he moved too fast. 

Her perfume was still there. 

Sweet, floral, soft. Like summer mornings and pointe shoes. Like the softness of her neck pressed into his chest. Like her laugh when she tried to cook pasta barefoot. 

And on the chair by the closet, the hoodie she always stole from him. 

Folded. 

Untouched. 

Cold. 

He sank to the floor. 

He didn't sob. Not at first. 

He just sat there. 

Then his chest heaved once, twice, and suddenly he was curling into himself, arms wrapped around his knees, the hoodie clutched to his chest like it was the only thing tethering him to her memory. 

And he cried. 

Hard. 

Ugly. 

Painfully. 

The kind of cry that comes when you realize you’ve truly, completely, irrevocably fucked it all up. 

She was gone. 

She had left him. 

And this time, it wasn’t a game. There would be no playful texts. No teasing glances. No lazy mornings and paint-stained kisses. No ballet tickets. 

Just absence. 

Downstairs, the mood was shattered. 

The group didn’t know what to say. 

No one wanted to touch it. 

Max, finally, got up and went upstairs. Quietly opened the door to Lando’s room and saw the boy he’d known since childhood curled in the ground. 

“Mate,” he said gently, stepping in, “I don’t want to tell you how to feel right now. You’re in hell. I get it.” 

Lando didn’t answer. 

“But you need to talk to her. Fix it.” 

Still nothing. 

Max sighed, ruffling his curls, helpless. “Alright. Be sad. But don’t stay here forever.” 

He walked back out. 

And that’s when Kika came in. 

She didn’t knock. 

Didn’t soften her voice. 

Didn’t give him any chance to prepare. 

She walked right up to him, arms crossed, eyes blazing. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing?” 

Lando flinched slightly, looking up from the floor. 

Kika didn’t stop. 

“She’s gone. She left. And you’re just sitting here like you’re the victim in this?” 

“I know I’m not,” he muttered hoarsely. 

“Then why are you acting like it’s over?” 

He looked away. “Because it is.” 

“No.” Her voice was sharp. “It’s over because you’re letting it be over.” 

“Kika—” 

“She loved you.” 

“I know.” 

“She trusted you.” 

“I know.” 

“Then what the hell are you doing crying on the floor instead of going after her?” 

Lando stood up slowly, eyes bloodshot. “Because I broke her. Because I said things I can’t take back.” 

“And?” 

“She won’t forgive me.” 

“Not if you don’t fight for her,” she shot back. “But maybe that’s the truth, maybe you don’t actually love her the way she loved you.” 

His head snapped up. “Don’t you dare.” 

“Then prove me wrong,” she hissed. “Because right now? She’s in a car. She’s in an airport. She’s in a goddamn plane flying away from the guy who she thought would never hurt her. And you’re just… what? Gonna stay here? Let her leave?” 

He didn’t answer. 

Kika’s voice cracked now, not angry, desperate. 

“Are you really going to let the love of your life walk away from you, Lando?” 

His eyes closed. 

“You know where she lives. You know where she dances. If you really love her, if you meant all of it then one mistake shouldn’t ruin everything.” 

Lando was breathing hard now, like he couldn’t catch his breath. 

Kika whispered. “Or will you let your fear ruin it.” 

The room was quiet again. 

But something inside him had cracked open, wider than guilt. Deeper than sadness. 

Something that ached to be fixed. 

And for the first time since she walked out the door… 

Lando wasn’t crying. 

Taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1

Let me know if you wanted to be added to the taglist !

[p-seduonym]

Switched At Birth (Part Nine)

A/N: Annnd I'm back! Hey y'all I just needed a breather for a bit. My brain was indundated me with ideas so I took a break. But I'm here now! Here's a hefty chapter to compensate for my absence. It's a bit more character centered, explaining Melissa's neglect in the Batfam. Also, thank you all so much for your ideas! I promise I'll get into a few of them after this chapter.

Taglist (I'll add you if you ask): @von-jour, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @kenyummy, @bunniotomia, @ch1cky-093, @toxicthotsyndrome68, @cynniee, @icefox8155, @eyeless-kun, @c4xcocoa, @ed15fashionista, @yourtypicalhuman09, @fightmebissh. @tsuniio, @fantasyhopperhea, @type-ink, @dirtydiavolo, @colorfulgardenerduck, @seemeee3, @ironsaladwitch, @yumeravenclaw, @jjsmeowthie, @snowy-violet, @wizzerreblogs, @ratterpatter, @gremlin-dumpster-fire-art, @anonymoustext, @a-heavenly-hell, @holderoflostmemories, @ilovecoffe0, @presleyamos, @lordbugs, @shyenemyperson, @adrakeshoard, @sadeem575, @nebsisdead, @moon0goddess

Yandere!Batfam X Switched! Fem! Reader X Yandere!Wayne!OC

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Tatienne Crow was your birth mother.

From the many glossy fashion spreads and tabloid snippets to the singular, sterile obituary, you'd pieced together a reasonable portrait. She had been young—too young, maybe—vivacious, and sharp in a way that made people both admire and fear her. In every photograph, she looked like she knew a secret no one else did. As if she was in on the joke of the world. A model turned muse, turned fleeting cautionary tale.

She lived fast and loose, long faded magazines said. Hopped continents on invite alone, slipped into parties through back entrances, and tangled herself in the arms of men who had more money than morals. There were plenty of rumors and scandals, of addiction, of various paramours, of a baby born from a particularly messy affair.

That's what she was like.

On paper, at least.

From Mel, you had heard her side– the version not meant for publication.

“She loved hard,” Melissa confessed the day you met, eyes glassy but unblinking. “Like… it was the only way she knew how to prove she was real.”

And that was all she could muster.

So you were left to find the rest yourself.

A light drizzle painted the street under the eerie silver beams of the full moon. It was the kind of Gotham rain that made everything feel blurred at the edges.

This building is old, art deco styled—elegant but weary. Previously housing models, designers, socialites, it now mostly holds ghosts and legacy leases. The doorman was long gone, and the security system, not so lucky.

Entering the service stairwell, you quickly climbed the emergency stairs with deliberate steps. Floor after floor, you ascended until you reached the twenty first floor. The door to the hallway was locked, but not for long. You were far from an expert, but you still fetched the tool from your duffle and kneel. It was pretty crude; just a bobby pin snapped in half and fixed to a paper clip. You were still learning, after all. But, still, you were determined, and more than a little curious. That helps.

And your efforts were rewarded with a soft click. 

The carpeted floors muffled your steps as you crept into the dim hallways.The number plate on the door is still there: 2102. The gold is tarnished, a little crooked, like it was trying desperately not to be seen.The door was shut firmly, so you fished out your second tool: a simple screwdriver from the garage’s toolbox. Feeling oddly calm and collected, you began to unscrew the door from its hinges. Removing the last screw, you gently coaxed the door from its groove in the doorway.

It gave way with a heavy and reluctant sigh, like the apartment itself resented being disturbed. 

Regardless, you stepped inside, crossing the threshold of the ornate mausoleum. 

Dust spilled in the slant of the moonlight, as a long abandoned world unfurls before you; silk curtains half-drawn, wine stained carpet, a faint scent of roses and smoke clinging to the air like an old memory.

Everything is still here. Unlived-in, untouched. Like someone meant to come back, but never did.

You moved past the foyer into the living room. The furniture is lush and fading. You spotted a glass ashtray that still held a single, half-burned cigarette. Beneath a wall of vinyls, a record player sat idle. Diana Ross. Nico. Bowie.

You didn’t bother with the lights, whether they still worked or not.

Instead you just walked deeper into the gloom, a quiet silhouette in your mother’s tomb. The city buzzed incessantly outside. And here, in the dark, you feel something almost ancient settle over your shoulders.

Not grief.

Not yet.

Just weight.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out and saw Melissa’s name flashing.

You didn’t answer. Not right away.

Instead, you looked around once more, feeling the silence pulse around you like a second heartbeat. Then, as the phone buzzed again, you brought it to your ear.

“Hey,” you said, tone careful. You didn’t tell her where you were.

“Hey,” Melissa replied, her voice soft, like she already knew. “Is this a bad time?”

You turn towards the window, stretching from the carpeted floor to the ceiling, decorated with a murky, glass chandelier. The Gotham skyline blinked in gold and gray beyond the rain-streaked glass.

“No,” you answered, gently dragging your fingertips along the sofa. You could see a slight discoloration in the path. “Just on a walk. Thinking.”

Melissa, bless her heart, didn’t call out your lie. Rather, she just hummed in acknowledgement. 

“About what?”

The air grew silent around you. You could only hear Melissa breathing as well as some light shuffling in the background. You continued through your trek through the recesses of your mother’s home. Instead of answering, you replied with another question.

“Hey…tell me more about her?”

“Hmm?” Melissa made a questioning noise. “About who?”

“You know.”

There was a pause on the line. You could hear the faint sound of water running in the background—maybe a sink, maybe rain outside her window

“Yeah, I know. It’s just…hard to talk about her”

You reached a room that looked like the master suite. A large plush bed, with a walk-in closet. The air was stale—thick with dust and the faded sweetness of long-dead perfume. Something floral, maybe jasmine, but heavier, more decadent. It clung to the walls, the drapes, the velvet settee in the corner, like memory embalmed in fragrance. Against the far wall, a vanity sat coyly. And as you approached, you saw the remnants of Tatienne.

Your fingers ghosted over an old lipstick tube—Tom Ford, discontinued years ago. Your reflection in the vanity mirror was dim, your face softly fractured by dust.

“You don’t have to, if it’s too much”

“N-No, you deserve this much. She-”

Melissa cut herself off with a sigh. Without seeing it, you knew she was likely fidgeting with her hand. 

“She was a lot,” She said it like a confession. “ Like– too much, in every way. Too young, too messy, too beautiful, too loud–”

You stared into the mirror. If you looked closely enough, you felt like Tatienne was staring back.

You didn’t say anything. She needed room, not encouragement. 

“--Like she was born too big for the world and just kept cracking at the edges trying to fit into it.”

You opened a container of rouge. A jagged crack split the makeup in two halves.

“She used to wear perfume that smelled like grapefruit and cigarettes. Had this way of putting lipstick on while yelling at someone on the phone. And when she laughed?” Melissa gave a weak chuckle. “You’d think the world was ending. It always felt like the last good sound you’d ever hear.”

There was another pause. A quieter one this time.

“But…she loved too much.” Melissa’s voice lowered. “Like she had too much of it, and it hurt her. She never talked about any family. I think something went wrong along the way and they don’t talk anymore. But, she still wanted to be loved, you know? There were a lot of guys. None of them stuck around for long”

Her voice grew dreamy, like she was in trance. 

“To love and be loved…isn’t that what everyone wants?”

Melissa sighed. 

“I think she loved Bruce. You probably know how that turned out. He…wasn’t around when I was little, I think that hurt her too. She didn’t say it though”

“‘Drug-addict,’ ‘Whore’... I didn't really know what those meant when I was little,” Melissa murmured. “...but I knew they were bad.”

“She loved me. I know she did. Things…just got too bad for her.”

As Melissa spoke, you moved deeper into the closet.

It was larger than you expected. Almost theatrical in size—more like a showroom than a personal space. And yet, it felt strangely hollow. The kind of emptiness that wasn’t born from disuse, but from careful, deliberate curation. A life stripped for display.

The good pieces were gone. That much was clear. No archival Dior, no high-fashion heels or designer handbags. In their place: moth-eaten furs, loud sequined gowns with dated cuts, satin robes dulled from wear. The clothes that remained were ostentatious but not luxurious—cheap, performative, and loud in a way that felt desperate.

Like they were trying to be seen.

A few empty hangers swung gently from the metal rack, clicking together like wind chimes. On a low shelf, a pair of strappy stilettos sat abandoned, one heel broken. A single run-down hatbox was tucked in the corner, partially open, revealing feathers and crushed netting—stagewear, maybe. Costume jewelry glittered under a faint layer of dust.

“I-I really didn’t want to go with Bruce, but I didn’t have anyone else. I thought he’d have problems, like she did, but would still care. Would still love me, cause I was his daughter, right?”

You crouched in the closet, one hand resting on the floor for balance. The air in here was heavier somehow, thicker. You ran your fingers along a sequined dress that caught the dim light like a broken disco ball.

“I thought that meant something,” Melissa continued, her voice thinner now. “But it didn’t. Not really. He barely looked at me. The others... they didn’t either.”

You let the silence stretch, watching dust particles drift lazily in the air like ash.

“Dick, he was nice, you know? It took a bit to see him after I got there, but he always smiled. Always said ‘Hi’ and ‘How are you?’. It was a bit much at first, but it felt nice.”

She gave a small, humorless huff.

“But, I kinda knew I wasn't important to him. Not really. He always had something else to do or someone else to be with. I-It’s not like I needed him around all the time, I just never had a brother before and hoped we could spend time together. He was everyone’s ‘big brother’, right?”

You found an old pair of stilettos knocked sideways in a pile. One heel was broken. You gently set them upright, for no real reason.

“I kind of realized he was just being that. ‘Nice’, I mean, cause that’s what you do with strangers.”

Your fingers drifted along a rack of disheveled dresses. One of them still bore a faint perfume—jasmine warped into something more acrid with age. You noted the odd arrangement: heavier pieces in the front, lighter ones stuffed toward the back. Like someone had stopped caring how things were organized.

“Jason was … complicated. Came from Crime Alley and his mom had problems too. I tried to understand, even if I didn’t completely get it. I guess I was too much–” She chuckled, without any mirth. “He…didn’t like me. I walked behind him one time and he just…snapped. I-I guess I was too quick or too quiet or something? He grabbed me. Pinned me to the wall. I thought he was going to break my arm, he twisted it so hard.”

You knelt to examine a box tucked underneath a sagging shelf. It contained several Polaroids—some curled from moisture, others scrawled on in red pen. Men’s names. Phone numbers. A few love notes, probably never sent. Each one another thread of the life Tatienne had tried to weave, only for it to unravel again and again.

“Left bruises for a while. He said it was a reflex, but what kind of reflex does that? Dick said I should be more careful next time…I didn’t talk to him after that.”

The residual droplets of rain had long passed dried on your hoodie, but a chill still raked itself down your body. Even then, you didn’t shiver.

“Tim was a miracle child. A prodigy to be proud of. It was hard being his age, cause he just accomplished so much already. I thought we could relate, even a little. But he always had this look like he was talking to a child. We came to the manor at the same time, but I always felt out of place. Not like him”

You closed the box.

Not everything here was worth keeping. But it was worth knowing.

This wasn’t just a closet.

It was the final echo of a woman who had tried to live larger than her circumstances—who had loved hard, fallen harder, and still left something behind.

“Damian was always someone I couldn’t figure out. He never acted like a kid. Never talked like one, either. But the first day I met him, he looked at me with…disgust. I didn’t know why, but It felt weird to be completely dressed down by a kid, but– ” Her voice sounded suspiciously watery. 

“Steph was sweet. For like, a week. She gave me a tour of the manor. Giggled about how weird it all was. Acted like we were gonna be friends. Then she just… stopped. Like I didn’t pass some invisible test. One day she was inviting me to sit with her in the garden, the next she barely looked up when I said hi. Cass never spoke to me. It was almost a relief, really, after all that..”

You halted, stopping your search in its place. Pressing the phone closer to your ear, your heard her take a shaky breath.

“I tried,” she said. “I really did. I was polite. Quiet. I didn’t ask for anything. I just… I just wanted to belong somewhere. I thought if I didn’t cause trouble, they’d make room for me. But I was always just... extra. Like a guest that didn’t know when to leave”

“I thought maybe if I could be more like them—more polished, more useful, more whatever—I’d matter. But they already had each other. And I was just some charity case nobody knew what to do with. Not a sister. Not a daughter.”

You stood now, slowly, carefully. Your gaze drifted back to the mirror. Your reflection was still dim, still fractured. But not just yours. Hers too. Hers especially.

“They didn’t see me,” Melissa whispered. “Not really.”

And still, she hadn’t raised her voice. Not once.

You realized, maybe she never had.

Not to them.

Not to anyone.

Not even when she should have.

You looked at your reflection again—dusty, dim, and still. But something inside you had shifted. A thread pulled taut, then snapped. You’d always known Melissa was lonely. But not like this. Not this hollow.

You brought the phone back to your ear, voice low but certain.

“They’ll see you now.”

Melissa didn’t answer right away. You imagined her curling tighter into herself, unsure whether she’d heard you right.

“I mean it,” you said, firmer this time. “Whatever it takes. I’ll make them look. I’ll make them see you.”

A long silence passed on the line, soft as breath.

Then, faintly:

“…Thank you.”

Right before you hit "End Call", Mel whispered to you, almost a confession.

"--she would have loved you, y'know?"

You ended the call a moment later but didn’t move. Just stood there, surrounded by remains of a woman who burned too brightly, promising yourself—

You would do it better.

You would wear the name, the smile, the war paint of wealth.

You’d step into the light like it belonged to you.

And when they turned to look at you, it would be her they’d see.

It would always be her.

A/N: Sorry for all the names! I know this is suppose to be a reader-insert but it always felt awkward to me to just put stuff life (Y/L/N) or (M/N), you feel me? If you'd don't like it, I'll try to avoid name in the future. Btw, did you notice the subtle similarities between reader and Bruce? I'm asking cause I might have made it too subtle, almost nonexistent.

[finchyclarkemd]

Things you don’t remember

~Angst/fluff~

The first time you see him, he's leaning against the hospital doorframe like he’s holding up the whole damn world with one shoulder. He doesn’t speak right away. Just stares.

You study him, trying to place the dark circles under his eyes, the tired set of his jaw, the way his hands stay clenched at his sides like he’s holding something back- grief, maybe. Or worse: hope.

The nurse clears her throat behind him. “Mr. Clarke… she’s awake.”

He walks in like the floor might shatter beneath him.

“You don’t remember me,” he says, voice rough.

You blink. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but so does your own, and neither comes with a face. You try to find something in his eyes that stirs recognition, some warmth or flicker of home, but there’s just… blank space.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “Should I?”

He exhales, and it’s the saddest sound you’ve ever heard. Like a man mourning something still alive.

“I’m George,” he says. “George Clarke. I-” He swallows. “We were engaged.”

Your breath catches. You glance down at your hands instinctively, searching for a ring. It’s not there. Of course it’s not. You don't even remember what love feels like. But when he steps closer, voice low, he says your name like a secret only he knows. Like someone who’s said it a thousand times, through laughter, through tears, through every version of you that you've forgotten. And in that moment, though your mind doesn't recognise him- your heart clenches like maybe, just maybe, it still does.

You stare at George like maybe if you look long enough, something will click into place. It doesn’t.

“I don’t feel anything,” you say quietly, and immediately regret the words. His expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture does, like he’s been punched in the chest but refuses to fall.

He nods once, like he’s been preparing for this.

“That’s okay,” he says. “I didn’t come here expecting a miracle.”

You look down at the blanket on your lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge. “Then why did you come?”

He hesitates. Then: “Because I made you a promise. And you don’t remember it, but I do.”

Your eyes lift slowly. “What promise?”

George steps closer, then pulls a small, weathered notebook from his coat pocket. It’s old, edges frayed, the pages inside bent and loved. He holds it out to you, but doesn’t let go when you take it.

“You told me,” he says, voice like gravel, “if anything ever happened to you, if you ever forgot, you wanted me to bring this. You said it had the truth in it. Not just facts, but... the way things felt.”

You gently tug it free from his hand. On the front, in your own handwriting, are the words: “Just in case.”

You open it.

Page one is a sketch of a coffee mug. His, you think. The caption underneath reads: He drinks it black and complains every time, but won’t admit he likes it that way.

Page two is a scribbled quote: "I think I could love him forever. Maybe I already do."

You look up at him. His jaw is tight, eyes unreadable.

“How long were we together?” you ask.

He swallows. “Four years.”

“And I don’t remember any of it?”

“No.” His voice is barely audible now. “But I do. Every day.”

You flip through the pages- doodles, ticket stubs, half-finished thoughts. Every one of them proof that something real existed between you. That it wasn’t just his memory holding you here. It was yours, too, tucked into paper and ink.

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks. “I won’t push. But I’ll stay as long as you let me.”

You look at him, and even though your mind is still a fog, there’s something grounding about his presence. Like gravity, pulling you toward something you don’t understand but maybe want to.

You nod.

“Stay.”

George visits the hospital every day. He doesn’t bring flowers or balloons like the others. Instead, he brings pieces of the life you used to share. The first day, it’s a playlist.

“Your favourite songs,” he says, setting his phone gently on your bedside table. “You said music made you feel things faster than memory ever could.”

You don’t say anything. But when he leaves, you press play. By the third song, your chest aches with a feeling you can’t name.

The next day, he brings your cat.

“He hated me at first,” he admits as the nurse raises an eyebrow, “but I bribed him with tuna and dignity.”

The cat, Garfield, is unimpressed by the sterile room but curls instantly into your lap like he knows exactly where he belongs. Like he knows you. And maybe, for a moment, you believe you know you, too.

Each day, George brings another puzzle piece.

A Polaroid of the two of you at a winter market, noses red, hot chocolate in hand.

A chipped ceramic mug with your initials and a tiny heart carved in the bottom.

A dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre with sarcastic notes scribbled in the margins.

“We used to argue about whether Rochester deserved redemption,” he says one evening. “You said he didn’t. I said he was just a man who made mistakes.”

You pause, gaze drifting over his face.

“And now?” you ask softly.

George smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Now I think maybe we both were right.”

You start to ask more questions. Not big ones. Just quiet, everyday things.

“How did we meet?” “At a bookshop. You made fun of my Hemingway pick. I pretended not to care.”

“What was our first fight?” “You were convinced I didn’t like your cooking. I was just scared I’d mess things up if I admitted I did.”

“What did I say when I told you I loved you?” George looks down at his hands. “You didn’t say it. You wrote it. On a napkin. Slid it across the table like a secret.”

You feel the echo of it, just a tremor, but it’s there.

One afternoon, as the sun spills gold across the hospital floor, George sits beside you, close but not touching. His hand hovers near yours, respectful of the distance between the past and the now.

“Do you ever… resent me for forgetting?” you ask quietly.

His gaze doesn’t waver. “Never. Losing you once was enough. I’d rather have the pieces than nothing at all.”

Your throat tightens. And then, for the first time, you reach for his hand. Not because you remember. But because something inside you wants to.

