#i really want my stuff to work for all fats i think this kind of thing is hard to avoid

[livecrow]

Looks like there's been some mild confusion, so I did want to clarify why the self deprecation is debatable.

cw: fat size comparison i guess?

(tl;dr) At risk of being kind of gauche and referencing specifics, whether it's self-deprecation or not is completely dependent on the actual size of the reader ie. you.

Simply put, if you're a fat reader like me, let's say, closer to the "oh lord she comin" end, then joking flippantly that you're hard to kidnap, isn't actually self-deprecating.

Biiiitch, that's just probability. The average dude is NOT going to be able to move me if I just plop my big ass down on the ground somewhere and refuse to get up. I haven't exactly tested my theory, but I probably could sit on someone as a self defense strategy if I managed to catch them off-guard, lol.

For that kind of fat reader, it IS genuinely shocking when someone manages it. That reader didn't really factor in the men who aren't exactly average. Or as Gaz points out, that it could be more than one person.

HOWEVER!

If you are closer to "She Chomnk" and you're out here claiming that some guy needs a forklift to move you, you are absolutely being self-depreciating. That, or you're completely delusional, lol. Sorry, babe.

So yeah, from the author's standpoint, in that fic at least, the only intended insecure comments from the reader is rooted in the idea that she thinks she wouldn't be targeted because she's undesirable """aesthetically""" and isn't a proper """trophy""".

Which, spoiler, turns out to be distinctly not true.

That all being said, I do acknowledge it can read differently based on your personal experience as a fat person. I do understand that the comments from reader might unfortunately put some people off, which is why I added that particular content warning and felt the need to clarify that I didn't have reader say some of those things out of self-loathing.

Also, because I have a massive, raging hard-on for kidnapping, this kind of confusion feels inevitable, so I wanted to try and clear the air now.

So here's my disclaimer. Whether subconsciously or consciously, my writing is informed by my experience being Fat-fat not Chubby-fat.

❤︎ I love all my fat readers and and hope y'all enjoy my stuff! ❤︎

All that to say, I'm not opposed to exploring the fat experience and insecurity, I definitely am and will.

You're out with friends and joke that you're “un-kidnappable”.

John Price and the lads think that’s interesting. 

Soft!Dark!John Price x fat fem reader

cw: debatable self-deprecation, kidnapping, noncon

You don’t recall exactly how it came up. Maybe it was the latest episode of a popular true crime podcast a couple of your friends mentioned listening to the other day.

All the same, while lounging in the familiar bar’s cozy glow, the atmosphere at the table stayed light and relaxed, despite the morbid topic.

Between drinks, your friends detail stories of encounters with dubious men and swap self-defense strategies—anything to avoid an impromptu debut on a Dateline special.

They were mostly the basics. Remember to lock your doors immediately. Keep your phone on you. Never leave a drink unattended. Always travel in groups. Oh, and carry pepper spray. It turns out all of your friends carry some.

Not you, though.

When you are inevitably questioned on the matter, you concede that you have some, "...somewhere."

Your mom gave you a little canister years back. But you don’t actually know where it is, much to the displeasure of your friends. Upon further interrogation, you guessed it’s probably forgotten in a drawer somewhere, lost among AAA batteries, tangled cords of unknown origin, and appliance instruction manuals. 

As one friend suggests the classic keys-between-your-fingers trick, some of the men at an adjacent table laugh.

“Best use for keys when you’re attacked is opening a damn door.”

Apparently, they had been following your conversation. It was the oldest man who spoke, rumbling over the rim of his glass with aplomb that leaves little room for argument. He has a resonance that makes you pause, reminding you distinctly of the distant rolling thunder that forebodes a coming storm. 

The dark, handsome man at his elbow agrees. “'Sides, they’re not brass knuckles. No stability. You’re not actually gonna cause any damage like that.”

“Aye, ye’r better off jus’ takin’ one key an poppin’ the bastard’s een out.” A man sporting a mohawk added with a grin, crudely miming gouging an eye out with his free hand.

“Fine, I’ll punch them out then!” the smallest of your friend group counters, palming her fist loudly while trying to keep a straight face.

That just earns more amusement, of course. The huge masked man at the end of their table scoffs, “Like that you’ll jus’ break your fuckin’ thumb.” He proceeds to instruct her how to make a proper fist. 

