#and the feeling that nothing changes even if you go back in time to change it again and again and again and again- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

miajooz · 2 days ago

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⋆˚ Cherry Engine ⋆˚✿˖°

overview ❋ Your girlfriend, Ellie, is a mechanic. For your birthday she bought you your dream car, the car she would fix up for you and make perfect. Your way of showing gratitude was sexual favors—somehow that came back to bite you. But how could you possibly complain?

warnings ❋ fem!reader, sub!reader, dom!ellie, established relationship, vibrator usage (ellie & reader receiving), strap usage (r!receiving), degrading & praise, swearing, pleasure control, kinky sex + tender sex yay!, idk yall…some filthy shit

word count ❋ 5k !!

You and Ellie’s relationship was nothing short of chaotic, ever since the two of you met. You met through her work, since she fixed up your rolling disaster of a car that was probably passed down through three generations.

Not only did she give you a discount, the way her arms looked while she worked on your car had you hot and bothered. The way her baby hairs clung to her forehead, the way she’d wipe the sweat off her face with a rag or the back of her hand—oh yeah, you were down bad!

One thing led to another, and suddenly you were fucking in her much nicer car. You were never one for car sex, but that woman truly changed the game for you. You wrote your number on the panties and gave it to her, an object she kept in a special drawer and often said she wanted in a resin cast. How ridiculous was that? Was that some sort of mechanic thing?

Ellie was everything you wanted in a woman. She was nice, extremely generous, funny, hot, and so u predictable that you found yourself wanting to figure her out. She quickly became the highlight of your life, more so when you moved in with her.

On the day of your birthday, Ellie surprised you with your dream car: a cherry-red 67 mustang. How she obtained this car was beyond you—some mechanic wizard shit for sure. Nonetheless, you were over the moon.

Ellie put so much of her time into that car. She made it perfect for you, even denying some clients just so she could have more time for it. It was the most generous gift you’ve ever received, and it only made you fall for her more.

A few days after the car was all fixed up, you and Ellie had a date planned. You were getting ready in the bathroom, putting on lipgloss and wiping away the mascara you somehow already smudged. You were wearing a black dress, a dress that Ellie loved to see you in the most.

Ellie walked up behind you, hands already finding your waist. She made eye contact with you in the mirror, one side of her lips upturned. “You look so good, babe.” she said, holding you close to her. You could feel the familiar warmth of her body, a comforting warmth you route yourself addicted to.

You smiled in response, your free hand finding one of hers. Her other hand drew small shapes on your hip, juniper eyes glued to yours in the reflection. You looked back at your own eyes, half of your focus on the criminally awful job you did on your mascara. You quickly grabbed a q-tip and fixed it. “Thanks, baby. I’m wearing your favorite dress.” you replied, voice soft and almost seductive.

Ellie hummed, burying her face in your neck and planting a tender kiss on your flesh. “I know, and you look sexy as hell.” she complimented, “You’ll look sexy when I take it off later, too.”

A small laugh fell from your lips, and you started to struggle while putting on your lipgloss. It was almost impossible when she was kissing up your jawline. You pulled your head away, trying to save your skin from Ellie’s attacks. “Right, later. I’m not sitting in a restaurant with hickeys all over my neck.”

Ellie laughed, grabbing your jaw and turning your head to the mirror. “Sure, baby.” she replied, squishing your cheeks a bit and listening to you complain. She turned your head towards her, leaning in to kiss your lips softly. You kissed back of course, eyes closing and all.

You were going to pull away so this didn’t lead elsewhere, but Ellie beat you to it. She brought her thumb up to your face, wiping away the smeared lipgloss. “By the way..” she started, “I want to take your car to the restaurant. But I’d like to drive it.”

You had a puzzled look on your face, eyebrow raised and eyes blinking repeatedly in confusion. “How come you want to drive it? Not gonna let me drive my own car?” you questioned, though there wasn’t any trace of annoyance in your tone. “You must be super jealous of my sexy car.”

Ellie patted your cheek tenderly, “Jus’ wanna try it out. I need to make sure everything is working before I feel comfortable with you driving it.” she explained, tone laced with something like hesitance. Though, there was something else—something hidden that you couldn’t exactly read. But you thought nothing of it, that was her whole brand!

You hummed and nodded, your face puzzled but trusting. “Sure, babe. If that helps you feel comfortable.”

A few minutes later, you were back in the bedroom. You had your new purse open on the bed, that way you could put some essentials in it. You didn’t hear Ellie come up behind you—didn’t need to. She hugged you from behind again, a gesture you had grown used to.

Her hands were on you, though you just kept stuffing emergency pads and tampons into your purse. “What’re you being so touchy for?” you asked, the corners of your lips turning up “Not complaining, but you’re more touchy than usual. Especially before a date. Are you ovulating?”

Ellie didn’t answer your question, she kissed your shoulder and let her hands rest on your front. Then, she finally said something. “Hey, remember that time I was fixing up your car and you snuck up behind me?” she asked

You raised an eyebrow, trying to turn your head back a bit to look at her. “Which time?”

“The time you shoved that bullet vibrator inside me when I was wearing shorts.”

You nearly choked, you almost forgot you did that! The fact she was bringing that up made you worry—so you decided to act innocent.

Well, as innocent as a guilty woman could act.

“You told me to try it out on you whenever.” you retorted, making no attempts to pull away from her. You didn’t have to look behind you to see that she was smiling. You could feel it in the way the air shifted. The shift in energy between the two of you with your bodies so close.

“You’re right, baby.” she murmured in your ear, sending tingles down your spine. “But while I’m working on your gift? Such a bad girl.”

You hummed and shut your purse, picking it up. But Ellie took it from your hands, setting it to the side. She then pushed you down a bit, bending you over on the bed. You protested in confusion, trying to look back at her.

“Shh, be quiet for me, sweetheart. I’m gonna do something, so just stay still, yeah?” she whispered, but you could feel the weight of her words pressing on you. If you weren’t already wet—you definitely were now. You heard her shuffle through her pockets, not even being able to fathom what she was going to do. But you couldn’t help but feel a bit excited, it was that feeling of uncertainty she provided that you loved.

You then felt something cold against the open part of your dress, though you couldn’t make out what it was. Before you could further question anything, she grabbed the hem of your dress and hiked it up. You yelped in surprise, body jolting in response to the cold air.

That’s when you felt it, her fingers pulling your panties to the side and pressing something against your folds. She scoffed behind you, but it was out of amusement and most likely excitement. “Ugh, so wet for me like always. And I haven’t even done anything.”

Right. As if she wasn’t perfectly being touchy to get you wet. But what did she need you wet for? To push this thing inside you?

Ellie then started to push it inside you. You groaned softly at the feeling, not completely ready. But you let her keep sliding it in, despite your initial confusion. Now you knew exactly what it was. The bullet vibrator—the same one you shoved inside Ellie not so long ago. You involuntarily clenched around it, even though it wasn’t turned on the small amount of friction had you craving more.

“That’s it, baby. Feel that?” she asked, patting your lower back softly. “If I remember correctly, you said I could always try it on you too.” There was a heavy weight to the room now, lust intertwined with excitement and nerves.

“But this is a new one. Just for you.”

A new one? Did she seriously buy another one? Now you were really confused. More so, since it wasn’t already vibrating. Did she put a dead vibrator inside you? What the hell was going on?

Ellie pulled your dress back down into place, leaning over you and pressing her front against your ass. She was practically laying on you, but it got you so needy for some reason. She placed her phone in front of you, calloused fingers holding it tightly. “Look at this, baby.” she rasped lowly in your ear, clicking a button on some app.

That’s when it hit you: vibrations. You immediately gasped and lowered your head, breath caught in your throat. “F-fuck..Ellie!” you whined, both in surprise and from the pleasure. You gripped the sheets involuntarily, the wet sound between your legs was a bit embarrassing. So kind of her to start you off on one of the highest settings.

“Cool toy, huh?” she asked, finally turning it off. She rubbed your cheek softly from behind, loving the way you panted. She turned off her phone, getting off you and pulling you up so you could stand.

Your thighs were already trembling, so you leaned back against her in support. “Ellie, we are going somewhere. Somewhere nice, might I add.” you tried to scold. “And a whole app? That’s ridiculous!”

Ellie just patted your shoulder and turned you around. She had an innocent smile on her face, it was cute how giddy she looked. Oh, how exciting. Getting to shove a vibrator in your girlfriend before a date. Now you were actually nervous, what if she turned it on while you were eating and you choked? Before you could warn her of this very possible disaster—she spoke first.

“Well, we have to get going. Get your shoes, baby.” she said, nodding towards the closet. You gave her a weak scowl, walking towards your closet to get your waiting heels anyway.

When you bent down to grab your heels, you felt it again. The buzz inside your pussy had an effect on your brain too. Your knees almost gave out, forcing you to grab onto the wall to hold yourself up as your legs shook beneath you. You let out a weak moan, looking back at her and trying to look mad. She laughed behind you, quickly turning it off. “Sorry, sweetheart. Couldn’t help myself.” she giggled, putting her phone in her pocket. “Don’t get too mad at me, I’m buying you dinner.”

You scoffed and slipped your feet into your heels, trying to act angry still as to conceal your nerves and the twinge of excitement settled in your stomach. “I’ll be as mad as I want, thanks.” you replied angrily, grabbing your purse and walking ahead of her.

In the car, you sat calmly and looked at the road ahead. You were humming some song the radio wasn’t even playing and admiring the interior of the car. It was everything you dreamed up, you could see the cherry-red coloring on the hood of the car, making you giggle a bit. Mainly because Ellie got you something she knew you’d love, something she knew she could make special for you. That kind of thought meant a lot, it made you feel seen and heard. Because she remembered, because she worked so hard just to make you happy.

That kind of love was so pure and so raw it was almost overbearing. But it was the kind of overbearing you craved and adored—but only with Ellie. You felt so warm and light that you completely forgot about the toy inside you. That is until you shifted.

Ellie looked over for a split second, she always struggled to keep her eyes on the road. How could she? She had her beautiful girlfriend beside her in the sexiest dress known to man. “What’re you giggling for? Like your present?” she questioned, as if it weren’t obvious.

You hummed and nodded, smile plastered on your face. “Mm, yeah.” you couldn’t even hold back the happy grin on your face. Didn’t need to.

Ellie loved seeing you all happy. But was she about to ruin this moment? Absolutely. But..she was letting you marinate in your excitement. For now.

When the next red light came, Ellie grabbed her phone. You thought nothing of it, assuming she was just checking a test or something. Until you felt it yet again, that overwhelming pleasurable feeling that would’ve knocked you off your feet if you weren’t sitting down. Those vibrations deep in your cunt that sucked all the air out of your lungs. She started it off low, as if it was some warm up. Your hand flew over your mouth, thighs squirming ever so slightly as if it would make the feeling stop. But it didn’t, and you didn’t want it to.

“Ellie, are you serious? I’m gonna be soaked by the time we get there!” you complained, though it wasn’t a real complaint. It felt so good, the pleasure was measurable but still so, so good. You were pulsing, your panties and the clenching of your hole keeping the toy nestled deep inside your aching pussy.

From the driver’s seat there was a laugh. “That’s the plan, sweetheart.” she replied, tone cool and level in a way that made you feel slightly insecure. The light was green, so Ellie stepped on the gas pedal again and focused on the road. Well, half-focused on the road.

You sat there helplessly, the vibrations sending shocks of pleasure throughout your whole body. Before you could even plead for more, she turned the frequency up. You jolted up, a weak cry crawling out of your throat. You grabbed onto the armrest, the jump in feeling heightening all your senses at once. Your nerves were on fire, your whole brain felt like it was shutting down.

“E-Ellie!” you cried out, hand scrambling to her forearm. You panted heavily, squeezing your eyes shut. No matter how much you shifted your body and squirmed, the feeling never left.

Ellie sighed, struggling to not give you her full attention. “Oh, I know baby.” she cooed, smiling when you desperately grabbed her arm. “I know you can take it, but squeezing your thighs together won’t help you.”

“Shouldn’t you..g-get off your phone and focus on the road?” you challenged, voice coming out weaker than you had intended.

“Shouldn’t you be a good girl and take it like you said you would? Keep mouthing off and see what happens.” she threatened, you knew all too well that her words weren’t entirely empty. Before you could even try to come up with an argue, the tires of your car hit a pothole—sending your body up a bit. The toy moved inside you, as if it was a little thrust.

You gasped and dug your nails into Ellie’s tatted forearm. “F-fuck!—“ you whined, your thighs starting to shake. It was all too much, you were overwhelmed in the best way possible. The toy worked your sopping pussy just like it was supposed to, but it felt so perfect. Ellie turned it up again, all you could do was let out weak strings of moans and pleads.

“Ellie..please. I can’t do it!” you said between pathetic moans. But you didn’t want her to turn it down, you were in too much bliss. You tried to shift again, but it was useless. Your pussy was spasming around the toy, even though you hadn’t came yet.

Ellie clicked her tongue, one side of her lips more upturned than the other. Her green eyes were focused on the road, but her thoughts were aimed elsewhere. They were aimed to the right of her, to her girlfriend who was squirming and whining in the car she bought. Moaning like a bitch in the car she fixed, to say that was an ego boost wasn’t strong enough. “Is that really how you feel? You’re moaning like a slut and begging me. You want less?”

“Okay, baby. I’ll turn it down since it’s too much for you.”

You let out a sob, followed by surprisingly zero tears. You shook your head feverishly, eyes flying open. “No, no! Don’t turn it down!” you cried, squeezing your thighs together as if the toy would fall out because of her words. As if she’d pull it out of you and take away the pleasure you so desperately needed.

“Ask properly and I’ll consider it.” she replied almost immediately, looking away from the road since there was another red light. Her eyes zeroed in on your form. You had a fucked out look on your face; lips parted and eyes hazy. She loved when you looked like that—in fact, she craved it. Ellie would do absolutely anything to get that expression on your pretty face.

Some kind of weak noise left you, you swallowed hard and tried to form a coherent thought. “P-please don’t turn it off. Please!” you pleaded desperately, breath coming out in short pants and whines.

“Yeah? You wanna cum, huh?” she murmured, earning her a nod on your behalf. Ellie leaned in a bit closer to you just so she could see your pretty face. She hummed and stepped on the gas again, looking forward. It was a struggle looking away from you, you looked heavenly.

“Touch yourself, baby. You have two hands, don’t you?” She urged, listening to you whine and heating you squirm on the seat.

Yet, you complied. Your free hand wandered south, fingers racing to your puffy clit underneath your beautiful dress. You found the nub, putting pressure on it and jolting up. You were already overwhelmed—adding this had you in shambles. “Oh god—oh!” you whimpered pathetically, drawing small circles over your clit.

The noises you were making were downright sinful, they poured out of you like a running faucet. She hit another pothole—maybe on purpose—either way you jolted. Your nails dug into her arm, you didn’t notice the change in frequency until you nearly choked on your moan when it happened. She was turning it up and down, toying with you. Your fingers stuttered on your clit, brain short circuiting.

“You’re such a dirty girl. I want you to make these nice, new seats so messy.” Ellie groaned, her hands involuntarily gripping the wheel tighter.

You were getting close, your body was already preparing for it. Juices were dripping down from your sopping hole, getting the seat a bit sticky—just how she wanted. You removed your fingers from from your cunt. You angled your hips and pushed your pussy against the seat a bit to get friction on your clit, there was an embarrassing squelch from how soaked you were. It was like an endless stream, along with your moans. The vibrations coursing through your sobbing pussy were satisfying in the way that felt euphoric. Even though you had a death grip on Ellie’s arm—you felt bliss.

“E-Ellie..Els, baby. I’m close…” you moaned, moving to squeeze your thighs together again. You were a mess, and your girlfriend loved it.

Ellie side glanced you, biting her lip to control herself. The urge to pull over and fuck your brains out was so, so tempting. But something about having to control herself was hot too. She took one hand off the wheel, placing it on your thigh and spreading your legs apart a bit. She wanted you to soak the seat, to soak the brand new seats of car that was yours. The spot she manufactured for you.

“Oh, baby. If you wanna cum you have to ask for permission. You know that.” she cooed, rubbing your thigh softly.

A whine left your throat, especially when she turned down the toy by one notch—then two—then three. You could feel it, but it still had a strong hold on you.

“Baby, please? Please, I wanna cum. I-I need it!” you begged between pants, when you looked over you could see the smirk she tried to bite back. She failed, a lopsided grin blessing her already attractive features.

“Yeah? Do you deserve it?” she questioned, pointer tapping against your inner thigh. She collected a small dribble of slick, it stuck to her finger and stretched a bit, but she didn’t look.

You blinked and whined again, squirming an unfair amount. “I don’t know..just please let me!” you pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears.

“You don’t know? Try again, sweetheart.” She turned the vibrator down, ignoring your pleas and cries. It was almost at the lowest setting now—she was just torturing you at this point.

A single tear fell from your eyes, it was from pure desperation. “I-I deserve it! Please, please, please!” you cried, the neediness in your tone was painfully obvious.

“You deserve what? You can’t be shy when you’re begging to cum while having a vibrator inside you.” she teased, turning it back up a few notches.

When you felt her turn it up, you got desperate. All the shame and embarrassment seemed to seep out with your slick. “I deserve to cum..please!”

Ellie groaned and bit the inside of her cheek, her on clit throbbing against her pants. “Good girl, go ahead.”

With a sharp cry and the intense squirming of your thighs, you came. Your back arched off the chair, pleads of her name falling from your lips. To say the seat was a mess was an understatement. But you didn’t care, and neither did she. You panted, feeling the toy ultimately turn off after she let you ride it out.

But after seeing you cum—it hit her. She needed her hands on you, she needed to fuck you in this car, she needed that contact so bad. She needed to watch you crumble, just the way she liked. The thoughts swarmed her head, though they weren’t unwelcome.

Ellie couldn’t take it anymore and pulled over on the side of the road—though, it was pretty secluded. When she looked over, she saw your beautiful expression. Your half lidded eyes, your parted lips, your baby hairs sticking to your forehead—all of it. It was that expression she loved to see so much. The expression that fueled her to keep going.

“You’re being so good, baby.” she praised, the hand that was on your thigh came up to your head. She stroked your hair softly, then moved to cup your cheek so you were looking at her. If there was one gesture Ellie loved—it was eye contact. She loved your pretty eyes focusing on hers, especially since your eyes were just so expressive.

Ellie rubbed your cheek softly, and you looked at her with hazy eyes. “Take the toy out. I’m gonna prepare something.” she ordered softly, the teasing in her voice was gone now. She seemed more tender now, as if she just wanted to take care of you.

You obeyed. hand sliding between your legs and pushing your panties to the side. You groaned as you reached into your pussy with two fingers and pulled the toy out. You were overstimulated, causing another stray tear to roll down your cheek.

When you looked back over, Ellie had one of her straps attached to her body.

Did she keep one in the center console? This was your car, what the hell!

Ellie smiled and patted her lap, urging you to come sit. But before you found move, she grabbed the little bullet vibrator from your hands and slid it down her pants. She placed it against her clit, panties keeping it secure there. A groan escaped her when she felt your leftover wetness slosh against her clit.”

“Cmere, baby.” she ordered, patting her lap again. You listened like before, your thighs shaking as you crawled over the center console to get to her. You hovered over the silicone, staring at her with hazy, lust filled eyes. Ellie stared back, not blinking even once. She placed a hand on your hips, trying to urge you to start.

You blinked and nodded, putting your hands on her shoulders before sinking down on her dick. Your lips parted, head tipping back as you sucked her in favorably. Ellie groaned at the sight, reaching for her phone and turning on the vibrator.

The both of you moaned at the same time, and she finally placed both hands on your hips to keep you stable. “That’s it, baby. You’re taking it so well. Can you go a bit deeper?”

You nodded, looking at her with eyes that spoke the words you couldn’t. So full of love and adoration. What was better was how hers reflected back. You kept eye contact with her as you sank further down, the silicone sliding deeper inside you. Eventually you were as far down as you could be, your thighs shaking “Mmh..fuck..” you moaned softly, moving to bury your face in her neck.

That’s when she started to bounce you up and down, before you could even start doing it yourself. She couldn’t control herself when you looked so perfect like that. “Shit..my pretty girl. God, you’re unreal.” she moaned, turning the vibrator up as it hummed against her clit pleasurably.

You moaned into her neck, kissing and biting at it as you rolled your hips on your own. Maybe this was your way of avoiding eye contact. But it seemed to work—Ellie did have such a sensitive neck. You kissed up her sweet spot, sucking on it gently and listening to her moan.

“Just like that. keep riding it, baby. Take me.”

“Ellie..feels s’good..”

“Mhm? You like getting fucked in your dream car? My baby is so filthy.”

“I know I am..I’m so fucking filthy. Please help me go faster..”

That was the conversation—all breathy and sweet. Ellie bounced you up and down quicker, leaving you almost unable to make out with her neck anymore. You were hopelessly moaning into the skin, unable to muffle everything. When Ellie heard, she pulled you away from her neck and made you look at her.

“I wanna hear you, don’t muffle your moans. You sound so fuckin’ sweet.” she rambled, absolutely obsessed with how needy you sounded. Your pussy soaked the silicone, sucking it in greedily. It was hitting the perfect spot every time, returning you to that almost euphoric state like before.

“Can you moan my name, sweetheart?” Ellie asked, but her voice was so fucking desperate. She bounced you faster, looking at you the whole time.

You grabbed her phone from the side, turning up the vibrator nudged against her clit. She moaned and nearly rolled her eyes back, she couldn’t handle all of this. You couldn’t even speak if you wanted to, she was absolutely ruining your aching pussy by how hard she was slamming you down. You cried out arching against her and letting out sweet whines right in her ear.

Ellie pulled you back again, making you look at her. “Baby, moan it.” she ordered again, though her voice was more desperate now.

Your eyes struggled to stay in place, jaw slack and fingers digging into your girlfriend’s shoulders. “E-El..fuck!” you whimpered, your head tilting back.

Ellie took one hand off your hips, since you were moving fast on your own now. She grabbed your jaw, keeping your focus on her. You looked at her half lidded, jaw melting in her hands as you rolled your hips impossibly.

“Moan it, try again.”

“Elli—god!”

“Baby, come on.”

“E-Ellie..please!”

That’s what did it for her, right when you moaned her name she came. She grabbed your hips and dug her fingertips into the flesh, head falling against you as she moaned and shook with pleasure.

Seeing her finish had an effect on you, causing you to follow. You buried your head into her shoulder, “Ellie, Ellie!” you cried, desperately rolling your hips as you rode it out. There was a ring around the base of the strap now, your slick on her lap as well.

You sat there for a while, just holding each other. Ellie kept you on her, despite your pussy spasming and crying with overstimulation. You didn’t even try to move, weak whines leaving you every time you moved an inch. Though, you did remember to turn the vibrator off.

Ellie reached into the glovebox, grabbing a pair of gym shorts. You raised an eyebrow, face still fucked out. “What’s that for?”

She looked at you, expression serious as ever. “I need to change my pants, you got them messy.” she explained, looking down and biting back a smirk.

You nearly had an aneurysm. You could NOT let this woman wear gym shorts to a fancy restaurant “Are you crazy?! You’re not wearing those.”

Then it hit you—the reservation!

You gasped and weakly lifted yourself off the silicone, slick clinging onto you. You plopped down in your chair—getting it messy once again. “Weren’t we supposed to be there 20 minutes ago?!”

Ellie scoffed and smiled, looking over at you and trying not to laugh. “I lied to you about the time, We have ten minutes still.”

You blinked at her and sighed, rubbing your forehead like a movie character. “Right, because you planned this.” you mumbled “But still, you can’t wear those.”

“Should I wear the fucking strap then?”

“Ellie!”

tags!! <333 @valeisaslut @eriiwaiii2 @hyperbabes @usuck @haithone @yunaversalluv @smaugayra @andieprincessofpower @elliesfavtoy @sewithinsouls @pariiissssssss @aliselune @myla-wyla @nattakasuperlesbian @xiletay @sawaagyapong @ellies-real-wife @lostdecisions @liddyflyer @talyaisvalslutsoldier @dustandpearls @vicluvsu @urmomssideh0e @ilovetaylorrr @shynymphh @mars4hellokitty @sevikasswifee @miracletyphoon

A/N: for my beautiful @mayfldss !!! I LOVE YOUUUU!!! —- thank you to her for the plot, and my girl for the smut idea ☺️☺️💗💗

#ellie williams #lesbian #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams imagine #ellie x fem reader #tlou part 2 #wlw love #ellie x you #ellie smut #wlw #ellie williams smut #tlou smut #ellie williams x reader

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rawme-price · 19 hours ago

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Gaz and Ace!reader who are horribly in love, but you never told kyle you were ace.

Sure, you really should tell him. Because open and honest communication is important. A relationship built on lies is bound to crumble, but you really like kyle. You maybe even love him, and the last time you told a boyfriend you were ace it ended in disaster.

You dont think you can take another heartbreak. Not from kyle.

So you just...dont tell him. You do all the cute couples things, go out on dates and gross people out with insane levels of PDA. Hell, you even meet his teammates! (You pointedly ignore the guilt crawling in ur gut when johnny says hes never met any of kyles past partners)

Of course, there's no avoiding it. Months into the relationship and a very heavy make-out session has kyles hands teasing at the edge of your waist band. You subtly avert his attention, drop to your knees instead. Except halfway through pumping his cock into your mouth, gaz pulls you off with a furrowed brow. Your stomach twists at his worried expression. "Hey, hey. Baby, is everything okay? You...you dont have to suck me off if you dont want to. You know that, right?"

You laugh nervously, glance away. "What- what makes you think I dont?"

Kyle raises an unimpressed brow "oh I don't know. Maybe the fact you were grimacing the whole time."

"Oh shit- kyle baby im sorry its-" you begin to apologize, scared that you somehow hurt his feelings worse than telling him no.

"No, no dear, im not mad. I just- i dont want you to force yourself to do it." Kyle reassures, hand slipping around your waist. His voice turns low and sly with "besides, there's other ways to have fun. Cmon, any preference? I'll do whatever for you honey"

Shit. There's no getting out of this.

"No. Its, I dont want to do anything." You take a deep breath, look away. "Im...im ace, kyle. I just dont have those...urges. its nothing against you, that's just how I am."