It happens on a Tuesday. The sky is grey, the kind of heavy-clouded quiet that feels like it’s waiting for something. You and George sit on a bench just outside the hospital’s rehab wing. It’s your first real time outdoors since the accident. Everything feels too sharp. The air, the light, the smell of wet pavement.

George unwraps a sandwich but doesn’t eat it. He’s watching you again. He always does when you’re not looking. Like if he stares hard enough, he can will your memories back. You don’t mind. You’re starting to look at him, too.

He says something about a coffee shop you both used to visit Cedar’s describes it with the kind of affection that feels like a prayer: mismatched chairs, cinnamon in the air, the table by the window you always stole because you liked the light. You blink. Your fingers tighten around the Styrofoam cup in your hands. The cold coffee sloshes.

“Wait,” you say, voice suddenly thin.

George freezes. “What?”

You close your eyes. There’s something. Cinnamon. Wood polish. A squeaky chair. A sound. Your laugh? His. A moment: his hand brushing yours across a chipped table. The curve of his smile when he looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense.

“I remember… that table,” you whisper. “Just for a second. You… you spilled something. I think it was tea? I made fun of you.”

He doesn’t speak. You open your eyes and see the look on his face, pure disbelief, breaking slowly into something softer, something wild with hope.

His voice is hushed. “You always made fun of me when I spilled tea. You said I held the cup like it owed me money.”

You let out a breathy laugh, startled by the sound of it. There’s no full scene. No name. No clarity. Just a flicker. A sensation. But it’s yours. And it’s real.

You glance at him. “It was chamomile.”

George nods once. His throat moves like he’s swallowing something sharp.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling like a man who’s been holding his breath for weeks. “It was.”

You don’t reach for him this time. But you lean just slightly in his direction. And that’s enough, for now.

It’s raining again. A cold, slanting drizzle that turns the sidewalks into mirrors and blurs the world into greyscale. You’re back in the hospital lounge, curled under a too-thin blanket, flipping through the memory notebook George gave you. You’ve read the same five pages for days now, waiting for something else to surface.

He stands at the window, arms folded, jaw tight. Silent. You can feel the storm in him before he says a word.

“George?”

He doesn’t turn around.

You set the notebook down, uneasy. “Is something wrong?”

He laughs, but it’s brittle. “Wrong? No. Not at all. I’m just watching it rain on the day that should’ve been our wedding anniversary. So, no… nothing’s wrong.”

The words land like stones in your chest.

You sit up, slowly. “I didn’t know…”

“I know,” he says sharply, then softens. “Of course you didn’t. That’s the point, isn’t it?”

He finally turns. His eyes are tired. Not angry. Just… tired. The kind of tired that lives in the bones.

“I’ve been trying not to say this,” he murmurs. “I’ve told myself over and over that it’s selfish, that you’ve been through enough. But it’s killing me, watching you look at me like I’m a stranger.”

You flinch. Not because of his tone, but because he’s right.

“I never wanted to make you feel like-”

“Like I don’t exist anymore?” he finishes. “Like the last four years of my life evaporated the moment your head hit the dashboard?”

You look down at your hands. Shame rises hot in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

George exhales, dragging his hand through his hair. “I’m not mad at you,” he says, quieter now. “God, I’m not. I’m mad at fate, or the universe, or the idiot who ran that red light. I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending this doesn’t hurt.”

You meet his gaze. And for the first time, you really see it. The cracks behind his calm, the way love and grief have been eating him alive in silence.

“I remember chamomile tea,” you say suddenly. “And the cinnamon. And you… smiling at me, that way you do.”

His breath catches.

“I know it’s not much,” you add. “But it’s something, isn’t it?”

He walks over slowly, kneels in front of your chair like you might disappear if he moves too fast.

“It’s everything,” he says.

And then, for the first time, you reach for him. Not out of obligation, or guilt, or the faint echo of who you were, but because you want to. And maybe that’s the beginning of a new memory.

Spring comes softly. It creeps in through the windows of your new apartment. Smells like rain on warm pavement and the hint of lilacs blooming somewhere unseen. The air hums with quiet promise.

George is in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in deep concentration over an omelet that’s probably going to fall apart. He still can’t cook. You’ve confirmed that much.

You lean against the doorway, watching him with a warmth you can’t explain. Or maybe you can. You just don’t have all the pieces yet.

“I remember something new,” you say.

He freezes. Slowly turns.

“Oh?” he says carefully. Hope flickers in his eyes, but it’s guarded now. He’s learned not to expect too much. You walk over to the table, where a familiar mug waits. Chipped. Painted blue. You pick it up.

“You used to bring me tea in this,” you say. “You’d pretend you didn’t know which one I liked, but you always got it right.”

George says nothing for a long moment.

Then he smiles. Not the broken, uncertain kind you saw in the hospital, but something real. Full. Alive.

“I never forgot you,” he says softly. “Not even for a second.”

You take the mug in both hands. It feels like yours again. Like home.

“I think…” you pause, feeling your heartbeat rise. “I think I want to fall in love with you. All over again. From the beginning.”

George crosses the room in two steps, but he doesn’t rush. He touches your face gently, like you’re fragile porcelain. Like you’re sacred.

“You don’t have to fall,” he whispers. “You can choose me. Every day. I’ll do the same.”

You nod.

“I choose you.”

And that’s the truth of it, in the end: The memories may come back. They may not. But love isn’t always something you remember. Sometimes, it’s something you decide to build, again. Together.

——————————————————————————————————

First time writing again in a while! I hope you enjoyed! I will try and post a little more now university has finished.

Tags

@themdera

@tyna-19

@smzyyx

[jollyhunter]

Finally I get to react to this lovely review 🧡

This description of period pain is the best. I gotta say - you know what the one benefit of having a baby is? No period. And sometimes it takes even looonnger after. And okay pain, sure, but you forget that, and yes, bleeding once the birth is done, but you have the excuse to wear nappies and use ice packs for your hoohaa and, and, people give you sympathy lol - sorry, tmi… 😂

ice packs for your hoohaa?? I - I had no idea 😳 never excuse yourself for tmi, this is educational okay 😂

And excuse me miss, spoiled our self with Chuck spoilers did we? I guess it’s hard not to…

Yup, I've read it in so many fics. Just little things like "Oh for Chuck's Sake". And the first time I read it, I was VERY confused for obvious reasons but yeah, I pieced it together quickly 😂

Hahaha - I know you said you like One Piece somewhere, I’m sure we spoke about it once - do they teach kids that in the ahow/manga? I’ve only ever seen it in samurai stuff. Have you ever watched any of the Rurouni Kenshin adaptations! You NEED to see it if you haven’t. The dude in the live action version is hot 🔥

LOL yes we did! And we spoke about Dragon Ball too 😂 No I haven't watched it yet!!! But I know who you're talking about! (Also that Mackenyu, who played in Rurouni Kenshin's live action, plays Zoro in the One Piece live action 😏)

Hahaha - he’s not wrong 😂 benefits all round…

Let's be real. It's the only benefit, Dean.

I mean, she’s surrounded by Dean, wouldn’t she be horny all the time, but truth. I also liked how you word played the nub here at the bottom - look, I did it too - it really liked that. I feel like that fruit gut is called for right about now…

Probably, lol. Aaah yes, that gif... here you go, only took me another 10 minutes to find it (I don't know why I just spent so much time for that. For the future; It's literally the first one for "squishy fruit finger" lmao)

Ahhhh - I love it. Dean totally would, too. They’re surrounded by blood as you said, what’s different. Though I love how clueless he is about the days. Unless this has been going on for a little longer, anyone who has their period for two days, I’m very damn jealous of! Is it even possible?

Aren't most men just clueless about this? Even when they should know. I feel like I'm repeating myself every month that - no - my period is not done after the second day 😂

I’m seeing bean a lot lately! It is cute ❤️

Really?? I feel like I must've picked it up somewhere at some point but I can't remember where

Hahaha - Dean you horny fucker! But yes please? I was kind of hoping he might’ve convinced her 😏 I was enjoying this way too much.

😂 don't worry, I'm pretty damn sure he would find a way to convince her if he tried long enough

Okay. So when I read Nathan Algren, I was scratching my head. Is that his Last Samurai character’s name? I think I’ve seen that move once - shame on me. But it didn’t click till I got here.

Yeah, okay, so, you got me there. I didn't remember his name either, had to google it. I just tossed it in there for Dean's pop-culture reference's sake, thinking that he would've probably liked that movie and the idea of being a Samurai. 😅

This was marvellous! I can’t wait to see what your mind comes up with next. I just love the way you write the inner monologues with the touches of humour - speaks to my soul ❤️

Thank you so so much Beth!! You're one of my inspiring writers for humour 🧡🧡🧡

Shower Reliever

⋆ ˚｡⋆ COUPLE Dean Winchester x f!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WARNINGS SMUT 18+ MDNI, established relationship, menstruating (evil cramps!!), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, mention of blood (light), Dean being dorky and cute, guided masturbation in the shower? (idk how to tag this sryyy), Dean’s misuse of a shower head as a magic wand, no use of Y/N, English isn’t my native language

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY It’s that time of the month; Cramps are tormenting you, but Dean’s there to cheer you up and look after you by giving you some relief. ♡ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 4,2k

It’s afternoon. Or maybe it’s evening.

How are you supposed to know when you’re surrounded by the bunker’s concrete and artificial light all day?

A pathetic, writhing-weeping blood sacrifice wrapped up in bed sheets like a burrito. That’s what you are. Ready to be served. Honestly, though? Big Hellhound pupper toying with your guts suddenly seems much more appealing than a day ago. At least the doggo wouldn’t take three damn days to rip your innards out.

But you won’t complain. Because right now? Things seemed oddly… okay? It’s almost suspicious.

A deep sigh of relief falls of your lips and you dare to sprawl out on the mattress. Star-fish formation. Plain ceiling staring back down at you.

You’re maybe 5 seconds into your newfound content - and then the little bitch ruins it by raking her peeler down your walls. A sharp hiss presses past your clenched teeth.

Nevermind. Here she goes again.

Peeling your uterus out from the inside. Like Lilith herself is down there, having a feast on your unborn – and very non-existent – baby.

Muffled by Dean’s pillow, you scream. Fuck that time of the month.

Why’s it always that time of the month? Again and again and again.

Why can’t you just get the period twice a year like a bitch and get on with it? It’s not like you signed up for this. In fact, you’d very much like to file a complaint.

Not that Chuck would care. “That bastard knows why he doesn’t own an uterus...” you grumble.

A hot flush shoots through your body. Wheezing takes over your breathing. The bedsheets go flying along some of the pillows you’d burrowed yourself in.

Burning up. Hot. Your body feels like your ovaries decided to have a meltdown.

You roll around the bed, aimlessly. A ball of messy hair. Entangled in the sweat-drenched pyjama you couldn’t get yourself to change from. Arms clutched around your stomach, fingers clawing at the hot-water bag which so far hasn’t done much more than give you third-degree burns and only add to the feverish heat steaming beneath your skin.

When the door to your and Dean’s bedroom opens, you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head. Instead you’re curled up like a salted snail, squirming, each and every noise escaping from you thick with pain.

“Hey baby, ‘m back…” Dean greets you from across the room, his voice dying down as he spots you on the bed just where he'd left you this morning.

Your face plants into the sheets when you double over from another stab to your uterus.

“It’s trying to kill me, Dean,” you whimper into the mattress. Dean’s face contorts at your strangled sound.

“That bad?” It’s a stupid question, and he realizes it the moment it leaves his mouth. Of course it’s bad. You look like hell.

And worst is, it’s been going like this the entire day already. First time Dean’s witnessing it from the start, too. You’d been together for a couple of months now, but you being you, you’d so far managed to slip away just in time before your period kicked down the door.

Now that you moved in with the boys in the bunker that didn’t seem an option any longer.

You watch Dean’s face harden, the way it always does when he starts to feel helpless.

Indeed, Dean could feel the frustration claw on the inside of his chest. To the point he secretly wished your state would just be the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.

At least he would know what to do then, y’know? Clean your wounds, stitch you back together if needed – maybe it wouldn’t look as neat as when you did it, but it’d do the job – because that’s what he’s good at.

But this? He didn’t quite know how to work with this.

There’s no injury he could just patch up. No swig of whiskey to dampen the pain. No way for him to help. And watching you writhe like you were being tortured from the inside, was killing him.

He sighs. The shopping bag in his hand gets dropped to the floor and he rounds the bed to your side. A frustrated hand ruffles back his hair. His eyes taking in the battlefield you’ve caused. And they come to rest on your crumpled form, smack in the middle of it all.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart…” He mutters softly. And he means it. You know he does. The words were simple, yet you know that if he could, he’d take your pain away in a heartbeat. But he can’t. Because for some reason, despite all the supernatural crap you get to deal with on a daily basis, this isn’t an option.

Damn you Chuck.

You make a sound between a whine and a sigh at the grave conclusion, at which Dean’s eyebrows pull together.

The bed dips down beside you and next moment the warmth of his body presses against your side. He slowly runs his hand over your shoulders to rub your back in soothing circles.

“Anything I can do to make you feel better..?” he asks.

“Rip it out. Use it for your next blood sacrifice. Sell it to Crowley. I don’t care- I don’t want it no more.” You wail while crawling into his lap, your face burying into his grey shirt and the blue jacket that’s partially covering it.

“Jesus,”– Dean laughs softly, his deep voice rumbling under your cheeks –“Yeah, not happening.”

His arms wrap around you to pull you closer. The familiar smell of his fills your senses when you nuzzle your nose into the fabric of his clothes. A combination of his musk, fresh lemon and a hint of sweetness of his cologne clouds your mind.

Your muscles relax for a fraction. Melting into his heavy embrace. It’s odd how just a smell can have such a calming effect. As of right now, you wished you could just climb into his shirt, buttoned-up, and pressed flush against his body. All safe, warm and fuzzy.

But Uterus-Lilith had different plans. The sharp wince you try to bite back, doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

“My poor baby… C’mere…” He leans down to place a tender kiss onto your crown while he cradles you on his lap like a wounded animal.

His chin comes to rest on top of your head. Lips press against your hair. “It’ll pass… You’ll feel better soon… My brave girl…” He murmurs softly and you sigh.

Another twinge to your abdomen. Your body jolts, then caves in. Dean startles for a moment but then tightens his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest.

While he continues to rub your back, his other hand begins to card through the back of your hair. “Shhh, it’s okay… I got you…”

“It’s like the damn thing is committing sepukku.” You lament with fingers curled into his shirt. Nose buried in his chest. Trying everything to physically ground you until the cramp goes by.

At that comparison, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch into a pressed smirk. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh.” His stomach contracts and shakes beneath you.

In response, a disgruntled noise gets huffed into his chest. And Dean can’t help a short, surprised snort.

“Sepukku?” He tries so hard to sound serious and to hold in his chuckles, but finally loses his battle. “Seriously?” He shakes his head lightly and his green eyes crinkle slightly when he continues to tease you, “You telling me, you got a wee little Samurai down there?”

A wee little Samurai throwing a tantrum in your uterus? Okay, that image carried a smile to your lips. Sounds a lot cooler than Lilith feeding on your unborn child.

Unfortunately the wee little Samurai was not amused and rammed it’s katana once more into your uterus.

Another jolt goes through your body. Another strangled sound follows. You burrow your face even further into his arms in hopes that his smell will just work like some narcotics.

Perhaps it’ll just knock me out when I dig my face deep enough into his shirt? A weird thought. But you guess that’s just what menstrual hormones mixed with pain does.

“Yes.” you wince, “And it failed to conceive a child,” then groan in agony, “So now it wants to punish me for it.”

Now Dean actually has to bite back a hearty laughter. “Oh, sweetie.”– he taps your head lightly with his finger –“Look on the bright side. At least we know I didn't knock you up. It's like a free monthly pregnancy test.“

That jab would have earned him a deadpan glare of yours if it wasn’t for the next attack on your inner walls and your body jerked into his arms this time.

Dean’s light-hearted expression contorts into a pained one. Jaws clenched with a twinge of guilt.

“Want me to get you some painkillers? Or – uh – maybe some whisky?” he inquires, his head tilted down in an attempt to meet your gaze. But your eyes are scrunched up, face still hidden in his bunched up shirt.

“Baby, can you look at me for a sec?” he pleads, while his hands slip underneath to cradle your chin now, coaxing you out of your den. You lift your head, just enough to meet his concerned eyes.

“None of that helps…” You mutter. Although you did wonder whether whiskey might even do the trick. Get the wee little samurai bitch a little tipsy down there, hm? Maybe it would pass out?

No – no, now you’re thinking like Dean. That’s a terrible idea.

“Imagine you’re getting stabbed in the stomach and the blade gets twisted. Repeatedly. For hours.”

Dean winces inwardly at your description. A hand instinctively clutches his stomach. He doesn’t have to imagine what that pain feels like. He knows.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to snap out of some memories from downstairs, his eyes back on you just when you writhe again with a stifled groan.

“Okay, that‘s enough. I‘m getting you off the rack,” he declares and you don’t even get the chance to react when he’s already scooping your curled up form up into his arms.

“W-what? What are you going to do, Dean?” you ask confused while he pulls you to your feet and starts leading you out the bedroom and down the bunker's hallway.

"I'm going to distract you," he replies, glancing back over his shoulder at you while he leads you to the main bathroom, "I did some digging this morning... to see what I could do to help with your period cramps, and it looks like an orgasm might do the trick."

You stop in your tracks. Quick enough for Dean to almost stumble into the bathrooms doorframe.

"N-no," you squeak, eyes wide.

"No, what? No it won't work or no you don't-"

"No, I'm fine."

"So it does work?"

"Well- uh-" you trip over your words when the heat rushes to your cheeks, "It's - it's different when I... uh..."

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing to be ashamed of," he chuckles softly and brings up his hand to cup your cheek, "Is it 'cuz of the blood? You do know I don't care about it, right? You really think I won't touch you just 'cause you're on your period?"

"No, but... it's awkward... and gross..." you mumble, eyes averted as you can feel the heat going both ways now.

Because, even if you wouldn't admit it, you did feel a bit horny. It's just one of those many fluctuating emotions a period entails. In those blessed days, it feels like your mood is being regulated by a pinball machine. And as of right now, it hit the tingling nub at the very bottom.

"Gross? Honey, I've been covered in guts, sludge, crap and all sorts of other nasty stuff. Do you honestly think a little blood's gonna phase me?" He tilts your head up to make you look at him, his lips twitch in amusement but his words are genuine, "You're not gross, sweetheart. Not to me..."

"But-" the next argument forms on your lips when he dives down to muffle them with a kiss. Your cheeks cradled by his large hands. Tender, soft, but enough to shut you up and make you melt into him.

When he finally pulls back, his plump lips still hovering inches from yours, he speaks softly.

“Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

His green eyes flick back and forth between yours, intense and yet calming. And really, how could you ever say no to him when he looks at you like you'll break his heart if you don't let him help you.

A sudden twinge in your stomach has you hunch over, and it's enough to finally convince you to let go of your tribulations with a weak nod of yours.

“Okay," you wince under your sharp exhale. The pain in your voice has Dean's hands dart down, one to your contracted stomach and one to the small of your back.

"Alright then, c'mon, sweetheart..." he mutters. Then gently guides you towards the shower after he closed and locked the door behind you.

When he notices how your teeth pull at your lower lip the way they always do when you're overthinking things, he grabs both of your hands. He squeezes them to get you to look at him, just to bestow you with one of his trademark grins. Confident, cheeky and oh so lovable.

“You trust me, right? It won't be awkward, promise. Nothing wrong with giving my girl some relief. Besides... This is purely therapeutic,” he quips and winks at you.

Once both of your clothes are piled up in a corner, you pad over the cold tiles and into the shower. Dean slides in after you, his naked body flush against your skin, his body heat a warm welcome in the cold air of the large bathroom. His arms envelop you from behind, one hand splayed out on your stomach to try and sooth your cramps, the other reaching for the shower head to pull it from its holder.

“Lean back, I got you baby,” he assures you while tugging you gently further back into his chest.

He turns on the shower, tests the temperature until it's the perfect heat and then slowly brings it down to the level of your stomach with the spray of water still pointed to the floor.

“Spread your legs a bit for me, sweetie,” he gently nudges his knee between your thighs, coaxing you into a wider stance while he continues to hum above you, “Mhm, that's it. Now just relax and lemme take care of you...”

Dean rests his chin on top of your head, the stubbles tingling your scalp as he does so. The air around you slowly begins to mix with steam while his body holds you close. Save and protected. The world reduced to just the two of you and the warmth hugging you from head to toe. Your thoughts and worries are drowned out by the rhythmic pattering of the droplets hitting the smooth shower floor as the sound echoes off of the tiled bunker walls all around you.

You feel yourself relax against him, despite the occasional, small jolts of pain which keep reminding you of that fact.

At last, a heavy sigh drops off your lips. The signal Dean has been waiting for.

He tugs at the hose, just enough to guide the water up your legs, then your thighs...

When the first jet of water hits right on your bundle of nerves, you almost buckle over with a gasped, “Oh shit-”

Your fingernails bite into the skin of his forearms, drawing a hiss from him. He moves his free hand to your hip, his grip on your squishy flesh gentle but strong. Steadying and grounding you.

“Feels good?” he asks while playing with the angle of the shower head.

You nod. Jolting whenever one of the water jets grazes your sensitive spot.

“Want me to keep goin‘?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

The hand on your hips slides over the bump on your bones and dips down between your legs. Next moment, calloused fingers slip along your folds to spread them open.

You shiver under the touch of his rough fingertips and at the feeling of him coating them in some of your arousal.

He angles the shower head slightly lower now, until a row of water jets skim your entrance. Your breath hitches. Then comes out in a shaky whimper.

Your legs start to go weak, feeling like jello.

Dean gently tugs you up again and pulls your back flush into his chest to keep you upright, making sure he's your anchor in this tidal wave of pleasure he's drowning you in.

“Just let go... that’s it…” he coos, now his head angled to nuzzle his nose against your temple.

Another shockwave travels through your body and tightens your coil even more, to the point it feels like it’s going to explode soon.

Your head drops back onto Dean‘s shoulder. Neck draped over his collarbone, just where his anti-possession tat lays. Shaky and ragged breaths mingle in the damp air of the shower.

“Just relax,” he places a kiss to your temple, his stubbles tingling the wet skin as he murmurs, “I got you.”

His fingers spread you further while he brings the shower head closer, allowing some of the water to push past your entrance.