It's all in good fun. They’re an interesting bunch, probably military of some sort, you’d wager. Three Brits and one Scot. Your group welcomes the interruption, despite the biggest one of the lot looking particularly murdery himself, decked out in all black and a fucking skull balaclava. 

The gregarious, younger two made up for it. They were all smiles, speaking candidly as if they’d just run into some old friends. Before long you’ve practically joined tables. Why not? After all, the four certainly look like they know what they’re talking about, each man large and brawny.

The younger men did the vast majority of the talking, answering questions and enthusiastically offering techniques to their audience while Voorhees only interjected a brusque retort every so often. Your friends were utterly charmed by the Scot’s cheeky beam and the pretty Brit’s warm eyes as they moved from outlining bodily weak points with an emphasis on “soft targets” to discussing the pros and cons of different weapons.

But there was something about the man who initiated the discourse—some quality. He held an unspoken commanding presence, despite saying little. Here he was, the catalyst of the entire interaction, and yet he seemed content to observe rather than participate. It brought to mind some indifferent, deist higher power.

You estimated he was a decade his mates' senior, give or take. Apropos stormy eyes framed by heavy brows and the beginnings of crow's feet. Odd, antiquated facial hair, wood brown with smatterings of grey. Privately, you thought it suited him—looked distinguished. At some point earlier he caught your gaze.

He introduced himself as “John.” Although, curiously, none of his cohorts called him that or introduced themselves in turn. Not that your friends seemed to mind; that, or they didn’t notice. 

Along with his name, he offered a subdued Duchenne smile that disarmed you, softening his gruff countenance in an instant. For an instant, anyway.

You’d swear that, even in the bar’s low lighting, you caught his eyes twinkle. Some uncharacteristically childish sentiment swept over you for a moment, making you want to believe that the look was for you and that he wasn’t in reality only being polite.

“...honestly, if you have the stomach for it, your best choice is always gonna be a strap.”

The Scot readily agreed with pretty-boy, as he reclined, his chair balancing precariously on just the back two legs. However, they did quibble over the type of handgun, debating various specifications that were gibberish to the rest of you. While they all listen enraptured, only one of your friends really seems truly open to the idea. The rest unsurprisingly remain gun-shy. 

Another friend suggests a taser as a compromise.

“Not for me,” you laughed, “there’s absolutely no way my ass wouldn't immediately accidentally taser myself."

“No mace, no taser, no knife—not even one of those keychain alarms!” your friend groused. “You should have something—”.

Your eyes met again. You and John. Even with the subtle haze of alcohol relaxing you, it felt penetrating. 

Your eyes retreated down to his drink seeking relief. One of his large hands flexed slightly around his glass, thick tendons shifting under the skin and scattered vellus hair peeking over his cuff, dusting as far as his knuckles.

He seemed to be in thought as he took a drink. Whiskey you think it was. His shrewd eyes didn't leave you; maybe he was just looking through you—

“How do you keep yourself out of trouble then, love?” 

His timbre immediately cut through the chatter. If you weren’t feeling so fizzy from the drink, you might feel put on the spot when suddenly everyone’s eyes are singly on you.

You were effectively the token “fat one” of your group. While the rest of this friend group happened to be straight-sized, there was absolutely nothing “straight” on your body. Hell, there was hardly a part of you that didn’t jiggle, at least a little bit.

You didn’t resent it; you were just self-aware. You were perfectly cognizant that you blended in among them about as well as a hippo “blends in" with oxpeckers.

If you were entirely sober, you might be a bit put out, might worry he’s being mean, poking fun at your expense. But no, the alcohol thankfully chased away any anxiety from building in your gut.

Besides, there’s no humor to be found in his expression, no edge of malice in his eyes. None of his mates crack a smirk either, apparently also interested in your answer.

You were mid-sip when the question was lobbed your way, and you used it to stall. You weren’t sure precisely why, but you found yourself squirming in your seat a bit before recovering half a second later. 

“Me?”, you grinned around your straw, cocking a brow. “Trust me, I’m not worried about it. I’m practically un-kidnappable,” you asserted, in a way that sounded suspiciously boastful.

John’s focus remains steady on you, appraising, but the other men share a glance. 

You could have left it at that, but pretty-boy chimed in, brow furrowing. "How do you figure that?" 

You weren’t completely sure that the men weren’t just being intentionally obtuse, but you’d entertain a ridiculous question with a ridiculous response. Flippancy came naturally. 