You begin to do damage control when kyle doesn't respond "if thats a deal breaker for you, thats okay, I wont blame you. But If it is you have to tell me now, please, I cant- i cant handle the uncertainty if it will or wont work, i-"

"Why the hell would that be a deal breaker?" Kyle's absolutely baffled voice has your eyes snapping back to him, and he looks a bit like a kicked puppy "baby. I love you. Okay? Love. I'll love you even if you never touch me."

He sounds so certain, so honest. It feels miles apart from the boyfriends who reluctantly agreed to try even after you revealed you were ace. Or the boyfriends who told you to change or they'd leave. Unbidden, tears well in ur eyes.

"But- but you won't be satisfied! And- and you'll think you still want me but you wont- and-" why the hell are you saying this? Are you trying to get him to leave?

Kyle just coos at you, cups your jaw in his hand. "Hey. No, baby, look at me. Sex is just one of many ways two people feel good together, yeah? If you dont feel good, then I dont want to do it. End of story. Its just like going on a date, you wouldn't want to go if you knew I was having a bad time, right? Same thing."

You sniffle, lashes wet "so...so we're not breaking up? You still want me?"

"Yes. Of course honey." He presses a tender kiss to your forehead, then proceeds to kiss all over ur face until you begin to giggle. No trace of tears left.

"Besides," gaz says with a grin "ive got a perfectly good left hand and plenty of toys back home."

You scrunch your nose and make a fake gagging sound "ew. Youre gross babe."

"You love me though!"

"....I do."

#reminder that we love and support ace people here!!!#cod #cod smut #cod fluff #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #ace reader #ace!reader #remember guys dont be like reader. be honest with ur partners and dont force urself to do things that make u uncomfortable.

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touchandtwilight · 2 days ago

Text

not so neighborly anymore ︴3.7k words!

wanda maximoff x fem!reader

it was harmless at first. a welcoming knock, a borrowed cup of sugar. now, seasons later, you’re pressed against the wall, her mouth on yours, and there’s nothing neighborly about it anymore.

warning ︴ eventual smut, next door neighbor!AU, porn w/ plot, slow burn, age difference (like 7-8 years), dom/top!wanda, sub/bottom!reader, passionate sex, fingering (r!receiving), strap in v (r!receiving), slight hurt/comfort, happy ending

Upstate New York. The leaves are changing, falling from the trees as you and a few others carry boxes into the building you’ll now call home. The move was quick with so many hands helping, and easier still since most of your furniture had been shipped ahead. New home, new start, new furniture.

It began to feel like home the moment everything was unpacked and settled. Items unwrapped, shifted, arranged—placed neatly on counters and shelves where they finally belonged. Others around the neighborhood began to express their warm welcomes. A family down the street, another across from you…. many. It truly felt like you were meant to have moved into this home, but just before you could thank the universe another knock sounded on your door. Another neighbor stopped by to offer a warm welcome—Wanda, she said her name was.

That was the first greeting of many. The memory has your cheeks heating when you replay it. The embarrassment keeping you up at night at how you acted. Nothing like words had left your mouth as you accepted her homemade gift. She thew you off balance, and it was blatantly obvious you didn't know how to handle it. She had a calm stance, spoke evenly. Not too warm, not too distant. Just… comfortable, in that way people are when they’ve already figured themselves out. You, meanwhile, had forgotten how to form a full sentence.

You nodded. Maybe smiled. You can’t quite remember. You only remember that you took the plate from her and stood awkwardly in the doorway, feeling like you were still mid-move, mid-adjustment, mid-something. She didn’t seem to mind. Just said something about how everyone on the street usually dropped something off when someone new moved in, and how she thought it was nice to keep the tradition going. You might’ve mumbled a thank-you. Or just said it too quietly. Either way, she gave a small nod and left it at that—turned and walked back down the steps, robe sleeve tugged slightly by the breeze.

The greetings got easier, though. Short conversations in passing—when you were heading out to run errands, or at the grocery store, or just bringing the trash out at the same time. You started to have little things to catch up on, like whether the bakery she recommended actually lived up to the hype, or how it was seeing your old friend again in the city. Nothing deep. Just simple check-ins that felt easy. Familiar.

Your interactions through the next month—through the slow shift from fall to early winter—were steady and quiet. A calm rhythm. You didn’t overthink them as much anymore. You stopped trying to say the right thing, and just said what you meant.

That was until now.

Now, you’re standing outside her front door, your heart racing, fist paused mid-air before knocking. Breath visible in the cold December air, palms sweating in your coat pockets, even though you told yourself this wasn’t a big deal.

But it is.

Because this isn’t a passing wave on the sidewalk. This time, you’re here on purpose.

You bring your hand up to knock softly against the burgundy wood, heart rushing as you wait for her to answer. Footsteps were heard before the door squeaks open. Before she could get a word out you blurt, "could I borrow some vanilla extract?"

She laughs softly, "of course you may. Here, come in."

She steps back, giving you room to step in past the doorway. It's a first, you've never seen her home before. It's full of warm colors, books, candles. Very autumn, almost witch like. You follow behind her to the kitchen where she steps into her pantry for a second.

She returns with the small bottle in hand, holding it out to you without hesitation.

“You baking this late?” she asks, eyebrows raised just slightly.

You thank her, taking it, "tried a new recipe. Got halfway through before realizing I was missing the one thing I actually needed.”

Wanda smiles like she’s heard that before, "happens to the best of us.”

There’s a brief pause, not uncomfortable, just quiet. Her kitchen smells faintly of cloves and something citrusy, like she’d just finished making tea or simmering something on the stove. You glance around without meaning to. Her space feels lived-in. Intentional.

You linger with the bottle in your hand, "I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”

“No rush,” she says. “Really.”

She’s still watching you, calm and easy like always. You’re not sure what else to say, and maybe you don’t need to say anything. You give a small nod, almost a thank-you, and turn toward the door.

"We," she says, pausing until she sees you stop, "the neighborhood has a Halloween party, we'd love for you to join."

"When is it?"

"This upcoming Monday."

You smile back at her, "I'll be there."

Monday comes faster than expected.

The Halloween party’s being held at a house a few streets over in someone’s backyard and living room strung with orange lights, carved pumpkins lining the walkway. There’s a folding table near the porch with snacks, a cooler half-filled with drinks, and a slow cooker of cider giving off steam. You can hear kids laughing before you even reach the gate.

No one’s in costume, not really. Just a few themed sweaters, some plastic spider rings, face paint here and there. Parents standing in loose circles, holding paper plates. It’s casual. Familiar. You almost feel out of place for how nervous you’d been walking over.

You spot Wanda near the back patio, talking with someone while holding a cup in both hands. She’s dressed the same way she always seems to be. Layered and comfortable, in deep colors that catch the porch light in soft ways. She glances up as you step into the yard, and her expression shifts instantly into something easy. Welcoming.

You give a small wave, and she excuses herself from the conversation before walking over to meet you.

“Hey,” she says, stepping beside you. “You made it.”

You nod. “Figured I should show face before everyone starts comparing notes about the new neighbor.”

She laughs softly, like she gets it. “You’re safe. They’re mostly distracted by sugar and their kids running into furniture.”

You both glance around. A kid in a skeleton hoodie is chasing someone with a glowstick. A folding chair tips over. No one seems to care.

Wanda gestures toward the table. “There’s cider. It's not terrible.”

When you don’t say no, she guides you over, pouring you a glass from the slow cooker and handing it to you. It’s warm in your hands, smells like cinnamon and something faintly burnt. Probably the bottom of the batch, but not in a bad way.

“You weren’t kidding,” you say after a sip. “Not terrible.”

Wanda smirks. “High praise. I’ll be sure to let the cider committee know.”

You huff a small laugh and lean back a little, letting the noise of the party settle around you. The backyard lights cast everything in a soft orange glow. Wanda leans beside you against the porch railing, cup still in hand.

“So,” she says, “do you always wait until the last minute to ask for ingredients, or was I just lucky that night?”

You blink, caught off guard for a second. “I—oh well, I'm usually I’m more prepared.”

She hums. “Shame. I didn’t mind the surprise.”

You glance over. She’s looking straight ahead, not at you, but there’s a quiet curve to her mouth. It’s nothing dramatic, nothing heavy-handed, but something in the way she says it makes you feel it just under the surface.

You take another sip, maybe to give yourself a second. Maybe because if you spoke now you'd give away the shake in your voice. “Well. I’ll try to be unprepared more often, then.”

Winter had ended. The snow was long gone, the streets finally dry again, and the trees were just starting to green at the tips. You had the windows open, letting the breeze cut through the stillness of the house as you cleaned. Music played low in the background, the scent of lemon cleaner clinging to your sleeves.

You were in the kitchen, on your toes trying to wipe the top of one of the cabinets. Half-balanced on a chair you definitely shouldn’t be standing on when you heard the creak of the front door.

“Hello?”

Wanda’s voice, casual, like she’d been there a hundred times.

You turned slightly, still reaching. “Door's open!"

“I noticed,” she said, stepping inside. “Didn’t expect to find you risking your life over dust.”

“Part of my spring reset,” you said, grunting as you reached further. “Death by Windex.”

She was laughing softly as she entered the kitchen, just as your hand slipped. The cloth fell from your fingers, and your foot shifted awkwardly on the edge of the chair.

You started to fall back.

But before panic could even set in, Wanda was there—hands catching your waist, solid and quick. You landed against her, her body steady behind yours, breath knocked out of you more from surprise than anything else. There was a beat of stillness. Her hands still at your waist. Yours gripping the edge of the counter in front of you.

“You really shouldn’t use spinning chairs for this,” she murmured.

You glanced down, breath shaky. Her fingers pressed slightly into your sides and it had your mind short-circuiting. You looked over your shoulder, meaning to say something light. Something to break the tension. But you caught her looking at your mouth. Just briefly. Then up, meeting your eyes. Her grip tightened. Barely, but enough that you felt it, the shift. Your pulse kicked up in your ears.

“Thanks,” you said, quietly.

Her voice was just as soft. “Yeah.”

Before anything could happen, a knock at the door broke the moment—another neighbor stopping by, pulling both of you back to the everyday. But something had shifted. After that night, Wanda grew a little more touchy, and you didn’t even realize it until someone else pointed it out at a gathering. Since then, you’ve been aware too, the brief brush of her hand when she passes you something, the quiet warmth that spreads through your chest whenever she rests a hand on your back to guide you somewhere.

You felt it. You knew. You weren’t born yesterday.

Sometimes you’d find yourself at her place way too late, leaning back against the kitchen counter, eyes locked on hers in a way that was anything but innocent. Your voices low, barely above a whisper, carrying on long into the night as you both nursed glasses of wine, caught in conversations that felt like something more.

Another night, you found yourselves sitting side by side on her porch swing, the chill of the evening wrapped in the soft glow of string lights overhead. The quiet between you stretched comfortably until she reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The simple touch sent a ripple through you, and when your eyes met hers, the air thickened. Her hand lingered on your cheek, fingers tracing the curve just long enough to make your breath hitch.

You didn’t pull away. You leaned in, and she did too, your heart pounding loud in your ears. Then it just happened. Your lips met hers, eyes squeezed shut as you savored the moment. Her soft hand stayed on your cheek as her lips moved against yours, gentle and slow. When she pulled back, her breath came steady but deliberate, like a line had been crossed. Suddenly, everything felt sharper, more fragile. Whatever this was becoming, it was dangerous. You couldn’t fall for her. Not like this. And surely, she hadn’t fallen for you. It was a mess waiting to happen. Your mind spun, and without thinking, you pulled away and ran, ignoring her soft voice calling your name behind you.

Avoiding her was easier than you thought it’d be. You learned her schedule, timing your days to keep indoors when you knew she’d be outside. But late at night, under your covers, your lips still burned. Memories of that day flashed in your mind, relentless and vivid. You told yourself it was a bad idea—a really bad idea, for too many reasons. You couldn’t get involved with her.

Still, avoidance only worked for so long. In a small town like this, it’s hard to stay away forever.

The farmers’ market was bustling with summer’s full energy—bright stalls, chatter, the scent of fresh fruit and herbs thick in the air. You moved through the crowd, eyes mostly on the ground, trying to avoid running into her. Your steps were purposeful but slow, as if hoping the noise and people around you would somehow shield you.

But then you heard the familiar voice, quiet but clear beside you.

“You like peaches?”

You glanced sideways, spotting her just a few steps away, leaning casually against a crate, one brow slightly raised as if daring you to respond. You barely nodded, hoping to keep it simple, to not give her more than she was asking for.

She smiled, that slight, knowing smile that made your stomach twist. “You always this quiet? Or just when you don’t want to talk to me?”

You shrugged, picking up a peach and turning it in your hand, your fingers tracing the fuzzy skin. “Maybe I don’t feel like talking.”

Her eyes softened for a moment, then she leaned in a little, voice dropping to a near whisper, as if sharing a secret meant only for you.

“Or maybe you’re avoiding me.”

You looked away quickly, swallowing the sudden tightness in your throat. “I’m not.”

But the words felt hollow, even to you. Because deep down, you knew that was exactly what you’d been doing—dodging her calls, avoiding her eyes, pretending that distance would make the feelings fade.

“Yeah? Because it feels like you’ve been dodging every chance to actually see me.”

You bit your lip, frustration bubbling under the surface. “Maybe I just like my space.”

Her eyes held yours, steady and calm. “Or maybe you’re scared. Scared of what this could be.”

You shook your head, heart picking up pace. “Again, I’m not.”

You tried to keep your focus on the peaches, on the weight of the fruit in your hand, but the space between you and her felt charged, like a silent conversation neither of you wanted to fully voice. The noise of the market buzzed around you both, but it was distant—everything except her voice seemed to fade. A crack of thunder cut through the summer air, sharp and close. The sky darkened quickly, the clouds rolling in like a warning. People around you looked up, hurriedly gathering their things, voices rising with urgent goodbyes. Then the rain came, fat drops splattering against the pavement and the stalls, pushing the crowd to scatter in all directions. You froze for a moment, caught off guard and suddenly very exposed.

Her hand brushed your arm, light but firm. “Come on. You’re not walking home in this.”

You hesitated, swallowing the lump forming in your throat, wanting to say no, to insist you’d be fine, but before the words could form, she was already unlocking her car. You followed silently, the steady rhythm of the rain loud against the roof of the car as you slid inside. The warmth was immediate, but so was the weight of the silence settling between you. She glanced at you in the rearview mirror, eyes searching, steady. You couldn’t meet them, not yet. The road back was slow, the raindrops blurring the world outside, as if time itself had slowed just for this ride. The quiet stretched between you, thick with things unsaid.

When she pulled into your driveway, you stepped out into the cool air, soaked and shivering, the chill seeping through your clothes. She folded her arms, gaze drifting down the street like she was deciding how much more to say. Then her eyes locked onto yours, calm but serious.

“If you close that door," she said quietly, low and done, "I won’t knock again.”

Her words hung heavy in the humid night air, a challenge and a plea all at once. You swallowed hard, the weight of everything pressing down on you, but before the silence could stretch any further, you reached across the center console, caught her hand, and without thinking twice, leaned in and kissed her. It was your answer, your choice.

Your heated kisses in the car soon became a mess on your bed. Your hands fumbling with the keys as you open the front door. Her hands all over you, wet clothes discarded as you slowly make your way to your room due to the make out sessions against the wall. Your arms circling her neck, hers around your waist sliding up your cold skin.

"Need you," she'd murmur hotly against your lips between kisses. "Missed you."

"Shit, I missed you... Missed you so much. I was scared Wanda, I-Like you. i like you so much.”

You fall back onto the bed, swollen lips gasping for air as she kisses down your jaw. Her hands working your legs apart, wrapping them around her waist. A gasp escapes you as she reaches a hand down quick, sliding it through your wet folds. You scratch the back of her neck, keening as she starts to rub her hand in circles over your cunt, smearing your wetness all over.

"Shh, I know. I know”

She teases while also maintaining a fast pace. It's her first time with you, but she's acting as if your body isn't a virgin to her touch. She knows where to press, where to rub to have you falling apart under her.

Her voice has goosebumps lining your skin when she whispers against your neck, "can you take a finger for me? or will you be too tight, mm?"

You shake your head, "no… no promise.. please I can take one."

She hums, sliding one in and cursing under her breath at how tight you are. Only one finger and you're gripping her like a vice. She speaks into your ear again, "said you could take one, but you're clenching around it. Did you lie to me?"

You shake your head, mind fuzzy, "no, promise. I promise. Please move."

A choked moan escapes you when she begins to thrust her finger in and out. Her finger drags against your inner walls, curling upwards to tease that spot inside you. Her eyes darting between where she's fucking you and your face, watching your expressions and how you're starting to fall apart.

"Can you be a good girl and take another?"

You nod and she gently slaps your thigh with her other hand, "tell me."

"Yes! Yes, I can! Please!”

When she adds another, she presses them apart to scissor you open.

"So damn tight," she says against your neck as she moves them again. The sound of her fingers fucking you has your cheeks heating, embarrassingly enough it turns you on all the more. With her thumb circling your clit and her fingers deep inside you, you're arching your back already. Body squirming as you chase an orgasm. All the while Wanda's only doing this to stretch you out, prepare you for what's to come. Just as you're clenching erratically, thighs begging to close, gasps higher pitched, her fingers pull out.

She tuts at your whine, shushing you. Wanda leans down, hovering over your heat before letting her spit dribble onto your clit, her lips hinting to smile at your little sensitive jump. She rubs her fingers over your clit, smiling down at you as she edges you. Keeping you on the brink, but never letting you over.

"You want more, don't you?"

You shake your head yes, eyes shut. Takes you too long to realize she gets off the bed, stepping off to the side for a second to grab something. When she returns and your eyes rest upon what's now strapped between her thighs, a new heat settles between your legs and on your cheeks. You shut your eyes, looking away.

"Wanda-!"

She crawls on top of you, lips finding your neck, "mm? What is it? Are you getting shy?"

You place your hands on her shoulders, scoffing in a whiny tone, "no…?"

Wanda drags the length between your folds, brushing it against your clit and you moan. Your legs spreading to welcome the feeling. She licks up to your ear, "how'd you like it, darlin?"

You look to her eyes, eyebrows furrowed, "mm? Like what…?"

“What position?”

“Oh—” your cheeks flushed, brain sluggish from the pleasure pulsing through you. “This… this is fine. It's great. Please just like this."

As soon as you felt the head on your entrance, you shut down. "You okay?"

When you nodded, mumbling a quick okay, she began to sink each and every inch in. She was captured by the sight of you sucking her in, how it disappeared inside you. You whine against her neck, hands in her hair, whimpering her name. She shushed you, "you can take it, you're so good for me."

Once you nodded and she felt the movement against her neck, she pulls her hips back and the sound you made when she pushed back in made her want to marry you rigth then and there. You were loud, and on top of the bed squeaking and headboard banging from her thrusts, she couldn't have you attracting the whole neighborhood. She pulled your bottom lip down, and when you opened your mouth she pushed her fingers in. Muffling your sounds.

It was a sight to see. Your body under hers, jostling from her thrusts, almost limp with how she was making you feel. Add her fingers finding your clit again and you were gone, pleas and her name falling from your lips like a mantra.

"Please… Wands, oh fuck… Please! Don't stop!"

She didn't. Not after you came the first time, not after the second, not after the third. Not until all you were thinking of was her. Finishing a round just to flip Wanda on her back and beg for another.

notes ︴stayed up to 4am writing this shit. my roommate was like wtf go to sleep 😭😭

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iris-tarot · 22 hours ago

Text

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ what emotions will arise in your future partner/spouse’s soul when they make love to you for the first time ⋆. 𐙚 ̊

pick-a-card reading

⋆.˚ take a deep breath and close your eyes. look at the above options and pick the image you feel the most drawn towards. scroll down to read your message. if you feel called to more than one image, then maybe there's a message that's meant for you ⋆.˚

⟢˚₊‧♡ about me

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ˎˊ˗

⋆˚࿔ pile I ⋆˚࿔

⭑.ᐟ OKAY BABY BUCKLE UP BECAUSE I'M GOING TO TAKE YOU FOR A RIDE HEHEHEHE. okay so first off, your future partner/spouse is going to try to act very nonchalant about their feelings towards you because well….they think they cool like that. they might try to ignore the signs and suppress their emotions because they’re like in DENIAL - well it’s time for you to open your eyes babe because how long are you gonna pretend like you don’t want pile 1🤨⁉️ WE BOTH KNOW HOW MUCH OF A SUCKER YOU ARE FOR PILE 1 SO QUIT THE DAMN ACT😤. your person needs to get their feelings checked because acting uninterested is only going to torment them, and guess what? they will eventually reach a breaking point where they can no longer hold in their emotions and they will literally BURST.

they’re going to be in denial when they’re making love to you for the first time. why you might ask - it’s because they’ll love you too damn much, and they’re kind of overwhelmed with the feelings they have for you. i don’t think anyone has ever made your person feel this way, so this all seems very new to them - but damn please don’t ignore those feelings man like be a yearner THERE’S NOTHING WRONG IN THAT🤧😒🙄. i’m sorry i’m being so sassy towards your future partner/spouse but they need to get their act together smh.

there’s definitely some tension from their side, but i see them working through it - and then BOOM, there’s a sudden shift in their energy. i see them suddenly acknowledging their feelings for you and babe oh my god there’s going to be a sudden change in their actions. during the start, they’d be so full of themselves - acting like you have no effect on them at all. but c’mon, how long can a person hold themselves back from you? not too long, i’m seeing here - because they will finally give into their feelings and show you EXACTLY how you make them feel🤭.

making love to you seems hopeful, too promising even. they’ve never felt like this before, they’ve nerve experienced such sacred intimacy. oh babe they’re going to worship you - every inch of you (and i’m seeing here that they’ll love your thighs/legs a lot). making love to you for the first time isn’t just a casual intimacy for them, it’s the start of something new - a new beginning and a new chapter in their life. there’s this excitement and thrill, and they’re literally gonna devour you whole. you’re like this temptation they never wanted to fall for, but can we blame them? you’re captivating, babe - and they WANT you. they CRAVE you. one minute they’re trying to ignore the signs, and then the next minute you’re in their arms while they kiss you so eagerly, showing you exactly how pathetic you make them feel.

however, i do want to stress on the fact that they’re going to feel very confused when it comes to their feelings for you because this all seems so new to them. they might be a little hesitant and distant at first, but they’re such a sucker for you. they’re going to let themselves go and finally explore the depths of this connection. but making love to you for the first time will heal a part of them they never knew needed fixing, and you’re the only one who can reach that wound of theirs. they’re going to feel vulnerable and broken in front of you, but you’re the only one who’ll get to see this side of theirs because they know that you’ll get them ⭑.ᐟ

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ˎˊ˗

⋆˚࿔ pile II ⋆˚࿔

⭑.ᐟ bestie i’m gonna hold your hand when i say this….your future partner/spouse will literally find the most creative ways to make love to you for the first time and it’s going to be AMAZING. whoops sorry if i scared you during the beginning but your person is literally going to satisfy your soul - like they will literally touch your soul. and let me tell you one thing, your person has literally taken down notes and observed your body language - so they know EXACTLY how to make you feel👀✨🤭. now let me expose your person a little bit because WHY NOT - your future partner/spouse has been daydreaming about making love to you. like you’ve been constantly on their mine 25/8. yup, not 24/7. but 25/8 because that’s the level of impact you have on them. they just can’t shake off your presence. and guess what? they love it. they love how your souls are like stitched together because they’re OBSESSED with you. omg the song “obsessed” by mariah carey just came to my mind where in the beginning she goes, “and i was like, why are you so obsessed with me?” - LIKE THATS THE VIBES I'M GETTING HERE.

your first time with your person is going to be so passionate, like ugh where did you find this person🤧. what manifesting method or subliminals are you listening to, babe? please share it with me😩🙌. your person is going to be so focused on making you feel good, they don’t even care about their needs. like their passion is so strong for you, they don’t even care about themselves anymore😭. i’m seeing here that they want to prove to you as to why you need to choose them. i love how they don’t want you to give your attention to anyone else - looks like someone’s jealous hehe🤭🤭. they want your entire focus to be on them and oh…..they’ll love it when you praise them. they’re going to feel this sense of confidence and this prestige, it’s almost like they feel like they’re on top of the world when you praise them. and oh god how they love hearing you moan their name…..it makes them feel….things. and i can’t even blame you because your person knows damn well what they’re doing - and this is because they’ve literally studied each and every one of your movements, so they know exactly how to make you feel a certain way.

making love to you for the first time is going to make them feel complete, it’s going to fulfil them. you’re going to unlock this side of theirs you never even knew existed. i’m seeing here that you two perfectly fit together and your bodies are made for each other. it’s like your souls are one. y’all are literally the perfect match. they’ll notice how y’all go hand in hand and god they find it so sexy. they’ll love how you’re a putty in their hands, and they’ll love how much of a coward they are for you because they’re literally on their knees begging at your mercy. you can do anything to them, and they’ll not protest. you’re in control, and this comes with a lot of trust from their end. they trust you, babe. and their heart is in your hands. they might even hate themselves for feeling so strongly towards you, but can we even blame them? you’re perfect babe, and they know it. they will be in conflict with themselves during the start, but they for sure know that you’re worth the sacrifice ⭑.ᐟ

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ˎˊ˗

⋆˚࿔ pile III ⋆˚࿔

⭑.ᐟ umm…..okay…..this is definitely not what i was expecting but honestly, don’t worry too much right now babe. it’s going to sound a little scary at first, but trust me it will get better. okay, so i don’t even know where to start. like your future partner/spouse’s energy is all over the place and it’s so hard for me - but i think that’s exactly how your future partner/spouse feels. all over the place. see, your person has been through a lot and i know this line sounds so cliché, but it’s true. life has beaten them so badly to the point where they can no longer trust another person. they’re scared, tried, broken, hurt, and they’ve been put down so many times before. they’ve lost all hope in humanity and in love - but then you walk into their life. you’re like this angel that lightened their heart. you’re like this belief they hold on to. you’re like this silent prayer they whisper when they’re anxious. you’re like this religion they follow with all their heart. you’re you. and that’s what pulls them🥹.

your person is mysterious, but they’re also someone who carries a lot of knowledge and experience and this is what pulls y’all to each other. you both have been through a lot, but not everyone can see this one particular part of you - a part that’s broken, a part that needs healing. but for some reason, you both will be able to recognise this broken piece in each other and you both will fix it for one another.

for some reason, i’m seeing here that this person is not going to stay for a long time in your life. they’re this chapter in your life - where the universe sent them to heal you, and the same goes for them. you guys will heal each other, but y’all are probably not meant to be. i’m saying “probably” here because this only applies for a few of you. they’re not a phase, but a helping hand to pull you through tough times. i don’t know why but i’m seeing here that they might have tattoos.

okay, now with that out of the way - let’s see how they will feel when they make love to you for the first time. first things first babe, making love to each other is a form of healing for you guys. this love will help y’all grow and they’ll find their inner strength and purpose when they’re with you✨🙌. it’s like you unlock this door for them and they will be able to see the world more clearly. you’ll fix them, like literally. and they’ll fix you. making love to you feels so balanced and feels so right, almost too good to be true. and i’m seeing here that they’ll not be afraid to tell you how they feel and what they want, and they expect the same from you. the communication will be great here and they feel like they can trust and depend on you.

you’ll heal their inner child, and i see them giving you their whole. they’ll trust you very easily and i’m seeing here that they’ll let you see each and every part of them because they trust you so much. a part of them knows that this connection is risky because they can’t be with you forever, but a part of them wants to make the best use of the time they have with you. making love to you for the first time feels pure, feels innocent and feels right. it feels unapologetic and raw. it feels genuine and honest. you’ll give them this sense of control and authority, and they’ll use all their power to make you feel good. they’re dominating and they know exactly how to make you feel good. i have a feeling that you guys were meant to find each other in this period of your life where y’all needed someone the most, and leave after all the healing is done and when things fall into place. they know that you’re a lesson they needed during a phase of their life, and the same applies to you too. i’m seeing here that y’all will depart on mutual grounds, but you guys will always carry a part of each other within yourselves ⭑.ᐟ

𓂃 𓈒𓏸‪‪ˎˊ˗

⭑.ᐟ hello, thank you so much for making it till the end and i hope you could resonate with my reading. i would really appreciate it if you could like and reblog my post as it would mean a lot to me!! i'd love to hear which pile you picked and what resonated with you. take care and i hope you have a lovely day/night -`♡´-

ˎˊ˗ full credit for the images and dividers goes to their original creators and rightful owners.