“Oh fuck- Dean-” you gasp and whine at the same time.

„Language, young lady,“ he chides playfully, „This is purely therapeutical, remember?“

You choke on a giggle when he moves the shower head a fraction lower and the water jet grazes your sensitive nub just the right way, enough to send an intense jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Ah, so that's the magic angle, huh?” Dean laughs softly, his chest rumbling against your back.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out in a weak whimper as Dean's making sure to keep the right angle.

The intensity has your nerves on fire, like your core's being hooked up to electricity with hundreds of little needles tingling your most sensitive spot.

“M-move - p-please,” you beg in a shaky voice that has Dean's smile next to your cheek widen.

“Guide me,” he prompts softly, the hand on the shower head waiting for your instructions. You slip your hand along his strong arm, over the bump of his wrist, until you cover his hand with your tender fingers.

Slowly you begin to guide his hand into small, circular motions. The water jets brush your nub now from all sides, the overwhelming sensation enough to make you whimper weakly and your head loll to the side to bury your nose under his jaw.

“Too much?” he asks, his head tips to the side to look down into your eyes. You shake your head, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as they meet his. Hair’s stuck to your damp, flushed, skin, pupils blown wide, gaze intoxicated from pleasure.

The corner of his lips tugs into a smirk at your blissful expression. It's such a stark contrast to what you'd looked like moments ago when you were doubling over from pain. And if it wasn’t for the special circumstances, he’d make sure to keep you in this state all day and night. The growing pressure of his own arousal heavy against your back is evidence of his thoughts.

But this is about you now. His needs will just have to wait for – for… how long did a period even last? A day? Two? Hm, maybe if you’d feel comfortable enough, he wouldn’t need to wait this long. But one step at a time.

When your legs begin to shake, Dean presses his lips to your ear, murmuring into it, deep and hoarse from his own arousal.

“You’re doing so well for me… Now close your eyes, sweetheart. I want you to just relax and feel…”

You don't have to be told twice. The intensity is enough to make your eyes flutter close, squinting them even as your face contorts from the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body like a firework.

“Now I want you to imagine it's my mouth down there...”

While he keeps you distracted with the images he's painting in his husky voice, the hand on your folds leaves you and he reaches for the tap, increasing the water pressure.

“Y'know... the way I like to wrap my lips around you… and suck on that cute little bean 'til you're sobbing.”

“O-oh my God-” you mewl after the hard jet of water swallows your pulsing nub, causing your legs to buckle. The feeling's like a lightning bolt has just hit you. And it just keeps striking. Your other hand darts to his thigh behind you, fingernails biting into his skin in an attempt to ground you. But the jolts of pleasure set the nerves down your legs on hot white fire now, with everything from your stomach downwards tingling.

“That’s the reaction I was hoping for…” he chuckles and keeps going with his sweet words of praise somewhere outside of your clouded mind.

Images of Dean kneeling between your legs pulse under your eyelids. How his broad shoulders shove your knees apart, keeping your legs spread as they begin to fight him from the intensity of his mouth on your core. How the soft flesh of your thighs is squished under the force of his fingers, how you witness the veins on his arms pop as his muscles work relentlessly to prevent you from squirming away. How he holds your gaze the entire time, pupils blown up wide from hunger and lust as they eat away the deep emerald pools circling them.

Ragged breaths leave your lips. Another row of jolts has your body shaking in his arms. Each one driving you closer to your climax until you’re teetering on the edge. When your body begins to fight him and thrash around, Dean quickly tightens his grip around your hips to hold you in place.

He moves his lips to your temple, planting a tender kiss there, prickling stubbles brush the side of your face while he continues to talk you through it.

“You're doing so well... Let go for me, sweetheart... I've got you, I'll catch you, promise.”

Just when you feel yourself tip over, his free hand leaves your core to the constant onslaught of the circling water jets and moves it to your hand. His fingers slide between yours, intertwining them.

Then the tidal wave crashes down on you.

Dean's hand squeezes yours. The corner of his lips still pressed to your temple.

A guttural sound leaves the back of your throat when waves after waves of ecstasy course through you, enough for your knees to give in as your body goes limp.

“Oh- we goin' down?” he jokes softly as he follows your movement.

As promised, Dean catches you right after you've dropped some inches. Chuckling lightly above you as he pulls you back to your feet. Legs still shaky like a newborn foal’s.

“C'mon, bambi...” - he teases and slides the shower head back into place before he wraps both of his arms around your waist and turns you to face you with a soft smile - “…there you go.” You smile back at him, your hands finding purchase on his hips, gaze still a bit woozy.

He brushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, head tilted down to your eye-level, “Hey there, sweetie. You feeling better?”

“Yes,” you sigh, one of relief at the missing pain. At least for the moment. You melt into his embrace, feeling how your wet and naked bodies lock together like a perfect puzzle piece. “So much better.”

“Good, that’s good…” he murmurs into your hair after your forehead had dropped to his chest.

After a moment of peaceful silence, a mischievous grin creeps onto his face.

He clears his throat.

“You want me to battle that wee little samurai with my sword now?”

It takes your dazed mind a moment to catch up with his rather creative innuendo.

Once it hits you, you sputter an amused chuckle, “Please don’t.”

Dean huffs through his nose, feigning disappointment.

“Aw c’mon… Y'know, I’ve always wanted to fight a samurai… I’d make a pretty good Nathan Algren, don’t ya think?” he quips, then his lips quirk into a boyish, innocent grin as he adds, “...and my sword wouldn't mind getting bloody either.”

Now this has you raise your head to meet his cheeky expression and burst out in laughter.

“You do us both a favour and keep your mighty sword in your pants for now, you hear me? Idiot-” you playfully slap his chest, the wet sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. Dean’s grin doesn’t waver, instead his hands on your back slide down your spine until they reach your ass cheeks.

He clicks his tongue.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, s’all I’m sayin’,” he jabs softly as he pats both your ass cheeks. His eyes crinkle at the corner, and he's got a secret smile on his face, proud of how he made you not only smile, but laugh, despite the hell trip you’re on. Maybe he’s not as helpless as he thought.

His features suddenly harden, eyes narrowed as they dart down to your stomach, a pointed finger now prodding the spot below your bellybutton.

“Now back to you,” he growls, you giggle, and he has to fight to keep a straight face and his voice especially low and warning as he continues, “You leave my girl alone now. Or else I’ll personally come down there and take care of you, Tom Cruise style. You hear me you evil little bitch?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J/NOTES May Dean bring some relief to all of you poor, fellow victims of Uterus Lilith. <3

And thank you, @ambiguous-avery for your help with the correct name for the shower head lol 😌

Dean Tags List

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@youdontknowe @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @123passwort

@champagnepoets @salemslostwitch @chevroletdean @multiversefanfics @toxicfataldestiny

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[vespidclan]

Mother’s Return

To be mended you must be condemned.

After many weeks of tinkering and drawing and editing, I did it! It’s finished!!! I’m so thrilled to finally see the finished outcome :)

The story and explanation will be under the cut

Way back then in Pineclan, Moththorn had a young kit, Snakekit, who she loved deeply. But around this time, horrible thoughts and visions festered in her head that put her down, so she’d often isolate herself from the clan. Snakekit spent the rest of her kithood with her mother absent and wondering why she no longer smiles at her or plays with her. Even in Vespidclan she wonders why her mom ‘left’ her family so abruptly… It is why Snakevalley decided to become the mother she wished for. She fostered an abandoned kit, Fallenkit. (now grown and named Fallenfox) And has now taken two more under her care, Vinekit and Stonekit.

Something terrible would happen to her sister, Heartflicker, the only Vespidclan healer, which left her injured and unable to work. In need of a cat to quickly take over her duties, Heartflicker picks Stonekit as her apprentice to take her role. This was fine, Stonekit had been taught about some herbs and remedies prior… but Stonekit was only 4 moons old. It made Snakevalley furious, and much more on the next moon, she’d have to see her young daughter become so stressed with her new duties. She tried to reason with Heartflicker. And she’d argue with the leader, Iciclestar, her other sister, to put a stop to it. But neither of them agreed to follow through. Snakevalley ran off in a fit of anger.

She was still crossed, but she realized that she can’t do anything to stop it. The only thing she can do was to be there for Stonepaw through and through. After all, she can’t abandon Stonepaw on this. Not like Moththorn did. Before she returned to camp, she heard a loud crash, coming from the thunderpath. A cat had been crushed by a monster, and he was still breathing! She rushed over to rescue him- and was stopped by some force. Suddenly, the world changed around her. Like she was in a completely different area.

And then she saw it. A strange, flat version of… herself. It didn’t move. It wasn’t alive. But it was definitely her. It felt like she shouldn’t have seen this, and she really shouldn’t have. But she made sure that she did. And she made sure that Snakevalley will not recover from the things she learned and saw from that experience.

Snakevalley awoke back in her clan… Broken. After everything she’s worked for, everything she’s put her faith in, doing what she can to have the best life she always wanted… It didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. She wasn’t real. She was just a flat object. All these thoughts made her go into isolation, and no one understood why. Even though they wanted to, it felt too awkward and tense for her family to check on her. They thought leaving her alone would give her some peace.

It gave her the exact opposite.

404 wanted her mentality to dwindle to no return, just like hers did. It wasn’t just because Snakevalley was an obstacle- Snakevalley had everything she wanted. She was blessed with kits. She was blessed with a clan who respected her. Blessed with love. It was everything she wanted to have. And seeing a cat so close to her have all of these things, seeing her dazzle and shine, it was a disgrace to everything she went through. It was indignation. She hated Snakevalley. It was hatred. And she was plagued by these malicious voices of hate, she gave into them. 404 made her decision and she was keen on fulfilling it.

And fulfilled it she did. 404 was relentless to her. She made sure the negative thoughts never ceased. And once the time arrived, when she saw that Snakevalley was at her most vulnerability… she gave Snakevalley death berries. She wanted her to eat them. But watching Snakevalley gaze upon her dark predicament made 404 feel… remorseful. A ‘human’ feeling, finally, after all this agony of anger. But not a good one. She saw herself in Snakevalley, yes. How she hated seeing that memory. But behind that reflection, from the cracked mirror, there was the daughter she left behind. The one who believed she hated her in kithood. The one who was put into the same anguish she experienced. In the same situation, as the two both held the same plant in their paw… But 404 made her decision and Snakevalley made hers.

Neither can undo what’s been done.

Snakevalley believed that her family hated her. She thought that she didn’t deserve to live alongside them, knowing what their true existence is. Snakevalley… believed that she was better off dying with this knowledge. She didn’t want to die. And yet, 404’s influence had done enough.

Snakevalley ate the death berries. 404 hoped that perhaps a part of Snakevalley recognized her during her final moments… That was wishful thinking. Nonetheless, Snakevalley died. Her plan worked. And she would have to join her in Out Of Bounds just like the others.

…But this time, 404 has other intentions for her.

She needed to fix her.

And 404 remembered… why mercy was not worth pursuing.

The corruption festers.

I had such a blast working on this. I’m very happy to draw my beloved Snakevalley again. Maybe I could do something like this again in the future, but for now I’ll resume the comics! Once again I hope you all liked what the video offered and the thorough explanation I gave for the events :’)

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Chapter 13 - What He Doesn’t Say Out Loud

It started subtly.

A reaction to one of (Y/N)’s Instagram stories — the one of her at dinner with Matteo and some friends. Oscar just sent the 👀 emoji. Nothing else. No context. No follow-up.

Then it happened again.

“New haircut?”“Didn’t know you liked jazz bars.”“That guy in your post, he your boyfriend?”

He always phrased it casually. As if he was just making conversation. But the timing was too perfect — always after she posted something where she looked too happy, too far removed from the version of her that had once let him lift her skirt in a quiet kitchen.

(Y/N) answered when she felt polite. Brief. Dry.

“Just a date.”“Yeah, I needed a change.”“It’s not that serious.”

But Oscar’s messages kept coming — a bit more frequent, a little later at night, always when Lily wasn’t around. He’d ask how school was going, if she was still planning on applying for the summer internship abroad, if she’d watched the latest race.

Sometimes, he’d get quiet. And then, out of nowhere:

“I saw that photo of you smiling. The real kind. Haven’t seen that in a while.”

(Y/N) didn’t respond to that one. She didn’t know how to.

Because it wasn’t fair. He was still with Lily. Still living the life they’d chosen, the relationship they’d promised to keep simple. And yet, there he was — prying the door open again. A door (Y/N) was trying very hard to keep closed.

She muted his messages for a few days. Not blocked — just muted.

Matteo noticed her mood shift one evening while walking her home.

“You okay?” “Yeah. Just tired. Finals.” “Is it that race guy again?” he asked gently, not judging — just... seeing her.

(Y/N) blinked up at him, surprised. “How do you know?”

He smiled, pulling her hand into his. “You go quiet when he’s in your head.”

That night, she decided not to check her DMs.

And for the first time in weeks, she slept soundly.

.

The message came on a Tuesday morning while you were halfway through rewriting your resume.

“Hi (Y/N), we received your name through a trusted internal reference. We'd love to schedule an interview with you for a potential internship position at McLaren. Would you be available this week?”

You stared at the screen for a long moment. Your pulse quickened — this couldn’t be real. But you knew who it was.

You called Oscar.

He picked up after two rings. “Hey,” he said, voice soft. Like he’d been waiting.

You didn’t waste time. “It was you, wasn’t it?”

He chuckled faintly. “Don’t be mad.”

“Oscar—”

“I just passed your name along. That’s it. No strings, no expectations. I just... I guess I felt bad. About everything. And this felt like the right thing to do.”

You leaned against the wall of your room, your voice gentler now. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But Lily thought it would be a good idea too. She said you’d never forgive me if I didn’t at least try to make something right.”

There was a pause. You didn’t know what to say.

Oscar filled the silence, his voice low but sincere. “It’s just an interview. If you get it, it’s because you’re qualified. I didn’t do anything but open a door.”

“Thank you,” you said, after a long beat.

Later that day, you went to find Lily.

She was reading on the couch when you sat beside her. “Thank you,” you said simply.

She looked over, raising an eyebrow.

“Oscar told me everything. The internship. You... backing it.”

Lily smiled. “He felt guilty. I think he didn’t know how else to fix things.”

“I think I might’ve pushed him away too hard.”

“You had every right to,” Lily said, not missing a beat. “But Oscar’s not angry. He just wants you to be okay.”

You looked down at your hands. “I never wanted to get in your way. Between you and him.”

Lily gave you a small, tired smile. “(Y/N). We’ve been best friends for years, but it’s not just romantic.”

 “I love him,” she continued. “And he’ll probably always be part of my life. But we’re... end game. Don’t worry.”

Silence. Then, she nudged your knee gently with hers. “So take the internship, (Y/N). You deserve it. And if that chapter comes with a fresh start, let it.”

You smiled. And for the first time in a while, it felt like the ground beneath you had stopped shifting.

Tag List:

@freyathehuntress, @mimisweetz, @aleatorio1234, @totallynotluluu, @rorabelle15, @prongslena, @linnygirl09, @mangotaitai, @forensicheart, @devilacot, @lilorose25, @landofotographyy, @paolexsstuff, @sanctify-mp3, @emma-manuhpe, @virtualperfectioncat

[loveanton]

until august says goodbye | lee anton pt. 2

⟶ summary: every summer job, every inside joke, zero personal space—since you were fourteen, it’s always been anton. even with college pulling you in different directions you stayed close… just less effortlessly so when he says, “one last summer job, just us,” you don’t hesitate. the only thing is, something’s different this time. he still packs your lunch, still gives you the better locker, still makes it feel like no one else exists when he talks to you but now you’re starting to look at your best friend differently. the worst part? he’s always looked at you like this.

˗ˏˋpairing: best friend!anton x f!reader, slight sungchan x reader ❀ genre:  summer love, slow burn, best friend to lovers ❀ word count: 15.52k ❀ staring: maya (22)- xg, anton (21)- riize, sohee (21)- riize, sungchan (22)- riize, harvey (22)- xg ⟶ warnings: mentions of edibles, getting high, drinking, arguments, swearing, makeout sessions, talk of toxic relationships, mentions of panic attacks and anxiety, mentions of blood, allusions to sex, let me know if i missed anything.

✎୭: in honor of my first full year as loveanton and the start of summer ! also, this was meant to be a one-shot of 28.9k words but due to tumblr rules i had to split it into two parts, a full undisruppted version will be uploaded to my ao3 soon!

ʚїɞ taglist: @gacktsa @dreamiestay @yoursyuno @yctfreaky @stormy1408

July 4th, 2025

You’re crouched by your bed, trying to fit your toothbrush into a tiny overnight bag that’s already half-bursting with sunscreen, your charger and other essentials while Harvey’s stood by your dresser rifling through your bikini drawer like it’s her own and Maya’s propped up on FaceTime, wedged against your lamp and watching with mild judgment

“Okay but hear me out,” Harvey says, holding up a bikini you bought during freshman year. “This one with the little cherries?”

“That’s because it’s basically dental floss,” you reply without looking up.

“It’s cute,” Maya chimes in.

You groan and toss in your deodorant. “Fine. Just pack it for me.”

Harvey fist-pumps and folds the bikini with way too much care before tossing it into the duffel. “You’ll thank me later.”

Maya smiles a little through the screen, “Anton’s gonna love seeing you in that.”

Harvey freezes halfway through applying lip gloss and whips around. “Huh? Anton? As in Anton Anton?”

You let out a long sigh. “Maya…”

“Don’t look at me like that, you were gonna tell her eventually!” She defends.

Harvey blinks. “Wait, wait, wait. What’s going on with you and Anton?”

You drag a hand over your face. “Nothing…I just….”

Harvey’s eyes widen and she flops dramatically onto your bed. “Oh my Gosh! You like him.”

You nod and Maya cuts in. “She thinks she’s in love with him.”

Harvey gasps and stares at you in shock “Okay, well damn. That’s kind of huge.”

“I know.”

“Does he know?” Harvey asks.

Maya and you answer at the same time, Maya with a “Not yet,” and you with a “Absolutely not.”

“Okay. So what’s the plan? Are we confessing under the fireworks or..?” Harvey asks.

“I don’t know, I just…I don’t want things to change if he doesn’t feel the same.” You admit.

“They’ve already changed, babe,” Maya says gently.

Harvey nods. “For real. You can’t un-feel that.” She reaches for your hand and squeezes it. “Even on the off chance he doesn’t say it back, which I don’t think is the case, by the way. I don’t think he’d ever let that be the end of you two.”

You nod slowly, trying to believe it.

Maya checks the time. “Okay I gotta go, my aunt just called me down for dinner but text me the second anything happens.”

You nod and wave before ending the call. Harvey loops her arm through yours as you head for the door, the July heat already peeking through the windows.

The drive to Sungchan’s is a nice and much needed pick-me-up with Harvey hanging her arm out the window and drumming on the car door in time with the beat. You’ve got your sunglasses on, the cool air hitting your face and your favorite throwback playlist humming through the speakers. There’s glitter on Harvey’s collarbone and a watermelon lollipop sticking out of her mouth as she scrolls for the next song.

When she lands on Fergalicious, you both scream.

The chorus is still blasting when you turn the corner into Sungchan’s neighborhood. Cars are already lined up along the curb, a few people milling around their front yards, red solo cups in hand. You spot Sohee’s beat-up Civic in front of Sungchan’s mailbox and Anton’s Jeep parked a few houses down.

Harvey grins. “Ready?”

You nod as she kills the engine and toss your sunglasses into the glove compartment and grab your overnight bag from the back seat. You and Harvey walk up the pavement to Sungchan’s home and knock once before the door swings open immediately like Sungchan was already standing there. He’s in swim trunks and an open button-down that doesn’t even try to cover the tank top tan line across his chest.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite losers,” He grins.

Sungchan steps aside with a dramatic bow. “Bathroom’s to the right if you wanna change. Everyone else is already out back. Guest room’s down the hall—leave your bags, I’ll toss ‘em in there.”

You hand over your duffel and raise a brow. “You sure?”

He waves you off. “Yeah. It’s clean-ish. My mom made me vacuum before they left.”

“Wait where are they?” Harvey asks.

“Family trip to Cabo,” he says, already heading down the hall with your stuff. “I bailed. Went for spring break, already met my yearly quota for family time.”

You nod slowly. “Fair enough.”

“Founding fathers would’ve wanted it this way,” he calls over his shoulder.

You and Harvey exchange a look then dart into separate bathrooms to change. You wiggle into the cherry bikini still regretting letting them convince you and smooth your sarong into place. The tile’s cool under your feet and you swipe on a little lip balm before heading out.

Harvey emerges a second later in her green bikini and white bucket hat. “We look hot.”

You adjust your sunglasses and smile. “Extremely.”

The two of you walk to the kitchen and push open the sliding door and step into the backyard. Music’s blasting, the smell of charcoal hangs in the air and the pool shimmers.

Sohee’s already floating on an inflatable donut sunglasses crooked on his face sipping something bright pink out of a mason jar.

Sungchan’s by the grill flipping burgers while Anton’s off to the side, lounging in a deck chair with a popsicle in hand and a baseball cap pulled low over his hair.

He looks up when you walk out and does a double-take but it’s fast. A blink and then he’s glancing away chewing the tip of his popsicle.

Sungchan turns and spots you both whistling low and smirking. “Mind doing a little turn for me princess?”

You laugh and flip him off without missing a beat.

Sohee salutes from the pool. “Happy red white and blue day, motherf—”

“Language!” Sungchan calls half-heartedly.

Sohee smirks and goes back to sipping his little pink drink without a care in the world. You make your way over to the deck chairs, dropping your towel on the one next to Anton’s and settling in with a stretch.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the sun warming your skin and the music spilling softly from the speakers behind you.

You scroll for a bit on your phone and respond to some texts, thumbs tapping out a lazy reply to Maya before locking your screen. You turn to face Anton’s who’s reclined back with his popsicle watching the clouds.

You smile to yourself and nudge his leg with your foot. “I’m gonna take a dip, join me?”

Anton turns his head toward you, eyes squinting just slightly from the sun. “In a bit.” he says waving his popsicle.

You nod and stand, stretching briefly before untying your sarong and draping it over the back of the chair. You don’t catch the way his gaze lingers on your body before flicking back up to the sky as he finishes the last bite of his popsicle.

You step down into the pool slowly letting the water hit your ankles then your knees then your waist before finally ducking under and coming back up and wiping away the water from your face.