You carefully set your drink back onto the table. You lean in, voice lowered to a grave tone, biting back mischief that threatened to give you away. “Listen, my strategy is airtight,” you paused. “If some guy comes along, tries something?" You hold again for dramatic effect.

"...Sit on him."

"Oh my god," your friends groan collectively.

But you went on, unfazed. "It's all over for him! Why would I need a weapon when I have positional asphyxia? Besides, if that doesn't kill him, the embarrassment will."

Any outrage falls on deaf ears considering your friends are fighting back grins.

Buoyed, you continue. "It’d be like someone trying to ‘kidnap’ a grizzly bear. I am not gonna get abducted unless the guy just happens to show up with a forklift—", that earns a swat from your friend sitting closest.

"—And if that's how I get caught? Honestly? I’d have it coming if I somehow missed the fucker rolling up and can't, what, power-walk out of there?"

Another friend beseeches, "Be serious!" 

“I am serious!" you shot back, laughing. "Those things go, what, 5 miles an hour, tops?"

Apparently, the rest of the group also found the image of a low-speed fucking forklift chase funny, judging by the Scot's almost spit-take that left him choking a bit. You were pleased that he and pretty-boy had a sense of humor and didn’t bother with the pretense of finger-wagging. 

You were disappointed you didn't get John, though. He only hummed thoughtfully, an odd liminal not-quite frown on his lips that was mostly obscured by his glass as he took another sip. 

Tough customer.

One friend challenges you, “Oh, yeah? You say that, but what if he pulls a gun and tells you to get in the car? What then?”

You pressed your lips together, tilting your head in consideration.

"Well, at that point, I guess I’d have to accept I'm going to die.”

"What?!"

You shrugged, "There's no way I'm getting in that car. You never go to a secondary location. Everyone knows that. Why drag things out unnecessarily when you can die in the street? After all, there are plenty of worse ways to go than by a bullet—besides, at least then my body will be found."

Worried the last bit would have more of a sobering effect on your company than you intended, you pivot and retrieve your drink. You tilt your chin up, gazing off into the distance dreamily, gesturing with your glass.

“My final words? 'Good luck trying to dispose of my corpse, asshole. Hope you know a good chiropractor.'"

With that you slurped down the dregs, ice clinking noisily at the bottom, finally giggling with everyone else at your own joke. Cue lots of your name and "Stop it!"s.

Hell, you even eked out a single low "heh" from Hot Topic that you’ll claim as a proper laugh. You were 3 for 4.

Your friends, bless them, are extremely predictable when you’re so candid self-deprecating. They laugh only to retreat to feigning scandal. When they recover, you’re peppered with more scenarios and protests. 

You’re barely able to suppress an eye-roll at their persistence. "I mean, it's a moot point from the start. I'm not the mark for that kind of thing in the first place."

Before your friends could cut you off, you clarified, “I’m not saying anything bad. I would just be—" you paused, searching for the right word—"an interesting choice." 

"No, I’m not the target demographic for something like that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “I'm simultaneously not preferable aesthetically and not worth the hassle logistically. So that ends up pretty convenient, considering I’d rather not be kidnapped." 

You swabbed the ring of condensation you left on the table with a bar napkin absently. "They want some dainty thing—they don’t want me,” you gestured to your person flippantly. “They want a trophy, but not the 'big game' variety," you gave a lopsided smile.

Your friends’ chastisement was swift, distracting enough that it didn’t quite give you a second to contemplate the strange, tenebrous emotion that was simmering just under the surface of John’s expression or that of his mates’. The nuance was lost on you. 

Mercifully, after experiencing a couple more variations of “You should be more careful!” from your friends, the topic finally changed.

It transformed and split, becoming a bit too chaotic for you to follow in your current state; several simultaneous threads of conversation going at once turned into white noise.

After a while you must have zoned out a bit, because among the din you didn’t notice that John was now sitting near you. He leaned over discreetly, at a respectful distance that still made your head foggy and face warm, voice low.

“They’re right, you know. You might think you're an exception, but you’re not. Is dangerous to think that.” 

You're so struck by the intensity of his steely gaze that you were slow to catch up to the actual words. You couldn’t fathom how blue eyes could feel so searing; you’d swear you could feel their heat. Completely caught off-guard by the sudden seriousness, you struggled with how to respond to that. “I—”

Before you could say anything, you realized the Scot was talking to you, asking you something, reeling you back into the fray.