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ridingreeves · 2 days ago

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𝖶𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍'𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗅𝖾

Being with Frank Castle is like loving a loaded gun—dangerous, heavy, and impossible to forget once it’s in your hands.

He’s not gentle with the world. But with you? That’s different. Still rough. Still raw. But different.

The nights with him are quiet—at first. The hum of the city, the sound of the locks clicking into place one by one. Frank always checks them, every time. He sleeps closest to the door. He sleeps light, like a man who never really learned how.

But when you touch him—really touch him—something changes in his eyes.

There’s heat under his skin. Like a fuse burning slow until he lets go.

Frank in the bedroom is intense. Focused. Like his whole body is tuned to yours. He doesn’t talk much, doesn’t ask permission twice. He watches your face, learns every sound you make, and then pushes until you make them again—louder. Until you’re trembling, clawing at his back, gasping his name like a prayer and a curse all wrapped into one.

He likes control. Likes to pin your wrists above your head with one hand, his mouth dragging slow over your collarbone like he’s starving for you. Like he needs you to forget the blood, the war, the weight he carries.

But he never forgets himself—never loses control of you. Even when it’s rough, it’s never careless. His hand on your neck isn’t just dominance—it’s possession. And comfort. You’re safe in it. Caged in something dangerous, yes—but safe.

“Open your legs, baby,” he’ll growl against your ear, voice rough like gravel, fingers already slipping under the waistband of your panties. “Let me take care of you.”

And he does.

He eats you out like he’s starving. Makes you cry out over and over until you’re twitching under his mouth, thighs locked around his head like you’re afraid he’ll disappear. His beard leaves your skin tender, lips swollen, body ruined—and he’s still not done.

Frank’s idea of aftercare isn’t soft words—it’s staying wrapped around you all night, one arm draped heavy across your waist, your back to his chest while his breathing evens out.

It’s him mumbling, “You good?” in that deep voice, even if he just made you come so hard you forgot your own name.

It’s him leaving a bottle of water by your side of the bed before you wake up, tucking a knife under his pillow like he’s still on watch—because he is. Always is. For you.

Being with Frank Castle isn’t soft. It’s not flowers or love songs.

It’s bruises on your hips and kisses to your forehead. It’s riding him until he snaps and flips you over, hands on your waist, fucking you so deep and slow it feels like worship.

It’s survival. It’s trust. It’s a kind of love that bleeds.

And he’d burn the whole world down before he lets anything take you from him.

It’s never quiet with Frank—not really. Even when the room is still, when the TV hums low and the world outside your window sleeps, there’s a hum beneath his skin. A storm he doesn’t talk about. A war he never came home from.

But he tries. For you.

He sits on the edge of the bed after midnight, shirtless and bruised, blood crusting the edge of a cut near his collarbone. His hands hang between his knees, and you can see the tension in the curve of his back, in the way his jaw locks like he’s holding in more than pain. You don’t ask what happened. You just move behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, press your face between his shoulder blades.

“You came back,” you whisper.

“Always do,” he mutters, like a promise.

He doesn’t say I love you often. He doesn’t know how. But you hear it when he double-checks the locks at night. When he lifts you off the sidewalk to avoid a puddle. When he keeps a hand on your thigh during long drives, thumb brushing circles that ground him more than he’ll ever admit.

The first time you told him you loved him, he froze. Said nothing. Just stared at you like you’d handed him something fragile he wasn’t sure how to hold.

The next morning, he fixed your coffee exactly how you like it. Brought it to you in bed. Kissed the top of your head with a gentleness that didn’t match his blood-stained knuckles.

That’s the thing about being with Frank—he doesn’t move in words, he moves in action. And when you’re his, you know. No one looks at you twice without him noticing. No one touches you without consequence.

You’ve seen the way people flinch when they hear his name. You’ve watched his eyes go dark when someone crosses a line. But he’s never raised his voice at you. Never raised his hand. Because with you, he’s not The Punisher. He’s just Frank.

Sometimes, when the nightmares win and his demons claw their way to the surface, he’ll wake up shaking, drenched in sweat, reaching for something—someone. And you’ll be there. You’ll press your hand to his chest and whisper, “You’re safe. You’re home.”

And for a man like Frank Castle, that’s everything.

Being with him isn’t easy. But loving him is.

Because once you have his heart, you have every broken, bloodstained piece of him.

And he’ll protect you like it’s the only thing that still matters in this world.

𝖠／𝖭－𝖣𝗋𝖺𝖿𝗍 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗂𝗆 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗅𝗌𝗈 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾✿

#frank castle x female reader #frank castle x reader #frank castle #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle smut #Frank castle x black reader #frank castle comfort #jon bernthal #drafts #black reader #black writers

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shapelytimber · 14 hours ago

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Hey hmmm..... So I finished this game.... And well I wanted to make some pixelart you see- so anyway look at my favorite little guys in 2d

[COMMISSIONS]

You'll notice some designs are a bit different from canon, that's partly because I simplified them to my tastes to make them easier to read as little sprites, partly because they were *kinda* made from memory (esp Justice, Morrigan and Zevran-) fkjjnkc I didn't want to boot up the game to look for good references..... :(( Also I like colors ! I know the game is peak emo but idc give me saturation and pretty colors

Below you'll find a *lot* of yapping about my thoughts on these characters and Dragon age 1 overall (it's very long and is a bit critical so beware-) vvv

Not me being a good pédale and making a rainbow without meaning to-

Anyway !

To preface this : these are my thoughts after finishing Dragon age Origins and Awakening, I know *NOTHING* about 2, inquisition and Veilguard (well I know you can romance Peter Cushing in this one so fun things to look forward to). So please, do not spoil me even tho I'm sure I'll say things that will probably be expended on or called back to in the other games :))

Anders (and Ser Pounce-a-lot ofc)

Anders my beloved, silly little mage of a man, you're one of the few characters in this game who's horny for women but don't give me the ick ! He is funny, he hates cops, he is femme, he is the bisexual extraordinaire !!! Sorry Oghren kept calling you a fag :(

Justice I absolutely *love* the concept

The pain of going from abstract ethereal concept to a decaying corpse of a man. Going from a simple world of evil demons and benevolent spirits, to the complexity of everyday life. Like I think if you gently put your hands on his shoulders and explained to him justice can be used to oppress, to hurt, can be manipulated, perverted into a machine of evil- leave me 5 minutes with him and he'll discover what an existential crisis is :) But well, for one it was a dlc so I knew it wouldn't get much time to be explored, and two it also would require subtlety and that's something the writers aren't familiar with-

But there's also the whole dilemma of the possessing a corpse bit ! Kristoff had a life, had friends and a spouse ! That's less interesting to me than the whole concept to man bit but there's still great potential here !! Like if Dragon age gave a shit about women it would have been such good drama !!

Alistair I was pleasantly surprised !

He's *not* the type of character I usually like, but he did grow on me fkfkkf I still think his design is very bland and boring, but he is such a dumb golden retriever of a man <3

Also the whole discussion you have with him about his inexperience and kind of disinterest in sex, where ofc you can role play as the worst human being to ever grace this earth, but if you're a good friend here the discussion basically boils down to "ok you do you man :) that doesn't change my opinion or how I see you" and I was really surprised in a good way (don't know how this discussion plays out if you romance him, or "harden" him or whatever and I don't want to know- let me have this nice thing fjfkkf)

And btw thank god once again I chose to play a guy in my playthrough- because forcing him to have sex with Morrigan at the end if you play a girl ??? Horrible- we could have had the magic strap evil babie but 2009 didn't have the technology yet...

Sigrun !!!!!!!!!!

Dramatic emo girl, love smelling wet dirt. She's so cute ;; and I really liked her ending- she wants to go back to the legion to kill herself, but your character keep making up excuses and very urgent™️ things to do to keep her with them ? Got me hard in the feels ;;

(Too bad my DAO romance creates a plot hole here- but that was still very sweet)

Zevran, I went full the Rasmus for the pixelart and I have no regrets :)

Ok so he *did* grow on me, mostly because I romanced him, but omfg the beginning was rough- like he makes a very compelling first impression, but then he just continuously cat calls any girl you have in your party ?? With the atrocious pick up lines you've heard a thousand times on the streets if you were socialized a woman and everything.... And like, his misogyny truly is inexplicable for someone who was exclusively raised by women, and not any women, prostitutes !! Like how do you end up the "you would be so much prettier if you smiled" guy, when raised by lots of women you probably saw get the same lame lines all day everyday and hate it ?? Oh but that's right ! 2009 video game writer sexism. And as I said, it got better when I started romancing him (even if the end of it bugged out for me, he never offered me the earring a second time-) like idk if the game just ran out of sexpestZevran.wavs or if he stops harassing women when fucking you, but that made him much easier to like 👍 also I love a cringe man with no rizz let's gooo

And I have to say, this screen made me very happy :') I didn't expect them to call back and further expand the romance from the main game ! What a nice touch to end my *check notes* 70+ hour playthrough oh god-

And finally Morrigan !

I really like how she talks ;w; it's so formal and silly ! Unfortunate charadesign tho..... But ! She is the bitchy bestie with whom I made the evil bébé. A baby was made en toute amitié <3

Really wish she'd talk about anything else other than her mother tho- all I'm asking is for a second topic to discuss here... Even in the banter between party members it's very often about her mother !! I know you had a fucked up sheltered relationship with a witch of legends- Girl please give me anything else I'm begging- I was very happy we killed flemeth :) it improved conversations a bit... All the mother talk went to past tense so that was new at least

And since I played 70 hours of this and I love to class things, here's my tier list of every other companions I had in my team (so no Loghain sorry Alistair killed his ass, no man who killed Duncan my beautiful wife in a flashback gets to live)

*"rompish" is a funny french slang word that means 'boring', because it's the sound you make when you snore

I think overall I preferred Awakening, even tho it was a sloppy bugged mess and kinda disappointing in therms of quests and payoff with a *terrible* villain, I certainly preferred my final team and the plot had me more intrigued... Origins had plot points I enjoyed, and I can't deny it at least has the advantage of getting better as it goes... Like BG3 is the type of game where act 1 is peak, act 2 is a bit less engaging but still an absolutely banger and act 3 is well messier- so even tho that's an *excellent* game, it's still a gradual downward slope. But on the contrary ! In the beginning of DAO the writing was so bad I wanted to beat up my balls, as us french say, and just stop playing altogether... Went to Orzammar last and that was were the game picked up a bit for me, still not so great writing but there were things here full of potential (if they were implemented better it could even have been great ! Looking at you making us select a politician to support before giving us *any* context or even their political views ??? But that's a cool plot point in concept !) and by the time of the landsmeet your companions have developed a second personality trait and the whole drama with Loghain was fun ! Had a mid ass time overall but at least the slope was steadily going up :)) still inexcusable misogyny tho... and fatphobia. That Awakening made so much worse funnily enough- like without Awakening, since I'm comparing it to BG3, I'd say Origin's "one fatphobic boss design present in every fantasy rpg where you play exclusively as thin women and ken dolls" was less egregious ! Low bar but good job fkdkdk but with the addition of 'the mother' ???? Get the fuck out that makes it actually so much worse-

Of course all this yapping is only my opinions, if Dragon Age 1 is your favorite video game good on you ! There's a lot of things to love here :)

PS : the logiciel I use for pixelart is called "Aseprite" !

#You can tell if I've had insomnia recently by the amount of yapping attached to art I post #pro tip vfhbvb #dragon age origins #dragon age awakening #dragon age fanart #anders #ser pounce a lot #dragon age justice #alistair theirin #sigrun #zevran arainai #morrigan #pixel art #my art #character lineup #fanart

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charlvr · 1 day ago

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- simply incompatible | call me when you get this, or leave me if you don't

Pairing. Manon Bannerman x Reader

w.c. 14.5 k

Manon knew better than to go digging into her past for answers she never asked for. But what if the past wasn’t just the past? And what if Y/N had meant more than anyone else ever could? How would she even begin to explain an unraveling she still don’t fully understand?

Read: Part 1

There was a time when Manon believed in love, and worse, believed in Y/N L/N.

Back then, though, she had just been Y/N : not the actress, not the director, not the name passed around the internet like a secret. But the girl who laughed with her mouth wide open and pressed her cold feet against Manon’s calves during sleepless nights. Who made even the silence feel full with a simple smile and could kiss away wandering doubts before they had the chance to take hold.

Manon isn’t sure when things started to change. Only that they did.

One moment, everything felt certain. The next, it didn’t.

That was the thing about endings. They never came as endings. Instead, they arrived disguised as quiet mornings, as coffee in airport lounges, as shared playlists and easy silences, and as promises that tasted like forever because you needed them to.

And Manon had really needed them to.

She thinks, maybe, the unraveling began with the DM.

—

Manon was in bed, one sock on, one lost somewhere in the duvet, hair still damp from a too-late shower. Her laptop hummed beside her, paused halfway through a mediocre drama she’d promised someone she’d finish. She hadn’t. The plot was too predictable. The dialogue even worse. But she liked the main actress’s face and the way her eyeliner never smudged, so she chose to keep the show on anyway, even if on pause.

Her phone buzzed on the comforter beside her: a new Instagram notification. She thumbed it open without thinking.

The message had been buried under five others: a brand wanting to send her lip gloss, a promoter inviting her to a party she’d never attend, a fan edit with a suspicious number of star emojis in the caption. Then, one unfamiliar brand. Blue checkmark.

Dream Academy

She clicked it.

Hi Manon. We’re reaching out on behalf of HYBE and Geffen Records in collaboration with Interscope to invite you to audition for an upcoming global girl group project.

Manon sat up slowly. Scrolled back to the top. Reread the name.

Dream Academy is a new initiative seeking multi-talented individuals from around the world. This year we are inviting performers…

She read the message through. Then read it again. It stared back at her like it was waiting to be believed.

….if you are interested, please reach out with your earliest availability. We believe you would be a great fit for this opportunity and our team hopes to hear back from you soon….

There was no suspicious link. No weird font. No sketchy punctuation that might’ve otherwise screamed bot. Even so, a knot of suspicion formed in Manon's stomach, so she opened Safari and typed: dream academy kpop scam. Just to be safe.

She scrolled a little. Clicked a few Reddit threads. A news article. Nothing useful, though. But every result pointed to the same conclusion: that Dream Academy was legitimate.

Still, she let the phone slip from her hand. Let it land on the comforter like it didn’t matter. Let the absurdity of the offer linger on her mind for a second longer. Then leaned back and looked at the ceiling, like maybe it might have something more reasonable to say.

The quiet stillness of the room was broken by a light, certain knock. Manon didn’t move, though. Barely even blinked. She already knew who it was.

The door creaked open a second later. Slow. Familiar. The sound of someone who never quite waited for permission.

“Manon?” a voice she knew by heart, called out, bright and a little breathless. Already halfway into the room. “It’s me.”

Y/N stepped inside a moment later, a sight to be reckoned with. Hair windswept, cheeks flushed, like she’d jogged the last few blocks just to get there faster. Which, knowing her, she very well might have.

Manon watched her. Let the sight settle before a sound slipped out, a half-laugh, half-sigh, despite her best attempt to keep it in. Because Y/N was the only person she knew who would think to announce herself after already walking in.

“Hey.” she said softly, still laughing, still smiling, “What are you doing here?”

Y/N paused just long enough to grin, all wide and proud, like Manon’s laughter was exactly what she had come to hear. Then, without missing a beat, she kicked off her shoes and stepped further into the room.

"Just missed you. Wanted to come visit." The hallway light behind her cast a soft golden halo across her shoulders, and for a moment, Manon almost believed it. “Your mom let me up. She told me not to let you stay up too late tonight though. I told her I’d try my best.” A pause, “But we both know it won’t be up to me.”

Manon raised a brow. Not at the words, or the way they were said, but the ease of them. She didn’t comment on the quiet assumption tucked between the lines. She didn’t need to. Of course Y/N would be staying the night. That kind of certainty had stopped needing confirmation a long time ago.

"You okay?" Y/N asked, her voice softer now, like she had noticed something amiss and didn’t want to startle whatever mood she’d just walked into. Her gaze drifted across the room, sweeping from the tangled sheets to the open laptop, then to the steaming mug on the nightstand. She didn’t make a big deal of any of it. Just took it in. Quietly. Like she always did.

A slight crease appeared in her brow. Not quite concern, just… awareness. The kind that came from knowing someone a little too well. Like she had already read the quiet, sorted through the pauses, and understood exactly what they meant without needing it explained.

Manon’s fingers tugged at the hem of her sweatshirt. For a second, she considered brushing off the question, tossing out a sarcastic "yeah, of course," just to make Y/N smile. But then she thought better of it. Because with Y/N, the usual deflection felt thin. She’d see right through it anyway. So instead, Manon picked up her phone, thumbed it open, and turned the screen toward Y/N without another word.

“Tell me this is a scam.”

Y/N blinked once, just once, then crossed the room. No hesitation. No questions. She just… moved. Like she didn’t know what was yet wrong, but she was ready for it all the same.

She stopped when her knee touched the edge of the bed. One hand found the bedframe, fingers curling around it lightly, the other stayed hovered at her side.The screen’s glow lit her face in soft blue. Shadows carved themselves beneath her cheekbones as she read, her brows drawing tighter together, not in confusion, but thought.

Manon watched her closely. Watched the way her lips parted slightly, then pressed together again. Watched her thumb twitch once near the edge of the phone and then still. She fought the small urge to smooth out the crease between Y/N’s brows.

“No,” Y/N said finally. “That… looks real.”

Manon let her head fall back against the wall with a soft thud. “God. That almost makes it worse.”

Y/N raised a brow, “How do you mean?”

Manon gestured vaguely at the screen. “Well…if it had been fake, I could just block it, chalk it up to a scam. But if it's real…” she paused, waited, as if the silence spoke for her, “well, then someone seriously thinks I belong in a girl group, and I’m the punchline in their joke.”

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. Less amused, now. More…knowing. “The punchline?”

Manon let out a sigh. Loud. Too loud for how quiet the room had been a second ago. “I mean, come on. A global girl group? An audition? You’re telling me this doesn’t feel a little….absurd?”

The word hung there between them. Lopsided. Maybe even a little defensive. Like Manon was daring Y/N to disagree, though even she wasn’t sure why.

But Y/N didn’t argue. She didn’t take the bait. She just looked at Manon for a moment. Then, softly, almost like she’d only just figured it out, “I don’t think it’s absurd at all.”

Manon scoffed, “Right. Because I totally scream global pop sensation.”

Y/N’s brows rose, then fell, “You kind of do.”

Manon narrowed her eyes.

“Please be serious.”

“I am.”

“I don’t dance.”

“You move like you could.”

“I can’t sing.”

“Only because you don’t really try.”

“I have no media training.”

"You're hot!"

That made Manon pause. She shot Y/N a look, attempting a glare, something that said not the time, but the small tug at the corner of her mouth gave her away. It always did, around Y/N.

"That's... not a skill." She grumbled.

Y/N grinned, then let out a laugh. "It's definitely a selling point, though."

Manon looked away, but not fast enough to keep Y/N from catching the flush rising up her neck.

“This is ridiculous,” she muttered, letting herself fall back onto the bed. Her arms sprawled across the blankets like she was physically giving in.

“I shouldn’t want this, right?” The words came quickly, bringing with them the weight of her desire. And whether they were meant for Y/N or herself, she couldn’t say.

“I already have a whole life in front of me. A good following. A stable-ish career. I shouldn’t want to add getting screamed at on Korean television to that list.”

Y/N didn’t say anything. Not at first.

Instead, she moved, slow and certain, until the bed dipped beside Manon. She sat close enough that their knees brushed, and that slight contact, that easy press of warmth, sent something steady and alive through Manon’s chest.

“You don’t know that there’ll be screaming,” she offered, lips twitching. Amusement flickering at the edge of her voice.

“There’s always screaming.” Manon deadpanned. “I’ve seen clips.”

That got Y/N to laugh, warm and close and musical in the way Manon couldn’t help but get lost in every time. The kind of sound that wrapped around you before you even had the chance to resist it.

Y/N leaned back on one palm, then let herself ease down until she was lying beside Manon. Manon felt the heat of her arms first, then the soft imprint of Y/N’s scent settling in the air between them.

“Just… think about it,” Y/N said, like it was easy. Even though it wasn't. “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Manon thought:

I could fail.

Prove that I’m nowhere as great as you think I am.

And then you’ll leave.

But what she said instead was, “I’ll humiliate myself on camera and die in a viral edit with ten million views.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, just barely. “And you’d look incredible while doing it.” She said it like she meant every word.

This time, it was Manon’s turn to laugh. Sharp and sudden. It startled her with how real it sounded, like it had shaken something loose in her chest she hadn’t even known she was holding. And for the first time in minutes, she turned to face Y/N fully.

“You really think I could do this?”

Y/N didn’t even blink, “I know you could.”

And maybe the words started as comfort, but they landed like truths. Spoken like something Y/N

had always believed, and had just been waiting for Manon to catch up to.

Manon studied Y/N features. The eyes she’d stared into through too many sleepless nights. The lips that always seemed one second away from a grin. And really, without thinking, like her body had made up its mind before her thoughts caught up, she reached for Y/N hand. Found in the dark, without needing to search.

Their fingers slipped together easily, instinctively, like they had done it a thousand times before.

“Thank you.” she whispered, never quite understanding how Y/N always managed to know what she needed, even when she didn’t say it out loud.

Y/N leaned in, and Manon met her halfway. Whatever space had been left between them vanished, quiet and certain.

“Of course,” she murmured against Manon’s lips.

And maybe that was why Manon said yes that day. Lying there, held in the quiet certainty of someone who believed in her completely.

“Does this read well?” she asked, twisting the screen toward Y/N.

“Absolutely perfect,” Y/N said, nestling even closer, like she still hadn’t gotten close enough.

Manon would later tell her parents it was for the experience. Tell her friends it was on a whim.

But when she said yes to Dream Academy that day, she hadn’t been chasing a dream. She had been simply following the girl who made everything feel a little more possible.

—

The Dream Academy team took so long to respond that Manon nearly forgot the whole thing entirely.

Between the steady stream of brand deals and the low-hum of being a small-scale influencer, her days filled themselves with enough distraction to push the audition results into the background. She still wanted it, of course she did, but not with the same ache she'd once carried for recognition at sixteen. She had work now, consistency, a soft rhythm that kept her afloat. The waiting, the wondering, the what-ifs, they all settled into quiet instead.

Then Y/N showed up, sunlight in her smile and good news practically spilling from her hands.

“I booked it,” she grinned, holding up her phone like a trophy. “Lead role. First indie gig. Can you believe it?”

Manon blinked over the top of her laptop, brow furrowed in genuine confusion. “Wait, you’re acting now?” She could never keep up with Y/N’s ever-changing ambitions.

“No,” Y/N said, practically vibrating, like her answer made sense. It did not, “But I figured when we’re rich and old and have six kids and a dog, I should at least have one cool story to tell the children.”

Manon nearly choked on air. “Sorry—what?”

“Okay, fine,” Y/N amended, shrugging slightly like she was making a concession, “Seven kids. But we better start getting busy.”

Manon shut her laptop with a soft click, the email she had been working on long forgotten, “Yeah, that’s not the part I was objecting to,” she muttered.

Y/N just laughed, already stepping in like she always did: shoes kicked off at the door, half-zipped hooding sliding off one shoulder. She crossed the space between them, reached for Manon’s hand mid-protest, and tugged her up with the kind of ease that made it feel like second nature.

Manon swore she could feel her heartbeat right through her fingers.

“Come on… say you’re proud of me.” Y/N prompted, softly, almost teasing, but not entirely without something earnest underneath.

Manon sighed, not because she wasn’t, but because Y/N already knew she was. “Of course I’m proud of you.”

Y/N beamed at her words, nevertheless, like they held the world, “Good. Because when I inevitably win a Grammy, I’m definitely mentioning you.”

That pulled a reluctant smile from Manon. She tilted her head, one brow lifting. “You know Grammys aren’t for acting, right? It’s important to me that you do.”

“Not yet they’re not.” Y/N clicked her tongue, wiggling her fingers theatrically.

A puff of amusement escaped Manon, “What does that even mean?”

Y/N only shrugged, a sheepish smile playing on their lips, “I don’t know, I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t ask. ”

Manon smiled, softer this time. She reached up and cupped Y/N’s cheek, thumb brushing lightly across her skin. Y/N’s eyes fluttered briefly at the contact, “Well if you do manage to win a Grammy, you better make sure to mention our six kids too, then.”