A few minutes later you hear a splash and glance over to see Anton finally joining, shaking the water from his hair like a golden retriever. Harvey joins soon too, taking up space on Sohee’s floatie, he groans but shares anyway.

You’re floating nearby, content in the moment until a familiar voice cuts through the air.

“Cannonball!”

You barely have time to register the warning before Sungchan cannonballs directly into the deep end sending a wall of water in every direction.

You yelp as the splash hits you full-force. Sohee screams, Anton instinctively shields his face and ducks under the water while Harvey shrieks and is forced off the floatie and sent under.

Sungchan resurfaces with a triumphant grin only to be splashed in the face by Sohee, “you suck.” he says before swimming back in the direction of his floatie.

The next few minutes are loud and ridiculous. Everyone’s splashing each other, Sohee’s floatie somehow ends up out of the pool and Anton drifts over to your side just in time to pull you back from Harvey’s water bending.

You shriek, arms instinctively flying around his neck as he draws you close. Your legs wrap around his waist without thinking.

Before your heart can catch up Harvey’s yelling again. “Chicken! We’re playing chicken!”

You blink, startled and quickly loosen your arms from Anton’s neck, legs slipping free as you paddle back, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your skin had been pressed to his.

Sohee jumps out of the water and says’s he wants to ref, not trusting any of you to play fair. You half-heartedly laugh at that and push some water out of your face. You see both Anton and Sungchan start to swim in your direction and your heart stutters wondering if they both want to partner up.

Before Anton even gets the chance to ask you, Sungchan takes a hold of your arm and tugs you in his direction. “Partners?’ He asks with a small smile, you turn your head slightly to look at Anton who has stopped in his tracks, he purses his lips before turning to face Harvey and partners up with her.

You place your focus back on Sungchan and shrug. “Why not?”

He grins and dips lower in the water so you can climb onto his shoulders. You steady yourself with your hands on his head, adjusting your balance as he straightens up beneath you.

Across the pool, Harvey’s already settling on Anton’s shoulders tossing you a competitive look. “Hope you’re ready to eat chlorine.”

You snort. “Big talk from someone who just got bodied off a floatie five minutes ago.”

“Okay, okay!” Sohee calls from the edge of the pool, now sitting cross-legged with a new mason jar and a towel draped across his shoulders. “Enough trash talk, keep it civil.”

Sungchan shifts under you, trying to find his footing and nearly topples both of you before catching himself.

“Steady,” you hiss, holding tighter to his hair.

“Watch the hair! I don’t like it rough.” He says with a smirk. You roll your eyes but your grip softens.

Anton wades closer to the center of the pool with Harvey perched confidently above him, one hand already raised like she’s waiting for a bell to ring.

Sohee raises a pool noodle in the air dramatically. “Three…two…one—fight!”

You and Harvey each go for the other’s hands, water sloshing around you. Sungchan’s stance is unpredictable, trying his best to throw Harvey off but you’re the one wobbling.

“Focus,” he says under his breath, palms locked around your shins.

“I’m trying!”

Anton moves more smoothly. He doesn’t rush, his hands steady on Harvey’s legs, guiding without jerking, almost careful.

You catch it without really registering it, how gentle he’s being. How he’s not pushing as hard, not jostling or throwing Harvey into any aggressive lunges like Sungchan. He’s holding back. Just enough for you to notice but not enough to question it.

A second later, Sungchan pivots hard to the right and you knock into Harvey’s shoulder at just the right angle. She shrieks as she falls backward, arms flailing as she crashes into the water.

“Victory!” Sungchan yells, pumping a fist in the air and splashing wildly.

You cheer still clinging to his head, your heart pounding more from adrenaline than victory.

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, tapping his shoulder. “Let me down.”

He ducks beneath the surface and you slip off his back, landing in the water with a small splash.

“I’m gonna grab some food, want anything?”

“I’ll come with,” Sungchan offers casually, swimming over to the pool edge. You nod without thinking much of it, still catching your breath as you both climb out.

He throws an arm around your shoulder like it’s second nature and you let him, the sun warm on your skin as the two of you head toward the sliding door. You don’t see the way Anton watches, how his jaw ticks slightly and his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. You don’t see him sigh and sink deeper into the pool, eyes lingering on the empty spot beside him.

The second your feet hit the kitchen tile Sungchan’s arm drops from your shoulder as he crosses to the counter and gets to work on stacking a burger “I’m starving,” he mutters, grabbing a paper plate.

You don’t say much at first, just drift toward the spread and grab a fruit cup and a paper towel. The counter’s cool beneath your fingertips as you lean against it, using the plastic fork to stab a piece of pineapple.

You glance over at Sungchan as he assembles his burger. He’s focused and humming something under his breath. For a second, you wonder if it’s worth bringing up. If maybe you’re reading too much into things but your mind drifts to moments you’ve shared with Sungchan and how much he’s come to mean to you these past few months, you don’t want to lose that. If there’s even the slightest chance Sungchan might feel something for you, you’d rather be honest now than risk hurting him later.

You clear your throat gently. “Hey…can I talk to you about something real quick?”

Sungchan doesn’t look up right away, just makes a noncommittal noise, still chewing as he moves on to squeezing ketchup onto his plate.

You pick at the fruit cup, shifting your weight. “I just wanna say…I really value our friendship. Like, a lot.”

That gets his attention. He finally looks over, curiosity and caution swimming in his eyes now.

“I know you’re kind of flirty with everyone and it’s not that I think you’re being serious or anything, but…just in case. I wanted to be clear that I don’t… feel that way. About you.”

He blinks once, then twice and then finally lets out a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

You blink back. “You do?”

He nods, grabbing a pickle and takes a bite. “You’re not that hard to read, you know. I knew what this was from the start.”

You pause. “Okay, but if I ever gave you the wrong idea—”

“You didn’t. You’ve been real with me since day one. We’re cool.” He says genuinely.

You exhale slowly, your shoulders dropping a bit in relief. “Okay. Good. I just didn’t want there to be any confusion.”

“Nah,” he says with a grin, popping a chip in his mouth. “You’re not my type anyway. I like my women obsessed with me and not their best friend.”

You freeze, your fork pausing mid-air.

You don’t confirm it but you don’t deny it either. You just blink, lips parting slightly, caught off guard by how casually he says it. Like it’s obvious, like it’s always been obvious.

Instead, you ask, “Then why do you always flirt with me?”

Sungchan glances at you a little amused and reaches over to steal a grape from your cup. “Anton always gets so pouty, it’s quite cute honestly. Also made a bet with Sohee that he would crack first and confess before summer’s over…just trying to make sure I win.”

You scoff and swat his chest. “Okay first of all, you’re an ass and second, that’s a losing bet. Anton doesn’t feel that way.”

Sungchan just looks at you. He doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh it off. He just lifts his eyebrows slightly giving you a long stare. One that clearly says, “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You shift in place and glance down at your fruit cup, your appetite all but gone. With a quiet sigh you lean against the counter beside him, your arm brushing his as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“…Do you think we’d ever actually have a chance? Me and him?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away, just wipes a bit of mustard from his hand and tosses the napkin on the counter then, gently, “Yeah. I do.”

His arm comes around your waist, not in a flirtatious way but in the way someone hugs a friend who’s thinking too hard. You stay like that, tucked into his side appreciating the gesture and his warmth.

“Honestly? I knew there was something between you two during the first shift.”

You furrow your brows, he shrugs. “I don’t know. It was the way he’d stand closer than he needed to. Or how he always checked in with you, the attitude he caught with me for just talking to you during break.”

You stay quiet, chewing the inside of your cheek.

“But what really sealed it for me was the night we shared the edible at Sohee’s.” He continues.

You frown. “I barely remember anything. Just laughing and then waking up with marshmallows stuck to me.”

“Yeah that’s because you were super out of it. You were fine at first, all giggly laughing at Sohee’s dumb freestyles while trying to stack our phones on your head but then…I don’t know. Something shifted.”

You look up at him. “Shifted how?”

“You got quiet and curled up in the corner then outta nowhere you started crying. We all kinda froze. You kept mumbling something about missing Antoinette.”

You frown, confused for a second then groan. “Oh my gosh. Antoinette is my weighted dinosaur. He got it for me on my birthday…it helps with my anxiety.”

He nods like it makes perfect sense now. “Anyway you were starting to really spiral so Anton sat next to you and fed you snacks and made you sip water even though you kept saying it tasted like TV static. The marshmallows are because he handed you them and told you they were Antoinette’s cousins sent to keep you company.”

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it. “That is so humbling.”

Sungchan laughs with you. “You calmed down right after that. Fell asleep with the bag still in your arms. He didn’t even move until he was sure you were okay, I think he stayed up the rest of the night just watching you making sure you were warm and okay.”

You don’t say anything, just stare at the counter like maybe it’ll absorb your spiraling thoughts. You remembered that night as chaotic and blurry like one long confusing fever dream. You thought you’d just passed out. Thought the hoodie and marshmallows were some weird aftereffect of being too high but hearing it now how Anton stayed up with you and made sure you were okay…it just makes sense.

It was always going to be him, you were just too blind to see it before. You press your lips together, throat thick. Sungchan breaks the quiet, voice softer now. “We didn’t bring it up after because he asked us not to.”

Your head lifts slightly. “What? Why?”

He pulls you in closer. “He didn’t want you to be embarrassed, said if you didn’t remember it wasn’t worth making a big deal over.”

You groan, pressing your forehead to Sungchan’s shoulder. “He’s such a—” You don’t even have the words. “Why is he like this?”

Sungchan huffs a small laugh and shrugs, before anything else is said the sliding door opens. You glance up, eyes meeting Anton’s across the room. His expression freezes just slightly when he sees how close you and Sungchan are but he doesn’t say anything, just walks in, grabs a slice of pizza and heads back outside without a word.

Sungchan lets out a low whistle. “Yeah, that boy’s not subtle.”

You don’t respond, you just stare at the door he walked out of. You sigh and pull away. “We should probably head back out before anyone gets the wrong idea.”

“True, Anton’s probably already imagining our wedding.” He says with a grin, giving your shoulder a gentle nudge.

You roll your eyes but laugh anyway, swatting at his arm. “Shut up.”

He tosses his empty plate into the trash and you grab your half-finished fruit cup, the plastic lid tucked underneath. As you push the sliding door open, the warm air rushes in again, thick with chlorine and the low thrum of music still playing from the speaker.

Sohee’s back in the pool on a new floatie, drifting lazily across the surface like he’s a human raft. Harvey’s on a towel laid out across two lounge chairs, sunglasses on and enjoying a popsicle. Anton’s in the shallow end now, arms folded on the ledge watching something on his phone or pretending to at least.

You set your cup down on the patio table and sit back on your towel. Sungchan joins Sohee in the water. You look at Anton but he doesn’t look up once and even though you try not to care, something about that makes your chest feel a little too tight.

You try to push it down and join Sohee and Sungchan in the water to distract yourself. Harvey eventually gets up and cannonballs back into the pool, sending a wave splashing over Sohee’s floatie.

Sungchan swims over and splashes her in retaliation and before long, you’re back to a full blown splash-off with water flying, floaties being stolen and someone yelling about not getting their hair wet?

Anton stays near the edge, mostly quiet, half-heartedly flicking water at Sungchan when provoked but never really diving in. You catch him smiling once when Sohee imitates Katara from avatar but it fades quickly, his expression returning to something more neutral.

At one point Sungchan splashes you and you yelp, flicking water back at him with a grin. You look toward Anton instinctively, like maybe he’ll join in too but he’s already glanced away.

It feels off and you hate that you keep noticing.

Eventually, Sohee flops onto the ledge next to Anton and pushes his wet hair back. “Okay, I’m pruney as hell. Let’s move inside.”

Harvey cheers and climbs out of the pool wringing out her hair with a towel. Sungchan hoists himself out after her, grabbing a few cups and the now-empty chip bowl as he heads toward the door.

Anton pulls himself out last, not looking in your direction even once. You wrap your towel around your waist, heart heavy for reasons you don’t want to name and follow the others inside.

Once inside everyone splits off for a few minutes to change. You change quickly, pulling on a pair of shorts and a loose tank top over your swimsuit, towel-drying your hair before padding back into the living room barefoot.

When you return, Sohee’s already rearranged the space. The coffee table’s been pushed back and a makeshift beer pong setup is in the center of the room.

“Alright, listen up, we’re playing truth or dare beer pong. You miss your shot, you either answer a truth or do a dare. You make it? You pick someone else to drink.” Sohee says, clearly proud of himself as everyone starts to file back in.

Harvey frowns. “That’s evil.”

“Exactly. Ladies first.” Sohee grins and tosses her a ping pong ball.

Sungchan reemerges, flopping onto the carpet with his legs crossed and a towel still draped around his neck. You sit beside him and Anton takes the floor spot near Harvey without a word, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve.

Sohee claps his hands once. “Start!”

Harvey narrows her eyes in mock concentration, gripping the ball with both hands before dramatically exhaling. She throws and misses by a mile.

“Tragic,” Sohee mutters.

She groans and leans back on her hands. “Fine. Truth.”

Sohee grins. “Who in this room do you think would be the worst kisser?”

Harvey raises her brows. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already sampled the selection.” You raise a brow at that, what else happened the night you guys took edibles?

Next up is Sohee. He lines up his shot and lands it, he points at Harvey. “Drink.” She narrows her eyes but takes it like a champ, tipping the cup back dramatically.

Sungchan’s next, he takes his time tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he aims then flicks the ball. It arcs, hits the rim and plops in the center. He sits back smugly and turns to look at you. “Drink up.” He says. You sigh but reach for the cup anyway and knock back the beer.

You try to focus as your turn comes up. You toss and miss, Sungchan grins. “Truth or dare?” he asks, bouncing the next ball in his palm.

“Truth.” You say simply, hoping to play it safe.

“What’s your biggest regret from this summer so far?” Sungchan asks from beside you.

Your mouth grows dry as you think of what to say. If you’re being honest, your biggest regret is that you realized it too late.

You regret how long it took you to see Anton clearly. Not just as the boy you grew up with or the friend who always kept your secrets but the person. The one who always waits for you to catch up, who buys your favorite snacks without being asked, who lets you borrow his hoodies and pretends not to notice when you keep them for weeks. The one who knows you and you regret not letting yourself feel what that could mean.

You regret not letting yourself explore it when you had the time. Before things got complicated, before the days started ticking down faster than you could hold onto them because if one things for sure, it’s that summer ends.

Soon you’ll pack up your things and return to campus. You’ll go back to walking the same halls you’ve walked a hundred times trying not to look for him in every room, you’ll go back to pretending you don’t want to marry him someday, pretending you could ever see anyone else fitting into your life the way he does.

Summer will end and it’ll end like this; Anton as still your childhood best friend, nothing more.

You could say all of that, could lay it bare in the middle of this beer pong game with half-wet hair and warm beer in plastic cups. You could finally say what’s been sitting heavy in your heart all summer but you don’t. You take the second route, the safe one. You lie.

You clear your throat and lean back on your palms, plastering on a smile. “Maybe that I didn’t finish my TVD rewatch. Was really hoping to make it to the Delena era.”

They laugh, Sohee calls you out on a cop out answer and Harvey tells him to shut up and just like that, the moment passes.

Anton goes next, he rolls the ping pong ball between his fingers for a second before tossing but it bounces off the rim and lands in Sohee’s lap. Sohee snorts and picks up the ping pong ball and tauntingly says, “miss!”

“Truth or dare?” You ask softly.

Anton leans back, resting on one hand. “Truth.”

You think for a moment, you don’t want to ask something meaningless, not with him. “If you could relive any moment from this summer, what would it be?”

Anton’s lips part like he might answer. He looks down at the cup in front of him, fingers tapping lightly against his knee but then wordlessly he reaches for the beer and drinks.

The group laughs or groans but your stomach drops. He didn’t answer. He didn’t even try to answer.

You try not to read into it but your thoughts race ahead anyway. What memory was too private to say out loud? What moment does he want to relive that badly and why didn’t he want anyone else to hear it? He’s hiding…just like you.

You shake your head as a new round starts, trying to remind yourself it’s just a game. Maybe he’s too sober and too aware.

The game continues with more laughs and jabs. Harvey’s dared to text her ex, Sohee’s forced to freestyle using random words everyone shouts at him, you somehow manage to land a shot on your next turn, making Sungchan drink and despite the rocky start, Anton proves to be an ace at the game, landing almost all of his shots and remaining the most sober out of all of you.

Eventually, it circles back to Sungchan. He misses not by much and flops dramatically onto his side.

“Truth or dare?” Harvey asks slyly.

“Truth,” Sungchan says without hesitation, sitting back up.

Harvey smirks, twirling the ping pong ball between her fingers. “If ____ gave you a chance, would you go for it?”

You look at her wide eyed and Sungchan’s eyes slide to you with a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “Why not?”

You laugh, more out of nerves than anything and wave him off. You know he doesn’t mean it, especially after that conversation in the kitchen. You just hope he doesn’t do or say anything stupid. “Okay, relax.”

Harvey, ever the instigator though, starts chanting. “Kiss, kiss, kiss—!”

Sohee joins in and suddenly all eyes are on you and Sungchan.

You roll your eyes. “What are we five?” You lean towards Harvey to collect the ball but then Sungchan leans forward and kisses you.

It’s quick, not deep, not showy just long enough to draw a reaction and short enough to leave you reeling. Out of sheer instinct you kiss back.

You hear Sohee and Harvey cheer and you quickly pull away. Sungchan just winks at you when you glare at him, clearly unbothered. You barely register his smirk, barely hear Harvey joking about a round two because your attention is solely on Anton.

Except Anton’s not looking at you. He’s looking straight ahead, jaw clenched so tight it looks painful, fingers wrapped around his water bottle like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You open your mouth to say something but you don’t get the chance. He stands, not abruptly, not dramatically, just quiet and decisive like he’s made up his mind. He sets the bottle down gently and walks out of the room. No one says anything.

You’re on your feet before you realize you’ve moved, ignoring Sohee’s voice behind you cussing Sungchan out as you slip through the hallway and out the front door.

Anton’s already halfway down the front lawn, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, moving like he has somewhere to be. Somewhere that isn’t here.

“Anton,” you call, heart thudding but he doesn’t stop.

You jog to catch up. “Anton, wait.”

He slows just enough for you to fall into step beside him but he doesn’t look at you.

“What was that?” you ask, breath catching. “You just…left.”

He exhales a shaky breath through his nose. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to talk to me! You’ve barely looked at me all night and then you just storm off without saying anything.” You say, your voice cracking.

He finally meets your eyes and the look he gives you is nothing like the Anton you know. It’s tight and guarded, like he’s trying not to fall apart right there on the lawn.

“You kissed him, you didn’t even hesitate.” He says quietly.

You feel your breath catch, like your lungs have forgotten how to work.

He shakes his head once, as if he’s trying to process it all over again. “Why was it so easy? Why him?” He asks, voice rising now.

“Anton—”

“No, seriously, Why him and not me?” He snaps, voice raw. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You’ve never seen him like this.

“I’ve been here,” he says, stepping closer, eyes burning. “I’ve always been here. You’ve known him for what? Two months and—”

He cuts himself off with a humorless laugh, brushing his fingers through his hair. “You kissed Sungchan. Like it was nothing. Like it didn’t mean anything, like I haven’t spent this whole summer trying not to fall apart every time you look at me like I’m just your friend!”

Your chest tightens.

“I thought maybe this would finally be the summer where it made sense. Where I could say something. Where you’d maybe look at me and see it.”

He looks at you glaring. “Do you want to know why I realy wanted to come back to the country club?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your throat’s too tight.

“I came back because I thought this summer was our last chance.”

Your stomach drops.

“Not because of the pay or the stupid slushies! This was it, the last time things could be the way they were. Before I’m knee-deep in med school applications and you’re halfway across the world…before everything changes.” He says quietly. He’s not yelling anymore but his words land heavier this way.

“I thought maybe we’d finally get it right. That if we went back to the place it all started…if we gave ourselves space to just be like we were when we were fourteen…maybe we wouldn’t miss it this time.”

He steps closer and it’s like the air shifts around you. “I’ve loved you for years, ____. Since before college, before Wonbin, before that stupid pinky promise you made me swear to keep.” He says, voice cracking now. 

Your breath stutters. Your eyes are already stinging.

“And tonight,” he says, shaking his head, “you kissed him. You didn’t even hesitate.” He swipes a hand down his face like he’s trying to scrub the image from his memory.

You open your mouth but close it soon after. What could you possibly say? How could you tell him you feel the same?

That Sungchan is just a friend, that the kiss meant nothing. That your heart didn’t flutter or race or ache the way it does when Anton so much as says your name. How could you be selfish and tell him you want him just as badly as he wants you?

You can’t.

Summer is ending. He said it himself, this was your last chance. The last moment to get it right and you missed it. You blink hard, trying to keep the tears at bay but it’s too late. They burn down your cheeks as your chest tightens around everything you won’t say.

It would be beyond selfish to ask for anything now. Not when your fall semester is stacked with back-to-back labs and your passport is already tucked into your nightstand waiting for your gap year to begin. Not when Anton has med school deadlines and a thousand things to focus on besides you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you but Anton, we can’t—” you start but he cuts you off, not even giving you the chance to invalidate this.

“Don’t say that like this wasn’t real, like this wasn’t something,” he pleads.

You shake your head, overwhelmed. “Anton, we can’t—”

“When I think of my future,” he cuts in, voice trembling now, “you’re in every version of it.”

His tears finally fall but he doesn’t bother to wipe his own.

“I see us traveling. I see us moving in together after grad school, decorating some tiny overpriced apartment with too many plants. I see us getting married, buying a forever home. I see you…as the mother of my kids.” He chokes out.

Your legs actually give out on you and you have to take hold of Sungchan’s mailbox to not fall flat on your face.

“I don’t know how to unsee that,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to stop loving you. If it’s not you, it doesn’t make sense.”

Anton steps closer, eyes glossy and searching. “Just say it. Tell me you feel it too.”

You freeze, your breath caught in your throat.

“Please,” he whispers.

You want to. You want to because you do feel it. Every piece of what he’s described you see it too.

You see the cluttered apartment filled with love and memories. You see the holidays spent arguing over where to put the Christmas lights. You see a wedding and a life with him where everything makes sense. You see kids with his eyes and your laugh and family vacations in the summer. You see it all but not in this lifetime.

Not with the clock winding down on the only summer you’ve ever wanted to last forever.

So you say nothing. Not because it isn’t real but because it’s too real. Too big. Too late.