…

Time seems to pass differently after that; you have no idea how long it’s been, all talking and laughing, sharing bants. More rounds of drinks. It’s a good time. 

But the night is winding down for you; you can feel exhaustion creeping in. By the time one of your friends’ partners shows up ready to continue the fun elsewhere, you decline the offer.

You hated being seen as a wet blanket, but right now all you wanted to do was go home and take a hot shower. Peel off your “going-out” clothes and change into something comfortable. Maybe order in and catch up on a show. A little, "dolce far niente".

They invited the men too, but apparently they had other plans. Your friends didn’t waste any time pouting, exchanging quick, tipsy goodbyes before heading out.

It’s much quieter after that. Even the light conversation between the men has fizzled out. The small bar that night was particularly slow, consisting mostly of your two groups to begin with. You pull out your phone to check the time, frowning when you find it dead.

“...I can call you an Uber?” John suggests, as you stand.

The silence is loud, somehow. Oppressive. It looks as if the men are waiting. The air is heavy with something unsaid, some kind of significance that’s entirely lost on your fuzzy mind.

You never noticed the inscrutable look Voorhees sends John after he spoke. You’d find too late that a lot of things skipped your boozy notice that night.

Your lip tugs at the offer. “Thanks, but I promise it’s fine. I actually live pretty close.” 

John simply inclines his head, doesn’t press further. As you’re headed to the door, glancing back, you offer an earnest, albeit tired, smile. “Was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you around?” 

“Maybe.”

…

You were barely halfway home before suddenly, out of the darkness of a Cimmerian passing alley, arms locked around you, ripping an undignified squeal out of you.

When you catch sight of the familiar faces of your “attackers”, you clutch your chest, trying to calm your hammering heartbeat.

“Fucking hell!” you heaved.

If you weren’t so rattled and clamoring over your words, you would have been especially mortified by the incidental contact on your squishy middle. You couldn’t remember a time someone has grabbed you so brazenly. By process of elimination, it must have been Hot Topic’s large form who was holding you against his front.

“Shit! You guys are assholes,” you exclaimed between pants. “That’s not funny!” Your hands grasped at the large forearms around you, yanking fruitlessly.

It was John who was standing in front of you, thumbs hooked in his pockets, backlit by a streetlamp, haloed in faint breath vapor. It was the first time you’d recall seeing him standing; he was even bigger than you expected. They all were. 

“You left, what—” he pulled out his phone and glanced down at the blueish light in his hand, “20 minutes ago?” His eyes return to your face, raising his thick brows. “Not very ‘close’, is it? Your home.”

John spoke conversationally, a picture of ease, like he was commenting on how chilly it was for this time of year, and hadn't just jumpscared you.

“Dinnae even try tae throw a punch, no’ even one o’ those girly slaps—” the Scot muttered, not particularly quietly, to pretty-boy, who kissed his teeth in disapproval.

You’re running on fumes, so your brain is moving in slow motion, only just processing John’s words, not yet able to summon even a glare for the Scot’s commentary.

“It is close,” you insist, coming out slightly more defensively than you intended. You’re still embarrassingly working overtime to catch your breath while trying to pull away from the hard body at your back in irritation. “Besides, how do you define ‘close’? That’s completely subjective.”

Not as if that’s any of your business. You held back that particular remark.

You took a measured breath or two more. “Look, of all people, I appreciate the commitment to a bit,” you clawed uselessly at Voorhees’ iron grip around you, “but can you call your dog off?” 

Hot Topic’s previous abridged facsimile of a “laugh” echoed in your ear, an amused huff so close that it made you flinch. That wasn’t really what you expected from your unadvisable barb.

You think it was the material of his mask that you felt slightly graze the shell of your ear, but it was fleeting enough that you couldn’t be certain.

“You can call me Ghost, sweet’eart”.

On any other day that edgy moniker would have garnered some kind of mirth, but your clouded brain didn’t seem fit to supply a witty retort with some strange man at your nape.

While John said nothing, something in his expression must have communicated to Ghost. You instinctively relaxed when his arms released your middle.

It soothed your nerves a touch, enough that you didn’t register that you were in the process of being edged backwards and were now partway through an alley you should have passed on your route home.

You crossed your arms, opting to ignore the introduction in lieu of another shaky inhale. “Just wait till my friends hear that you guys blew them off just to fuck with me. So much for having ‘plans’, huh?”