Y/N turned her head and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the center of Manon’s palm. “Seven now, Manon.”

The moment slipped, “Oh, God help me.”

—

That night, they both went out. Half for Y/N’s good news, half for their friend’s birthday.

“I can’t believe you’re turning 23,” Manon said, raising her glass. “To Grandma, I guess.”

Their friend, Celeste, narrowed her eyes from across the table, then tipped her head with a mock threat. “Don’t test me on my birthday, Bannerman. I brought you and Y/N together. I can break you apart just as fast.”

Y/N gasped from beside Manon, clutching her chest in exaggerated horror. “Over my dead body.” Then she turned to Manon with a glint in her eye, like, See? Acting.

Manon snorted but didn’t argue.

By the time the cake came out, Manon had taken her usual place half-seated on Y/N’s lap, one leg curled beneath her and the other pressed against the living room couch. It was a posture that made no anatomical sense, but always seemed to happen anyway. It was just comfier that way, she’d tell people. But in truth, she just liked the way it let her stay close. The kind of close that made her forget where she ended and Y/N began.

The party continued to hum around them in a blur of music, laughter, and flickering candlelight.

Manon let herself sink into the moment, into the rhythm of everything. The easy joy of familiar voices, the warmth of Y/N’s arms around her, the steady comfort of being surrounded by people who felt like home. And in the moment, nothing felt uncertain or out of reach. It was all just… right.

Until her phone buzzed with a notification, and she stilled.

Y/N noticed it immediately. Her hand, which had been tracing slow, absent-minded circles on Manon’s back, paused.

“What is it?”

Manon didn’t answer. Couldn’t. So, she just turned the screen toward Y/N so she could see it herself.

The message was short, with one line bolded in the center:

Congratulations! We are excited to welcome you to the Dream Academy Pre-Show Program.

Y/N didn’t wait to read the rest. A breathless laugh escaped her as she pulled Manon into a hug so sudden it knocked the air right out of Manon’s lungs, “That’s my girl!” she exclaimed between laughs, her voice full of something like pride, maybe even awe.

Her arms wrapped tightly around Manon, like she was trying to anchor them both in that moment. And for a second, it worked. The room faded, and the noise, the party, and everything else slipped out of focus. Until it became just the two of them. Suspended in joy.

“Put me down!” Manon wheezed. “You’re embarrassing me.”

But she was laughing too hard to mean it.

“You’re going to wear sparkly outfits and have a lightstick. I can already see it.” Y/N rattled off. How she already knew what a lightstick was, Manon didn’t want to know.

She thumped Y/N on the shoulders. “Put me down, Y/N L/N,” she warned again.

Y/N L/N did not.

The others soon started to crowd around, drawn in by the commotion. Manon tried to explain between breathless giggles and Y/N’s overly proud interruptions, all too happy to brag that her girlfriend was basically a pop star now. Before long, the whole mood had lifted into something else entirely. Celeste loudly declared the night a triple celebration, insisting that it meant they all had to party harder as well. Glasses clinked. Music turned up. Someone called for more shots.

But even as laughter rang around her, the message still lingered in Manon’s hand. Someone asked when she was leaving, so she scrolled, slower this time, finally catching what she had missed before.

To accommodate your experience, we invite you to join us for individualized training this spring. This program will be focused around preparing you to transition smoothly into the full competition and help bridge any gaps in your portfolio. If you are interested in attending, the pre-show training will begin in Los Angeles two days from now. Let us know your attendance and plan your travel accordingly.

Manon felt her breath catch in her throat.

Los Angeles. Two days from now.

The room spun without her for a moment, everything suddenly pressing in a little too fast, a little too real.

Dream Academy was happening. Not someday. Not eventually. Now.

Manon gripped the phone in her hand, watching her knuckles turn pale.

Someone glanced her way, concern flickering behind the smile, a question in their eyes. Someone else asked if everything was alright, though the words barely cut through the ringing.

Then—

“LA won’t know what to do with you,” Y/N called over the music, loud enough for everyone to hear. A little dramatic, sure, but it did its job. Their friends’ worried looks turned into laughter, and the tension hanging in the room eased, loosened, drifted elsewhere.

Then, quieter. Softer. Just for Manon. Y/N leaned in, her voice warm against Manon’s ear, “Hey, you’re okay. Don’t stress yourself out. You’re more than ready.” Said like it was the easiest thing in the world. Like it was fact.

And in that moment, Manon knew she had been seen. Not just heard, but seen. And with anyone else, that might’ve felt like exposure. Like too much.

But with Y/N, it just felt like living.

Manon turned toward her and pressed a kiss to her cheek. There was no need to say thank you.

Y/N had already heard it.

—

At the airport, two days later, Manon’s hands held steadier than she had expected.

Her mom had kissed her forehead at the security check and made her promise to call the second she landed. Her dad had wept quietly into Y/N’s shoulder while Y/N mouthed help me over his back.

Manon had just smiled. It was awful. And funny. And perfect in just the way she liked.

And then it was just her and Y/N.

“You’ll call?” Y/N asked, nudging the handle of Manon’s suitcase like she needed something to do with her hands.

“I’ll call.” Manon said, reaching out to steady Y/N’s fidgeting fingers with her own.

Behind them, her dad mumbled something into her mom’s neck about his baby girl growing up. Manon pretended not to hear it.

Y/N hesitated. Then pulled something from her pocket and slipped it into Manon’s hand. A small folded note.

Manon looked down. Almost opened it.

Y/N stopped her.

“Don’t. Not until you get on the plane.”

Manon nodded, curiosity flickering but held back, then pulled Y/N into a hug.

Their goodbye wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t even long. Just a kiss. Short. Certain. The kind you give when you expect another one soon.

And when Manon finally settled into her seat, the hum of the plane already lulling her toward sleep, she unfolded the slip of paper Y/N had given her.

Just a scribble. Five words. Nothing else.

I believe in you, Meret.

The name landed softly.

It wasn’t one people used. Not really. Not anymore. Not since she’d declared herself a Manon back in the first grade and demanded the rest of the world adjust accordingly. Her parents caught on quickly. Her teachers soon followed suit. But somehow, Y/N had charmed it out of Manon’s mother one slow weekend over brunch and decided, then and there, it was hers to use.

Only for moments like this, though. Only when she needed Manon to hear something she wasn’t ready to believe on her own.

Because even though Manon hadn’t said a word, barely even let herself name the fear, Y/N had already answered it.

Manon fell asleep with the note still clutched in her hands.

—

The pre-show training was hard.

Not that Manon hadn’t expected it. She’d known it would be hard; the long hours, sore muscles, choreography that made your body forget how to breathe kind of hard.

But what she hadn’t expected was how quickly the confidence bled out of her.

The first morning, she’d woken up early, hair half-styled and her playlist already queued. A shared playlist Y/N had made for their one-year anniversary, completed with a corny and absolutely atrocious photo of Manon that Y/N had insisted was her favorite.

She’d done a warmup she found on YouTube, chugged a green juice that tasted like mint and punishment, then double-knotted her sneakers with the kind of optimism only someone wildly unprepared could have mustered.

By noon, she’d nearly thrown up during vocal drills.

By two, the choreographer had asked if she’d ever danced in front of a mirror before.

By the end of day one, she was curled on the edge of her bunk with a heating pad against her spine and her pride freshly scraped raw.

No one had yelled at her. No one had even scolded. They had just corrected. And corrected. And corrected. Each “again” felt heavier than the last, and each “not quite” felt like they were waiting for her to reach her limit.

Manon knew she was unpolished. Untrained. A mess, by anyone’s standard.

But worse than all of that? She was tired. Not the satisfying kind of tired, either, not the earned kind. But the kind that sunk into your bones and whispered, you don’t belong here over and over again until your head spun and your vision blurred.

And it had only been her first day.

—

Day two and three didn’t hit any harder. But they didn’t get any easier, either.

Manon flinched every time the choreographer clapped. Her chest burned all through warmups. Her high notes broke early, even in scales. And by mid-week, she couldn’t look the vocal coach in the eye without feeling like a walking apology.

The mirror in the practice room soon stopped feeling like a reflection and more like a dare. One that turned her into a stranger with stiff arms and a messy center of gravity. Like it was waiting to catch her in the act of trying to believe in herself.

None of the trainers ever said anything cruel, though. Not they had to. Their faces said enough. Every strained smile, every sigh before another round of corrections. The way their pens hovered for half a beat longer before marking her clipboard. Manon saw it all.

She started apologizing out of habit. A Sorry. Sorry. Got it. Sorry again, leaving her lips more often than her own name.

But apologizing didn’t make her a better singer, and it certainly didn’t make her a better dancer. And every time she did it, she felt the words chipped at something a little deeper.

—

The days blurred fast after, but the soreness never left.

Some nights, she had to brace herself against the dresser just to lower herself into bed. She learned to ice her knees while reviewing recordings of her worst takes, trying to figure out if she looked as stiff as she felt.

She did.

She heard it in the staff’s notes. In their wordless nods. In the way praise never came, even on the days she improved. Good job didn’t seem to be in their vocabulary. She didn’t even realize she was waiting for it until she caught herself scanning the room after each round, hoping someone would just say she was getting better.

No one ever did.

By the end of week two, Manon had learned to stop waiting for the silence to mean something else.

And maybe, she thought, that should’ve wrecked her more than it did.

But it didn’t.

Because Y/N never let it.

—

The first few weeks, they didn’t talk much. Y/N had fittings, or reshoots, or some all-night disaster involving a busted camera rig and two missing costumes. Budget movie things, she had told Manon. She texted when she could, though. Sent updates. Memes. A blurry picture of her lunch with the caption: “food poisoning waiting to happen but make it cute.”

It wasn’t enough to fill the silence, the ache of missing Y/N’s touch, the soft comfort of her own bed, or her mother’s cooking, but it was something.

Then came the voice memo.

It was a Wednesday. Nearly two month into the program now. Manon had just finished her fourth rehearsal of the day, fourth, tripped over her own feet, and muttered fuck’s sake into the studio floor loud enough for the interns to wince. She hadn’t even taken her shoes off when she checked her phone and saw the recording.

It was two minutes long.

She played it anyway.

“Okay, first of all—yes, you can do this. Yes, you’re tired. Yes, you feel like a disaster. That’s because you are a disaster. But you’re a capable one, and I’m not about to let you start spiraling just because some overpaid choreographer gave you the same note five times. You’ll get it on the sixth. Or the seventh. Or I’ll come down there myself and throw hands, whichever happens first.”

Manon let her head drop back against the wall. The smile crept in without permission.

“Also? Just for the record? You looked good in that clip you sent. Like, not good-for-you good, but good good. So maybe the world’s just slow to catch up.”

There was a pause. A breath. Then—

“Besides. I need you to make it. For, um, selfish reasons. Because I’ve decided acting’s not working out, and we have seven fictional kids to support now. They’re all hungry. They all want to go to college. One of them is allergic to soy. If you quit, they die. Do you want that, Manon? Do you want blood on your hands?”

It ended with a rustle and a muffled, “Okay I gotta go, the lighting guy slash mic guy slash costume guy is yelling at me again—I love you, say it back.”

Manon listened to the message twice that day. Just in that one moment.

She didn’t cry, but she did stay seated on the floor a little longer than she needed to.

And when she finally gathered the strength to stand back up again, the thought maybe I don’t belong here quieted just enough for her to breathe.

—

Y/N showed up three weeks later.

Manon didn’t even know she was in LA. She came home from rehearsal, hoodie damp with sweat and half a protein bar stuck to the wrapper in her pocket, and there Y/N was, barefoot on the couch, hair pinned up, sorting through three takeout bags like she’d just moved in.

“Hope you still like dumplings,” Y/N said without looking up, like they hadn’t seen each other in years, not months. Though it certainly felt like years. “I got three kinds because I forgot which ones you liked. Also, I ate two of them on the way. Sorry.”

Manon froze in the doorway.

Her fingers found the hook by the door on instinct, and she hung her keys there slowly, like if she moved too fast, the whole thing might vanish.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, voice thin around the edges.

“The producer dropped a scene. My schedule opened up. I hopped a flight,” Y/N answered, as if that were something normal people did. She shrugged. Casual. Unbothered.

Manon opened her mouth to ask what exactly “dropped a scene” meant in an indie film with $50 to its name, but then thought better of it. She decided she didn’t really care.

“You didn’t even text.” She said instead. Like that was the issue at hand here.

Y/N’s eyes flicked up, a smile already tugging at the corner of her mouth. “I wanted to see your face when you realized I got here first.” She grinned. Then, her voice dipped, soft but steady. “Also, you weren’t picking up, so I got worried.”

Manon blinked once, then again. The room grew warmer, but she couldn’t tell if it was from the heater or her own pulse.

“I missed you.” Y/N said between bites.

She didn’t look up. She just reached for another dumpling like it wasn’t a confession, like she hadn’t just unstrung something in Manon’s chest with three quiet words.

And just like that, the shock ebbed. Relief took its place.

The softness of it settled low and sure, threading into Manon’s ribs like warmth that had been waiting there all along.

They sat on the floor after, with a half-unpacked dinner spread between them, Manon still in her training clothes, Y/N in sweats, leaning back on one arm and talking with her mouth full.

Manon didn’t say much. Not like she usually did. She didn’t need to.

Y/N filled the silence with updates about script rewrites and petty co-stars and a director who kept mispronouncing her name. Then she stole a bite of Manon’s rice, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and said, “By the way, you look stronger. Your form’s better. Less tension.”

Manon stared at her. “How would you know?”

Y/N rolled her eyes like it was obvious. “You think I didn’t watch every clip you sent? I had notes.”

There was no compliment in it. Not really. Just recognition. But that was somehow better. More honest, more them.

It lingered between them in the quiet that followed, in the warmth of Y/N’s hand’s brushing hers and not moving away, and the steadiness of her touch as she held Manon against her chest.

They dozed off around eleven, still on the floor, limbs tangled, backs against the couch, empty containers scattered around them like proof that the night had happened. Manon’s head tucked lightly against Y/N’s shoulder, Y/N’s hand resting at the hem of her hoodie like it had landed there by accident and simply stayed. No goodnight needed.

Manon fell asleep without even setting an alarm, reckless perhaps, but she didn’t care. Because for the first time since arriving, she didn’t dream about failing. She dreamt of living. Of rising above it all. Of winning. With Y/N right by her side.

—

Training ended quietly.

No ceremony. No farewell speech. Just a final checklist, a printed schedule, and a reminder that contestants would be flown out in groups the following week. Rest well. Contact will be limited during filming. Thank you for your effort these last few months.

Effort. Manon had nearly laughed at that. Effort was a funny word for what it took to survive.

Back home, everything felt strange.

Not bad. Just… softer. Like her body couldn’t quite remember how to relax inside familiar things.

The house looked the same. Her bedroom still smelled faintly like lavender detergent and old textbooks. Her mother had even left a plate of cut fruit in the fridge. But the air felt too still, and her mattress too forgiving. She lay flat on it the first night, arms crossed on her stomach, staring at the ceiling like she was afraid it might disappear.

She kept reaching for her phone, forgetting there was no next call, no countdown, no schedule to triple-check. Just hours and hours of… stillness.

Y/N wasn’t in town. That part shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

They’d been talking more regularly since the visit, late night voice memos, dumb memes, more blurry photos from set, but now, even that was about to disappear. Once the show began, outside contact would be nearly impossible. No phones. No unsupervised messages. No escape routes.

Manon didn’t say it out loud, but the idea of going radio silent, of going through all of this without Y/N in her ear, rattled her.

She hadn’t realized how much of her survival had been built on someone else’s voice.

Her mom noticed something was off by day two.

“You’ve been sitting in that same spot for an hour,” she said, walking past the kitchen with a laundry basket. “Are you meditating or just dissociating?”

Manon didn’t look up from her tea. “Bit of both.”

Her mother didn’t press. Just hummed and disappeared into the hallway. Then called out, casually, like it wasn’t pointed at all: “Y/N always has a habit of showing up when you need her.”

Manon narrowed her eyes at the mug, pretended not to be bothered by the fact her mother had clearly been paying more attention than she let on. “You make it sound like she’s a witch.”

“Not a witch,” her mom replied. “Just inconveniently good at timing.”

—

The night before she was set to leave, Manon couldn’t sleep.

Too much quiet. Too many thoughts. She sat cross-legged on her bed with the lamp turned low, a pen in one hand and a sheet of paper she’d restarted three times already. The first draft had been too emotional. The second too vague. The third sounded like a thank-you card from a dentist’s office.

She didn’t even know if she’d be allowed to send it.

Still, she kept writing. Something about the weight of it made her feel less suspended.

Then came the knock.

Not at the door.

At the window.

Manon paused mid-sentence.

She looked up slowly and her brows drew together. Another knock. This time paired with a familiar face, pressed up against the glass and grinning like a menace.

Manon climbed off the bed and opened the window with a hiss. “What are you doing up here? You know we have a front door right? You’re going to make my mother think we’re delinquents.”

“Don’t worry, she already knows,” Y/N whispered back. Because of course her mother had known… and probably approved of this idea, “Also—this was more romantic.”

“You still could’ve taken the stairs.”

“I could’ve. But then I wouldn’t get points for effort.”

Manon rolled her eyes at the general stupidity of the response, but still stepped aside to let Y/N in. It was still a dumb reason, yes, but Y/N was cute enough to soften it into the endearing kind of dumb.

Y/N swung a leg easily over the ledge like she’d done it a dozen times. Her feet hit the floor with a soft thud. She wore the hoodie Manon liked, the one that looked stolen from a movie set and smelled vaguely like clove shampoo and night air, and Manon made a mental note to steal it for herself later.

“You planned this with her, didn’t you,” Manon accused, squinting at her girlfriend.

Y/N looked just smug enough to confirm it.

“Come on,” she said, holding up a brown paper bag. “Let’s sneak out before your mom makes us take something ‘for the road.’”

—

They ended up parked in the middle of an empty hill just outside town.

It wasn’t anything special. Just a patch of open sky, a blanket thrown over the hood of the car, and a half-warm box of noodles between them. But it made sense in a way nothing else had in weeks. Like her body had finally stopped bracing for impact. Like her thoughts had finally gone quiet without having to fight for it.

Manon took a bite of her food, let the silence swell between them, then nudged Y/N’s shoulder with her own. “I should’ve asked earlier, but… how’s the shoot going? You never complain anymore unless it’s about fake blood or your co-star’s beard.”

Y/N stretched out her legs, then glanced up at the stars. “Shoot’s fine. Editing wraps in two weeks. Then we’re off touring to find distributors.”

Manon waited for more, but nothing came.

“That’s it?” she asked, unable to help her frown. “No trauma? No onset disasters? No diva breakdowns?”

Y/N twisted her mouth, like she was debating how much to admit. Then looked over, “Honestly, my biggest problem the last few months was you.”

Manon turned. Tried not to get preemptively offended. Failed. “Excuse me?”

Y/N shrugged, but it wasn’t careless, not paired with the way she smiled. “It's hard to focus when your girlfriend’s halfway across the world and you’re wondering if she’s eating real food or just chewing gum for dinner.” She explained.

Manon let out a dry laugh and nudged her again. Enjoyed the way Y/N leaned into it, “Wow. Touching.”

“Hey, you asked.”

“Yeah, well… I guess I have been a little preoccupied.” Manon’s voice dipped, quiet at the edges. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Y/N shifted, turning toward her fully. She reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind Manon’s ear, and let her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary, “I know. You don’t have to explain.”

Manon didn’t reply right away. She wasn’t sure she could. Her eyes dropped to her hands.

Then, quietly, like the words might break if she spoke too loud:

“I’m scared, Y/N.”

Y/N’s expression didn’t change, but her body softened around the words.

“Not of the show,” Manon went on. “Or—well, yeah, that too—but mostly… of going quiet. Of not having you. I think I only made it through training because I had you in my ear, telling me to try again. I don’t know what is going to happen when that’s gone, too.”

The words sat heavy between them.

Y/N reached into her jacket pocket.

“Before you panic,” she started, pulling out a small, worn ring box, “this is not an engagement ring. Your dad would kill me.”

Manon blinked. Her gaze focused on the box. Her heart skipped once, then again, like it couldn’t decide whether to brace or settle.

Y/N cracked the box open and held it out.

“It just means—wherever you go, I’ll find my way there too. That you’ll never really be alone.” She tapped the box absentmindedly against her palm, a nervous tic she never outgrew, “And as long as you’re still wearing it, I’ll know you still want me there too.”

Manon stared at the ring. Simple. Silver. Already familiar in a way that made no real sense.

It caught her off guard, then, how much she wanted something like this. Not the ring, exactly, just the certainty surrounding it. The promise tucked inside.

Then, flatly, like she couldn’t help herself: “You’re a sap, you know.”

Y/N groaned, loud, almost in disbelief, like Manon had just wrecked the perfect moment she’d so carefully crafted. But her eyes never lost their focus, her gaze never drifted away from Manon’s.

Manon held out her hand. She didn’t make a show of it. Just rested it on the space between them, palm up, fingers slightly curled. Like she was offering something without saying it aloud.

Y/N smiled, soft, and took the ring from the box. She turned it once between her fingers, just to catch a feel, then slid it onto Manon’s hand, slowly, carefully, like she’d done it in her head a hundred times before.

The metal was cool against Manon’s skin.

“And scene,” Y/N murmured, almost to herself more than anything.

Manon laughed, soft but sharp.

“Say that again and I’m taking it off,” she warned, but with no real heat behind it.

Y/N smiled again, but there was something steadier behind it this time. “Sorry. Sorry. Dully noted.” Manon leaned in to rest her head on Y/N shoulders. Admired the new glint on her hand.

Above them, the stars held steady. Below, the night began to press in close. But neither of them seemed to notice.

Not when everything else in that moment felt so…right.

—

Manon moved into the Dream Academy dorms with two bags, a ring on her finger, and a pit in her stomach.

The dorms were nicer than she expected. Not glamorous, not exactly cozy either, but clean. Polished. White walls, quiet halls, and a single laminated welcome letter waiting on the bed she’d be sleeping in for the next year and a half. And now with the actual contestants in it, the Dream Academy building felt all the more lived in than the sterile, jail-cell room she’d been given during individualized training.

Manon hadn’t even finished reading her welcome letter before they took away her phone.

“You’ll get it back on scheduled days. Otherwise, emergencies only.”

The staff had said kindly, like they were doing her a favor. Like being cut off from the outside world would somehow help her find herself.

Manon smiled, nodded, and handed it over.

She didn’t let them see the way her fingers curled the second it left her hand.

—

Training didn’t start the next morning. It started that night.

Hours of drills. Floor routines. Vocal exercises with timers that beeped too loud and cut too sharp. She collapsed into bed past midnight, sore and starving, only to be yanked awake at six for morning stretches. No one coddled. No one slowed.

She had trained like hell to get here. But somehow, this was worse.

Because now, everyone else was good.

Not just good, next level. They hit every note, nailed every step. The kind of talented that made good look bad and perfect look expected.

Manon watched the others move with the kind of precision she couldn’t begin to fake. Watched them sing with resonance she could barely manage on her best days. She didn’t hate them, not exactly, but every time one of them breezed through a routine she had spent hours trying to crack, her stomach twisted.

She thought, Jesus, this is terrible so often it bordered on blasphemy. Some days, she’d catch her reflection in the mirror and wonder if any of this was worth it.

But then she’d catch a glimpse of the ring.

She wore it on a thin chain now, tucked beneath her hoodie, close enough to feel when her breath hitched or her resolve began to crack. And the thought that if Y/N believed in her, she had to make it... kept her going.

By the end of week one, Manon had bruises on her knees and an ice pack permanently assigned to her ankle. Her confidence dropped. Then dropped again. Week by week. Month by month.

But still, she kept going.

—

Month 1–2

Month one passed in a haze of early mornings and late nights. There were twenty girls in her dorm group, and by day five, Manon knew the exact sound of all their footsteps. She knew who cried in the shower stall three doors down. Knew who ran scales while brushing their teeth. Knew who never messed up, not once.

They trained from dawn to night, drills bleeding into feedback sessions, group critiques folding into individual evaluations. It was intimidating. Humiliating. And incredible, in a horrible sort of way.

Y/N’s presence helped. Even without a phone, she found ways to feel close. On call nights, she always picked up. Always followed up, even from the road.

Manon would open the cracked dorm laptop to find blurry selfies captioned “Can’t feel my face but I look cute, right?” or voice memos that said, “Missing my bed right now, but missing my beautiful, talented, stunning, gorgeous, jaw-dropping, mind-blowingly ethereal, heavenly…”—until she ran out of breath.

Once, Manon opened her phone to a fifteen-second audio clip of Y/N singing badly on purpose, ending with: “I’ve decided to audition too. I’ll be joining your company next year. Hope that’s okay.”

She laughed so hard she nearly got a warning that day.

But it helped. All of it. She was tired and sore and overwhelmed, but she felt remembered. And she couldn’t have asked for more.

Still, somewhere deep down, Manon quietly wondered how long they could keep it up.

—

Month 3–4

Then came the festival.

Y/N’s indie film got in. Manon found out during one of their rare breaks, scrolling through the one news site they were allowed to check. She screamed. Not loud, of course, but sharp enough to draw eyes anyways.

When Y/N officially told her on their weekly call, her voice had been bright with disbelief.

“They said it was original and grounded and risky in a way that worked. One of the judges even said they were still thinking about it the next morning. Isn’t that insane?”

She laughed like she couldn’t quite believe it, like she was still waiting to wake up.

Manon had grinned so hard her cheeks began to hurt.

“Of course they loved the film,” she said. “You’re in it!”

That stopped Y/N mid-laugh. Just for a beat. Her smile didn’t fall, exactly, but it shifted. Softened. Slowed. Like Manon’s words had landed somewhere deeper than any judge’s praise ever could. Like it was the one thing she hadn’t realized she needed to hear.

Then, softly: “I miss you.” Almost too quiet to catch. But Manon caught it.

She smiled at the screen. Reached out, fingers grazing the glass like she could somehow close the distance. “I miss you too,” she whispered. “And I’m so proud of you.”

And she was. Stretched thin. One mistake away from unraveling. But still, undeniably, fiercely proud.

Y/N looked at her like she wanted to reach back. Like she might not want to let go.

But they traded soft encouragements. I love yous. Quick reminders of what they were building toward. And said their goodbyes.

—

Month 5–7

Things started to change around month six.