He takes your silence like a punch to the gut nodding slowly, jaw clenched. “Okay, that’s my answer.” He says hollowly, stepping back.

You shake your head, a sob caught somewhere behind your teeth. “Anton, wait—” You call for him but he’s already walking away and this time, he doesn’t look back.

July 11th, 2025

You haven’t gone back to work.

The thought of clocking in and possibly seeing Anton makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t know how to untangle so you’ve stayed home. Ignored the group chat and let your shifts get quietly reassigned. No one’s said anything at least not directly but you’ve seen the unread messages pile up.

The sun’s starting to dip when your phone buzzes with an incoming call. You don’t even check the screen. You already know who it is.

You answer on the third ring, pressing the phone to your ear as you curl deeper into your sheets.

“Hey,” you murmur.

There’s silence for a beat then Maya’s voice cuts through the line. “You’re really not gonna tell me what happened?”

Your throat tightens. You stare up at the ceiling watching shadows shift across the plaster.

“Maya, I can’t—” you start but she cuts you off.

“—Yes, you can. I’ve let you spiral for a week. I’ve kept quiet but babe I’m running out of patience and you’re running out of time. Talk to me.”

You suck in a breath and finally let it out slowly. “He told me he loved me.”

You can hear the shift in her tone immediately. “And?”

You close your eyes. “And I didn’t say anything.”

A beat of silence.

“Maya…I froze. I just stood there like an idiot and said nothing. What was I supposed to say?”

“Literally anything?” she says, incredulously.

You sit up, heart pounding. “I didn’t want to be selfish.”

Maya’s quiet for a second then she says, “____, not saying anything was the selfish part.”

Your breath catches.

“You took away his choice. You decided for both of you that it wasn’t possible. You didn’t even give him the chance.”

The line goes quiet again, the weight of her words sinking in.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” you whisper.

“I know you did but you hurt him and now you’re hurting too.” She replies.

You lie back down, phone still pressed to your ear and let the silence stretch long between you. Outside, a plane flies low overhead. You close your eyes and wish it were enough to drown out the ache.

July 18th, 2025

You’ve been in the same spot on the couch for hours.

A movie plays on the TV but you’ve barely absorbed any of it. Your mom sits at the other end, folding laundry with half her attention on the screen and the other half on you. She hasn’t said anything yet, just glances over every so often like she’s trying to find the right words. You haven’t given her much to work with.

You sip from a cup of lukewarm tea, the one she made without asking and tuck your feet under the blanket stretched over your lap.

She finally breaks the silence. “So…are we gonna talk about it? Or are we still pretending it’s just PMS?”

You blink, turning slowly to look at her. “What?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been home for almost two weeks and you haven’t once mentioned work…or Anton.”

You freeze.

“I don’t want to push but it’s starting to feel like you’re hiding out.” She continues, gentler now.

You don’t respond, not directly. Just look down at your tea and pretend to be really interested in the ceramic pattern of the mug.

She sighs. “Okay. Just know I’m here when you’re ready.”

You nod, still quiet. She reaches for the remote and turns up the volume slightly. The sound of canned laughter fills the room. That’s when your phone buzzes against your thigh.

You check it without much thought and see Sungchan’s name.

1:00 pm | sungchan 🐸: hey. 1:10 pm | sungchan 🐸: i know i probably should’ve said something sooner but 1:10 pm | sungchan 🐸: i’m sorry for the kiss. 1:11 pm | sungchan 🐸: i got caught up in the moment and was thinking about the bet…it was stupid and selfish, i’m sorry 1:11 pm | sungchan 🐸: just wanted to clear the air 1:12 pm | sungchan 🐸: also update you probably don’t want but 1:12 pm | sungchan 🐸: he’s still coming in for shifts. won’t talk to me though. checks in with harvey about you sometimes. 1:13 pm | sungchan 🐸: misses you, even if he won’t say it. 1:13 pm | sungchan 🐸: just thought you should know.

You reread the messages three times. Your throat tightens even more after each read. Your mom glances over again and sees the shift in your expression but doesn’t ask. Your fingers hover over your phone as you type out a reply.

1:30 pm | you: thanks for saying that. 1:30 pm | you: and it’s okay. i know it wasn’t meant to be a thing 1:31 pm | you: i’m not mad at you. 1:31 pm | you: i just wish things were different

You turn your phone face down and lean back against the couch, eyes stinging. You don’t cry. Not today but you let the discomfort stay.

July 20th, 2025

The door bursts open before you can even pretend to be asleep.

“____.”

You flinch slightly at the sharpness in your mom’s voice. She stands in the doorway with one hand on her hip, eyes scanning the state of your room, dim and cluttered. You’re curled on your side, blanket halfway pulled over your head, a movie paused on your laptop and your untouched water bottle sweating on the nightstand.

“You’ve barely left this room in days. What’s going on?”

You try to brush it off. “I’m just tired.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Tired? Or avoiding something?”

You swallow hard and look down. It’s been over two weeks. Two weeks of silence, of dodging the group chat, of skipping shifts at the country club. Two weeks of not speaking to Anton.

Your mom steps further in and sits at the edge of your bed like she used to when you were little. “Did something happen?”

The tears come faster than expected.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I think I ruined everything.”

You tell her the whole story. As much as you can manage between shaky exhales and thumb-picking. The dance, the kiss, the fight. The way Anton looked so heartbroken.

When you finish, she’s quiet for a beat. Then, carefully, “Do you love him?”

You don’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

She sighs, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “Then tell him.”

“I can’t.” You shake your head. “I hurt him and the timing is all wrong. We’re leaving soon.”

She softly caresses your cheek. “Baby love was never meant to fit into a timeline. It’s not something that’s meant to be perfect.”

You blink back fresh tears.

“I’m not saying call him right this second but don’t let silence be your answer. You don’t want to live with ‘what ifs.’”

You nod slowly. “I’ll think about it.”

She kisses your forehead “Thinking’s a start.”

When she leaves the room you stay seated on your bed staring at the spot where your phone charges. You’re not ready yet but maybe soon.

August 3rd, 2025

​​You’re lying on your floor with a pillow tucked under your stomach and your phone playing an old K-drama you’ve seen a dozen times while you munch away on some veggie chips. You haven’t done much today, you finally got around to putting your laundry away but that’s about it.

When the doorbell rings, you don’t move at first. You wait to see if someone else will answer it but no one does.

You pause the show, drag yourself to your feet and shuffle downstairs in the same hoodie you’ve been wearing for two days, Anton’s. You open the door, expecting maybe a package or a neighbor only to be met with the man of the hour himself, Anton.

He looks just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.

His posture shifts immediately, his hand flexes around a plain brown paper bag and his jaw tightens as his eyes flicker up to meet yours.

“Oh. I thought…I figured your mom would answer.” He says, voice stiff.

You don’t say anything. You can’t.

He clears his throat, eyes darting somewhere over your shoulder. “I just came to drop these off.” He lifts the bag slightly like it’s proof.

Still, you can’t move. Can’t look away. You thought you were prepared for this for seeing him again but you’re not.

He shifts his weight. “That’s all.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. Just gently places the bag on the doormat and takes a step back.

“Bye, ____” he says softly.

You whisper his name, barely audible but he doesn’t stop. He’s already retreating down the steps and toward his car. You stay there, frozen in the doorway as he pulls out, not once looking back.

You eventually pick up the bag and close the door just to sink to the floor with the bag in your lap.

You open it and find that inside are the photo booth strips.

You smooth out the top strip. It’s the one with all of you: Sohee making a face, Sungchan mid-blink, Harvey grinning wide, Anton reaching over to squeeze your cheek as you pretend to scowl.

But the second strip makes your breath catch. Just you and him. You’re laughing in every frame and Anton is watching you in almost all of them.

There’s a sticky note tucked in the corner. His handwriting is careful, slanted just slightly like it always is.

this summer still meant something.

You press the strips against your chest and shut your eyes tight.

August 10th, 2025

You hesitate outside the staff entrance longer than you mean to, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt like it might give you courage. It’s been over a month since your last shift and just standing here makes your chest ache. The door squeaks when you push it open.

Inside, it smells the same; chlorine and sunscreen. You walk in slowly, heart hammering, unsure of what you’ll find but the moment Sohee spots you from his seat he lets out a dramatic gasp.

“No way. Look who’s alive.”

You roll your eyes but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips. Harvey practically tackles you in a hug before you can respond.

“We missed you,” she says. “I missed you. Work’s been so boring.”

Sungchan peeks over from the microwave. “You’re late but I'll allow it. Welcome back.” He teases.

You thank him quietly, the warmth of their welcome easing some of the tension in your shoulders until your eyes meet Anton’s.

He’s sitting off to the side by himself tapping aimlessly on his phone. His expression doesn’t shift. He gives you a nod politely but nothing more and looks away just as fast.

Your throat tightens but you say nothing. Just walk past him and clock in like you’re not silently crumbling inside.

The day passes quietly. Anton barely speaks to you, he only speaks to you unless it’s absolutely necessary. No jokes. No lingering glances only offering the occasional “you’re on towel duty” or “cover me for break?” You keep your distance, folding towels beside Harvey and watching Sungchan argue with a kid about the height requirement for the pool.

It’s almost worse than if he’d ignored you completely.

By the time your shift ends everyone’s lingering outside by the staff parking lot, too tired to rush home but not ready to say goodbye.

Sohee’s the first to speak, tossing his half-empty water bottle in the air. “Okay, I’m calling it. We need one last hangout before the summer ends.”

Harvey perks up from where she’s crouched, re-tying her shoelace. “Bonfire at my place? The lakehouse is free next weekend.”

Sungchan nods. “I’m in.”

Sohee smiles. “I’m so down.”

Harvey looks over at you, hopeful. “You’re coming, right?”

You pause. You struggled to make it through your shift, the idea of spending a whole night with everyone again…especially Anton, makes your stomach turn.

“I don’t know…” you murmur.

Harvey doesn’t back down. “Come on. This is it. Sohee leaves for Cali in two weeks, Sungchan’s off to Rutgers, you and Anton are back at Northeastern and I’ve got to go back to Brown. It’s now or never.”

You hesitate not sure but just then Anton who’s been silent this whole time, fidgeting with his car keys says quietly, “I’ll go.”

You glance at him startled. He doesn’t look at you though, doesn’t look at anyone really. Just pockets his keys and walks to his car.

Sohee blinks. “Well…okay. Didn’t expect that.”

You exhale, heart thudding. “I’ll go too.”

Harvey grins, satisfied. “Saturday the 17th. No flaking!”

Everyone agrees, tossing out snack ideas and playlist demands as you all trickle toward your cars.

This is it you think to yourself. One last night, one last chance. The countdown begins.

August 17th, 2025

A week has come and gone and just like that it’s the day of the lakehouse hang out. You’re currently in your room packing the last of your things: sunscreen, a half-full bottle of body spray, the polaroid Anton gave you last Christmas that you almost forgot about.

The bag’s a little overstuffed, the zipper stubborn but you manage to wrangle it shut. You pause for a second staring down at it, heart beating a little too fast.

You’ve been turning this day over in your head since the second the plans were finalized. At first the idea of being in the same house as Anton for a whole three days felt unbearable. You’d even called Maya asking if maybe it would be better to stay home.

“Stay home and you’re not allowed to move back into the dorms.” She said before going on to give you advice on how to approach Anton, she told you to corner him and just confess.

Your mom had different advice though. She told you to show him. “That boy has been pouring himself into you for years. Maybe it’s time you return the favor.”

You’re not sure how it’ll go. You don’t know if you’ll get the timing right or if you’ll stumble over your words. You don’t even know if he still wants this but you do know you can’t walk away without trying. Not again.

You grab your phone, charger and the pack of sour patch kids you were instructed to buy and chuck them into your tote and sling your bag over your shoulder just as Harvey honks from outside.

“Bye, Mom! Bye Dad!” you call as you race down the stairs.

Your mom pokes her head out from the kitchen. “Have fun! Be safe! And don’t forget, acts of service!”

You smile at her words then head out the door. Harvey honks again just as you step out onto the porch, duffel slung over your shoulder and your tote bag digging slightly into your arm. She waves when she spots you, sunglasses perched on her head and an open Red Bull in the cupholder.

You toss your bag in the backseat and climb in beside Harvey, the leather warm from the sun. She’s already queuing up the playlist you made together last night, twizzlers clamped between her teeth.

“Ready?” she asks, pulling out of your driveway.

You nod, tugging your seatbelt across your chest. “Let’s do this.” The car rumbles to life as she shifts the gear stick into drive.

A few minutes pass in a comfortable silence with the windows cracked before Harvey speaks. “Oh, by the way I gave Sungchan the lakehouse keys yesterday. Figured the guys could leave early to set up.”

You hum and scroll on your phone, “makes sense. Are they there now?”

She nods as she takes a turn. “Yup!”

You lean your head back against the seat and glance out the window as familiar streets pass by. Harvey hums along to the music, one hand on the wheel the other tapping her knee in rhythm.

“So…is it still weird with Anton?”

You blink slowly, still watching the trees blur past your window. “Yeah…I mean, we don’t really talk anymore. Not really.”

Harvey glances at you briefly then back at the road. “You think it’ll stay like that?”

You shrug, pulling your knees up slightly onto the seat. “I don’t know. I don’t want it to. I keep thinking if I just say the right thing or make the right move, maybe it’ll fix something, but…I don’t even know where to start.”

Harvey doesn’t respond right away. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting until she’s merged back onto the main road before glancing at you again. “It’s Anton, he’ll appreciate anything as long as it comes from you.”

You glance over at her skeptical. “You think?”

She nods, eyes fixed on the road. “He still asks about you, you know? Not all the time but he asks about the little things. If you’re eating, sleeping. If you’re okay. Things like that.”

Your throat tightens. “He does?”

“Yeah,” she says, quieter now. “He’s not gonna stay mad forever. He’s just…waiting. Waiting to know if you want this too.”

You stare down at your hands, fingers fiddling with the hem of your baby tee. “I do,” you whisper.

Harvey smiles softly. “Then tell him. Or show him. I dunno, either way, you’ve got this.”

The car rolls to a stop at a flashing yellow light, the lake shimmering just ahead in the distance. “Plus Sungchan and I are playing wingman this trip to make up for the kiss…” She continues.

You snort, adjusting your seat belt. “There’s no need. Seriously, all is forgiven.”

Harvey gives you a look. “It’s the least we can do, we practically started this.”

You crack a small smile. “Yeah, well you’re both forgiven. I swear.”

She hums but doesn’t drop it. “Even so, I can’t let the summer end with you and Anton not being together. That just feels wrong.”

You raise a brow. “It’s not that simple, Harv.”

“It kinda is. From the first shift I knew you guys were more than friends. You two just make sense.” She says with a shrug.

You feel the smile creep back up your face but say nothing in response. Harvey nudges your arm lightly as she turns into the long gravel driveway. “You’ve got all of tonight, we gotta make something shake.”

The gravel crunches under Harvey’s tires as she pulls into the driveway, tall trees casting long shadows over the lakehouse. It’s quiet except for the gentle chirp of cicadas and the base of the three men leaking from inside the house. Sungchan’s SUV is already parked off to the side, Anton’s jeep right next to it with both back doors flung open like they’d been in a rush.

Harvey shifts into park. “Home sweet lakehouse.”

You push your door open and hop out, grabbing your tote bag while Harvey takes your duffel from the backseat.

“You ready?” she asks, already halfway up the porch steps.

You nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

She shoots you a quick smile. “That’s the spirit.” Your sneakers crunch softly on the gravel as you and Harvey head toward the porch.

Sohee’s the first to greet you, tossing an empty can into the recycling bin. “Welcome ladies.”

Sungchan appears behind him, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “Perfect timing, we just finished with groceries.”

Anton rounds the corner a second later, sleeves pushed to his elbows and an empty reusable bag slung over one arm. His steps slow when he sees you but he doesn’t stop. Just gives you a small nod.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you echo, your grip tightening slightly on the strap of your tote.

There’s a pause, not uncomfortable but not quite normal either. Sungchan claps his hands together and steps into the center of the porch breaking the silent staredwon. “Alright, housekeeping! There are four rooms and five of us. One of them has bunk beds which means someone’s doubling up.”

Harvey raises a brow. “Don’t I get first pick? My parents’ house, my rules.”

Sungchan nods. “Of course. Harv gets the queen suite which means the rest of us are playing rock paper scissors for the good ones.”

You glance at Anton who’s already stepping into the circle near the porch railing with his shoulders slouched like a man heading into battle he knows he won’t win. His hands are stuffed into the pocket of his shorts, thumb tapping absently against the seam.

Anton is historically almost comically bad at rock-paper-scissors.

Freshman year, he lost a bet and had to eat wasabi straight up from the Japanese resturant Maya took you guys to. Sophomore year, he lost his turn to control the aux cord for an entire month. Even at work, when someone calls for a quick round to decide who covers bathroom cleanup, Anton’s basically guaranteed to lose.

It’s not even bad luck. He’s just predictable, he always starts with rock.

You fall into step beside the others, heart thudding. Sungchan’s grinning like he’s entering a boxing match, Sohee’s already trash-talking no one in particular and Anton…Anton just looks resigned.

Acts of service, your mom said. He’s always done them for you. Maybe it’s time you return the favor.

It’s a small thing, a stupid game but if you can win this you can hand over the best room without making it a big deal. It’ll be a start, something that says I’m trying. I remember too.

You stretch your fingers out slowly, roll your shoulders once and take your spot in the circle. Sungchan claps his hands together. “Alright. Bunk beds go to the two losers. Everyone ready?” You nod, eyes trained on Anton as he exhales a slow breath.

“Rock…paper…scissors…shoot!”

You throw scissors, Anton throws rock, Sungchan and Sohee both throw paper. You blink.

You won.

Anton looks mildly confused for a second, already stepping back like he expects to be sent to the bunk bed but you clear your throat and speak before he can say anything. “You can have my pick.”

He stops mid-step and turns to face you. “What?”

“You hate bunk beds, take the good room.” You say, tone light but sure.

He watches you for a second too long, like he’s waiting for the catch. You don’t give him one though.

A quiet snort comes from Sohee as he mumbles “simp” and Harvey throws you a glance but says nothing, just lifts a brow slightly before heading for the stairs.

Anton blinks then slowly he smiles. It’s small but real, familiar. “Thanks,” he says softly.

You nod and he disappears down the hall with his duffel, falling into step behind Harvey.

Sohee whistles low. “Okay, rock-paper-scissors for the other one then?” He turns to Sungchan who doesn’t even respond—just claps a hand on his shoulder and steers him away towards the room with the bunk beds.

You let out a small breath and glance at the empty hallway, your fingers still curled around your bag strap. Anton smiled at you.

It felt good, doing something for him. Just a small thing but maybe your mom was right. Maybe this is how you start to show him he’s always been worth it.

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding and finally start walking in the direction of the bedrooms. When you step into your room you note that it’s smaller than you expected, just a twin bed, a dresser and a window cracked open to let in the breeze from the lake. You drop your bag on the mattress and sit beside it, running a hand over the comforter.

You take a deep breath and unzip your bag pulling out your items. You line up your toiletries in the corner of the dresser and place your polaroid on the windowsill. 

You take a moment to examine the camera, you had complained for ages about wanting one your freshman year of college but your parents thought it would be a waste and that you wouldn’t really use it. You remember complaining to Anton in passing about how annoyed you were about not having one he didn’t say much in response (he was busy studying for his a&p final) but that Christmas you guys had done secret Santa with his friend Shotaro and Maya’s then boyfriend Seunghan. Anton didn’t pull your name, in fact he got Maya but he still gifted you the camera along with his gift for Maya.

It wasn’t weird to gift each other things during the holidays but that year you had blown through all your cash on rave tickets and uber eats, you had to dip into your savings to cover the Basketball tickets you got Seunghan so you and Anton agreed on no gifts that year. He of course didn’t listen. The camera feels like something sacred, like it’s proof that he’s always been paying attention.

The thing is so have you. Maybe not in the ways that count, maybe not when it mattered most but you’ve always been watching too. ​​You know he reads the last page of a book before he decides to commit, that he hums when he’s focused and that he can’t fall asleep unless the room is cold, even in winter.

Words have failed you before, choked in your throat when he needed them most so this time you’ll show him instead. With the small things. The way he always shows you.

Before your thoughts can stray further, a burst of laughter carries through the window. You stand and move towards it. Through the trees you spot the others outside, Sohee is running barefoot with a towel over his shoulders, Sungchan’s hauling out a cooler and Anton’s stretching out on the grass near one of the patio chairs with Harvey, heads tilted back squinting up at the sky.

You smooth out your baby tee and slip on your sandals before heading outback to join them. You cross the grass slowly, squinting against the sun and take a seat beside Harvey and Anton brushing grass off your shorts as you sit. Anton shifts slightly to make space but doesn’t say anything.

You glance at Harvey unsure of how to read the silence but she only shrugs. “I’m gonna grab my sunscreen, be back in a sec.” She says as she pushes up to her feet and dusts her hands on her thighs. 

You nod, watching her go and then glance up at the sky as if it’ll give you something to say. It doesn’t. You try anyway.

“That one looks like a rabbit. With, like…cowboy boots on.”

Anton hums beside you, noncommittal. His sunglasses hide most of his expression but you can see the corner of his mouth twitch so you decide to try again.

“Do you see it?”

He exhales slowly. “Kind of.”

It’s quiet again.

You sigh and glance toward Sohee who’s crouched at the cooler pulling out a few drinks. Anton notices too and calls out casually, “Toss me one?”

Sohee hums, grabs one at random and chucks it toward him. Anton catches it without looking, already popping the tab with his thumb.

Your eyes flick to the label. Passionfruit. Your stomach twists.

It only happened once years ago. The two of you were ten sitting poolside at Anton’s cousin’s graduation cookout when Anton reached for a popsicle from the cooler without checking the flavor. Twenty minutes later he was doubled over on the grass, his lips swelling and throat tightening barely able to breathe while everyone around you panicked.

It was the first time you saw fear on his face.

You remember his mom’s shaking hands as she stabbed the Epipen into his thigh, the ride to the ER, the way Anton tried to crack a joke through the oxygen mask like it wasn’t that big a deal but it was, it was terrifying.

You never forgot.

After that, you started keeping mental notes. Not just passionfruit but dog-hair, pollen, random tree nuts. Even the specific brand of protein powder that gave him a rash once during sophomore year.

Your body moves before your brain finishes processing and you swat the can from his hand, the aluminum clattering to the grass.