Y/N looked tired on their next call. Not just sleepy. Not makeup tired. Bone tired.

Her voice was slower. Her face thinner. Her eyes shadowed in a way that hadn’t been there before.

Manon felt a quiet jolt of worry settle in her ribs.

“Hey. Are you okay?” she asked gently.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Y/N answered too quickly, expression flickering with something unreadable.

She blamed the stress. Said she’d been losing some sleep over the new movie. Its reception. That it wasn’t anything serious or worth worrying about. But her voice lacked its usual warmth, and the look in her eyes no longer matched the words coming out of her mouth.

Manon sensed that there was something off. Something unspoken. Something Y/N wasn’t quite telling her. But Y/N still kept the mood light. Still cracked jokes. Still said, “This acting thing was supposed to be a side quest. But if my girlfriend’s going to be a megastar, I guess I’ve gotta keep up,” with a laugh that sounded close enough to real.

Close enough that Manon let the worry pass. Even as something else settled in her chest, tight and uneasy.

The call ended shortly after. And for a little while, Manon let herself believe things really were okay. That maybe exhaustion was just exhaustion. That the “I’m fine” meant just that.

But texts slowed. So did the voice memos. Calls grew shorter. Replies came later.

On some nights, they didn’t come at all.

Then Manon heard from her mom—casually, offhanded—that Y/N’s film had been picked up by a major distributor. It was huge. A game changer.

But Y/N hadn’t told her, and that bothered Manon more than it should.

She waited for Y/N to mention it. On their next call. The one after that. But she never did.

And when Manon finally brought it up, Y/N blinked, like she genuinely didn’t see the problem. “Oh. I must’ve forgotten.”

Forgotten. Said like that should have been answer enough.

But between the dwindling texts and the shorter calls, it didn’t quite feel like forgetfulness anymore. It felt more like distance. Like something slipping between them, quiet and steady.

Manon didn’t call it out. Not that night.

But she almost wished she had.

—

Month 8–10

Month eight was quieter.

Y/N got cast in something new. She downplayed it during their call, but her voice gave her away: bright, animated, thrilled. She sounded alive in a way that caught Manon off guard. Alive in a way she hadn’t sounded in weeks. And it stung, more than Manon wanted to admit, especially after all the half-asleep, barely-there conversations they’d had lately.

Still, Manon smiled. Said all the right things. Told Y/N to go kill it.

But it hurt. Not just missing the celebration in person, but how the congratulations had started to feel less like a hug and more like a postcard. Polite. Distant. Disconnected.

It wasn’t jealousy. Manon was proud, incredibly proud. But each time Y/N had great news, all Manon had to offer were stories of routines she had stumbled through or critiques that left her shaken. She began wanting Y/N to be proud of her too. The way she was proud of Y/N. But more and more, it felt like Y/N was pulling ahead while she stayed stuck in place, struggling just to keep up.

Like she was being left behind.

One night, after a long practice, Manon whispered, almost without meaning to, “I’m starting to feel like a ghost.”

Y/N’s eyes had widened. Asked what she meant. But it felt almost stupid to say out loud, especially when Y/N was doing so well. Still, she tried. Tossed out a vague explanation. How hard it has been to flag Y/N down lately. How it felt like she was being forgotten. Faded out of frame.

Y/N listened. More attentively than she had in weeks and promised she’d do better. Said quietly, “You could never disappear for me, Meret.”

Then, even softer: “Remember the ring. Even if I forget to show it, or if it starts to feel like you’re alone, I am right there with you.”

And it helped. Sometimes. Especially during rehearsals, when everything else felt like heat and noise and panic.

But even the ring couldn’t hold back the ache when their calls got cut short. Or when Y/N answered with a yawn instead of a hello.

And each time Y/N missed a call completely, the ring started to feel less like comfort and more like a reminder. Something cold and mocking against her skin.

—

Month 10–12

By month ten, Manon stopped waiting by the phone. Stopped watching the clock.

She still hoped. But not like before.

Y/N started showing up late to their scheduled calls, so Manon stopped marking them on her calendar.

She told herself it was fine. Everyone was tired. Everyone was doing their best. She was busy too. Mission prep had started. The stakes were higher. The first pair contestants were about to be cut.

Still, one night, on a quiet call, when her voice was raw and her feet blistered from back-to-back choreography, Manon let it slipped.

“I’m nervous,” she said, eyes on the ring rather than the screen. “For the missions. For what’s next.”

Y/N’s voice came clear over the speaker, “You’re more than ready.”

Manon hesitated, then sighed. "You’re not just saying that, right?"

Y/N smiled. The room behind her was dark, and Manon could barely make out the expression on her face, but she heard the smile, “Of course I’m not. You’ve got this.”

That steadied something in Manon. Not everything. But enough.

So feeling braver than usual, she let herself ask, soft, careful, like she didn’t want to scare the answer away. “I know we’ve talked about this before… but it’s been hard to reach you again lately.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Not loud, but enough to hear the shift. Guilt, maybe. Or something close.“I know,” she said. “Since then, I’ve been trying to frontload everything so I can actually be present when things calm down. But clearly things are not working out too well.” A chuckle, one that didn’t feel quite real, “Once the show airs. I’ll be more present. I promise.”

Manon nodded and didn’t press further. She reassured Y/N that she believed her. Or at the very least, that she wanted to.

Then she tucked the ring back beneath her collar and tried to convince herself that wanting to believe was the same as knowing it was true.

—

The show began filming on a Friday.

Not that it mattered. Days stopped meaning anything after a while. Time blurred into a loop of call times, camera tests, dress rehearsals, and feedback sessions that always ran long. Everything buzzed a little louder, moved a little faster. The cameras weren’t exactly hidden, but they didn’t need to be. Manon could feel them in the way her voice started to sound like a performance even when she wasn’t trying. In the way her skin prickled before she even realized they were rolling.

Everyone was tense. Even the girls who had coasted through training with flawless execution now moved with a stiffness they hadn’t before. Manon tried to keep her head down. Focus. Remember her training. Remember her breath.

It’s just a performance, she told herself. You can breathe through it. Hit your mark. Keep going.

And she did. She danced. She sang. She hit every step and didn’t choke. Her vocals didn’t falter and her hands didn’t shake.

When she got up on stage, she simply gave the judges everything she had.

It might not have been perfect. But it felt good. It felt like hers.

The judges were tough. Of course they were. This was Dream Academy, and this was the first mission; everyone got notes. Still, they hadn’t torn her completely apart. They’d had corrections, yes. But no scathing critique. Nothing personal that would have lingered on Manon’s mind.

So when the rankings dropped and she saw her name higher than expected, a part of her surged. Just for a second.

Pride. Quiet and breathless. Finally, proof that her efforts had meant something.

And then it started.

Not from the staff. Not from the mentors. From the others.

The glances came first. Then the subtle hesitations in conversation. The extra beat before someone responded. The way a few girls exchanged looks when her name was called.

It wasn’t cruelty, wasn’t even dislike.

It was confusion, wrapped in something pricklier.

How did she rank so high?

Manon didn’t let it get to her. Not at first. Her own pride outweighed the barely-there whispers around her. She had earned it, after all. She had fought tooth and nail to get this recognition.

She raced back to the dorms after dinner that night, heart still buzzing, legs sore from the day’s rehearsals but mind sharp with anticipation. For once, she didn’t feel like she had something to prove. She had something to share.

She wanted to tell Y/N. Wanted to watch her reaction. Wanted to feel it reflected back. To hear it in her voice. To be seen not just as someone trying, but as someone succeeding.

Y/N answered five minutes late.

It probably shouldn’t have mattered. Five minutes meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Y/N was probably on set. Probably just getting to a quiet corner.

But by the time the screen lit up, Manon’s excitement had already begun to cool.

Y/N was breathless when she answered. “Sorry! I had to find a quiet spot. Everything’s chaos here.”

Manon smiled. She’d already predicted this. But it didn’t bring her any satisfaction. Still, she didn’t want it to dampen her mood. She pushed forward, told Y/N everything. How she hadn’t missed a note. How she’d placed way higher than anyone expected. How one of the vocal coaches even nodded during her bridge.

Y/N lit up. She tugged her hood off and leaned closer to the camera. “That’s huge, Manon. I’m so proud of you. That cover is going triple platinum in my car. I’m serious. I’m burning it to a CD and playing it until they come after me for copyright infringement.”

Manon laughed. Waited.

Waited for the pride to settle in. For the moment to feel full.

But it didn’t.

The words were right. The tone was light. But something about it felt distant. Like she was hearing it through glass. Like she was being told what she wanted to hear, rather than what someone actually felt.

And from Y/N, that was worse.

When the call ended, Manon sat still in the dark, the screen fading to black. Her reflection stared back, just barely visible in the glare.

She didn’t look proud. She didn’t look accomplished.

She looked like someone trying to believe it mattered.

Y/N had said she was proud.

So why did it feel like no one was? Not even her.

—

Mission two came with a twist: group dynamics.

It was a teamwork-based performance this time. Coordinated vocals. Synchronized movement. Shared lines and shared pressure. Every member had to shine just enough without stepping on anyone else’s spotlight. It wasn’t just about being good. It was about being good together.

Manon could already hear the whispers before her name was even called for the team lineup.

“She’s lucky she ranked high last time.”

“Probably got a nice edit.”

“Someone must like her.”

They never said it outright. Or to her face. They didn’t have to. Whispers always found their way into the quiet parts of the room.

She wanted to complain, sometimes. To roll her eyes and text Y/N the snarkiest version of “you won’t believe what they’re saying now.” But her phone was locked away like everything else. So no calls. No messages. No distractions. Just practice, practice, practice.

And maybe, if she was being honest, even if she could reach Y/N, she wasn’t so sure anymore that she would. Not right away.

Not when the thought crossed her mind, quick and mean and unwanted: Would Y/N even care?

Manon didn’t let herself dwell on it. She filed it away instead. Somewhere deep. Somewhere behind the part of her that still believed this was worth it.

Because it was irritating. The whispers, the looks that said too much. But irritation was easier than insecurity. Irritation gave her something to prove.

The training was brutal this time. Singing and dancing at the same time wasn’t just hard. It was humbling in a way she hadn’t expected. Manon knew the choreography. She could sing the harmonies. But doing both while keeping up with the rhythm of four other girls? It made her voice tremble and her lungs burn. It made her feel like she was always half a beat behind and half a breath short.

When the mission ended, she didn’t feel good.

It hadn’t been awful. Not collapse-on-stage level bad. But it also hadn’t been enough.

She didn’t need a mentor to tell her. Or the buzzing silence that settled after rehearsals. She heard it in her own voice, in the way her chest tightened during the final chorus. She felt it in her footing, in the places where she overcorrected and under-delivered.

Later that night, she watched the performance back in her room and sat with the taste of almost in her mouth. That murky space where your best effort still didn’t translate. Where you did the work, but the work didn’t show. And that sucked.

Luckily, her team won. Somehow. Not because of her, though, despite her.

Then came the elimination.

Four girls sent home. Just like that. Their beds stripped clean before the lights even dimmed.

That night, when her phone was finally returned, Manon’s hands trembled a little too hard around it.

She didn’t have anything specific she wanted to say to Y/N. Not at first. She just needed to hear her. Needed to exist in a space where she didn’t feel like she was sinking.

To her surprise, Y/N answered almost immediately. Her face was up-close to the camera, eyes wide, whispering loudly like a kid sneaking a call past bedtime.

“I’m backstage between takes,” she whispered, smile already curling. “But I couldn’t miss a call from my superstar.”

Manon smiled, soft and automatic.

“I voted for you like a bajillion times,” Y/N continued, lowering her voice dramatically. “You basically owe me an extra-special kiss when I get back.”

Manon laughed. It came out light, but frayed at the edges.

She told Y/N the basics. That her team won. That she was safe.

She didn’t mention how disappointed she felt. How off she’d been. How her whole body still felt too heavy from a performance that hadn’t landed.

She wanted to. But she didn’t.

Y/N was still talking, something about the lobby crowd and how someone mistook her for another actress entirely, when Manon’s mind slipped sideways.

If they had lost…

If one more thing had gone wrong…

It could’ve been me tonight.

Her fingers twisted in the hem of her shirt. Her gaze dropped to the floor. She didn’t even realize she was slipping until she heard Y/N’s voice through the phone again, calling her back.

“Hey, did you hear what I said?”

Manon blinked, shook away her wandering thoughts. “Huh? Sorry.”

She opened her mouth to apologize. To admit she’d spaced out. To ask if they could talk, really talk. But the moment never came.

Somewhere off-screen, a voice called Y/N’s name.

Y/N glanced back, then turned to the camera with a rushed smiled. “Oh, shoot. Sorry, I gotta go.” There was a muted rustling, followed by a distant laugh. A girl’s, maybe. Manon wasn’t sure. “You did amazing, though. I’ll call again soon, okay? I love you.”

The screen went black before Manon could say it back, and she was left staring at her own reflection again.

Her stomach knotted.

The words she hadn’t said pressed heavy against her ribs.

She’d been lucky this time. That was the truth of it. Luck had kept her safe. But it wouldn’t last forever.

And she hadn’t even had the chance to say it out loud.

—

Mission Three started before Manon had even registered the end of Mission Two. There was no breather, no room to decompress. Just a new assignment and a reminder from the staff that the stakes were only going up from here. “Step up or step out,” someone had said during prep. No one laughed.

The shift was immediate. Everyone moved differently now. Sharper, tighter, less forgiving. Gone were the playful glances between routines, the shared snacks in hallways, the light taps of encouragement. Mission Two had trimmed the roster. Four beds were stripped clean. Another when someone had quit. It had sunk in for all of them: this wasn’t a training program anymore. This was survival.

And then Manon got sick.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. A scratch in the throat, a heaviness in her limbs. She thought it was just exhaustion, until it wasn’t. Until the fever came. Until her cough kept her up at night and her body gave out halfway through practice on day three. The staff sent her to the medic, clipped her schedule, and told her to rest.

Rest. As if that was an option.

Every hour in bed was another hour her team kept training without her. Another block of choreography she didn’t learn, harmonies she didn’t tighten, formations she couldn’t drill. She pushed herself to practice anyway, late at night, after lights out. Her voice was hoarse. Her muscles ached. Her head spun. She didn’t care.

She couldn’t afford to care.

Because she heard it. Loud now. Not whispers. Not hints. Just voices in the open.

“She’s a producer pick.”

“They’re trying to manufacture an underdog.”

“Girl can’t keep up and she still gets pushed through.”

It wasn’t even behind her back anymore. She’d walk into a room and conversations wouldn’t stop. They just shifted tone. She’d look up and see eyes that used to be neutral, now watching, waiting, judging.

And maybe it would’ve hurt less if she’d had something soft to land on. A hug from her mom. A call from Y/N. Anything.

But when her phone was returned at the end of the week, she unlocked it to nothing.

No missed calls. No texts. Not even a voice memo.

She waited.

She rationalized.

Maybe there was an emergency on set. Maybe the signal was bad. Maybe Y/N had tried, and the call just didn’t go through.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That she didn’t need Y/N to survive this. That she was fine on her own.

But the truth was, she wasn’t.

She needed that call. Just one damn call. She would’ve settled for thirty seconds. A joke. A dumb nickname. Anything.

She tried to text. Just to get something out. Just to say she was tired, that things were getting hard, that she missed home. The message sat unsent on her screen until her phone was taken again.

She didn’t even try the next week, but she waited anyway.

She stared at the ceiling, too sick to train and too wired to sleep, rehearsing what she would say. How she’d joke about her immune system being a traitor. How she’d tease Y/N about missing another call.

But the call never came. And worse, neither did the text. No apology. No nothing.

And that was what broke something open.

Not the delay. Not the missed timing. But the complete silence. Not even a heads-up. Not even a sorry.

If Y/N couldn’t call, she could’ve just said so. Then Manon could’ve used her one weekly call on her parents instead. Could’ve heard her dad’s laugh or her mom’s voice instead of another dial tone.

She stared down at the phone, breath short, chest tight, and all that built-up bitterness rose like a tide.

One call a week. One. And she had wasted it. Again.

Her fingers clenched around the phone so tight it might’ve cracked. She almost threw it. Almost hurled it across the room, into the mirror, into the wall, into anything. Just to feel something. Just to regain some semblance of agency in her life. Withing these sterile walls.

But instead, it slipped. Caught on her sleeve, bounced off her collarbone, and landed face-down on the mattress with a dull thud. Her hand dropped beside it.

Manon didn’t cry. She just went quiet.

—

Mission Three came anyway.

Her team covered for her in rehearsals. Helped her drill formations between water breaks. Fed her cough drops like contraband behind the camera crew’s backs. They tried. But it wasn’t enough.

Manon stepped on stage hollowed out and underprepared.

She hit the moves. Mostly. Her voice didn’t crack, but it wavered. Her eyes were trained on her marks instead of the crowd. Her smile was two seconds behind the music.

She knew it the moment she walked off.

She hadn’t bombed.

But she hadn’t soared either.

And the worst part? It was starting to feel normal.

After the performance, three more girls went home. Three more faces gone from the dorms, just like that. Girls who were better than her. Girls who got things right the first time. Girls who didn’t miss steps or forget formations.

She lay awake that night, ring pressed to her palm, and for the first time in a long time, she didn’t think about winning.

She thought about leaving.

Not because she wanted to.

But because maybe everyone else was right.

And when she unlocked her phone, just to check, just to see—

Still nothing.

She didn’t even feel surprised anymore.

She didn’t call that week. Or the next. Didn’t text. Didn’t even try.

Not out of punishment. Just because she didn’t think Y/N would notice if she did.

—

Mission Four was the final stretch. Everyone knew it.

The prep lasted longer than anything before it. They were told it was to give the final ten a fair chance, a polished performance, a showstopping finale. But Manon knew the truth. It was to weed out whoever didn’t have enough left in them.

She wanted to believe she was pushing herself because she loved the work. Because she had something to say. But it wasn’t conviction that drove her anymore.

It was vindication.

She was tired of people questioning how she got here. Tired of being treated like the exception instead of the rule. Tired of wanting one person to see her and never knowing if she did.

Things with Y/N had deteriorated.

That’s what happened when someone missed three calls in a row.

On the third one, Manon had waited. Her phone rested on her pillow as she changed into her clothes. She even curled up by the window with a blanket, watching the dorm lights flicker out one by one.

She texted her parents an update. Just enough to let them know she was alive.

Then she stared at the screen.

Y/N had to remember this one. She had to.

Manon told herself if the phone rang in the next few seconds, she’d let it go. All of it. Every missed call, every silence, every almost-sincere promise.

She waited.

The phone stayed quiet.

And for the first time in months, Manon cried.

Not the tired kind she’d done in the shower after Mission Two. Not the silent, slow-burning tears that came with headaches, missed calls, and cold dorm beds.

This one was ugly. The kind that made her whole body shake, her chest ache, her eyes burn in time with the rhythmic patter of rain against the window. She didn’t try to stop it.

Because she couldn’t even pretend anymore. Couldn’t lie to herself, couldn’t play the part. She just didn’t understand.

Why everyone seemed out to get her.

Why everything kept slipping through her fingers.

Why Y/N hadn’t turned cold exactly, but distant. Like the warmth was still there, just aimed somewhere else.

And that hurt worse. Because there was no answer. Only the ache of not knowing. Of being in love with someone who might already be halfway out the door.

—

The next morning, Daniela knocked on her door.

“Get dressed. You’re coming with me,” was all she said.

No producers. No cameras. ust an off-site breather. Manon didn’t ask why. Or how. Daniela didn’t offer to explain.

They drove into the city and ate noodles on a rooftop. Manon didn’t talk much. Daniela didn’t force her to.

Daniela never asked why her eyes looked puffy. Never ask why she hadn’t touched her broth. She just kept talking about unrelated things. Random things. Things that filled up the silence and made Manon feel the closest to steady she had in weeks.

Until the television in the restaurant corner lit up, and a headline scrolled across the screen. Grainy paparazzi footage, grainier audio. It wasn’t even a full segment. Just filler. Background noise.

But Manon’s attention snapped into focus at the name.

Y/N L/N Spotted Out With Co-Star After Late Night Shoots

And there it was.

A still image of Y/N stepping out of a car with someone else beside her. A girl. Her co-star, the voiceover said.

Y/N was laughing.

Laughing in a way Manon hadn’t seen in months. Head tossed back, eyes lit up, shoulders relaxed. The kind of laughter that doesn’t hide anything. That doesn’t come with a delay or a crack in the voice.

Manon didn’t realize she’d stopped eating until Daniela looked at her.

“Everything okay?”

Manon tried to say yes. Couldn’t.

She didn’t know how to explain that everything suddenly hurt.

Not because Y/N was laughing. Not even because she was with someone else. But because Manon couldn’t remember the last time Y/N had looked at her like that.

Or when she had looked at Y/N like that either.

—

That night, she stormed back to the dorms and demanded her phone.

The producers pushed back, annoyed. “You know the rules,” they reminded her. “This isn’t a social hour.” She didn’t care.

They told her to wait until the weekend. She didn’t care.

They told her this would go on record. She didn’t care.

“It’s an emergency,” she said. “Now, give me the phone.”

The other girls watched from their corners, whispering. Calling it a tantrum. Entitlement. A girl who couldn’t take the pressure.

Manon let them talk. They would’ve found something to say anyway.

She took the phone and went to the farthest stairwell in the building, where the signal was best and no one could overhear her come undone.

Y/N answered on the third ring.

Her voice was low, sleepy and slightly muffled. Like she’d just been woken up, “Hello. What’s going on?”

Not hey, not Manon, not I’m sorry. Just a what’s going on.

Manon sat on the stairwell floor, cold concrete pressing into her spine. Her phone felt heavier than usual in her hand. Her throat was dry, but her voice came out sharp anyway. “Why are you whispering? Is your other girlfriend asleep next to you?”

A beat of silence.

Then a confused and groggy: “What?”

Manon didn’t flinch. Didn’t dare to back down, “You heard me. Or should I pull up the photos? The headlines? ‘New couple of the season.’ You and your co-star, walking out of some bar in Paris.”

There was a shuffle on the other end of the line. The kind that sounded like someone sitting up too fast. “Manon—what are you even talking about?”

“The photos,” she repeated. “The headlines. The ones I shouldn’t have to find out about from strangers online.” Her breath hitched, but she pushed forward, unable to stop. “And don’t act like I’m crazy. You know what I mean.”

Y/N exhaled. Not guilty. Just tired. “I told you. Didn’t I? The shoot got added last-minute. The pickup happened so fast. There were interviews, panels, press—”

“But Paris?” Manon’s voice cracked at the edge. “Really? You couldn’t have dropped me a text? One sentence? Any insight into your life at all?”

“I didn’t think it would make a difference.”

That hit harder than anything else could have.

“Oh,” Manon said, voice going cold. “So now I’m supposed to keep track of your life through strangers on Twitter? Oh wait! I can’t. I only get my phone for one hour each week.”

“Manon,” Y/N sighed. “Come on.”

“No. Don’t come on me. I waited, Y/N. For three weeks. One call. For three week. That’s all I asked for.”

“I wanted to,” Y/N said quickly. “I was trying to wait for a moment when I could actually talk. I didn’t want to just half-ass it.”

“Well, you didn’t even quarter-ass it. So congratu-fucking-lations, I guess.”

There was a pause. Then: “Can I please explain?”

“Please, go ahead” Manon said flatly. “Tell me how busy you were. How your time is just so much more valuable than mine.”

“I was busy,” Y/N snapped. “But not because I wanted to be. I’ve been getting shredded in PR meetings for missing scheduled appearances. For ducking out every week to call you. Apparently, disappearing every week to call my secret girlfriend in the middle of my mainstream debate doesn’t look very good on a press tour.”

Manon scoffed. “So I’m bad for your image now. That’s what you’re saying.”

“No. I’m saying the press is watching me. Watching us. You think I wanted to be in Paris posing for fake romance headlines? You think I asked for that?”

“I don’t know. You didn’t even tell me about it. So yeah, I think maybe you didn’t care.”

Y/N’s voice dropped. “I was trying to protect something. Maybe badly. But it was with good intentions. I just didn’t think it was worth bringing up and causing trouble.”

The gut punch was something Manon didn’t see coming.

“Oh,” she said. “So I’m trouble now.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No, it’s fine,” Manon cut in. “I get it. I should’ve smiled and nodded. Let you show up when you wanted and disappear when it got hard.”

“That’s not fair, Manon.”

“You know what else is not fair?” Manon’s voice cracked. “Working myself to death and still feeling like I’m losing you. Convincing myself that if I held on just a little longer, you’d somehow come back.”

Y/N’s tone softened, then hardened again, “I never left.”

“Well you didn’t exactly stay, either.”

“I was staying up until 3 a.m. to make those calls,” Y/N protested. “I was skipping press, lying to my team just to talk to you. I was doing my best!”

“Then maybe your best isn’t enough.”

Silence.

A long, wide silence. Not begging. Not forgiving. Just... cold.

Y/N’s voice came quieter. “Do you really believe that? Do you really think I hadn’t even tried.”

Manon wanted to say no. But she didn’t.

“Do you think any of this is easy for me?” Y/N asked. “That it hasn’t killed me every time I saw you cry on my screen and couldn’t do anything about it? That every time we talked, I didn’t already feel like I was failing you? That every time I picked up, I enjoyed feeling like I was getting yelled at for not being enough.”

Manon’s hands trembled and the ring on her necklace dangled into view. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I didn’t think I had the right to.”

There it was. The guilt. It hit, but Manon didn’t let it stick.

She went for the ring next.

"Then maybe you shouldn’t have given me this stupid ring," she snapped, tearing it off the necklace. The chain broke and bit into Manon’s skin, but the sting was nothing compared to the ache in her heart. "Or made some stupid promise about always being here. Maybe you should’ve just stayed on your little movie set with your perfect little fake relationship and stopped pretending you knew what it meant to show up."

Y/N’s voice shook. Her words began to loop, as if saying them again might make them true. “That’s not fair!”

Manon didn’t flinch. Her voice just stayed low, bitter. “Nothing about this is fair.”

A pause, then, quietly, almost in defeat, “I’ve always been in your corner, Meret.”

“Then why doesn’t it feel like it?”

There was no silence. Not even a pause. Yet it felt like there should’ve been.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said quietly. Manon knew she meant it, “And I wish I did.”

It was honest, and raw, and exactly the kind of truth Manon had needed just a little earlier. But it wasn’t enough.