Anton jolts. “What the hell?”

Sohee blinks. “Dude?”

You’re already reaching down to pick up the bottle to take it far far away from Anton. “Sorry! Sorry! it’s just it’s passionfruit.”

Anton furrows his brow.

“You’re allergic,” you say softly, smoothing your palm nervously over your leg.

Anton stares at you for a second, then down at the can like it burned him. “Oh.”

Sohee mumbles, “Sorry man I didn’t know,” and goes back to rummaging through the cooler like nothing happened.

You push up to your feet. “I’ll get you something else.”

You walk over to the cooler and hand Sohee the can ignoring how your cheeks burn as you dig out a can of coke. When you return Anton’s still sitting there, slightly stiff but not as tense.

You hold the can out. “Here. You like coke, right?”

His lips part like he might say something but he just takes it with a quiet, “Yeah. Thanks.”

You nod and start to sit back down but before you do, he’s already standing. He calls out to Sohee and says something about filling up the water guns and jogs off.

You let yourself sink into the grass again, alone this time. You purse your lips, at least he took the coke.

You stay there in the grass for a while, legs stretched out and fingers absently tugging at a stray thread on your shorts. You watch Anton and Sohee fill up water balloons while Sungchan works on grilling the meat for later. You’re just starting to space out again when the back door swings open with a bang. You look up in time to see Harvey ginning like a maniac holding one of the water guns Anton had filled.

“Don’t scream,” she says and then immediately blasts you in the chest with freezing cold water.

You shriek, instinctively curling in on yourself. “What the hell!?”

She's already halfway across the lawn, cackling as she aims at Sohee next, catching him right in the back. He screams loud enough to startle birds out of the tree.

“You’re so dead,” you shout, pushing up from the grass and chasing after her only to get hit again mid-run but by Sohee this time.

Sungchan groans and throws the grill lid over the skewers. “So immature!” but he’s already jogging toward the cooler, yanking it open and grabbing two of the bigger water guns plus a few half-filled balloons.

“Come on,” he calls while tossing one of the guns your way.

You catch it without thinking and duck behind the patio chair again for cover. Water drips from your shirt sticking to your skin but you’re grinning now.

Across the yard, Sohee’s yelling something about revenge while Harvey darts behind a tree laughing so hard she almost drops her gun.

You wait until Sohee’s distracted reloading then pop up and blast him in the side. He yelps and whirls around, slipping a little in the grass “Really? You wanna start this?” He shouts already aiming his gun right at you but before he can spray you back a water balloon nails him square in the chest courtesy of Sungchan.

Sohee lets out a choked scream. “Oh, you’re both dead.”

You don’t wait to see what happens next. You break into a sprint bolting across the lawn until you catch Harvey still hiding behind the tree. She shrieks when she sees you coming but you’ve already got the shot.

“Ah! Okay! Okay!” She yells.

You whip around just in time to see Anton sneaking up behind Sungchan with the water hose. You catch his eye and toss him a nod, circling wide while he creeps closer.

“Now!” You shout, Anton raises the hose and sprays down Sungchan while you pump the last of your water gun. Sungchan doesn’t stand a chance.

He stands there dripping, head low as he takes the beating. “The irony,” He says dryly. You snort at that, Anton’s laughing too, shaking water from his curls. It’s the first time in weeks it feels like you’re all just…okay. Like it’s June again and you’re all still figuring each other out.

You look over at Anton just as the thought crosses your mind but get snapped out of it when Sohee throws a balloon directly at your face.

You gasp, stumbling back as water drips down your chin.

“Jimmy Lee!” You shout.

He’s already sprinting across the lawn. You charge after him soaked and grinning, shouting his name while the others cheer you on.

The water balloon fight doesn’t last for much longer after that, soon everyone collapses across the lawn in soaked heaps.

Sohee’s sprawled on the grass groaning dramatically while thumbing at his ear. “I can hear my heartbeat,” he mutters.

Harvey’s lying next to him cackling and kicking her legs like a kid. Sungchan and Anton are off to the side, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the deck steps both still dripping as they laugh at something you can’t hear. It’s nice seeing them like that again.

Your gaze flicks to the folded stack of towels near the cooler. You grab one without thinking. You shake it out as you walk towards the pair, still damp yourself with the ends of your shorts clinging to your thighs. The grass squishes under your feet, warm and wet.

Anton notices you first, his laughter fades just slightly as his eyes catch on the towel in your hands. You don’t say anything, just offer it out to him.

He blinks once then just stares at the towel. He doesn’t move to take it, just looks at it then up at you like he’s trying to figure out if this means something.

It’s quiet for a beat too long so you clear your throat and say softly, “I didn’t want you to catch a cold.” That seems to pull him back. His fingers curl around the towel and he finally takes it.

You give a quick nod and turn before he can say anything. 

You grab another towel from the pile and press it to your arms drying off slowly as you stand on the deck.

Harvey’s the first to break the silence. “I’m starving. Did you ever finish grilling, Sungchan?”

Sungchan stretches “Yeah. Should still be warm but we should probably rinse off and clean up before dinner, though.”

That sets everyone in motion. Sohee groans as he rolls onto his stomach, mumbling something about needing a nap then slowly starts pushing himself up.

You fall into step with them as you all head inside, breaking off one by one to your rooms to shower and change.

You take your time rinsing off in your bathroom. When you’re done you wrap your hair in a towel and change into the sundress you packed, it’s light yellow with little white flowers lining the hem. You even do your makeup, soft and simple with a little mascara, blush and a bit of gloss.

You head downstairs and find Sungchan and Sohee curled up on opposite ends of the couch shouting at a soccer match like they’re coaching from the sidelines. Sungchan’s yelling something about offside; Sohee throws a pillow at him and yells louder. You don’t even try to follow what’s happening.

Harvey’s in the kitchen, humming to herself as she stacks food on her plate. She’s wearing a bubble skirt and a sleeveless hot pink top with her hair clipped up and gold hoops. When you enter the kitchen she lights up instantly.

“You look so cute!” she says, handing you a plate.

You glance down at your dress and offer a small smile. “Thanks. Have you seen Anton?”

Harvey shakes her head. “Mm-mm. Probably still getting ready.”

You nod, eyes flicking toward the hallway. Harvey leans her hip against the counter and eyes you for a beat. “How’s it going?”

You shift the plate in your hands. “Not much progress but it seems better than before. Kind of.” You admit.

She bites into a piece of steak then bumps your shoulder gently with hers. “You two will work it out, he just needs a minute.” She says.

Then she pushes off the counter and walks off toward the living room, calling out something to Sohee as she flops onto the armchair with her food. You’re left standing there in the kitchen, your stomach suddenly tight even though you haven’t eaten all day.

You glance down at your plate and start building it with steak, rice, two sausages, some salad, a slice of sourdough and some sauces. You’re just about to grab a fork when you hear footsteps.

Anton rounds the corner, hair dry and the sleeves of his oversized white pullover pushed up to his elbows.

He walks over slowly, gaze flicking from you to the counter then back. Before he can grab a plate though, you hold out the one in your hands.

“I made you one, didn’t want it to get cold.” You say, trying not to sound too eager.

He looks at the plate then at you. His brows draw together. “I can make my own,” he says flatly. 

You keep your hand out. “I know but I already put your favorites on it,” you say, voice soft. “Don’t want it to go to waste, right?”

There’s a beat of silence where you think he might reject you but instead, he takes the plate with a short huff of breath and a quiet, “Thanks.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes as he turns and walks toward the others.

You exhale slowly and grab another plate for yourself. You move on autopilot, stacking a bit of everything. Once your plate’s done you carry it into the living room and settle into the open end of the couch.

Sungchan has switched the TV to a Marvel movie now, one of the older ones and the opening scene is already playing. Harvey tosses a comment over her shoulder about being bored already and Sohee launches into a whole rant as he balances his plate on his knees.

Anton doesn’t say much. He’s sitting at the far end of the couch, eyes on the screen and plate resting in his lap. He eats slowly, mechanically, like his mind’s somewhere else.

You say nothing and pick at your food, maybe acts aren’t enough.

___

The movie ends before you even realize it, the screen fading to black as the credits roll and Sohee groans something about it being mid. Dinner’s long been finished with plates cleared and drinks watered down.

Sungchan stretches with a dramatic yawn and claps his hands once. “Alright bonfire time.”

Harvey perks up immediately. “Finally! Help me bring out the s’mores stuff.” She says, already on her feet grabbing your wrists.

Sohee mumbles something about needing to piss and disappears down the hall. Sungchan nods toward the patio. “I’ll get the wood ready with Anton.”

You follow Harvey into the kitchen and grab all the items needed before heading out back with arms full of marshmallows and graham crackers.

You walk with her toward the firepit but your eyes keep drifting toward the edge of the yard where Anton and Sungchan are dragging over logs.

It stings. Anton’s barely spoken to you and yet somehow he’s fine talking to Sungchan. He kissed you, not the other way around and yet it’s you Anton can’t even look at.

You blink hard and keep moving.

You were supposed to spend this summer side by side. One last stretch of borrowed time before everything changed—before grad school and a gap year. It was meant to be late nights and dumb inside jokes and off guard point fives. Not this. Not silence and walking on eggshells around the person who used to know you best.

You’d promised yourself you’d fix it. That today would be the start, that maybe if you showed him it would be enough.

So you made sure he got the best room. Switched out the soda he’s allergic to while no one else seemed to care. Made sure he got the first towel because you knew he wouldn’t grab it himself. You made him a plate before Sungchan went back for seconds and his favorites were gone and still he’s looked through you all day. Like none of it mattered, like you don’t matter to him anymore.

You glance over again and catch him mid-laugh at something Sungchan says. His shoulders shake and it hits you in the gut. You haven’t made him laugh like that in weeks. You don’t even know if you still can.

Is this how your last summer ends? With you loving him in silence and him pretending not to see?

The ache turns into something heavier. You blink again, faster this time like that’ll make it all go away. Like you can still fix it if you just try harder.

Then you see him heading towards you with arms full of firewood and something in you snaps. One last act. Just one more. Maybe this will do it. Maybe this time, he’ll see.

You move before you can think.

“Here—let me help,” you say meeting him halfway, reaching out before he’s even settled the stack in his arms.

He shifts slightly, confused. “I’ve got it.”

“I know,” you say, breath tight. “But just…let me.”

“____.” His tone sharpens. “It’s fine. I said I’ve got it.”

You shake your head, hands already at the edge of the stack. “Please. I want to help.”

“Stop,” he says again. “Seriously. Stop.”

But you can’t. You can’t stop. Not now. Not when this feels like the only thing left you can do.

You reach for the top log, trying to ease it from his arms but it catches rough against your palm. A sharp sting rips through your hand and you cry out, instinctively letting go. The log hits the ground with a loud thud.

Your hand jerks back and you don’t need to look to know it’s bleeding. Anton drops everything.

“Shit!” He’s in front of you in a second, crouched down, brows pulled tight as his eyes find your hand. “Let me see it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to say anything. Just grabs your wrist gently and pulls you inside. Leaving behind a stunned Harvey and Sungchan.

“It’s not bad,” you say, trying to wave it off even though it kind of is. Blood wells up from the cut and slides toward your wrist.

He exhales through his nose. “____.” He says in warning.

He grabs a dish towel and presses it into your hand then ducks into the half-bath down the hall, coming back with the first-aid kit. He doesn’t look at you as he turns on the tap and reaches for your hand again. The water runs cold over your skin, stinging slightly as it washes away the blood. You flinch but Anton doesn’t loosen his grip. 

He presses the gauze to your cut and you hiss softly but he doesn’t stop. He grabs a bandage and gingerly wraps your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly.

He doesn’t answer.

“I wasn’t trying to—I just thought maybe if I helped—”

“Why are you doing this?” He asks suddenly, not harsh but exhausted. You look up at him to meet his gaze but words fail you yet again.

“You’ve barely said two words to me for weeks,” he says, eyes glassy, expression pulled tight with something akin to pain. “And now you’re out there hurting yourself trying to carry firewood?”

Your throat tightens. “I didn’t know how else to show you I still care.” Anton blinks, like the words physically hit him. He steps back like he needs the space. Like being too close to you right now might split him open.

“D-don’t say that.” He takes a step back, his head shaking like he’s trying to make sense of it, of you.

You open your mouth to speak, to explain but he cuts you off.

“You say you care now but when I stood in front of you and told you I was in love with you, you just…stood there.” His voice cracks like he still can’t believe it happened.

“You didn’t say it back. You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You didn’t do anything.” He laughs, but it’s dry. Hollow. “You disappeared.”

“Anton, I didn’t mean to—”

He swallows hard, breath hitching as he cuts you off yet again. “I waited! Every day, I waited! I thought maybe you just needed time. That you’d come back when you were ready but weeks went by and you—” He cuts himself off, blinking fast, like it’s too much to say out loud.

“I had to be the one to reach out first. After all that, I had to make the first move. You’re the one who kissed Sungchan and yet I was somehow the one on your front porch!”

You start to speak again, heart racing. “That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t—”

“But this is!?” he asks, voice booming.

You deflate. He’s right, none of this is fair to him. You told yourself you were being careful, thoughtful, realistic even but the truth is, you were scared. You let him give you everything and gave him nothing back and now he’s standing here, hurt and angry and still waiting for you to say something.

You chose silence once, you’re not doing it again.

“You’re right.”

Anton freezes, caught off guard. His chest rises and falls but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t believe it yet.

“I haven’t been fair and I know sorry isn’t enough but I am. I’m sorry.” You say louder now. You’re shaking but you don’t even care.

“The reason I didn’t say it back—” Your voice catches but you push through it. “The reason I stood there like an idiot when you poured your heart out is because I thought we missed our chance. Not because I didn’t feel the same but because this is our last summer.” You’re crying now. Full-on.

“We have two weeks before fall sem starts. Everything is changing and I told myself we couldn’t make it work because if I believed we could then I’d have to admit how badly I wanted it.”

He’s staring at you, blinking back tears of his own.

“I didn’t say it because if I said it,then I’d have to live with knowing I could lose it.”

You step forward, hands curled into fists like your body doesn’t know what to do with the truth anymore.

“I’m in love with you, Anton.”

He exhales sharply, like the air’s been knocked out of him but you feel like a weight has been lifted off of your chest and you can finally breathe again.

“I felt it that night during the storm and I knew it when we had dinner with your parents.” You swallow hard. This is way outside of your comfort zone but Anton is worth it, a future with him is worth anything.

“I was selfish. I know I was. I didn’t give you the chance to choose, I decided for both of us that it couldn’t work. I’m sorry.”

Anton’s lips part like he’s going to say something but no words come out. His eyes are red. His shoulders are trembling.

Then, hoarse and low he says, “Say it again.”

You blink at him, chest pounding.

“What?”

“Say it again.”

You take a breath. Then another. “I’m in love with you,” you say, steady now. “I’m so in love with you it physically hurts to keep it in.”

For a split second, neither of you moves, just stare at each other until Anton makes the first move. He’s across the space in two steps, cupping your face in his hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

His mouth crashes into yours, all teeth and desperation and shaking hands. It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s everything he’s been holding back, everything you’ve been too afraid to say, poured into the space between your lips.

You kiss him back with equal force. His hands slide into your hair, tugging you even closer like the space between your bodies is suddenly too much. You grip the front of his shirt, curling your fingers into the fabric, holding him like you’re scared the second you let go this will all disappear.

There’s nothing pretty or practiced about it. It’s uncoordinated and messy. Your teeth clash once, your noses bump and still neither of you pulls away. You’re both breathing hard, tears still drying on your cheeks.

When he finally slows it’s only because he needs to catch his breath but even then he doesn’t let go. His forehead presses against yours, both of you panting.

His voice comes out low. “You don’t get to leave again.”

You shake your head, lips brushing his as you whisper, “I won’t.” And then he kisses you again.

You move your hands to the back of his neck and thread your fingers through his hair. He places his hands on your lower back and rubs soothing circles onto your back.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips, sending butterflies into your stomach. He leans back in and kisses you again, this time with a bit more force. He slides his tongue across your bottom lip asking for entrance. When you don’t open up, he slides his hands down your back and grabs your ass and pulls you into him, making your core grind against him, causing you both to gasp. His tongue slips into your mouth, curling around yours.

You don’t say anything as he grabs your hand and pulls you with him, not even giving you time to breathe.

You stumble through the hallway, half-dizzy from the way he kisses you between steps; quick, breathless kisses against your jaw, your cheek, your mouth almost like he can’t wait until you’re alone. You make it to the stairs and he doesn’t let go of you even then. One arm stays wrapped around your waist, his fingers splayed tight against your hip as you climb together, lips brushing, breaths colliding, neither of you willing to part for longer than a second.

By the time you reach his bedroom door, your hands are in his hair, his lips hot against your throat and you’re laughing. He fumbles with the knob, pushes the door open and then slams it shut behind you with more force than necessary.

You don’t care what anyone else hears.

He lifts you slightly as he walks you backward, mouths still pressed together and you let him guide you until the back of your knees hit the edge of his bed. He lays you down with all of the care in the world and then he’s hovering over you, hands braced on either side of your head, staring at you like you’re something he never thought he’d be allowed to touch.

His hands fall down to your hips, pushing your dress up to feel the softness of your stomach beneath his palms with battered breaths. You gasp at the feeling of his soft hands and the pressure he slightly applies, his body pinning you deeper back as he continues exploring your mouth with his own.

You pull back slightly, breathing heavily and your lips red and plump with saliva. Anton smirks at the sight, his thumb coming up to pull down your bottom lip with the tip of his finger before moving his mouth to the sensitive skin of your neck.

The strands of his hair are silky beneath your fingertips as you gasp and tug at the roots as he bites down on a certain area of your neck that makes your core clench.

“Ton,” you whisper, whimpering at the feeling of his palm applying pressure lightly against your navel. “Are we-?”

Anton opens his eyes, his hands stilling immediately as he moves his face in front of yours. “Do you want to?”

You look at him through your lashes and stare at his face for a minute trying to decipher what he’s thinking. He’s always been a person who wears their emotions on their face and now, as you look up into his eyes searching for any hesitation- you find none. You find Nothing but pure love and admiration.

“I do.” You nod

Then he kisses you again. Slower now, deeper too. His mouth moves from yours to your neck, trailing warm, open-mouthed kisses down your skin and you gasp when he finds that one spot that makes you arch into him.

Your fingers fumble with the hem of his pullover and he doesn’t hesitate. He helps pull it off in one motion, tossing it aside without ever taking his eyes off you. You sit up just enough to do the same with your dress and his hands are on your skin before it even hits the floor.

Clothes come off slowly, one piece at a time. Between kisses. His fingers trail along your sides like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory. You’re breathless, skin hot, pulse pounding beneath his touch.

One of your hands fumbles against the sheets, clutching the fabric tight in your fist as his hands slide lower, slipping beneath what little clothing you have left between you.

You gasp as his hips press into yours, as he kisses the softest part of your shoulder and breathes your name.

August 18th, 2025

You wake to the sound of cicadas and the sun peeking through the linen curtains. The world outside is just beginning to stir but inside this room everything feels still.

The sheets are warm and tangled around your legs and Anton’s arm is draped heavy across your waist, your bodies pressed close beneath the comforter. He’s still asleep, chest rising and falling, lashes resting against his cheeks. You blink up at him as you recall last night.

The words whispered, the way his hands trembled when they touched you, the kisses, the confessions and the sex. Anton was slow and careful at first, then deeper and rougher going round after round.

You shift just slightly, burying your face against his shoulder. He doesn’t stir, just exhales softly.

For so long, the thought of summer ending felt like a countdown you couldn’t stop. A slow, creeping ache would overcome you every time you remembered what was coming. You were so scared that you’d missed your chance but here you are in his bed, in his arms. You press a soft kiss to his shoulder and tuck yourself even closer.

You’re not clinging to August anymore. You’re not holding your breath for one more weekend or one more night or one more moment.

You’re ready to let the summer go. To let August say goodbye and to finally say hello to the rest of your life with the person you were always meant to find.

[clairewritesfanfics]

Could you do Mark variants where their version of reader being replaced by a different version of reader, whose mark is dead, and she wanted her mark back, so she hurts and abandons their real s/o in their universe, and they find out she’s not their reader, but the real reader is still alive just stuck in the fakes universe!! Pretty please 💐

“When I was a girl, I dreamt of standing in a room looking at a girl who was and was not myself, who stood looking at another girl, who also was and was not myself. My mother took this for a nightmare. I saw it as the beginning of a career in physics.” ― Rosalind Lutece, Bioshock Infinite

He’s convinced that he has done something to upset you. You didn’t respond when he yelled “Welcome home” over the pot of sizzling fried chicken he was making for dinner. You didn’t kiss his cheek when you entered the kitchen. It was odd, but he brushed it off. Maybe you were having a bad day. Nothing a serving of extra crispy fried chicken can’t cure.

But you don’t talk. You don’t rant or even emote. You sit and watch him like you’re looking–waiting for something.

He sets down the chicken in the middle of the table. “Remember to chew the skin this time before you swallow, okay?”

It’s a joke, because you eat too fast for your own good. 

But you don’t laugh, you just stare.

He finds his seat and clears his throat. Forcing a smile, he asks you about your day.

You finally look at him, and you’re smiling at him like you’re admiring a photo from the past.

“I’m okay.” 

“Just that…”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been quiet for a while now.”

You continue cutting into the chicken. “I’m always quiet.”

He watches how you slice around the bone with practiced ease and finally asks the question pounding at his chest, “Who are you?” It comes out soft but loaded with unspoken fear.

His muscles are tense but he keeps his cool. He knows you, he knows that the woman in front of him is you, but you’re not here.

Unhurried, but looking disappointed, you stop cutting. 

He asks again, “I can tell that you aren’t a shapeshifter, but you’re not her, not really, who are you? What do you want? Where is–”

You inhale deeply.

Then you smile at him one last time, the despair in your eyes makes his heart ache. 

His chair topples behind him as he stands.

You hold up a hand. “She’s fine, just displaced. I’ll give her back so no need to get nervous.”

You put down your fork. “What a shame, I really wanted a taste.” But this doesn’t belong to me.

full mask, prisoner, viltrumite

He has always been a sharp guy. He also knows you well enough to know that the one standing in your office is not you. He also lacks the patience to deal with the imposter in a peaceful manner. He wastes no time in confronting you.

You give him the mildest look of surprise and ask, “What gave me away?”

“Your gait, your posture, your breathing pattern–there’s about a dozen other things, but I don’t like wasting time.”

“I can tell.”

He lifts you by the collar, black eyes manic. “The reason you’re still able to talk is because I need to know where she is, so tell me or–”

“Or you will kill me, yes?” You smile softly. “You’re welcome to try.”

mohawk, no goggles, sinister

He doesn’t notice at first, but that’s because he’s always been a bit dense. He knows that something is off, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. When he asks you, you give him a small smile and tell him everything is okay. He forces himself to believe you. Maybe today is just one of those days. He doesn’t want to start a fight for no reason.

But then you approach him on the sofa and straddle his lap. You start kissing him, it’s unlike your usual kisses, it’s strategic and foreign–and not yours.

“Hey.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Who the hell are you?”

You tilt your head. “Oh, are we roleplaying now? Okay, I guess I’ll be the naughty–”

He holds you back by the shoulder and sits up. “Quit screwing around. You think I can’t tell? Your acting sucks.”

“... I see.”

He flips you over, knees caging your thighs as he glares down at you. “Where is she?”

Instead of answering, you ask, “She and I look exactly the same, but I modified my behavior to match your preferences. Which part of me left you unsatisfied?”

“Answer my question!”

“Calm yourself, Mark. She’s alive and well–” also a little roughed up “–just not here.” Your once flirtatious gaze has lost all traces of emotion. “Now, it’s your turn to answer my question.”

“I don’t need to do jack shit.”

“You do want to see her again, don’t you?”

He grits his teeth, weighing his options. “Fine.” He thinks for a moment and then answers, “I don’t know. I just knew that you weren’t her.”

“But I am her, from a different timeline, but still her. And unlike her, I have plenty of data on you. I can be your sweetest, darkest dream come true.” Your fingers caress his jaw, a gesture betrayed by your dead eyes. “What do you say?”

His glare grows hotter as he snatches your wrist. “Don’t fuck with me, I don’t need a fantasy, bring me back my woman!”

You turn your head to the side and mutter, “Another failure.”

He blinks and you disappear from under him–now you’re standing across the room, fully clothed. 

“What the–”

“I kind of like this version of you, you’re cute, not as cute as my Mark though.” 

head cap, shiesty, target

He knows instantly that something is wrong. A hundred scenarios pop into his head as he watches you walk around the home you two shared. Your gaze is too curious, the faintest hint of surprise flickers when you look at certain mementos, followed by a look of longing, sometimes even mockery. He lets you do as you please. Lets you act like this wasn’t your house too, but a mere museum. 

When he confronts you, he is the picture of composure, like the surface of the sea on a good day; but you feel the depths of his ferocity from the way he speaks, “Where is she?”

You smile. “Gone.” 

In an instant, he has your throat in his hand. 

Your face is serene, like your feet are not dangling in the air right now.

“What are you? A clone? A shapeshifter?”

Your smile stretches mockingly and you point at the fist around your neck. He slowly puts you down, but keeps his fingers around your throat. 

You show no signs of distress as you explain, “I forget how fast you can be.”

He crosses his arms, glaring. 

You chuckle. “She’s safe, don’t worry. I just wanted some time with you.”

His expression hardens.

“This Mark is too serious.” 

The statement has his brow twitching and he finally talks again. “You

..you’re not a clone or a shapeshifter.”

“Nope.”

“Where is she?”

“You’re not even going to ask why I’m here? I came all the way here for you.”

He puts his hands on your shoulders, head bowing. “Please…I’ll get you what you want, just give her back to me.”

You click your tongue.

flaxan, maskless, omni-mark

You no longer live in a single universe, rather, you both exist and not exist in every probability, but not as yourself. Time feels weird now. Your memories are still your own, but they have the tendency to mix with the others–there are versions of you that hated academics and stopped after high school, some didn’t like physics and preferred the arts, others simply could not afford college. Some of them look like you with maybe hair that’s two centimeters shorter, others don’t even have hair. Some are healthier, others are barely surviving.

You thought that maybe your Mark could be found, somewhere in the ocean of time. You cannot resurrect him, but you had hoped for a reunion of sorts, even if you had to settle for a mirror image.

Alas, you’ve been to countless reflections of your timeline and yet… you only found pieces of him in every Mark you met. Mere pieces. 

You watch from your cat box of existence and nonexistence as Mark reunites with you. And you. And you and you and you–

A foul-mouthed Mark is laughing but you can see the tears he tries to hide as he hugs you. The one who took up his hated father’s mantle is quiet, unwilling to let you go. The Mark whose pink skin is covered with indelible reminders of his incarceration, cries on your lap as you pat his head. Another Mark floats involuntarily and covers you in kisses. 

So many worlds where Mark Grayson is alive, where he loves you, but not you. Devoted to the point of irrationality. 

You smile. How foolish.

Truly foolish.

a/n: anon, as a certified addict of the world-hopping trope, i loved this prompt so much! i know it's not exactly as you had requested but i kept drawing blanks and this is all i could come up with in short notice. i thought about writing a scenario for each variant but i couldn't afford the delay. hope you all enjoyed it anyway.

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[elliespassagerprincess]

The song save your tear - the weekend reminds of a fwb situation, could you make a ellie williams x reader one?

Maybe one where ellie didnt want to have a relationship with reader and treated her like a friend so now reader treats her like a simple friend and rejects ellies advances

(if you want to make it dark you can! But i leave that up to what you think its best!)

Thank you babes!

Save your tears - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i hope you enjoy! i wrote 2 versions to this. This and a darker version, lmk if you want that one too!!

this story is based off the song Save your tears by the weeknd, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: friends with benefits dynamic, angst and emotional manipulation, power imbalance (emotional), jealousy and toxic behavior, alcohol use

Summary: Ellie Williams never wanted commitment. When you first tangled in each other’s sheets, it was her rules: casual, no strings, no complications. You agreed—half-heartedly. But feelings grew in the silence between skin and shadows.

masterlist

The first time it happened, you were both drunk.

Not the sloppy kind—just loose enough to forget the warnings stitched into your better judgment. Ellie’s hand on your thigh, the glint of a dare in her half-lidded eyes. “We don’t have to make this a thing,” she said against your neck, casual like it was just another Friday night. “Just... fun, yeah?”

And you—foolish, soft, already hooked—nodded. “Yeah. Fun.”

It became a pattern. Late nights, tangled limbs, and laughter that always faded too quickly when the morning sun hit. Ellie would slide on her hoodie, brush a kiss to your cheek, and mutter, “Don’t catch feelings, alright?” Like it was a joke. Like she wasn’t the one carving space inside your ribs.

You told yourself it was enough. That the warmth of her body beside yours was worth the cold that followed when she left.

But the thing about pretending? Eventually, someone forgets it's not real.

The night everything shifted, you were at Dina’s.

A party, crowded and loud, red cups everywhere. You didn’t expect Ellie to show up—she hadn’t texted in three days—but there she was: leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, her gaze flicking over the crowd until it landed on you.

You were talking to someone else. Some girl from Lit class. Laughing—genuinely, for once. Ellie watched, her expression unreadable.

Later, when she cornered you outside, her breath visible in the cold, her voice cracked. “Who was that?”

You blinked. “What?”

“That girl. You were flirting.”

You laughed, bitter. “Isn’t that what we do, El? Flirt with people we don’t care about?”

She flinched like you’d slapped her. Then she kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

You let her. Of course you did. But something inside you stayed locked this time. You didn’t fall into her like before. You didn’t cry when she left.

After that night, Ellie started showing up more.

Texting. Calling. Bringing you coffee “just because.” She’d sit too close on your couch, her hand brushing yours like a ghost of what used to be. But you didn’t let her in.

You stopped waiting for her messages. Stopped rearranging your world to fit around hers.

When she said, “Let’s hang out tonight,” you told her you had plans. No explanation. No apology.

Ellie looked stunned, almost hurt. “With who?”

You shrugged. “Does it matter?”

That night, she posted an old photo of you on her story. Just your hand in hers. No caption.

You blocked her for a week.

She showed up at your apartment. Rain-soaked. Eyes red.

“I miss you.”

You looked at her like a stranger.

“You had me,” you said softly. “And you didn’t want me.”

Ellie didn’t know how to mourn something that was never officially hers.

She spent nights lying awake, replaying your laugh, your voice, the way your fingers curled into her shirt in your sleep. She used to pretend she didn’t notice. But she did. She noticed everything.

Now, she notices your absence.

The silence in her apartment is thick with your ghost.

She tries to move on. Hooking up with someone else—a distraction. But when she touches her, all she feels is how different she is from you. The wrong perfume. The wrong laugh. The wrong everything.

She leaves before it’s over.

Back in her car, knuckles white on the steering wheel, Ellie whispers to herself, “What the fuck did I do?”

You see her again at the art building.

She’s leaning against the wall, sketchbook in hand, pretending to draw. Her eyes dart up when she spots you, and there’s that flicker of hope—raw and real.

You approach. Calm.

She straightens. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Silence. She breaks first. “Can we talk?”

You nod. “Sure.”

You walk beside her, down quiet paths where words feel louder. She tells you everything. How she was scared. How she didn’t think she deserved you. How she messed it all up.

“I’m ready now,” she says. “For real. I want—”

You hold up a hand.

“Ellie…” You meet her eyes. Steady. “I don’t want that anymore.”

She freezes. Like her heart stops.

“You—what?”

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. “Not after how it felt to be your ‘almost.’ I won’t do it again.”

You see it hit her. The panic. The grief. And still—you don’t flinch.

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” you whisper. “But I stopped waiting for you.”

Later, Ellie listens to “Save Your Tears” on repeat.

She finally understands the lyrics now. Every word.

“I broke your heart like someone did to mine…”

She used to think heartbreak made her immune.

Now, she knows it just made her cruel

You move on.

Not with anyone else—not yet—but with yourself. You go to therapy. You heal. You fill your days with things that make you feel whole again. Not dependent on someone’s half-hearted love.

Ellie tries, once more. She leaves flowers. A letter.

You don’t read it.

You leave the flowers on your doorstep until they wilt.

It’s not about punishment—it’s about peace.

You don’t cry for her anymore.

She watches you from a distance sometimes, wondering if she ever really knew you. If she ever deserved to.

She doesn’t chase again.

She finally learns what it means to lose someone who loved you completely.

You let Ellie into your apartment one night, not out of love—out of curiosity.

She stands awkwardly near the door, like she knows she’s trespassing somewhere sacred.

“I’m not here to mess things up,” she says. “I just… needed to see you.”

You nod slowly, arms crossed.

“I never knew how to love you right,” she says, voice low. “But I never stopped wanting to try.”

You tilt your head. “Ellie, wanting to try means nothing when I was begging for it before.”

Her face crumples.

You let her cry.

But you don’t hold her this time.

You just say, gently, “Go home, Ellie.”

Two years later, you meet again. Different city. Different lives.

She looks older. Softer. Worn down in the way heartbreak shapes you.

You talk. Lightly. Carefully. Like a bandage being peeled.

“I never loved anyone after you,” she admits.

You smile. “I loved myself after you.”

There’s silence.

And then, for the first time, Ellie smiles too.

No expectations. Just understanding.

Sometimes love isn’t a second chance. Sometimes it’s knowing when to let go.

You sit in your apartment, tea in hand, the rain tapping against the window. You used to cry every time it rained.

Now it’s just weather.

You think about how far you've come.

How love isn’t meant to be begged for, or bargained with.

And if Ellie ever really loved you, she’ll learn that too.

You close your eyes. You are whole.

And finally—

You don’t miss her.

[n1ceguyen]

2AM Mistakes (Huh Yunjin x M!Reader)

Chapter 2: Something Between the Silence

(Yunjin POV)

The silence in the hotel room wasn’t peaceful.

It was the kind that buzzed under your skin—the kind that came after too much noise. Too many lights. Too many people telling you how to feel, who to be.

Yunjin lay sprawled across the bed, hoodie pulled over her head, fingers curled around her phone. The screen was black, but the song still echoed in her head.

2AM Mistakes.

She hadn’t been looking for it. She wasn’t even looking for music, really. Just… something. She needed a walk, needed air, needed space. Rehearsals were done, her face was scrubbed clean, the makeup wiped away, the smile with it.

The streets outside had been cold but quiet, a relief after constant motion. That’s when the track showed up on her feed—bare title, no artwork, just vibes.

She clicked.

And everything slowed down.

No overproduction. No agenda. Just a guitar, a mood, and that low-end beat that felt like a heartbeat trying not to break rhythm.

She’d left a comment without thinking. Just typed what it felt like: a song for walking home when it’s too cold to care how lonely you are.

She didn’t expect a reply.

But he responded.

Y/N.

No bio. No face. Just a few tracks, all lowkey and raw in the way only someone who wasn’t trying to go viral could pull off.

And for whatever reason… she kept talking.

He wasn’t trying to impress her. He didn’t even know who she was. She wasn’t Yunjin from LE SSERAFIM in that chat. She was just a girl who hummed a melody into her phone, late at night, hoping someone would understand what it meant without asking too many questions.

And he did.

He built on it. Turned it into something fuller. Played it back like it already belonged to both of them.

Now she was lying on her bed, alone, replaying that version again through her earbuds.

Not idol-perfect. Just real.

She scrolled to the last message she’d sent him. A new voice memo. Lighter than the first—less heavy, less sad. Still her.

She typed:

hj_426: this came out of nowhere. but maybe it’s the next part. tell me what you hear in it.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, then hit send.

A knock came from the shared suite door.

“Unnie,” Eunchae’s voice came muffled through the door. “You alive?”

Yunjin blinked, sat up halfway. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“We’re ordering food,” Sakura added. “Want anything?”

“Whatever you get is fine.”

“No complaining if it’s spicy again!” Chaewon warned.

Yunjin smiled faintly. “Noted.”

The footsteps faded.

She loved the girls. They were her second home. But lately, she’d been feeling like her body was in rooms her mind wasn’t. Like she was performing even when the music stopped.

The silence returned.

She opened the voice memo app again. Hit record. Hummed something softer, airy, like light cracking through thick clouds. Just a sketch.

She sent it.

Whatever this thing was with Y/N—it wasn’t normal. But it felt necessary.

Still no names.

Still no faces.

But something was starting to sound like it mattered.

(Y/N POV)

Y/N stared at the waveform looping on his screen.

The new melody she sent floated like fog. Delicate, but not weak. The kind of tune that made you stop what you were doing without realizing it.

He layered in some ambient textures—soft pads, slow reverb trails. Nothing flashy. Just enough to let her voice breathe.

He sat back. Exported the new draft.

Her message from earlier was still up:

hj_426: this came out of nowhere. but maybe it’s the next part. tell me what you hear in it.

He cracked his knuckles, then replied:

Y/N: there’s something in it that feels like… letting go. like the moment after crying where you’re just tired, but okay. i added a bit of ambient stuff. want me to send it?

She replied almost instantly:

hj_426: yes pls i’ve been refreshing like a psycho lol

He laughed quietly, sent the audio, then waited.

A minute passed.

Then:

hj_426: oh wow okay this might be my favorite one it sounds like… if a memory could sing

Y/N read that more than once.

Something about the way she worded things—it was like she was writing feelings without decoration. Just saying them straight.

He let the track loop in the background and typed again:

Y/N: random question but have u ever had a song that made u feel like… you didn’t write it like it was already there, just waiting for you to hear it?

hj_426: yes those are the best ones they come out like secrets you didn’t know you were hiding

He nodded at the screen.

Then paused.

He wasn’t usually this open. Not even with friends. But the more they talked, the less it felt like he was performing for someone. The less he needed to.

He rubbed his jaw, then added:

Y/N: hey speaking of music kinda random but i’m actually going to a concert this week

hj_426: oooh who?

He hesitated for half a beat, then typed:

Y/N: don’t judge lol friend had an extra ticket it’s for this kpop group le sserafim

He watched the typing bubble appear… then disappear… then come back again.

hj_426: lol why would i judge?? they’re good u into them?

Y/N: kinda? heard a few songs but my friend’s obsessed figured i’d tag along haven’t been to a concert in forever

hj_426: nice they put on solid shows should be fun

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

Y/N: you sound like you’ve seen them live or something

hj_426: yeah you could say that

He didn’t think much of it.

Just figured she must’ve seen them on tour or something.

Y/N: not really a “concert guy” but who knows maybe this one changes that

hj_426: maybe keep an open mind could surprise you

Y/N: i’ll let u know how it goes unless u ghost me before then lol

hj_426: not a chance we still got a whole album to write 2am mistakes is just the beginning

Y/N leaned back, staring at the city skyline just barely visible through his window.

Still no name.

Still no face.

But whatever this was—it was real enough to keep him awake.

[mysteriousxgirls]

Liyana laughed—too quickly, too loudly. It burst out of her before she could stop it, a startled, breathless sound that turned a few heads, not that she noticed. Her cheeks flamed immediately, heat blooming across her face and racing to the tips of her ears, already pink from the flickering lights above. Fuchsia. Blue. Green. Each one caught her like a strobe, revealing every flicker of emotion she usually tucked behind wit and raised brows. She was blushing—God, was she blushing. And he saw it. Diego’s grin had always had weight, but right now, it felt like gravity itself. The way he said nuestro hijo, like it was a real thing, like he could see it—a tiny version of the two of them with wild curls and stubborn eyes—made her stomach do a somersault. Her laugh faltered into something softer, more nervous, and she lifted a hand to cover her mouth, as if that could undo the words she'd just let slip. As if it could slow the way her heart was now thundering in her chest, a little wild, a little too loud. When he imitated her voice—Sorpresa, mami, mira lo que hicimos—her head dropped forward and her shoulders shook with laughter. Mortified. Delighted. Entirely undone. God this was so embarrassing, why did she slip up like that? He was never going to let this go again.

When he puffed up, all mock-serious, patting his chest like he was some arcade prophet and declaring he should be charging tuition for his “masterclass,” she raised a brow and tried, tried to stay serious. Tried—and failed. “Oh, so now you also want to charge them for your bad advice?” she shot back, grin wide and teasing. “I call that a scam, sir.” Her voice was playful, but her pulse betrayed her—racing like she was standing on the edge of something far more dangerous than a claw machine. And God, the way he looked at her… the way his eyes never left her face even as he laughed, even as she tried to hide behind the banter—it made her feel like she was the only girl in the room.

And then he stepped closer. Not close enough to touch—but close enough that her skin noticed anyway. Liyana’s breath hitched. She caught the scent of him—warm, familiar, with just a hint of something sweet—and her whole body went still, caught in the space between the joke and whatever this thing was that had always lived under it. Then—he said it. You can pretend you didn’t mean it... Her eyes darted up to his, wide and unsure and pulled in like a tide. And when his fingers brushed her cheek, slow and easy, her heart slammed so hard against her ribs it made her knees go a little soft. Her hand slipped into his without thinking—instinct, muscle memory, longing. It just fit. He guided her toward the hoops, teasing her with that smirk, asking if she could handle it. Liyana blinked up at him, trying to remember how to speak with a mouth that still tingled from almost kisses and unspoken maybes. “I can,” she said, lifting her chin in mock challenge, though her voice betrayed her—breathless, trembling with warmth. “But don’t start crying when I wipe the floor with you.” Still blushing. Still laughing. Still hoplessly his.

Neon lights blinked above them in dizzying rhythms—fuchsia, electric blue, sickly green—casting her face in shifting glows like she was flickering between worlds. The air hummed with old pop songs and the clatter of tokens hitting metal. Diego’s grin unfolded slow, syrup-smooth. “¿Nuestro hijo?” he echoed, rolling the words across his tongue like caramel, sweet and just a little dangerous. “Careful, Liyana…” He tilted his head, letting the pause stretch just enough to catch her breath. “You say things like that, and I start picking baby names and clearing space in Ma’s photo albums.” The tips of her ears flushed under the rotating light wheel overhead, but he didn’t stop staring. “She’s been waiting for the day you show up with a stroller like, ‘Sorpresa, mami, mira lo que hicimos,’” he added, slipping into a pitch-perfect imitation of her voice, laced with affection. His laughter came soft and genuine, mixing with the low hum of machines and the clink of tokens in distant hands. Then he straightened, chin lifting, and gestured toward the claw machine—now quiet, blinking innocently after years of betrayal. “But anyway, back to your slander,” he said, feigning indignation. “That wasn’t gambling advice. That was a masterclass. Determination. Hand-eye coordination. Math.” He patted his chest once, deadpan. “Honestly, I should be charging tuition.”

He stepped closer. Not enough to crowd, just enough that she’d feel it—that quiet shift in gravity, in air. The scent of her shampoo met the sugar-dust still clinging to his hands. His voice dropped, something velvet-soft threading through the joke now. His eyes flicked to her lips, then settled on her again like they always would. “You can pretend you didn’t mean it,” he said, voice low and warm, “but I heard it.” A beat passed. The kind that vibrated in the space between their bodies, just outside of touch. “And I think it was the cutest slip of the century.” With a smirk, he brushed a hair from her face and then trailed his fingers down her arm before taking her hand in his and guiding her towards the basketball hoops. “Tú puedes, nena?”

[athenas-only-daughter]

Haunting the Canvas - The Clea Post

spurred on by conversations I've been having with @linka-from-captain-planet, I'm collecting the info we've been able to gather about Clea here, under a read-more for spoilers, because if you run around act 3, there's actually QUITE a bit to glean about her.

This is gonna be a living/edited post as we find more info! Pls let me know if you guys see anything that's missing, find out new info, etc!

Truly as soon as you get to act three, you can't go three feet without bumping into a sidequest that has to do with Clea in some regard. She is HAUNTING the canvas almost as much as real!Verso and she's not even dead.

First and foremost, The Fading Woman is often Clea! Sometimes it's Aline (if she's sad, it's Aline) but especially in act 3 it's Clea. Particularly at the Endless Tower location. If you want to glean more about Clea, I recommend talking to the fading woman when you see her, particularly as Maelle.

Clea is the eldest sibling, this is made plain during Maelle's companion quest at The Reacher

Also in this quest Maelle implies that Clea is Renoir's favorite. Verso disputes this, saying Alicia was his favorite child.

Clea has her own axon! If you were like 'hey Renoir made Axons for the rest of his family, where is Clea's?' it's easy to miss but it's the Axon in old Lumiere that's already dead (more on this later)

Clea's Axon seems to be called 'The Hauler' and is carrying part of the world on its back (incredibly on brand Eldest Daughter Shit)

Aline also painted a version of Clea - she is no longer with the painted family and is now trapped in the Flying Manor location by Clea herself.