“Do you know what it’s like to feel like an afterthought in someone else’s story? Like the person who used to know you just... doesn’t anymore?”

Y/N barely whispered, but it came out loud, “Yeah, I think I do.”

Another pause. One that should’ve given Manon the clarity she needed to know that she should stop. That anything else she said could very well be something she could never take back.

But Manon said it, anyway. The one line that would stay with her long after the call ended.

“Try wondering if your person is just waiting for you to fall apart so they have an excuse to stop calling.”

Y/N’s voice trembled. There was a soft breath, a pause too long, like she was trying hard not to cry. But Manon could hear it anyway, in the way the word cracked when it finally came out. “I don’t know what else to say. I feel like I’ve already said everything I could.”

And the worst part? Manon had seen Y/N cry for her before. Plenty of times. In cars, on sidewalks, in airport terminals. In moments of goodbye, or love, or both. But this was the first time it had been because of her.

And for a second, Manon wished she could undo it. Take it all back.

But the damage was already done.

“Then I guess there’s nothing else for us to talk about.”

Y/N bristled from her end, alarmed, “Wait—”

Click.

The call ended before either of them could stop it.

Manon stared at the screen. She thought about calling back. But the producer was already at her side, reaching for the phone.

So, she let it go.

From that point forward, Manon’s heartbreak calcified into something colder. Sharper. Something that wouldn’t fall apart again.

Not when people doubted her. Not when the schedule broke her down to the bone. Not even when the cameras rolled and the pressure hit its peak.

She trained. Rehearsed. Took every correction and folded it into the next run-through. No crying. No complaining. No checking her phone.

When the guilt surfaced, quiet and unwelcome, whispering about the last call, about the way her words had landed, she shoved it down. Told herself she had no room for doubt. Not now. Not when everything was on the line.

And when the final mission came, she gave them everything. Every last ounce of discipline and effort and fight.

She crushed it.

The crowd roared. Her family cried. Her name was called.

She had made it. She was in Katseye.

Everyone around her celebrated like it was the end of something. A finish line, a victory. Daniela threw her arms around her, laughing and shouting that they were going to be famous. Manon hugged her back. Meant it. Thanked her quietly for having her side these past few weeks, when it had really counted.

But the win didn’t feel like it should’ve.

Because when the crowd thinned and the flashes died down, Manon looked out into the blur of faces and searched just for one.

It wasn’t there.

Her mother must’ve seen the way her eyes lingered, scanning past cameras and crew and confetti, because she hesitated before saying it. “She didn’t come. I’m sorry.”

Manon nodded like she’d already known. Like it didn’t matter.

But it did.

That night, long after the lights dimmed and the clamor faded, she stepped onto the rooftop alone.

The city buzzed somewhere below, distant and unreachable.

She turned on her phone. Finally hers again. Completely hers.

There were a few missed calls. A couple from family, one from a number she didn’t recognize.

But not the one she was hoping for. Not even a text.

And the absence hit harder than she’d let herself imagine all those weeks ago. Because for all the things she’d said, and all the ways she’d tried to convince herself it didn’t matter:

She had still looked. She had still hoped. And she still loved Y/N more than anything in the world.

She sat down against the ledge and opened her voice recorder. Lifted the phone to her mouth. Just her voice. Just the night.

“Hey. I don’t know if you saw, but I won. I got into Katseye.”

A pause. Her breath caught in the wind.

“Um. So yeah.”

Her voice cracked. “And I’m sorry. For everything. I shouldn’t have taken it all out on you.”

She drew in a shaky breath. The silence around her was louder than anything.

“I just… I just want to talk. I don’t even know what I’d say. But please.”

A whisper now.

“Please call me when you get this.”

She didn’t say the rest. She didn’t have to. The quiet answered for her.

Or leave me if you don’t.

—

obviously, dream academy manon hate was played up for dramatics. not to be conflated with real life. also who let me write something this long? hopefully the length makes up for how long it took me to get this out.

#katseye x reader #manon bannerman x reader #meret manon x reader #charwritez

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slutzforbueckers · 16 hours ago

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i would owe you my life if you wrote something with a kind of weird reader 😭 like a funky, different girl that paige is just head over heels for even though their energies are so different

SHE'S THE ONE, YOUR HONOR

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: fluff

♡— synopsis: it’s your first time meeting paige’s friends and family and you’re definitely not what they would expect but everyone loves you anyways, especially paige.

paige has been reassuring you since you got in the car, holding your hand tight while she used the other one to drive. you were heading to a small gathering between her friends and family, it would be your first time meeting them and you were a nervous wreck.

“but what if they don’t like me? what if they think i’m weird?” you asked. your heart was genuinely beating out of your chest, you tried to distract yourself by playing with her fingers but it only helped so much.

“they will like you and no one is going to think you’re weird.” paige looked over at you as she stopped at a red light. she moved her hand to your thigh and gave you a gentle squeeze. “i promise you have nothing to worry about, ma.”

you and paige weren’t necessarily the average looking couple—no one would pick you out of the line up and pair you two together because they thought it looked right. you were shyer than she was but when you were comfortable with the people surrounding you, you tended to show your true self.

you’ve always had that weird, off putting vibe to you that often made people think twice about talking to you. in school you were given the title of being the school weirdo because sometimes you’d like to paint your skin a different color and you didn’t care about social norms.

when everyone else sat in the lunchroom for lunch you’d take off to the library or the art room, whichever one you were feeling that day. you didn’t have many friends because you preferred not to open your mouth and when you did people only looked at you funny.

nothing really changed as you grew up, you only grew more into who you were—especially in college when you figured out your newfound freedom. paige loved it though—she loved it when she’d walk into your shared apartment and find you talking to your plants as you watered them.

you let out a shaky breath as you looked out the window and noticed she was slowing down in front of a house. there were a bunch of cars in the driveway and parked on the curb so you had to park a little further down.

once she parked the car she unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face you, taking both of your hands in hers. “everything is going to be just fine, okay? i promise you they’ll love you and if anything or anyone makes you uncomfortable then just say the words and we’re outta here.”

you nodded your head and you repeated the words back in your head, trying to calm your jumping nerves. paige flashed you a small smile before getting out of the car and walking around to your side. you quickly unbuckled your seatbelt as she opened the door to let you out. as soon as you stepped out of the car you were reaching for her hand.

“do i look okay?” you asked, looking up at her with concerned eyes.

“you look perfect.” her answer was enough to make you roll your eyes and smile.

the both of you walked hand in hand all the way to the front door. you were a little less nervous now that awful feeling was still lingering in your gut. as you approached the front door you started to cling onto her a little tighter. paige didn’t bother knocking, she just opened the door and pulled you straight to the living room where she assumed the people would be.

everyone’s eyes were on you as soon as they heard footsteps, wide and confused about who the girl was with paige. you couldn’t look at all of them at once but you could feel the stares raking over your body. it made you rethink the mismatched socks you wore and hide behind paige. she wouldn’t let you dress any differently from how you usually dress—she plainly told you not to try and change yourself to fit in.

“guys, this is y/n.” paige said nonchalantly, and then everyone’s eyes were either on her or darting between you two. you awkwardly waved and gave them a tight lipped smile, trying to think of something to say to break the uncomfortable silence.

“i–uhm–i would’ve brought a dish or something but i had a meltdown before we got here…” you trailed off, slowly turning your head to paige for silent reassurance. she gave you a soft smile and a squeeze of the hand.

you were really starting to consider taking her up on that offer of leaving but then you heard a voice that wasn’t your own or paige’s. “you’re not what i was expecting…i kinda like it.”

you turned your head so fast you almost got whiplash. paige nudged you slightly with her shoulder as kk and a few of the other girls approached you.

“i get that alot, not the liking part but y’know.” you shrugged, a shy smile forming on your lips.

“how’d you get your hair this bright?” jana gushed as she reached out and gently tugged at the ends of your pink hair.

“oh, i just fried it with bleach first.” you shrugged. they all laughed at your joke and it made you feel so much better. kk stepped forward and looped her arm in yours and started to pull you to the couch where they all were previously sitting.

“alright, now you have to catch us up on the lore between you.”

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #dallas wings #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers x fem!reader fluff

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rainrot4me · 2 days ago

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Rain I need a part 2 of that Toby Zombie fic.. like the aftermath’s of our actions… what if we allowed him to make us turn? Or.. after we killed our beloved boy. What’s gonna happen I NEED MORE IN MY VEINS

Based off of this previous ask!

── .✦

If you allowed Toby to turn you:

There’s no going back once you say yes.

The moment you let him bite you—let him tear into the flesh of your shoulder with decayed teeth and a desperate whimper, like he’s not just eating you but mourning you—something changes. In him. In you. The agony is unbearable, searing down your spine like wildfire, nerves screaming as your body begins to rot and shift from the inside out. And through it all, he’s holding you. Croaking, wheezing, eyes milky but full of some broken kind of love. Like he understands. Like he knows what he’s done to you.

You wake up cold.

Not just chilled—wrong. Like your blood doesn’t know how to move anymore. Like your body’s forgotten how to feel.

And he’s there. Toby. Or what’s left of him. Shaky hands brushing against your ruined skin, his chest rattling with something like a laugh. He’s happy. You’re here with him. You’re like him now. His mate, finally.

But you’re not you anymore.

Your thoughts are slower, heavy like wet leaves. Words feel pointless. Food smells… strange. You don’t crave apples, bread, coffee—you crave warmth, the iron-slick scent of blood, the throb of a beating heart.

And that’s when it hits you. What you’ve become.

Sometimes, you remember what it felt like to be human. The way your chest used to ache with grief. The way you used to panic when he got too close. The way you used to cry into your hands when his voice failed—when he could only groan, only snarl. When you watched him forget your name.

Now, the silence is comforting. You don’t need words. He touches your jaw and you touch his ruined face and that’s all that matters.

You’re both dead. Together. And somehow, that’s almost peaceful.

But nonetheless, you’re still dead. There’s no conversations, no cuddles, no laughter as you both fall asleep. There’s only tired shuffling and sickening groans and you hunt and chase and claw for your next meal.

You understand the pain he had to go through to be around you now. But there’s no room in your thoughts to feel sad, to feel guilty—just this gnawing, overwhelming hunger.

And with every passing day, the bits of brain that spill from his cracked skull seem to look tastier and tastier.

If you decided to kill Toby instead:

You held him in your arms like he was still yours.

Even after his jaw snapped open, inches from your throat—even after his groans turned to snarls, and his rotting hands gripped your arms hard enough to bruise. He wasn’t Toby anymore. Not really. His eyes, once full of flickering life behind the glaze of decay, had gone glassy. No recognition. Just hunger.

You whispered his name anyway.

And when you pulled the trigger and felt the recoil against your shoulder, it wasn’t to kill a monster.

It was to set him free.

He crumpled against you, heavy and slack, bloodless and still twitching. A final shudder, like his body was confused why it wasn’t still moving. And then—nothing. Quiet. Too quiet.

You don’t remember how long you sat there with him, cradling his head, your hands shaking too hard to wipe the rot from your face. The forest around you was still. Even the birds didn’t sing. He’d liked that—the woods, the stillness, the way the world didn’t judge him out here.

He’d liked you, too.

You buried what was left of him beneath the pine needles, under the clearing where he used to rest his head in your lap, needy and twitchy and tired. You made sure the dirt was packed tight. You left his goggles and hatchets at the grave. You couldn’t bring yourself to take them.

But you kept his muzzle. Cleaned it. Wrapped it in cloth. Set it on your nightstand like it meant something.

Weeks pass. Maybe months. Time feels like nothing now. And sometimes, when the wind cuts through the trees, you swear you hear him. Not groaning—not snarling—just laughing. A breathless, shaking little laugh, like he used to do when he couldn’t get the words out but wanted to let you know he was happy.

You stay up late into the evening staring at polaroids and shaky selfies that the two of you took before everything—when the worst his skin had seen was just the little gash at the corner of his mouth. You try not to picture the way his flesh sagged from his bones and the disgusting crunch sound of his muscles rubbing. You just tried to remember the Toby you had before.

You don’t answer. Not out loud.

But you sleep with your window open. Just in case.

Just in case something of him still remembers you, even after death and the death after that.

And some nights, you swear you wake up with dirt under your fingernails.

꩜ .ᐟ

#rainspastathoughts #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #slenderverse #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby x y/n #ticci toby x you #ticci toby headcanons #tobias erin rogers #tobias rogers

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bodhiscurls · 2 days ago

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where do we go now? ( clark kent )

cause now i'm half of myself here without you. you're the best in my life and i lost you. it was one-sided hate how i hurt you. (by gracie abrams!) you don't know where he disappears to- there's always excuses: he's caught up at work, stuck in traffic, some stupid alien attack cut him up on his commute. but now more than ever when you need him to show up at a family dinner where you planned to introduce him to your parents, he still comes in pieces and enough is enough.

pairing: clark kent x fem reader (no use of yn)

themes: angst, break up, no happy ending

he's not coming.

you smile sheepishly at your mother who sends you a small smile and she begins to start serving the mains. you've made it past appertisers, skipped out on the drinks and small talk, catching them up on work and laughing over memories- now you're entering dangerous uncertain territory and all you could do is sit and stare at the clock as the minutes passed by.

fourty three minutes have passed by.

your father tried not to shoot you a disapproving glance- it had taken so much work to warm him up to clark. don't trust those journalists, he said with that gruff tone in the same way he had told you to keep playing a sport even after graduating university or when he had changed the tires on your car- you don't blame him for worrying. you've never brought a guy home before so the bar was low.

lower than fourty three minutes late.

"i'm sure, he just got caught up late with work," you try though the words feel stale and your mother reaches out to place a hand on yours in comfort. its eight pm, you think. should the offices be closed by now? you have no idea.

"you are more than welcome to take some back for him," and your heart soars at the kind offer. though a thank you might cement the fact that he's stood you up on your own family dinner.

"he's coming, i'm sure. in fact, i'll just ring and see where he is," you stand shakily, embarrassment creeping up on your neck as you make your way to the stairs. and just as you suspect, he does not answer like he hadn't the past four times. a sigh escapes you and you know that after tonight, you won't have to keep feeling this way.

you and clark have been dating for six months- he occupies the apartment opposite yours and that's how you met. through laundry days and dinner dates, the two of you had started something slow and sweet at the beginning. it was like having sleepovers every single night and when you'd fall asleep in his big strong arms, nothing in the world seemed to matter anymore. you probably spend more time in his than you do your own.

then the lies started to creep in; it started as an offhanded excuse for traffic, then he started "forgetting" date nights- being caught up at work. you knew nothing about the journalism world so gave him the grace he needed and it was so easy to fall back into routine, the small comfortable world you built when you weren't pushing an arguement. and the thing with clark was- he never played nasty, never said things he didn't mean in the heat of the moment. he was thoughtful, patient, let you get it all out then apologises- promising you're the centre of his attention, a sad cycle you've trapped yourself in.

the phone is warm in your hand, like a subtle burn to let you know its still there and you close your eyes. this dinner was important to you- its not often you visit your parents and tell them about the supposed love of your life to which they actually return interest. tonight they were supposed to be getting to know him, to love him the same way you had. if only he could show up.

the door knocks with heavy taps you'd know in any lifetime and you open it wearily.

"hey," comes his breathless greeting, a grin laced on his features, stretching his cheeks as he takes a step forward. he lands a kiss on your cheek sloppily and you don't find yourself leaning into it anymore. it comes and it goes as quickly as it did.

"hey," he loops a finger under your chin to bring your gaze to his. "i am so sorry, this alien attack thing redirected my route like four times- i tried to get here as soon as possible," the words come out in a hurried breath and you furrow your brows, wondering if he's rehearsed this on the way here.

"doesn't matter, thank you for coming," you speak though theres no bite or tone in your voice, just weariness and fatigue of someone who's been let down too many times.

"wait, honey," and you don't grace him an actual reply, just a faint "not here," before tugging his hand in yours as you make your way to the dining room. you've hardly interlocked his fingers in yours, emptily holding his palm and letting go of it as soo as you meet your parents again.

your parents are mid laughter when they stop and spot clark, instantly rising to their feets to greet him. clark's bigger than most humans, instantly filling up the room with his body and his heart and he charms the pants off your parents.

he talks politics with your father, plays into your mothers gossip, tells jokes like all the times he's ran away it's to play stand up comedian and you hate how it just feels so perfect. "wow" your mother mouths across the room, sending you and exaggerated swoony smile and it does make you laugh softly. as if on reaction, clark's ears perk up at the sound, sending you a gentle smile and wrapping his hand under the table around yours.

you lean into his shoulder after the meal, needing to balance the weight before deciding to help your mother clear the table. the dishes you carry are swiped clear, clark clearly a fan of your mother's food and when you land them in the sink with a gentle thud, you feel your mother's hands at your shoulders from behind you.

"darling," she murmurs and its ever so gentle that you can feel the tears gloss over your eyes. "i don't mean to judge but he seems incredible and all but," and you knew the but was coming, "what good can come from a man who loves you in pieces," her whisper cracks open your heart and lays it bare bloodied and bruised.

"mom," you whimper softly in her hold and she's instantly shushing you gently, rocking you back and forth in hug that holds you together firmly. it's not something you didn't know, it's just the first time someone has said it aloud to you and it hurts all the same

"i love him," you breathe, "and i know he loves me," you try.

"and sometimes it's not enough," she strokes your back in comfort and you look up to the ceiling, trying to force those tears back down.

"i know," you clear your throat and she lets you stay like that a little longer. when you return to the living room to find clark's heavy eyes on your figure and dinner wrapped up, you don't meet his gaze.

you kiss your mother and father on the cheek as clark shakes their hand firmly, wrapping your mother in a hug. they wave goodbye to you from the doorstep and watch you get into his car as clark shuts the door behind you.

the engine starts with a soft purr before he pulls out and starts the drive home. the quiet of the night entering your car as you both work your way around the elephant in the room.

he tells you about work to which you reply with nods and one liners and clark senses the shift like it's in the air suffocating him. he parks up on the side and you look around in confusion- this isn't the way home. you look over at him and for once in your life you don't actually know what to think about him.

"do you wanna tell me whats on your mind?" he speaks softly. too softly that it blurs the edges of the cuts he's left on you before and you almost faulter.

"nothing," you get out, because you don't actually know where to start.

"its not nothing if it's got you upset like this, baby," and when he sees you flinch at the pet name you used to adore his heart stills, missing a beat thundering in moment.

"it's you," and the beats stop entirely as he's stuck to the seat. you watch his expression, eyes begging him to just anything but he's stunned into a careful silence.

"it's me?" he asks slowly and you nod, the lump in your throat tightening your voice.

"i can't do this anymore, clark," and the first teardrop glistens in the dark as it falls. "there's only so much i can do, i've tried to hard to be patient- i, i, ah," you groan feel the rush of emotions overwhelm you, "i stretch myself to new limite to make room for all your lies and secrets and i'm breaking clark."

you look up from your lap, years wetting your lashes to face him honestly- he needs to know the damage he's done, "you don't even know what you do to me and it's unfair clark, it hurts," you try and wipe away the tears that fall but a new fresh batch that form and drop and before you know it, the mascara streaks a messy river down your face and you can't stop this.

he doesn't say anything for a moment, focusing on the heavy rise and fall of his chest. he should've known that he was breaking you apart, that he hadn't given you the trust that this relationship needs to work but he's harbouring a secret that could put you in so much more danger if you knew.

but still he tries, "honey, we can fix this," comes an honest admission of stern determination and you pull back, recoiling in anger.

"there is no we, clark," you jab a finger at his chest, "we haven't been on the same team for a while, you've left me on a one vs one each time you disappear with some lame excuse and i have to convince myself that you're not lying or hiding that it's all okay- we," you repeat back to him in a scoff, "i've tried to fix this so don't demean me and dog me down with a 'we'." there's no room for clark to carry on before you're ranting again.

"you were late to family dinner," your voice lowers an octave in defeat- letting him know that tonight was the final straw. "you know how important this was to me, you're the first guy i've brought home and you made me look stupid- then you play happy home pretend like it's nothing and you make me feel stupid too- what kind of asshole does that?" you ask him. he gave you a glimpse of what the future could've looked like if he just let you all the way in and you hate him immensely for it.

"i'll cut back on work, we can spend more time together- i can fix this," he pleads but you shake your head softly.

"i'm done, clark. i think it's time we call it," you nod to yourself more than anything.

his reply comes as quick as it is stubborn, laced with firmness and the fear of letting the best thing happen to him go, "i dont want to."

"i need to." comes your desperate whine.

"but i love you-" and you wince because on any other night it's what would've made smile, laugh and melt into his embrace. now it stands outside the cage you're trapped in, molted into the key that's so close within your grip.

"and its not enough," you counteract, "not when its also determined through actions- when it doesnt come whole- when i get bits of you when you decide to show up like youre superman saving the day," you list off your fingers and clark momentarily stumbles at your comparison. you use it ironically and it being the cause of his relationship failing pricks at his heart, he can feel the migraine coming in already- the you sized hole he's unable to fill.

"relationships arent perfect they dont-" he stumbles and its clearly the wrong thing to say when you cackle loudly in irony.

"oh god i know! ours is far from perfect!" your voice grows a little quieter and settles an air of finality, "love isnt always easy clark, but it shouldnt have to be so fucking hard."

"im calling it now, before we lose more time to this and we wake up so miserable one day suddenly i don't know ten years down the line tethering ourselves to a feeling we thought was enough and i hate both you and me for staying. i'm not happy clark and i cant live like that- i refuse to live like that," you beg and he sighs in defeat.

"im sorry," he murmurs, unsure of what he could say. nothing can change your mind. he's fucked this up and there's no way out of this for him.

"thats nice to hear," you accept, unwilling to forgive him just right now when the feelings are still raw, fresh and tug at the seams of your mind. your fingers find your temples to massage the growing aches and you face the window- looking anywhere other than your doomed lover, "please take me home."

no words are spoken for the remainder of the journey back to your apartment complex. the faint murmurs of billy joel's "piano man" hum alongside the engine and for once it feels like the universe is on your side- there's no traffic for miles, green lights ahead and you get home within minutes. clark however, still gets out the car at lightning speed before you, almost knocking you over to open your door and walks a few steps behind your pace to make sure you get up to the level of your apartments okay.

the final nail in his coffin is when you turn the key to your own apartment door instead of his like you would usually do almost every night and shut it without so much as a look behind. he stands there, pressing his forehead to the cool wooden panel of your door and breathes in heavily.

"fuck," he sighs, the feelings of tonight weighing his body down that he stays there for a couple of minutes before heaving himself up and heading into his own. he however does take one look back behind him only to find nothing changed- the door still shut on him and the sounds of light switches clicking off.

he doesn't blame you one ounce for ending things- you're stronger than he is by miles but that doesn't mean he isn't going to miss you any less.

note: REDEEMING MYSELF AFTER THE LAST ONE GUYS ‼️ this one goes out to @velovicy here's a real break up / unhappy ending - no grovelling however because i do fear this one may be unfixable but i love me a bad ending sometimes and hope you liked it too - let me know what you all think! 💘 i love hearing what you guys have to say x

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nyc-tophile · 2 days ago

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┈┈ the silence after you ✮⋆˙

Pairing — CA:CW!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary — When Bucky returns from Hydra with Steve, something in your heart tells you he’s the one—you’ve found your forever. But forever doesn’t always mean. One day, everything shifts. And the man you thought you’d grow old with walks away, leaving you behind with nothing but memories, silence, and the ache of what could’ve been.

Warnings — Angst, abandonment, emotional neglect, breakup, depression, emotional distress, PTSD, grief/loss, anxiety.

Author's Note: This is kind of based on and inspired by Eternity by Alex Warren. I’ve been listening to it on repeat, and since I’m in my feels, y’all have to be in y’all’s feels with me.

The day Steve brought Bucky home, it was raining.

You remembered the way his soaked clothes clung to his frame, the way his eyes scanned the hallway like he didn’t trust it, like he didn’t trust anything. Steve introduced him softly, cautiously, as if Bucky might shatter if spoken to too loudly.

And maybe he would have.

You said hello. He didn’t say anything back, but you still smiled.

At first, Bucky barely left his room. He only spoke to Steve. You’d pass him in the hallway sometimes, quiet glances, a nod, the occasional mumbled “hey.” It wasn’t much, but it was something. You told yourself not to hope. But you did.

Because something in you whispered, he matters.

And slowly, so slowly, he started to open up.

Shared coffee in the morning. A few words. Then sentences. Then long talks after midnight, when he couldn’t sleep, and neither could you.

Then his fingers brushed yours one night and didn’t pull away, and suddenly, the world felt like it was starting to make sense.

It wasn’t easy. Loving someone who’d been broken into pieces never is.

He had nightmares. He’d disappear for days without a word, get lost in his head, lost in memories that weren’t his fault but still haunted him. You tried, you were patient.

You were steady. You held him through every emotion, reminded him that he wasn’t a weapon, wasn’t what they made him. You told him he was Bucky, and he was yours, and you weren’t going anywhere.

And for a while, he believed you, and you made plans. Talked about places you’d go together. He smiled more. He let you love him.

You thought that meant you’d made it, you thought love was enough.

Then it changed..

You came home one day, and he was gone.

No note. No call. No explanation.

Just the space where his things used to be. The coffee mug he always used was still in the sink. The shirt you always stole was folded neatly on the bed.

And silence. Endless, echoing silence.

Steve didn’t know where he went. Or maybe he did and wouldn’t say.

But it didn’t matter.

Because he left.

And you were left behind, with his ghost in your bed, his voice in your head, and all the memories that meant everything to you and apparently… nothing to him.

You tried to move on, tried to forget him.

But every time it rained, you remembered the day he came. And every night you couldn’t sleep, you remembered the way he used to whisper your name like it meant something sacred.

You still wonder if he thinks of you. If he misses you.

But deep down, you know, he loved you like he was learning how.

You loved him like you’d known him in every lifetime, but even soulmates don’t always stay.

And sometimes, forever is just a word people say when they’re scared to admit that one day… they’ll leave too.

-----

The sky was heavy, gray and swollen, the air felt tense, too still, like the world was bracing itself for something. You barely noticed. You were tired. Exhausted.

It had been months. Long, hollow months filled with aching silences and too much space in your bed. You’d stopped checking the door. Stopped waiting. Or at least, you told yourself you had.

But the day felt different. Unsettled, like the calm before something breaks.