Clea seemed to not like the portrait Aline painted of her, or at the very least resents her parents trying to portray her in the canvas full stop (she also dislikes the Axon). This led to Clea painting over her mother's version of her and leaving her in the painting to continue her work of making Nevrons.

We know Clea is making the Nevrons thanks to dialogue in the Fountain and Flying Manor quests, as well as Clea's dialogue to Maelle before act 3 AND dialogue with the Fading Woman in the Endless Tower.

The only Nevrons that are NOT Clea's are the ones on the Axon Islands, those are Renoir's.

On that note, why is Clea making Nevrons? she's using them to stop the chroma from returning to her mother when the painted citizens die, hoping to speed along her parents' conflict and then end this once and for all.

Also on this note! Clea is also making the painted WHITE Nevrons that we see and help. I'm still not 100% sure why, but we find this out by talking to Blanche during the Fountain quest, who has the special task of killing all of Clea's failed Nevrons, because god forbid someone see she made a mistake (perfectionist eldest daughter Clea Dessendre I am studying you sooo closely)

Painted Clea had a romance! with a painted lumiere citizen named Simon (he can be fought by reaching the Abyss in Renoir's Drafts)

Real!Clea apparently shared none of her painted counterpart's affections because she tricked him by pretending to be painted!Clea and gave him enough power so he could kill her Axon (also through trickery).

Has entered the painting several times since the start of Aline and Renoir's conflict. Notably to make Nevrons, capture her painted counterpart, trick Simon, but also she met Expedition 00 at the barrier and told them everything. Then tried to kill them when they wouldn’t leave. She also came in and tried to recruit Verso at one point.

Her final time in the canvas, that we know of, was when she came in 16 years ago and told him to watch over Alicia/Maelle.

Clea thinks its safer for Alicia to be in the Canvas, away from the war.

On that note, there's a war! Clea is apparently fighting a war against the Writers near singlehandedly. Renoir calls this her 'solitary war' and Alicia/Maelle says she 'took Verso's death personally', so it seems she's seeking revenge.

Clea is noted by both Alicia/Maelle and painted!Verso as being the most talented painter of the three of them

Also plays the harp!

Clea seems to have stopped playing in the Canvas well before either of her siblings - Francois is mentioned as missing her for over a hundred years, well before the fracture.

Francois and Clea used to sing together!

Much of the original canvas was made my Verso and Clea together. In the Endless Tower, the Fading Woman (Clea, here) says that she "spent far more time" in the canvas than Alicia and that she painted "half this world with Verso"

Despite this, Clea does not share her family's same fixation on it and seems to dislike their meddling with it - her mother's painted creations, her father's axons, etc. She does not consider the painting 'real', but "was perfectly fine to leave Maman here to work on her sorrows", and says it's Alicia's choice if she stays. She seems equally dismissive of her parents, saying that Aline "doesn't want help" and Renoir is "wasting time" when she needs his help.

There's a Fading Boy and another fragment of Clea in Fading Leaves. The Clea fragment has been erasing things from the canvas, 'out of respect for him, his creations and the things they made together'. We can infer she's talking about Verso here. The Fading Boy (remember, a fragment of Verso's soul) seems to be disheartened by this.

ETA: In the Painting Workshop, the Fading Boy talks to you about both real!Clea and Painted!Clea. It's hard to parse which is which but it seems like Real!Clea might have made the Lampmaster specifically to spook Verso, maybe when they were kids? The Fading Boy implies that he told Clea he was scared of the dark and she made him the world's most haunted nightlight (sisters amright?)

Additionally, he mentions 'jealousy' so it seems Clea was, at times, jealous of Verso. This tracks with her being the most talented painter of the 3 but overlooked for her brother and also with something the Fading Boy says at the start of the flying manor that seems to be about Clea (not sure whether real or painted): "Everything is always about her. Her paintings, her sculptures. Everything has to be perfect, but perfect I have never been"

ETA: can't believe i for

[seilnakyle]

Just read Catwoman: Her Sister’s Keeper and I adored Newell’s writing. Was wondering if they’re any details in it you particularly liked or think might be overlooked.

Such a fantastic Catwoman story (Tw for discussion of underage prostitution and rape)

I believe it was probably controversial at the time, though you can find lots of praise for it, I think people at the time were still wrapping their heads around her being turned into a prostitute, and an underaged one too. And while most Catwoman stories tend to tip toe around this dark part of Selina’s childhood, Her Sister’s Keeper dives into the bleakness and despair of this life, and the desperation to escape it

Once Selina starts training with Ted, it doesn’t take long at all for her to start jumping in to action, usually to protect Holly Robinson, an even younger prostitute that lives with her. We see that protective instinct that’s always been there come out when she finally has the abilities to fight back against her situation

Selina shielding Holly with her jacket always makes me think of Batman protecting someone with his cape

I think there hasn’t been a better written version of Magdalene Kyle since this story, the way it shows the duality between these two sisters is beautiful. One of the quotes used to open the second issue of this series is from Rudyard Kipling The Jungle Book, “we be of one blood, thou and I” but it hits even harder when you read the full quote

At the beginning of the series we see Selina in the immediate aftermath of being beaten and raped by her pimp. She is found outside of the immaculate virgin by the Nuns in the convent, including her sister Magdalene, who starts taking care of the stray cat that had kept her sister’s unconscious body company before help arrived. She prays for Selina’s safety, but knows there is none to be found on the streets of Gotham

Stan later kicks this same cat, and after months of no contact during Selina’s training with Wildcat, Selina jumps Stan in the same ally he assaulted her

Maggie heard the commotion, and rushed outside to catch a glimpse of Selina before she runs away again. Maggie goes to the detective that gave Selina Ted’s number, and asks about her sister. Finding no help she goes looking by herself

Magdalene finds Holly, who actually refers to Selina as her mother

Holly tells Selina her sister is searching for her, and Selina returns to the last place they saw each other

It’s a short reunion, Selina is clearly still scared to be around Maggie for too long, afraid the danger and bleakness of her own life might seep into her saintly sister’s. Maggie pleads for Selina to stay, Selina warns Maggie off the streets, and escapes to the rooftops. Immediately after she leaves, Stan the pimp kidnaps Maggie in retaliation for the beating Selina dealt him.

As soon as Selina finds out her sister is missing, she hitches a ride with one of Stan’s friends to his apartment, and finds Maggie’s cross

Catwoman rushes to save Magdalene, and as Maggie is dangling over the side of a ledge during the confrontation between Selina and Stan, she has the same thought her sister did

Selina begs Stan to leave Maggie alone, even offering herself to him again, but Stan won’t listen, and attempts to kill Maggie

Batman is there to save her just in time thankfully (and let Stan die)

Batman stays with Magdalene to make sure she’s alright, and Maggie kind of instantly clocks the connection between Selina and him

Directly after this traumatic experience, Catwoman has a bit of a moral crisis, knowing she didn’t intend to kill Stan on purpose, but also believing he deserved to die. She now thinks her Catwoman persona is turning her into a murderer, and confesses this to Maggie

One of the cops working the “Missing Nun” case found Holly while all this was going down and roughed her up for no real reason other than knowing Selina.

Holly goes to find Selina, and she’s furious at how Holly was treated. First she tries to speak with the detective who had helped her once, but even “good cops” will be looking out for other cops before they look out for whores

Selina drops Holly off at Maggie’s convent, and this panel right here is probably my favorite Maggie/Selina moment

“Do you really feel so much safer in there?”

“Do you?”

Batman stops Catwoman in the middle of beating up Captain Strunk, knowing her life would be over if she became a cop killer, Selina answers “as opposed to a pimp killer?”

Such a beautiful, grim annd ambitious story. I really wish modern comics could be this mature again. And even though these themes are hard to read about, they shouldn’t be watered down to make things more marketable

[acourtofthought]

Just saw a TikTok claiming that Lucien/Elain will end up being like Lyria/Rowan, making Azriel the Aelin in this situation.

I can’t even begin to fathom the insanity of that theory, so I defer to you — the fountain of ACOTAR theory to pick it apart 😂

Other than being massively insulting to both Elain & Lucien, who stands to gain from it? Rhys? And what would he gain? It’s another part of the Rhys-is-evil-like-Maeve theory which will never happen because SJM LOVES RHYS. I actually can’t with this fandom 😭

I get that some people really love Az but I have to wonder why they think Sarah likes Az more than Lucien?

Lucien who Sarah wrote about in book 1.

Lucien who Sarah then changed his heritage with a very clear path to being a High Lord.

Lucien who Sarah wrote as leaving Spring and joining Feyre in the NC, becoming someone the NC relies on for information, being the person who could command Cassian with a single word and someone who Cassian feels sadness for (not Az) over his situation with Elain.

It's actually pretty hysterical that they think Sarah is going to write Az as getting Lucien's mate, that Az would even DESERVE Lucien's mate over Lucien himself. "Such misogyny, blah blah, girls choice!" Seriously get out of here with that nonsense (not you anon, them). Sarah loves her male characters just as much as the female ones. It was Dorian who she said would accompany her to the theater and Rhys who she said she'd take to a deserted island (not any of the girls). Sarah said Lucien (not Az) has always been one of her favorite characters. She said there was someone special for Lucien (not Elain) at some point in the future and a mate is pretty damn special especially when it's Elain Archeron. She loves Outlander and Jamie Fraser and based Lucien off of him. But sure, her Jamie Fraser is going to lose his mate to AZ???? All because Elain thought she wanted to kiss the guy? 😂😂😂 When said guy couldn't even give her credit for killing the king, didn't think she could handle the darkness of the trove, and didn't bother to ask her how she was after her arguments with Nesta? Why in the hell would Sarah write Az as the one getting the girl over Lucien in this scenario? Az looks like the Walmart version of Tamlin at the moment, at least in terms of Elain and there is little chance Sarah is rewarding him with another guys mate.

As far as the theory, Az is irrelevant to the equation as it relates to Lyria / Rowan / Aelin and Lucien / Elain.

Rowan believed Lyria to be his real mate.

Lucien believed Jesminda was his real mate.

Lyria was murdered.

Jesminda was murdered.

Rowan was shocked to discover Aelin was actually his mate.

Lucien was shocked to discover Elain was actually his mate.

Az is literally just an interloper to all of this, he always was and he still is. He was just the placeholder to create angst with Graysen now being out of the picture, a stepping stone for Elain to go from not wanting any male or mate to starting to come around to the idea of a male (but without any real strings) which takes us to her book where she'll fully accept her mating bond once she fully accepts her faeness. And Sarah is not going to recycle the same storyline, where someone was "manipulating" Lucien's bond the way they were manipulating Rowan's. She might reuse phrases but she doesn't copy exact plots.

That they truly believe Sarah would treat Lucien to the same narrative as she did Lyria, that he'd just be the "fake" mate, proves how little they pay attention to the series as a whole. Lucien is MMC material a thousand times over, Lyria was not given main character energy. He had buildup for his story long before Az ever did. So yeah, I don't know where anyone is getting the idea that Sarah planned on giving Az Lucien's Happily Ever After.

Edit: Also, thank you for referring to me as the fountain of ACOTAR Theory, I'm still smiling over that ❤️

[twistedteatime]

Mistakes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Scorpio!Reader

A/N: This one took a few turns. Not as long as I'd have liked, but I reached a spot I'm content to end it at.

Warnings: LANGUAGE (really you should be expecting this from me by now). Violence. Threats of torture. Fat shaming. Bullying. Implicated bullying of a child.

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: A new recruit is making a nuisance of herself and trying to step in on your man and your friends. You educate them on just what it is that makes them all take you seriously.

Series Masterlist🔹MASTER Masterlist

Previous Entry: Flowers

AO3 Link: Mistakes

*******

Mondays sucked, Tuesdays could often be worse, Wednesdays were better, Thursdays were kind of halfway between happy and drudgery, but Fridays…Fridays were good.

Except this one.

This one had been ruined.

Some new recruit decided to ruin it for you.

She went by the name of Brea. It wasn’t even her real name; you knew her real name as you had been the one to catalogue and archive her personnel record after verifying everything on it. Her real name was Janice.

She was possibly the most sensorially caustic annoyance you’d ever encountered. The very sight of her was offensive on multiple fronts. The sound of her was worse.

Truthfully, on any other person, the shade of orange she had dyed her hair would have looked good. On her, combined with the rest of what she wore, she looked like a dollar store knock-off version of Natasha and sounded like the voice box in it had been set to play back way too fast. Like a chipmunk version of some tar monster of Tartarus.

Then there was whatever perfume she wore. Whatever bubblegum pink pit of sugar syrup and hydrangeas it crawled out of was no doubt happy to have exorcized itself of it. You wished you could do the same and you were highly tempted to bring sage to work with you in an attempt to rid the compound of it.

That wasn’t what ruined your Friday, though. No. It was her insistence on pushing herself at Steve and Bucky while trampling over everyone that stood in her way. No matter how big or how small they were.

As assaulting as she was on your senses you knew damn well it was worse for them. Bucky had already complained about it on the ride home. You had moved in together after several months of dating and after he admitted he enjoyed the peace and quiet your property afforded. That and the proximity to where you both worked.

Not close enough to be at risk of anything but closer than his apartment. On clear days and nights you’d ride in with him on his motorcycle. Yet since the arrival of the tar pit you’d been the one driving most days.

You weren’t about to watch her give him yet another migraine. Him or Steve. Not after what you had just discovered. You may have picked on him at times and teased him, but much like Bucky had been in their youth, you were protective of him and of those close to him.

Particularly when neither he nor Bucky could figure out how to politely disengage a female without coming off as rude. Usually it was cute and you didn’t interfere. You knew beyond a doubt that Bucky’s heart was yours just as much as yours was his.

You weren’t threatened by her. Far from it. You had been annoyed but now…now you were angry.

Fridays were your favorite days. Fridays were the days that Bucky visited with coffee and scones and kept you company. This one, however, she had crossed a line.

Not only did she corner Bucky again, assaulting his senses with her perfume, she had stolen your scone, and touched him.

Without his permission.

Among other things you found absolutely intolerable.

“Mmmh…fuck this is so good.” She moaned and Bucky looked at you as you walked up, her hand on his vibranium arm.

“You have three seconds to remove your hand from his arm before you lose fingers. The scone was enough on its own but get your hand off and back off.” You said sharply, authoritatively and she jumped at first, moving back until she looked at you.

Her body relaxed. Her alarm was quickly replaced by derision. You were aware of why.

You were, to her, just a librarian with a fancy title Bucky happened to be dating. She had no idea what you were capable of. Nor did she have the sense to believe people when they said not to mess with you.

“I can’t do that. Not if he’s going to help train me.” She said and you looked at her.

“Oh…you need help training?” you asked, head tilted, and Bucky looked at you.

He knew exactly what was coming, and she nodded.

“Yeah. I mean, he’s an expert in the use of knives and hand to hand combat. I’m sure he could show me a thing or two on the mat.” She smiled, shifting her body this way and that, showing it off, yet Bucky’s eyes were glued on you still.

“Doll…” he started and you looked at him, “I can get you another scone.”

“Please do, my love. I’m going to be famished by the time you get back.” You said with a smile and he sighed nodding.

“Don’t…you know…” he said and you just smiled sweetly at him, “No repeat of Shelly.”

“Then you might wanna be quick about it.” You said and he nodded before starting to walk away, Brea followed, and so did you, pulling her into the training room by the arm where Nat was, “You don’t get to train with Bucky just because you want to. First…you gotta work your way up to it. I understand you’re new and…that…you…may have not read all the way through the internal policies pamphlet you were given. It covers what you do and do not do with everyone individually. Like trying to pick up Mjolnir without permission, talking to people’s children without introduction, touching Bruce’s plants without permission, or touching Bucky without his permission.”

“Oh no…” Nat said below her breath as she wrapped up her hands, “Uh...I thought you weren’t training until next month.”

“I’m not, but she needs extra special one on one training time.” You answered with a smile; one she knew all too well.

You had plans and something more than appeared was going on.

“Wait…I wanted training with Bucky.” Brea said and Nat looked at her coolly, understanding the situation very swiftly.

“Sargent Barnes does train recruits but not at your level, just like she said. You’d last two seconds with him. You have to work your way up, from the bottom, just like everyone else.” She said and Brea looked at you then her.

“So I have to start with the librarian?” she asked incredulously, her face on the verge of laughing, and you just started for the locker room.

“No. You’d start with Agent Fitz. ‘The librarian’ as you call her is who you train with before you train with me if she’s in a mood to train. You really shouldn’t judge people by appearances.” Nat replied while looking her over, “It’s a mistake and one you can’t afford to make in the field. Everyone is a threat. Assuming that someone isn’t one because of the job they hold is a mistake.”

She soon found out how much of one it was when you returned.

Time and time again she hit the mat hard. You knew she was getting increasingly aggravated with not only you but also Natasha. The Black Widow had made it her job to sit down and critique everything that Brea did.

“You’re getting too emotional.” She said and took a bite of her apple as Bucky walked in and leaned against the doorway.

“This isn’t fair!” Brea shouted angrily while getting back up, “Why the fuck is this cow trained to fight if all she does is sit around on her fucking fat ass surrounded by moldy fucking papers all day?!”

“Tony would be very upset to hear you calling the Archives moldy.” You said calmly and Bucky spoke, holding his anger as it simmered in the cold blue of his eyes.

“She handles a lot more action than you’d think being in Archives. Just because she’s an archivist here doesn’t mean she wasn’t anything else before.” He said and she looked at him alarmed, “Yeah…I heard you…and no, you’re not at a level to train any higher, and I checked with Fitz. You’ve skipped your training assessment.”

“Oh dear…” you sighed while shaking your head, “Well…at least I didn’t break anything.”

“Yet.” Natasha corrected and looked at Bucky, “You bring anything for me?”

“No. I’m not a vending machine.” He retorted while moving off the door to walk in over to you, pulling you close to him by your waist with his right arm, the left hand was busy holding the bag with your scone in it, “Go bother Bruce.”

“Bucky…I’m in the middle of a lesson.” You said while Brea scowled as she stood herself back up, “Unless people are done.”

“You know…what…I’m…I’m not done yet. I’m not taking what I said back. You…are a fat…chair warming…cunt.” She spat and the air shifted as Bucky looked at her coolly, a silent warning she had just stepped over a line, “You don’t deserve to be here, to be with him, to have…anything!”

You waited. It wasn’t like you hadn’t heard any of this before. You had.

Plenty.

Bucky had just never been present for it before and you knew very well that he was at a new level of furious. Still, this wasn’t addressed at him. It was addressed at you and you would handle it.

In a manner.

“Are you done having your tantrum?” you asked, your voice even, calm, and low.

“No!” she spat and continued on her tirade, spitting out a level of vitriol you were well used to from not just there but years preceding it, “I worked my ass off to get here! Do you have any idea of what I’ve had to do to get here?!”

“Yes. I do. I’m the fat, lazy, greasy, mooing cow librarian that filed your personnel record, Janice, as well as the background checks, testing results, and assessments. I know every…last…thing…that you did to get here.” you answered and smiled while tilting your head, “All of it. You graduated at the top of your classes, all of them. Every last one. Even ones…that…strangely don’t exist…hm…fascinating.”

“What…I…they do…” she sputtered and flinched as Nat bit into her apple again, just looking at her calmly, knowingly, and Bucky just raised his eyebrows as he looked at you.

You didn’t respond to him, you just blinked slowly at your adversary, “Do they? Hm…absolutely fascinating. Would you like to know what’s in my personnel file? I suppose you imagine it’s a bunch of cow pastures and transmutation experiments to give me a human countenance. Sadly, no…it’s…not that outrageous. It does however…contain nothing but the truth. I’ve done a lot of things in my life, not all of them exactly what you’d consider ‘above board.’ Now, not all your records are falsified, and you are indeed calculating. So…calculate this: There are four people in this room. One…can crush people’s extremities. One…has been known to electroshock people and has indeed done so to the other. One…has kept people in closets giving them only the bare minimum of sustenance after psychologically torturing them in an abandoned and run down funhouse. One…has bullied several people here including a small child. Three of the four have varying records for long range shots. One of the four has also skipped that assessment. One knows this because one was talking to the armorer Sharps the other day over tea.”

“You know…” Natasha said, chucking her finished apple over her shoulder into a bin, “Steve said Sharps was pretty off the other day when he went to see her. I was meaning to ask you if you knew why.”

“Yeah…he said the same thing to me.” Bucky said and you nodded to both of them.

“Yeah…I do. Sharps, tough as she is, she really doesn’t like it when her little butterbean is upset and crying. She didn’t want to tell Steve. You know how protective he is of that little girl. She asked me to look into it. I finished my investigations earlier.” You answered and looked at a scowling Bucky, “That reminds me. We’re babysitting tomorrow and I ‘promised’ Sharps that I wouldn’t buy Minnie any ice cream and that I wouldn’t take her to the carnival.”

“Hmm…and I guess you told her that you wouldn’t buy Minnie funnel cake either.”

“Exactly.” You said and smiled up at him before glancing over at Brea as she slowly backed away, “Just like I promised Tony that I wouldn’t tell Steve or Loki that someone made that small, precious, precocious little child cry just because she was excited to show them her new book she made at school and she wrote some words backwards.”

“I heard my name.” Loki said as he walked in and looked at the gathering, and the now rather peaky-looking Brea, “I see you are schooling an infant whelp once again.”

“I’m attempting to.” you answered with a smile and he looked at you, thinking, and slowly smirked.

“You’re up to something. I know that glint in your eyes.” He said, head tilted, “She must have done something quite terrible for you to be addressing it personally.”

“Whatever do you mean? I am doing nothing and I am definitely not telling you anything.” You replied and smiled as Natasha spoke instead.

“Someone made Minnie cry. Apparently she made a book in her class and someone made fun of how she spelled things.” She said and Bucky nodded.

“Steve doesn’t know yet.” He said and Steve walked in next making you smile more.

“I don’t know what?” he asked and you took a deep satisfied breath in while looking at Brea, “I got a text to come here…from…what’s going on?”

“Hm…yes…yes you did.” You said with a smile.

“You promised Sharps you wouldn’t tell them anything…” Brea said and you nodded.

“I know…and I keep my promises. So…I’m not the one that’s going to say anything. Am I, Bucky?” you asked with a smile and he shook his head.

“No. No you’re not. I am.”

*******

A/N: Hmmm...was that a hint of Steve maybe having a budding relationship? Hmm...maybe.

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