Then you felt it first in your chest, that flutter. A tightness. Like someone was watching you.

You glanced over your shoulder more than once while walking home from work. Heard footsteps that didn’t quite match yours. But when you turned, no one was there.

You’re just paranoid, you told yourself.

It’s nerves. You’re just tired.

You kept your head down, locked the door, and tried to forget the way your stomach wouldn’t settle.

-----

It was almost 2 a.m. when you heard it, a soft shuffle. Like boots against the hardwood floor of your apartment.

Your heart leapt into your throat. You sat up in bed, holding your breath, maybe it’s the wind, your brain offered. A neighbor. The old pipes.

But no, it was closer now. In the hallway. Your hallway.

You reached into the drawer beside your bed and wrapped your fingers around the cold metal of your gun. Your hands were shaking, but your aim wouldn’t be.

You crept toward the door, bare feet silent on the floor. Every shadow looked like it could swallow you whole. Every breath was too loud.

And then you saw him.

Standing in the middle of your apartment like some cruel dream.

Bucky.

His hair was longer. A little messier. His face was thinner, jaw clenched, eyes wide, like he wasn’t sure if he should speak or fall to his knees. He looked like hell.

You nearly dropped the gun.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

Like he hadn’t shattered you, like it hadn’t been months of silence and wondering if he was even still alive.

“Bucky?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked. Nodded.

And that’s when the dam inside you broke.

-----

“You don’t get to just show up, Bucky,” you snapped, gun trembling in your hand, heart pounding louder than the storm outside. “You left. You didn’t say anything. You just—” Your voice cracked. “You just disappeared.”

“I know,” he said softly, eyes never leaving yours. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” you echoed, breath catching. “You disappeared without a word. I thought you were dead! I thought you didn’t love me!”

His shoulders sank at that, like your words hit harder than a punch.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said. “That’s why I left.”

You laughed. Bitter and broken. “That’s the most messed-up thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I thought I was protecting you,” he continued, voice shaking. “I thought if I left, if I stayed away, you’d be safer. You’d heal. But all I did was destroy both of us.”

Tears burned your eyes. “You did.”

The silence was heavy and loud.

“I shouldn’t have come back,” he whispered.

But you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

Because even after all the pain, all the empty nights and unanswered questions, seeing him again tore through you like lightning.

He was here.

After everything, he was here.

Your grip on the gun loosened as it slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.

You didn’t even flinch.

You just stood there, staring at him. At Bucky. At the man who left without a goodbye, the same man you once swore would be the last person you ever loved.

“You don’t get to walk in here like this,” you said, your voice raw. “You don’t get to show up in the middle of the night and act like we’re just—picking up where we left off.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood. But he didn’t say anything.

You hated that he still looked at you the same. Like you were his whole world. Like you still mattered. It made you want to scream.

“Why now, Bucky? Why, after all this time?”

“I couldn’t stay away anymore,” he said quietly. “I tried. I tried. But every night, I saw you. Every night, I thought about coming back. I just didn’t know if you’d even open the door.”

You laughed, shaky and wet with disbelief. “You didn’t even knock.”

Silence again. He looked down, and you hated how tired he looked. Like the months had dragged over him the same way they had over you.

Your arms crossed over your chest, more to hold yourself together than anything. “I didn’t know if you were alive,” you whispered. “I called Steve. I called Sam. No one would tell me anything. And you... You were just gone.”

Bucky took a step forward.

You flinched.

It broke something in his face.

“I didn’t want you to wait for someone who couldn’t promise you anything,” he said. “I thought leaving was the best thing I could do.”

You shook your head, tears spilling over now. “You were the promise.”

And for a second, just a second, you wanted to run into his arms. To feel him, hold him, sob into his chest, and pretend the last few months never happened. But your body didn’t move.

Because love doesn’t erase abandonment. It doesn’t heal the wound someone chose to give you.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whispered. “I don’t know if I should hug you or scream at you. Or both. I—God, Bucky—I missed you so much.”

His breath caught, and he looked at you like he was drowning in his guilt.

“I never stopped loving you,” he said again, barely holding himself together. “I came back to fix it, if you’ll let me. I’ll do anything.”

You stared at him through blurred vision.

You both were a mess and maybe love wasn’t enough. Maybe nothing could undo the hurt. But he was here.

You took a shaky breath.

“I’m not saying I forgive you,” you said softly. “But I need to understand why. I need you to talk to me this time. No more disappearing. No more silence. If you’re here to stay… then stay. And be honest.”

“I will,” he said without hesitation. “I swear.”

You nodded slowly. Then, almost against your own will, you stepped toward him.

Just once.

He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for you. Just let you come to him.

You stood there, chest inches from his, fists clenched at your sides, tears streaking your cheeks.

And then, finally, you let go.

You collapsed into his arms.

He caught you instantly, arms wrapping around you like they never forgot how. Like they were always meant to.

You sobbed into his shoulder. And he held you like he would never let go again.

-----

The apartment was quiet.

Just the two of you on the floor of your hallway, tangled in each other like time hadn’t passed… like he hadn’t left. But it had. And he had.

Still, you didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Your sobs had quieted into shaky breaths, and Bucky held you like he was afraid to let go, like if he did, you’d disappear this time.

When you finally leaned back, your hands stayed on his chest, fingers curled into his shirt like you needed the fabric to anchor you.

“I’m still mad at you,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“I don’t trust you yet.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours. “I’ll earn it back. However long it takes.”

You nodded, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. “Fair.”

You pushed yourself up, legs stiff, emotions worn thin. He followed, slower, as if waiting for you to tell him to leave again. But you didn’t.

Instead, you walked toward the kitchen and flicked the light on. The soft hum of the fridge and the buzz of the overhead bulb filled the silence between you. You grabbed a mug from the cabinet, his favorite one. The chipped blue one you never had the heart to get rid of.

You set it on the counter.

“Still take it black?” you asked.

He nodded once, and something in his throat caught, like the gesture meant more than he could say.

You poured the coffee. Hands still trembling, but steadier than before.

He stood at the edge of the room, unsure.

“Sit,” you said gently. Not cold. Not warm. Just tired. “We need to talk.”

And you did.

You talked until the sky started to lighten and the night lost its grip on the city. He told you where he went, what he felt, how wrong he knew it all was. You didn’t forgive him, not fully, but you listened. Because part of you had always been waiting to.

Eventually, the exhaustion caught up to you.

You were curled up on one end of the couch. He was on the other side. A blanket thrown haphazardly across your legs. The space between you was small, but it still mattered.

You looked at him through heavy eyes, your voice soft.

“Don’t leave again, Bucky. Not without saying goodbye.”

He turned his head, eyes already closing.

“I won’t,” he murmured. “Never again.”

And even though your heart still ached, even though you weren’t whole yet, you believed him. Just a little.

It wasn’t a perfect ending.

But for the first time in months, it felt like maybe, just maybe…It wasn’t the end at all.

join my тαgℓιѕт -

@avgdestitute , @xoxo-moonlight , @spring-soldier , @vyviiennestar

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feelfreetopleasemexo · 2 days ago

Text

Asking them to be your first kiss

Megumi, Yuji, inumaki,

Megumi

You and Megumi had the kind of friendship that others gushed over. He was always so stoic, so preserved, until it came to you. You two were the polar opposites of each other, you were loud, excitable and social, and he, was not, but somehow you both had formed a very tight, close knit friendship, helping each other out on the parts the other lacked. So when you timidly walked into his dorm instead of kicking the door open he knew something was wrong.

“Why are you scared?” His voice was low, cautious and worried, you never made yourself smaller, kept yourself quiet.

“Im not, I just…need to ask you something.”

“Is it to go grab you period stuff again? Cause you know I have no idea what to get, and last time that lady at the counter made a weird face at m…”

“No, no it’s nothing like that, it’s….intimate.”

His body stiffened slightly as he span his legs around to the end of his bed.

“Like what?”

Hed saved your ass multiple times on missions, hed helped smear the blood away from your eyes and held your hand when you thought youd broken both your legs, so why did this feel infinitely more terrifying.

“I… need help. With…kissing, stuff.”

“What.”

His face deadpanned at you, he honestly didnt know what he was expecting, but asking for help with kissing definitely wasnt on his list.

“Look, I know it’s weird and I know we’re friends but, I was talking to Yuji earlier and it came out that I’ve never actually….properly kissed anyone before. I’ve done the awkward quick peck and the half lip half cheek shit but, never actually made out with anyone before.”

“So, you thought you’d ask me?”

Your chest heaved as you felt the world forcing you to the ground. You couldnt even look him in the eye.

“Well…yeah. You’re my best friend, and if I do it wrong youll just….tell me. Show me, I guess? It’s stupid i know I just…”

“Fine.”

His answer was quick, monotone and stern. You flicked your eyes to his widely and opened your mouth slightly.

“Seriously? Youll help me?!”

“Hurry up before I change my mind.”

You quickly sat next to him on his bed, nerves pinching inside of you as your heartbeat almost deafened your eardrums. He turned to face you, put his hand to your check and leaned into you.

“Close your eyes, idiot.”

You immediately closed your eyes and leaned into him slowly, following his lead as he carefully placed his lips to yours. It was tender, soft. He moved slowly, pressing lightly the first time, then firmer the next as he slowly started to kiss you with his mouth slightly open. He teased his tongue across the bottom of your lip slightly then continued to open mouth kiss you again. You shifted slightly closer to him as the heat rose in your stomach,not only was he driving you insane with his teasing, but you suddenly felt something youd never felt for him before. Horny.

As he finally reached his tongue into your mouth, you jolted at the connection. It was unintentional, it was clumsy and you slightly clashed your teeth with his as your smile disrupted the kiss. Even though his eyes were closed, you could almost feel the eye roll coming from him as he reached his other hand to your face and pulled you back into another kiss. He slowly traced his tongue around yours, teasing it more into his mouth than yours at first, flicking it slightly as he then bite gently at your bottom lip.

“Did you just moan?” His voice was gravely and quiet, barely above a whisper as he tried to hold back his panting.

“Shut up” you pulled him back into you as you crashed your lips into his, holding onto his bunching up oversized shirt in your hands. He deepened the kiss again and pressed harder, causing you to fall back slightly and topple onto his mattress. He followed you, continuing the kiss as he climbed inbetween your legs and rested his body just above yours. You couldnt help but pull him tighter into you again, tilting your hips slightly as you felt the pressure of his body ontop of you. He guided his hand to your hip as he slowly pulled away, his hair leaning over his face as he stared, half lidded at you now underneath him. A tiny smirk pinched at the sides of his lips as your eyes met his.

“Not bad for a first proper kiss. Anything else you need help with? Maybe this….”

He pushed his hardened pants into you slowly and forcefully, drawing another moan from your lips. He would never admit it, but this is exactly how hed always pictured you when he was alone at night. Breathless, eyes half lidded, under him begging for him to touch you more.

Yuji

He had just flipped you over him and forced you into submission during a late night training session. He pinned your body down against the slightly damp grass and was almost howling with laughter as he bested you yet again.

“You never learn do you? I always go left when you throw that right hook, cmon….i thought i was going easy on you too!” His smile was so infectious that you couldnt help but grumble out a slightly annoyed giggle, it was your own fault for asking him to spar with you in the first place.

“How are you so fast?! I was SURE I landed that one too, almost felt like I was gonna pop off a black flash or some shit…”

“You can dream sure, but I’ll always best you, im just THAT good.”

A beat of silence held its claws into both of you for a second, you suddenly became increasingly aware of his tightly his hands grasped around your wrists. You looked down at his lips then back up at hook immediately, your cheeks suddenly becoming slightly flushed. He noticed the shift then tried to get up off you, tried to break the tension but you grabbed his hand and kept him ontop of you.

“Yuji, i….ive never actually kissed someone before Yano.”

Your voice was quiet, vulnerable and suddenly he looked at you, really looked. He glanced down at your lips then slowly leaned into you, pausing agonisingly close to yours lips.

“Wait, you were asking me to kiss you right?”

You grabbed his shift and pulled him into you, clashing your lips into his. It wasnt soft, it was clumsy, rushed and nervous. You both intensely pressed into each other and nearly knocked the wind from both your lips. He pulled back first, face flushed and eyes watery.

“Oh shit. I didn’t expect it to be so…”

“Nice?”

“Hot…I mean yeah, nice.”

You laughed against him and pulled him into another, wrapping your arms around his neck as he let go of your wrists and wrapped an arm a behind your head.

He deepened the kiss as he pressed himself more into you, making room for your legs to open up and accept him slotting between them as his other hand reached to your waist. As you pushed your chest closer to him, you could feel the unmistakable hardening of his uniform trousers pushing against you, which caused you to break the kiss as your smile erupted over your mouth. He giggled breathlessly at you and started to kiss along your cheek down to your neck, nipping slightly as the excitement clearly got the best of him.

After a few moments you heard rustling in the trees as pulled him away from your neck, bringing your eyes back to his as you tried to quiet down your moans.

“Probably shouldn’t be doing this in the middle of the training field, who knows when Gojo will just appear and hound us. Cmon, my dorms closer.”

The excitement in the boys movements startled you as he quickly jumped to his feet, pulling you up with him and slung you over his shoulder as he ran full speed towards your room. If he hadn’t of nearly tripped and dropped you on the slightly wet grass it would’ve been sexy, so close. So very very close.

Inumaki

Flirting with inumaki was easy, almost too easy. The fact he couldnt speak in person made flirting so much easier, you could say things in texts youd never dare to say in real life, which only made you asking to make out with him that much more deadly of a question to pose. It was late at night, you were sending memes to each other when all of a sudden he sent a slightly more risky one. It was a meme of people kissing with the crudely drawn sad gamer nerd guy pointing to it, the caption stating ‘when is it the alpha wolfs turn for this.’ Your reply was quick, flirty and loaded with false confidence.

‘Tonight my king? I am a kissing virgin though, but if you hurry, the guards won’t know of such debauchery’

Suddenly, a knock was at your dorm room door. Your eyes flickered to it, your heart jumping in your chest. No fucking way. You slowly got out of bed and opened the door, peaking your head out around it as if you were in a horror movie and the killer was about to do the cliche eye through the crack moment. Instead, it was inumaki stood there, clutching his phone tightly in his hand holding it out inches away from your face. The screen simply had his notes app open with the meme of mega mind looking upwards over his brow, pouting with a caption that said ‘for realsies?’ He was stood there in his pink hello kitty pjs that he had told you hed brought to which you hadn’t believed him, and his pink bunny slippers that looked well past worn by this stage. He looked at his phone then at you, smiling slightly as he tried to copy mega minds expression.

You rolled your eyes and laughed, opening the door slightly more for him to come in.

“Come’in, dont want Gojo asking what you’re doing gooning outside my dorm at 1am.”

“Salmon salmon.” He nodded, put his phone away and then shuffled in, gently making his way to the edge of your bed. His hands were in his lap, his eyes looking around your room, desperately trying to find anything to tease you about later on once hed left. You sat down next to him and fidgeted with your hands in your own lap, to which he glanced down and noticed, placing a shakey hand ontop of yours. You looked up and met his gaze, as he tilted his head slightly at you and smiled, glancing a look towards your lips then back up.

“You sure you actually wanna make out with me, king? Im but a lowly peasant. Surely not worthy of such an important mission…” You tried to ease the tension by carrying on the memes from earlier, only for him to laugh slightly, mutter a quiet ‘kelp’ and start leaning closer into you. Just before his lips touched yours, you couldnt help but pull back slightly.

“Your speech isnt gonna fuck me up is it? Am I only gonna be able to speak in memes from now on?”

He let a tiny laugh out and shook his head gently, closing the distance between the two of you. As his lips pressed against yours, your whole body filled with electricity, your heart thumped out of your chest as you could feel every single hair on your body stand to attention. It was warm, tender and sweet, but the fire building inside you was anything but. He pressed a hand to your cheek and cradled you as he deepened the kiss, playfully trying to see if youd let him dance his tongue against yours. As soon as you opened your mouth slightly for him, a low grumble erupted from his throat as he tenderly eased his tongue into your mouth. He danced it along yours, causing your breath to become pants as he pulled you tighter into him, putting his other hand just above your knee. As he continued to kiss you, you reached for his shirt and pressed your hand against his chest, palm flat against him and kept it there. He moved his hand from your knee to ontop of your hand and helped move it slightly lower, so you were now touching his abs. You gasped at the feel of him, momentarily breaking the kiss as you asked him for more,

“Can I….sit on you, maybe?” He nodded his head frantically,

“Kelp, kelp, salmon roe, mustard leaf.”

You knew him well enough to know he was begging for you to sit on him, in his own little strange way. As you climbed ontop of him, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you in tighter, kissing the place inbetween your jaw and cheek and making his way down your neck. The more he kissed, the tighter you held onto him, pushing your chest into him and trying your hardest to keep your moans quiet. As he got to your collar bone you felt him stop, then look back up at you and smile, pressing his forehead to yours as he pulled you closer and cuddled into you. You smiled against him as he nudged his head into your neck and breathed you in, completely content with how this evening was now playing out, but not wanting to push you any further.

After a small moment of appreciation you decided to speak.

“If you told me to cum, Dya think I would?”

He raised his eyebrow, smirked and opened his mouth slightly, to which you frantically shoved your hands over his mouth to stop him,

“INUMAKI I WAS JOKING!”

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libraryofneith · 2 days ago

Text

Symbiote - Joel x Pregnant Reader

Summary: After travelling with him from Kansas City, you and Joel parted way in Jackson. You didn't know if you'd ever see him again or if he'd want anything to do with you, but he left you with something that will tie you together forever if you could only get over yourselves and admit that's what you want.

Tags/Warnings: joel miller x pregnant! reader, angst, joel being emotionally constipated, hyperemesis gravidarum (severe morning sickness) which means lots of vomiting i apologise, happy ending, in this house joel miller is alive and well, some smutty goodness, 18+ minors DNI.

Chapter 1

You had been walking back and forth from the entrance to the clinic for about 20 minutes. It was stupid, not knowing wouldn't change what was happening, if anything was actually happening, but the thought of having someone tell you whether it was or not made the whole thing way too real. If you were then you'd have to figure out what you were going to do, what to do if Joel came back or worse, what to do if he didn't.

Joel.

You should've known it was a bad idea getting involved like that with him but you couldn't help yourself. You'd wanted him for so long, you didn't know if you were going to see him again and you thought that maybe if you gave him a good enough reason he'd stay. He didn't of course, but at least he left with her.

~~~

"So you're leaving then?"

"Yeah. Tommy can take her the rest of the way."

"Is that what you want?"

"Don't matter what I want, or what she wants. It's what's best. He can look after better than I ever could."

"Ok I get that, but why do you have to leave? Tommy'll be back and he'll bring back Ellie once they do…whatever it is they need to do. You can still be with them both."

"Tommy don't want me here."

"Course he does, he's your brother. You came all this way to find him and you're just gonna leave after a day?"

"Tommy's got something good going here. He can finally save the world just like he always wanted, then he can live his life with Maria and his…his kid. I won't get in the way of that."

"You're not. Tommy wants you in his life, I know it."

"You don't know Tommy and you don't know what we did together. He looks at me and all he sees is the shit we did. He deserves better than that. As long as I'm here, I'm in the way."

"Is that true, or is that just what you're telling yourself?"

"What?"

"You know what I think Joel? I think you'll find whatever reason you can to keep yourself from being happy, to be alone."

"You think I wanted this? All I ever wanted was a quiet life with family. Just me, Tommy and Sa-"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Forget it. The point is, I know what's best for Tommy and I know what's best for Ellie, and I don't figure into it either way."

"Ok. I still think you're wrong but obviously nothing I say is gonna change your mind."

"No. It ain't."

"…"

"I'm sorry."

"…" "I talked to Tommy, and you can stay."

"… Really?"

"Yeah. I told him you were strong and fast, and you can handle a shotgun. They need people like you."

"Thank you."

"No, thank you. I know it ain't always been easy. Maybe I didn't make it easy…"

"It's not your fault Joel. Me and Ellie'd both be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for you."

"That's not what I meant. Look…the point is, even if I don't always show it, I… I care about you. You mean…something to me. I just… I just…"

"What?"

"Fuck it. Just c'mere."

~~~

You'd imagined being with Joel, what it would be like, a lot of times. But it wasn't what you thought. Pretty much all of the men you'd been with had been the get-it-done-then-get-gone types, product of living in the apocalypse you guessed. Joel wasn't like that.

Joel didn't rush to the finish line, he didn't seem to ever want it to end. No, he took his time with you, undressing you, touching you, kissing you as though he wanted to memorise the feeling of your body. Even when he was inside you he didn't rush, he just held himself there, breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, stroking your back, side, and legs. When he finally started moving it was at an achingly gradual pace, his body overtaking you, utterly overwhelming you.

That wasn't what surprised you most, though. It was the way he talked, and that he talked at all. Joel was a man of little to no words. His communications to you mainly consisted of grunts, nods, and monosyllabic responses. In bed it was an entirely different story. He muttered filth in your ear as he thrust inside you, telling you how good you felt, how good you were for him, how badly he wanted you. You'd tried to say something in response but you could barely wake your brain enough to string words together, let alone speak them, so all you could do was moan as he hit the most delicious depths inside you that no one else had reached before, over and over and over again.

Afterwards he quieted down once more. He pulled himself out of you in the nick of time (or so you'd thought anyway) lay back gasping, then went very still, his face inscrutable in the dark. You wanted to ask him what it meant and what happened now, but there was this strange spell over the two of you that you didn't want to break. You had a feeling that if you did, you'd go right back to the grunts and singular sentences like before. What had happened had happened, and you were glad that it did even if it only happened once. Tomorrow you'd make a last-ditch attempt to persuade him either to go with Ellie or wait for her in Jackson and if he still chose to leave, well, maybe you were both better off without him.

That had been the plan anyway but when you woke up the next morning you were alone except for a note on the bedside table saying

I'm sorry.

You were right.

You'd sprinted out of bed and gotten to the stables just before they left, gave Ellie a very tight hug goodbye, thought about hugging Joel but got an awkward pat on the shoulder instead, then watched as the gate shut after them.

Since then you'd tried to put Joel and that night out of your mind, focusing on settling into Jackson and putting yourself to use without counting the days that Joel and Ellie were gone. It was nice enough, though strange to be surrounded by people after months spent in the wilderness. Didn't help that most people gave you a wide berth, automatically suspicious of newcomers. Still, Tommy and Maria were nice to you, but you couldn't look at Tommy without the words I fucked your brother running rampant through your mind. Every time you saw him, you felt like it was tattooed across your body. And now, as you watched that little strip of paper turn pink, you realised that in a way it would soon be tattooed on you. Fuck. You were having his baby.

"So," Dr. Nick shifted from foot to foot. "How do you want to proceed?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's still early. If you want to terminate the pregnancy, there's a way we can…" He trailed off as you held his gaze. "I'm sorry, I hope I haven't offended you."

"I'm not offended, I'm just… I don't know."

"Well, it might help if you talked to someone."

"Can't talk to the father, obviously."

"No, but maybe a friend?"

You sighed. You'd been sighing a lot today. You only had two friends here, one of whom was the baby's uncle, which only left…

"Maria." She smiled as she opened the door.

"Hi, what can I do you for?" Her hands subconsciously came to rest on the small bump that was growing out of her. To your mortification, the simple gesture alone brought tears to your eyes.

"Oh honey, what's wrong? Are folk being unkind, did someone say something? Why don't you come in?"

"Is-is Tommy home?"

"No, why?"

"I need to tell you something but he can't know, no one can."

"Ok, just breathe. Come on in and I'll fix you something. You want tea or something stronger?" You let out a small giggle.

"No, no alcohol." Then it all comes pouring out in a torrent of words - the fight you had with Joel before he left, the night you spent together, and the discovery you just made half an hour ago. Then comes the part you're really dreading.

"Nick, he…he says that if I want to, he can… I can stop it." She nods.

"Is that what you want?" You don't say anything.

"It's ok if it is. Having a baby is always complicated, especially in times like this."

"I just… What if I never get another chance?"

"So you do want kids?"

"I didn't think I did, but I never thought I'd be in a place where it was safe, but…but what if I only think I want it because of Joel."

"Because you have feelings for him." You nod.

"I know you don't like him, but he's not all bad. I actually think he's mostly good despite what he's so desperate to convince everyone else of. I hate to admit it, it's fucking embarassing, but I wanted him for so long and I don't know why he did what he did, if he cares about me or he was just scared. But the point is, what if I'm just having the baby because it's his?"

Maria looked at you for a long time. There were times when she looked like she was about to say something, but then she'd stop. Finally, she took a breath in and said,

"Look, I don't know Joel like you, and I don't know what your feelings are for him. I don't know if he's ever coming back or what he'd do if he does, but I know that no one else, not him or me, can tell you to have this baby. As for whether you're doing it for the right reasons, the only thing that matters is if it's right for you. And if you're worried you're not up to it, for the record I think you are, you're not alone. No matter what happens to Joel, you have me, you have Tommy, and you have the rest of Jackson."

You give her a sceptical look.

"You will, I promise. We look out for our own round here."

You nod.

"Ok."

"So, maybe take a couple days or-"

"Don't need to. I know what I'm gonna do."

#the last of us #hbo the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x pregnant reader #joel miller smut

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d1onysusw1n3 · 1 day ago

Text

REBEL GIRL PT2. - Jason Todd X Reader

It had been months since the incident with Jason.

Technically, nothing had changed—on schedule, at least. You still had your near-nightly sleepovers at the Wayne Manor. Still parked yourself at Tim’s desk like it was your throne. Still bantered, tinkered, and got on Alfred’s nerves like it was your full-time job.

But at the same time, everything had changed.

Because Jason Todd had tasted you once—and he wasn’t letting you disappear so easily.

Since that night, you and Jason had been tangled in a covert dance of stolen glances, late-night whispers, and lips meeting in shadows. It was never enough. Those scecret kisses were like a match to a powder keg—the tension only building, simmering low in his belly, unsatisfied, insatiable.

That would all change tonight.

You lay sprawled across your bed in a tiny tank top, one leg dangling off the side, New York Dolls screaming from your busted speaker like your room was hosting a riot. A half-finished spray paint piece bloomed across your wall in jagged reds and sickly yellows, the sharp smell of aerosol still burning in your nostrils. The fumes made your head swim in that pleasant, buzzy way you liked.

Perfect time to spark up.

You gathered your shit, grinding your weed down onto the beat-up tray balanced on your knees, a flick of your lighter already in your fingers. But before you could light, your phone buzzed. Ugh.

FaceTime.

You rolled your eyes and answered it without looking—already knowing who it was.

“What’s up, boy wonder?” you teased, voice lazy and laced with amusement.

Tim’s scowling face filled the screen. “Har har. Listen—there’s this underground band playing in a garage not far from you. Bruce said I couldn’t go but…”

He trailed off with that unmistakable glint in his eye. Devious. Plotting. Baby Bat was planning rebellion. Cute.

You propped your phone up on your desk, dropping into your old leather chair—worn and peeling at the seams like it had fought in a war and lost. You narrowed your eyes at him dramatically.

“Is Mr. Stick-Up-My-Ass really asking me to help him sneak out?” you gasped, clutching your chest like the scandal of it all might kill you.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Shut up. You helping or not?”

“Of course, Timmy-boy,” you said with a grin as wide as Gotham itself. “Watch the master work.”

Tim noticed your rolling tray and lifted an eyebrow. “You rolling right now?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, still working, fingers quick and practiced. “Wanna come over?”

You smirked, already halfway to yes. “Sure. Why not.”

Tim never smoked as much as you did, but when he did? It was always a good time. Something about him made everything feel funnier, weirder, like you were both tuned into a channel no one else could hear. You could stare at a blank wall together and still be howling with laughter twenty minutes later.

“I’m on my way,” you declared, already zipping your hoodie up.

Your bike was now busted—a casualty of some cracked-out hobo trying to steal it and snapping off a whole damn wheel in the process. Until you could get the right parts to Frankenstein her back together, you were riding the subway.

Not that you minded.

The subway had its own charm. Every ride was a gamble. Sometimes you got music—like an unhinged saxophonist playing the Titanic theme. Sometimes a show—like a guy in a Spider-Man onesie doing flips for loose change. Sometimes chaos—like watching some dude in cargo shorts get tackled for stealing someone’s Crocs.

Gotham, baby. Never boring.

You climbed out your bedroom window, kicking it closed behind you, then dangled off the roof until your feet lined up with the railing below. You hit the ground running. Literally. Sprinting toward the subway in your beat-up Converse, laughing like a criminal.

Your mom’s boyfriend had tried to kick you out again, yelling over your last late-night escape. She didn’t defend you, of course. Just grounded you. Like she even cared. He was probably passed out drunk on the couch right now.

You didn’t look back.

At the station, a homeless man in a tin foil hat was breakdancing to Thriller, and you couldn’t help but smile. A whole crowd was clapping, cheering him on. You threw twenty bucks in his cracked-up dish. He held up a hand for a high five, and you slapped it with a grin.

Once you got to the mansion, you slipped in like you owned the place—no knock, no announcement—heading straight up to Tim’s room.

“I’m here, loser!” you called, dumping your backpack on his floor and diving onto his bed like it owed you money.

“Yeah, whatever,” Tim muttered, fully focused on his screen, fingers flying across his controller. His Fortnite character was getting smoked, and he was screaming at his teammate.

“RES ME, YOU IDIOT!” he shrieked as some 12-year-old teabagged his corpse.

You couldn’t help but snort.

He finally lost and chucked his controller onto the bed, muttering curses like a gremlin.

“You bring your stuff?” he asked, already rummaging through your bag.

“Yep.” You popped the ‘P’ as you pulled out your busted pickle jar.

You cracked the window open—just enough so the room wouldn’t be completely hotboxed—and settled in for the night.

You didn’t know it yet, but your night was far from over.

Once you and Tim had sufficiently pre-gamed—your heads buzzing, lungs light, and the room gently spinning like a lazy carousel—you both clumsily made your way down the stairs in fits of laughter. Your socked feet skidded on the polished floors, making you slide a few inches as you tried to stop in front of the kitchen. You caught yourself with a loud wheeze and yanked open the fridge door like you were raiding it for treasure.

This was your usual dynamic: Tim handled the blunt, you handled the food.

He plopped himself down on the kitchen island, legs swinging, arms floppy at his sides like a boneless puppet, and watched you with bleary-eyed admiration as you got to work. You moved with practiced ease, grabbing tortillas, shredded cheese, and leftover grilled chicken from a Tupperware you found buried behind a suspicious jar of anchovies.

In ten minutes flat, you had two golden quesadillas sizzling on a skillet.

“Dude,” you said, flipping one with flair. “What time we makin’ our great escape?”

Tim tilted his head to look at you, eyes heavy-lidded and goofy. He was high as a damn kite. “Once Batman’s out patrolling, we move.”

“To where?”

Both of you jolted violently at the sudden voice behind you. You shrieked and whipped around like a guilty raccoon caught in the trash.

Standing there were Jason Todd—shirt half-wrinkled, smirk already forming—and Dick Grayson at his side, arms crossed, an amused expression on his face.

“Hey, Jaybird…” Tim greeted sheepishly, voice dragging as he tried not to sound as baked as he clearly was.

“Right…” Dick laughed, clearly clocking both of you immediately.

Jason looked at you and nodded toward the ceiling. “You still got some left?”

You blinked, still recovering from the heart attack. “Upstairs,” you said quickly, tucking your hair behind your ear like it’d help hide the obviousness of it all.

“So,” Dick cut in, raising an eyebrow like a disapproving guidance counselor. “Where exactly are you both going?”

“Bruce told Timmy he couldn’t go to this garage show down by my place,” you said casually, knowing full well that snitching wouldn’t matter—at least not to Dick. “So I’m here to break him outta jail.”

Dick sighed and ran a hand over his face, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe this was his life. You knew he wasn’t going to report you, though. It was the demon spawn you had to worry about. Damian took joy in ruining Tim’s fun like it was sport.

Good thing he’d be out with Batman tonight.

Jason came sauntering back downstairs a few minutes later, eyes lower than before and grinning like he’d just won the lottery. You arched an eyebrow.

“You seem happy, Todd,” Tim chuckled, his voice thick with amusement.

Jason just smirked wider. The two of them started cracking up, absolutely losing it over nothing like two middle schoolers on a sugar high. Their laughter bounced off the kitchen walls, contagious and ridiculous.

“I’m heading out,” Dick finally said with a smile, walking toward the exit. “You all have fun—but be careful.” He pointed directly at Tim for emphasis.

“When am I ever not?” you called out sweetly, tossing a wink over your shoulder.

“Oh, I know you’re not,” Dick muttered. “I was talking to Tim.”

You gasped, feigning betrayal. “Wow! So much for faith in me!”

Dick just chuckled as he disappeared down the hall. In the meantime, you whipped up another plate of quesadillas for Jason—because, of course, the munchies were real—and the three of you retreated back up to Tim’s room like gremlins with a secret plan.

The game plan was simple: Jason would drive you both to the garage show near your neighborhood, so you wouldn’t have to take the subway.

Tim wasn’t allowed to go, and you were the only one reckless enough to help him sneak out. Perfect.

You all set alarms for 10 p.m., the official start time of the show, and then… well, you all passed out.

You starfished on Tim’s bed, limbs spread dramatically, one hand dangling off the edge. Jason curled up on Tim’s oversized bean bag like a grumpy cat, arms folded across his chest, his breathing slow and even. Tim was sprawled on the floor like a dead body, wrapped in a single blanket, snoring softly.

Your alarm blared to life, shaking you from sleep.

You groaned, rubbing your eyes as you sat up, still a little fuzzy from earlier. The air in the room smelled like weed, teenage boy, and Tim’s cologne.

You chucked a nearby sneaker at Tim’s sleeping form. “Tim.”

He groaned and sat up slowly, blinking at you like a newborn deer. “I haven’t slept in days,” he mumbled through a grin. “That was nice.”

You snorted and stretched, brushing your hair out of your face. Soon enough, all three of you were-dressed and sneaking out the window like it a rite of passage. Jason helped you down first, his hand warm around your wrist, steadying you as your boots hit the grass. Tim followed behind, hoodie up, eyes darting nervously.

You slid into Jason’s car, the seats still warm from the sun earlier that day. The engine purred to life, and with one final glance at the Manor behind you, you pulled away into the night.

Off to Crime Alley.

Off to chaos.

And off to temptation that was only getting harder to resist.

You guys arrived just as the party hit its peak—music loud enough to rattle the windows, a thick haze of smoke and sweat clinging to the air. The garage was packed wall-to-wall with people, a sea of bodies jumping, thrashing, laughing. String lights flickered overhead like lightning bugs, casting a chaotic, golden glow across the crowd.

Tim was immediately swallowed by a group of your mutual friends, disappearing into the blur of music and bodies. You barely had time to wave him off before your eyes locked on the folding table toward the back, where a bright blue cooler sat under a hand-painted sign that said “Tiki Punch—Good Luck.”

You didn’t hesitate. You made a beeline for it, weaving through the crowd, grabbing a red solo cup, and ladling yourself a drink. The first cup hit like sugar and gasoline—sweet on the tongue with that unmistakable burn. Definitely spiked. You didn’t care. That was kind of the point.

You were halfway through your second cup, already feeling the warm fuzz of a buzz start to bloom behind your eyes, when Jason suddenly slid in between you and the table, his arm brushing yours, his body radiating heat.

“Slow your roll, princess,” he chuckled, voice low and lazy, teasing like always. His lips tugged up into that stupidly handsome smirk he wore like armor.

You looked up at him over the rim of your cup. “I’m here to have fun,” you grinned, swirling what was left of your drink. “Why not?”

And with that, you tipped it back and chugged the rest.

The burn slid down your throat in a smooth line and made your skin tingle. Jason just shook his head with a laugh, clearly entertained by your recklessness.

Somewhere in the crowd, Tim reappeared, waving you over. A local garage band called Spunk had taken the stage, and they were actually pretty damn good. The bass thrummed through the floor as you and Tim dove into the crowd together, dancing like no one was watching—arms flailing, hair flying, laughing until your faces hurt.

it was cathartic, and it was perfect.

Every so often, Jason found you—like clockwork, like gravity. He’d snake an arm around your waist, dragging you in close when the crowd pressed too tight. He didn’t say much, didn’t need to. You just nodded to the beat, letting your bodies move together, your back to his chest, his hand low on your hip.

Eventually, with the help of just the right amount of liquid courage, you turned in his arms and slid your arms around his neck, swaying with him under the color changing party lights. His hands found your waist with ease, fingers flexing like he was trying to memorize the shape of you.

You leaned up, lips grazing his ear. “Maybe we should get out of here.”

He stilled. You could feel the heat rise off his skin, hear the change in his breath. Of course Jason would agree—he was Jason Todd. But you were tipsy, and he wasn’t that kind of guy. Not with you. Not unless you meant it.

“Maybe later, princess,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head instead.

You frowned, disappointment tugging at your lips, but he was already distracting you—handing you his cup with a wink, letting you steal a sip of whatever mystery brew was left inside.

“Let’s have fun right now, yeah?” he offered, flashing that boyish smile that could’ve talked you into anything.

You nodded, falling for it like always.

That was when the sirens wailed—piercing and unmistakable, flooding in from the front of the house.

“Shit,” Jason muttered.

You and Jason took off running back into the house, pushing through the crowd of confused partygoers. That’s when you found Tim, completely oblivious, making out with some guy on a busted brown couch near the stairs.

“Dude!” you squealed, half laughing, half horrified.

Tim pulled away, flushed and breathless, clearly high and floating in another world. You recognized the guy immediately—he was the same one Tim had been thirsting over at school last week. Tim fumbled to scribble his number on the guy’s phone before grabbing your hand.

All three of you bolted out the front door, piling into Jason’s car just as the flashing red and blue lights started rolling up to the curb.

Jason peeled off from the curb like a man on a mission, tires squealing against the pavement.

“Holy shit, that was unreal,” you cackled, heart pounding, adrenaline and alcohol surging through your veins like electricity.

“I kissed the guy I like!” Tim screamed from the backseat, bouncing with glee.

You twisted around in your seat and launched yourself at him, tackling him into a bear hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Timmy!” you laughed, squeezing him tight. He laughed even harder, both of you out of your minds, drunk and weightless with joy.

“Alright, calm down,” Jason chuckled, shaking his head but clearly amused. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye—wild, impulsive, utterly electric. He had never met anyone like you. You were a storm in human form, and it was driving him crazy.

The three of you stopped at a 24-hour Domino’s because, obviously, food was non-negotiable. You and Tim sat cross-legged on the floor of the restaurant, hands clasped like idiots, your head resting on his shoulder while you waited. Jason leaned against the counter, scrolling on his phone like the reluctant babysitter he absolutely was not.

When your order was ready—two pepperoni pizzas and a two-liter of root beer—you all headed back to the mansion.

You stayed up for another hour or two, watching random old movies in the dark, the only light coming from the flickering TV. Eventually, your buzz wore off and your eyelids got heavy. You nodded off against Jason’s shoulder without even realizing it.

He didn’t say a word—just looked down at you, eyes soft, and gently slipped an arm under your knees.

With practiced ease, he scooped you up, cradling you against his chest, and carried you upstairs.

Tim was already passed out on the couch, stretched out like a starfish and hogging every inch of it.

Jason didn’t even hesitate—he took you to his room instead.

The morning after, your eyes fluttered open slowly, lashes heavy with sleep and the dull weight of a hangover creeping in behind your temples. The unfamiliar scent of pine-scented detergent, faint motor oil, and something undeniably Jason told you this wasn’t Tim’s room.

You blinked, squinting against the dim light filtering through half-closed blackout curtains. The walls were dark, shelves cluttered with old books, vintage cars, and a couple of half-disassembled pistols that made you smile. Definitely Jason’s room.

You turned your head with effort, the cotton in your mouth thick and unrelenting, and there he was—Jason Todd, fast asleep on his stomach beside you. His head was turned toward you, face buried in a pillow that looked way too soft to belong to someone so lethal. His hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions, and his lips were parted slightly in his sleep.

He was shirtless, the muscles in his back shifting with every slow, steady breath. A pair of black boxer briefs clung low to his hips, and a sheen of warmth radiated off his skin.

You glanced down at yourself, suddenly realizing that you weren’t wearing what you’d had on last night. Instead, you were drowning in one of his oversized black T-shirts—it hung off your shoulder, the collar wide and soft, and smelled faintly of cologne and laundry soap. You had no memory of changing into it.

Before you could ask anything, his gravelly morning voice rumbled low from the pillow.

“Morning.”

Your eyes flicked to his, which were barely cracked open but locked on you all the same.

“Good morning,” you whispered with a small, sheepish smile.

Then the ache in your head kicked in fully—a sharp, pulsing reminder that you’d absolutely overdone it last night. You groaned, reaching up to rub your temple.

“What happened after we left?” you murmured, voice hoarse and dry, eyes still hazy as you tried to piece together the night.

Jason made a low noise in his throat and pushed himself up slightly, then wrapped both arms around your waist and tugged you closer like a living furnace. His head settled against your stomach, lips brushing your skin just under the hem of his own shirt you were wearing.

“You woke up in the middle of the night, stumbled to my bathroom and threw up,” he mumbled into your skin. “I got you changed, brushed your teeth, gave you water, and you passed out on me again.”

His voice was warm, heavy with sleep, lips barely moving as he spoke directly into the soft skin of your lower belly. The press of his mouth sent a sudden thrill through you, your breath catching.

You groaned, hiding your face behind one hand. “That’s so embarrassing, I’m so—”

Before you could finish, Jason sat up with a quiet grunt and leaned over you, pressing his lips to yours before the words could finish tumbling out. It was firm but slow, warm and grounding, a kiss that didn’t ask for anything but gave everything.

Your body responded instantly, a soft moan catching in your throat as your hands slid up to cradle the back of his neck. He kissed you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense, like your hangover and your embarrassment didn’t exist.

Jason shifted over you, his weight pressing you gently into the mattress, his mouth never leaving yours. The kiss deepened, slow and addictive, his hand sliding up under the shirt you wore—his shirt—like he needed to remind himself it was you here, in his bed, in his arms.

You didn’t stop him.

He slowly tugged the shirt over your head, your bare chest out on display for him and him only.

Jason’s body hovered over yours now, his forearms planted on either side of your head, muscles taut beneath his skin as if he were holding back—though from what, you weren’t sure. His breath mingled with yours, warm and laced with sleep, and that scent—Minty.

Your fingers tangled in the short dark hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently as his mouth moved against yours with slow, deliberate purpose. There was no rush, no teasing—just need. Familiar and new all at once. You arched up slightly into him, your chest brushing against his, your body completely caged in by his.

He deepened the kiss with a low sound in his throat, the kind that vibrated against your lips and made your stomach tighten. his fingers tracing the edge of your thigh, then gliding upward over the curve of your hip with reverence.

The air around you was still, thick with the afterglow of last night and the warmth of the morning. You could feel the beat of his heart through his chest, slow and steady.

“Still embarrassed?” Jason murmured against your mouth, voice low and teasing.

you breathed through your mouth as the tension was too much to handle, your lips brushing his.

His mouth ghosted down the side of your jaw, pressing kisses beneath your ear, then lower, to the spot where your neck met your shoulder. His teeth grazed your skin gently and you shivered beneath him, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as you felt the smirk curl across his lips.

Jason’s mouth was back on yours, this time more urgent—hungrier. His hands roamed, his fingers splaying out across your waist, his palms warm and possessive.

“You looked too damn good in my clothes,” he muttered, dragging his mouth down your neck, where he nipped gently at your skin before soothing it with his tongue. “It’s not fair.”

You gasped, “Jason…”

“Yeah?” he whispered, voice ragged as he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. His pupils were blown, dark with want, but there was something tender there too. That same softness from the night before, when he brushed your teeth and tucked you in, completely unasked.

“You’re not making this easy to be good,” you said breathlessly, lips brushing his as you spoke. You kept thinking about how Tim would freak out, you couldn’t loose him.

He grinned wickedly. “I’m not trying to be good.”

His hand slid higher, hooking your thigh up around his waist, pressing his hips into yours. The thin fabric of his boxers did nothing to hide how much he wanted you, and the feel of him against you sent heat spiraling down your spine.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Don’t stop.”

That was all he needed.

He groaned low in his throat and kissed you again, deep and consuming. His hand slid up ur bare back, tracing the curve of your spine, and you shivered under his touch. His other hand found its way to your jaw, tilting your head back so he could kiss you deeper, sloppier, like he couldn’t get enough. Like he’d been starving for this since the first stolen kiss.

You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, every nerve ending alive. His mouth moved lower, down your throat, your collarbone, his stubble scraping against your skin in the most delicious way.

But then he slowed, pulling back slightly to look at you again—his lips kiss-swollen, his breath unsteady. “Still good?”

You nodded, your voice caught in your throat, too wrecked to speak.

He smiled—slow and dark—and kissed the corner of your mouth. “Then let me show you what I’ve been thinking about… every night since that first time.”

the morning light hit the both of you like a spotlight—like you were the only ones in the world.

And maybe, in that moment, you were.

Jason dives down marking your tits with dark purple bruises, he sucks and bites at your nipples, licking over each mark to soothe the pain.

"Fuck Jay`" You exhale in pleasure. you could feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Your hands grip your head sheets— trying to find an outlet for all this pent up tension.

"stop teasing me." You slur still drunk off of him, the best substance you think you've ever had. you hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxers tugging at them.

"You sure you want this princess, once I have you, you're mine, no more sneaky make out sessions." He whispered. His warm breath kissed your face as he pants.

“ ‘M Yours jay.” You whine as his hips rut into your clothed cunt. He wasted no time getting rid of both your underwear. He dives down underneath the sheets— as your heart spiked out your chest.

You could feel him slowly kissing and nipping bites down the inside of your thigh, — pressing a small kiss to your clit, your hips jerk from the intense pulse that went down your spine.

Jason licks up from your opening to your clit. You shuddered out a moan wrapping your legs around his neck. He starts licking and nibbling away at your clit, completely pussy drunk off of you.

“Fuck princess, taste so good—“ he moaned into you sending vibrations all through your body. You bite your lip as your body jerks in pleasure.

“Jay ‘M gonna..” you trail off unable to form an actual sentence. As pleasure was rippling and building in your body. You could feel your orgasm just on its edge.

“Fuck— cum princess let me taste you.” Jason moans as he ruts his hips into the mattress for any type of friction. At this point he was painfully hard.

“Oh yess!!—“ you squeal locking your fingers in his hair tugging at the roots. Jason whimpers, yes. fucking whimpers against you.

“Shit.” You huff as your orgasm uncoils until it’s just basking in the afterglow.

Jason leans back up, He licks his lips slowly, as if he was taking his time while finally tasting you. The eye contact was heavy as you both gasp for air. He then settles himself between your legs lining his dick up to your cunt.

He then looks back up his eyebrow furrowed— Almost like he was trying to say he doesn’t have a condom.

“I’m on the pill don’t worry.”

Jason nods, he was long and had a LOT of girth. He slowly slides in, you could feel him thick and heavy inside of you. Your eyes fluttered close in pain and pleasure as his dick stretches you out so good, — You could feel every intricate vein. Finally Jason bottomed out his hips flush against your ass.

He didn’t want to hurt you, so his strokes were slow and deliberate. He would slide out just to the middle of his length and slam back in kissing the top of your cervix—

“Faster please.” You beg. Jason leans down kissing your forehead. — “I don’t wanna hurt you princess.” He mumbled.

You shake your head. “No ‘M fine.” You insist. Jason nods his head pushing your thighs to your chest— and he starts fucking you at a inhumane pace.

“Ohh fuck!!” You scream as you claw at his back. — Jason grunts at the pain his mouth dropping open a little, — brows furrowed in concentration. His pace was quick and sharp, not missing your cervix by one second.

He drags one of his hands down your waist rubbing steady circles on your clit. —“ Fuck, Jay too much!” You whimper at all the white hot pleasure burning down your spine. You felt like you were floating — unable to hear or see anything around you.

“C’mon you can take it baby.” He leans down pressing a warm kiss to your jaw. You felt another orgasm building up. like a giant wave before it came crashing down. —“Oh fuck,” you gasp out as your body jerks in pleasure. You legs shake as Jason rides you through your orgasm.

You grip his bedsheets to keep yourself from hitting your head on his bed frame, his thrusts were fast and erratic, his stamina was monsterous not letting up at all.

“C’mon pretty girl, you can give me one more.” He grunts somehow thrusting faster. He pulls out quickly turning you on your stomach— snatching your hips up, making your arch your back into the bed. You body was like putty as he manhandled you, — bending you to his will.

He fills you up starting at the inhumane pace he once was at. This time he hit places so deep you had to stuff your face in the pillow so you didn’t wake anyone up. He pushes your head down into the mattress, pounding into your ass so hard all you head was skin slapping and echoing off his walls, as well as your muffled moans.

He smoothed his hand down your tummy to your lower abdomen. “You feel me right here princess mm-“ he groans as his dick bulges through your tummy everytime his tip kissed your cervix.

He pulls your body closer— up to his chest. You could feel your third orgasm building stronger than the two before. “Jay..” you warned as your tummy felt weird, like it was going to burst.

“C’mon give it to me.” He moans desperately.

“Ooh shit—“ you find his hand that was gripping the steers trying to balance his weight over you. You slide your fingers around his wrist squeezing to expel all the tension in your body.

Your cunt squeezes around him so tight he thought he was gonna die. Jason felt as if he’d touched the gates of heaven between your legs.

He leans more weight into you, his thrusts coming in heavier. And trust me—Jason was anything but small.

He continues to fuck you senseless throughout your whole orgasm. You feel the biggest drop of your life, your eyes glaze over, rolling behind your head as you squirt a white shiny liquid all over his lower stomach, completely drenching him and his bedsheets.

Your hoarse voice screams out wildly, as you felt burnt out like a fried wire. “Fuck— I’m cumming.” Jason warns as he thrusts deep into you one more time, spilling hot sticky cum deep into you. You felt as he slowly grinds his hips against your ass, fucking the cum back into you.

“Shit princess.” He heaves at the sight of you implailed on his fat cock, fucked out and heaving. Your legs were shaking and your body still twitched from the after shocks. Jason leans down, with the intention to pick you up in his arms. He stops when he feels you clench around him so tight he couldn’t help but to rut back into you with a groan.

“No more—“ you whine unable to speak functionally, too drunk on his cock. “Sorry pretty girl.” He says slowly pulling out of you. And were you a sight for sore eyes—his eyes— you laid flat on your stomach back arched and legs spread for him as his cum slowly spills out of you leaking all the way down to your clit.

You could barely speak, but the sound you made — small, cracked — was enough for him. He slid his arms under your body and pulled you against his chest, holding you close.

“Let’s clean you up yea.”

The world moved around you — the low hum of water running, soft rustling of towels and clothes, the creak of his knees as he settled beside the tub with you still in his arms. , kissing your shoulder, he leans into your warmth. This time it wasn’t lust — it was reverence.

Jason didn’t let go of you even as the tub filled.

“You wanna try?” he asked quietly, nodding toward the water. “It’ll help. I’ll come in with you, if that’s okay.”

You gave the barest nod, your hand weakly gripping his arm like you didn’t want him to leave your side — not even for a second.

He kissed your forehead and whispered, “Okay, princess. We’ll do it together.”

He helped you into the warm water first, guiding you slowly down until the heat surrounded you, soothing the ache in your bones. Then, without a word, Jason slid in behind you. The water rippled around his frame as he settled, legs bracketing yours, chest warm and solid against your back.

His arms wrapped around you — protectively. One hand cradled your waist; the other moved slow, rhythmic, gliding up and down your arm under the water.

You felt your body sink back against him. The tension in you eased, not because of the bath — but because it was him. Because he was there.

Jason pressed a kiss to your damp temple, murmuring, “you’re mine now, got it.”

You dryly chuckle, His grip tightened gently, as he brings your hand up to place a chaste kiss on your bruised knuckles.

“I’m okay with being yours,” you say lowly.

He stayed like that, holding you while the steam rose around you both, while his hands moved over your body in slow, soothing strokes — not to arouse, but to remind you that you were his, and he wasn’t going anywhere.

Later, he helped you out of the tub, drying you with the towel like you were something sacred.

Then he slipped one of his big shirts over your head — soft cotton and Jason’s scent wrapping around you like another hug — and lifted you back into bed.

He didn’t leave your side once. Not even to turn off the light.

He just curled in beside you, your head against his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady beneath your ear.

This was a part two for everyone who requested!! Tags: @closeted-emo-kid @sleepinhell @mmmm101 @Therealaubrihale

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