You tried to tease, still desperately attempting to slow your heart, recoup some composure, and match the men’s nonchalance. You’re not sure how convincingly you pulled it off. Some nagging anxiety still seeped out of you in a slow leak, despite your best effort to pull yourself together, to not be a buzzkill in response to a technically harmless pran—. 

“This is the ‘plan’, love.” John replied simply, not missing a beat.

You huffed in exasperation, brows pinched. “...What, ‘making a point’?”

John paused for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, “That’s one way to look at it, if you’d like.”

There was a pregnant pause, and suddenly the scrape of shoes on the dirty pavement seemed loud in your ears. The smell in the alley is particularly damp and musty now. Had you been moving this whole time? You’re getting all turned around—

Pretty-boy cut in, “You know, your whole premise was faulty from the start. ‘Sides you didn’t account for more than one person being involved”. 

“Involved in what?” you blinked, bewildered. 

“Your kidnapping, obviously.”

“My k—?”.

“—Speak for yourself, Gaz. I’d ‘ave ‘er either way.” Ghost interrupted, making you jump, a stark reminder of the presence still at your back.

You were stunned into silence for a couple of excruciatingly long seconds before choking out a pained laugh.

“Ha-ha. Alright—alright, fine. I get it.” You raise your hands in surrender, head swiveling back to John as you turn to press your back against the rough brick of the alley wall, trying to keep them all in your field of vision. 

“I’ll get a taser or something, is that what you want?” you offered, wearing your best expression of deferent contrition.

When John finally peels his eyes from you, he just sighs heavily, shaking his head at the pavement; either in disapproval or disbelief, you couldn’t be sure which. 

“Bit late for that now.”

“…What—what the hell is that supposed to mean?” You stutter indignantly.

You were starting to feel woozy; maybe you drank a bit too much.

Your sole scuffs against some debris, almost tripping you up completely if not for the brick wall to steady you. Your palms sting as they slide slightly on the stone, but you don’t dare take your eyes off them to look down for even a second. 

Suddenly, with a furtive glance over Ghost’s shoulder, you realize you're almost out on the other side of the street. His massive form fills the alleyway, destroying any hope you’d be able to squeeze your wide body past him or John and the others on your opposite side.

Your mouth is painfully dry. Your throat works, trying to swallow but still managing to somehow choke on nothing. You force some authority you don’t feel into your tone, but it tapers off rather weakly.

“Listen, you’ve had your fun. I really need to get home.”

You were struck by how different they all seemed compared to hardly a half an hour prior. The shift was dramatic—made your head spin. It was hard to rationalize that the people who were just sitting across from you in the homey local bar sharing drinks and the people now caging you into a dreary, abandoned street corner were one and the same. 

An approaching streetlamp visible through the yawning maw of the alley cast harsh shadows on their faces. A literal “light at the end of a tunnel” that only offered you dread.

You swayed slightly on your feet, head darting around, desperately trying to keep an eye on the four of them. You were feeling suddenly inexplicably drunker than you felt mere moments before.

As your knees quivered and you tried to steady yourself, John remained a pillar in your wobbly field of vision. Watching. Waiting. 

You're not sure which was preferable, the ominous comments or the ominous silence.

You weren’t small. You’d never felt small in your life. But with a group of large men looming over you, it was suddenly hard not to. It was not a feeling you were accustomed to and one you didn’t enjoy now.

You needed air, it was getting impossible to think. You tried to speed your gait to no avail; you couldn’t gain any distance. They prowled, following you closely, as if there was a gravitational pull anchoring them to you. 

“Fine. Fine! Okay, you proved your point, alright?!” you exclaimed, getting more frantic by the second, louder. “Let me pass. I’m serious.”

“Oh, so now she’s serious…” Gaz teases, somewhere off to your left.

“You think I’m not?” John husked, sounding incredulous, forehead lines deepening as he raised his brows, tucked his chin to stare down at you through hooded eyes. “Love, I’m serious as a heart-attack.” 

Then he was smiling at you again.

It looked the same as before. Sincere. But where previously it endeared you, now, now it makes your heart stall, then shudder in your ribcage; fill you with the sensation of a freefall, the one that jolts you awake while on the very precipice of sleep, leaves your heart racing, despite the tranquil darkness. 

His eyes flick over your head.

Before you are able to register the glance, Ghost is suddenly on you again, grabbing you round the middle quicker than someone his size had any right to be, this time actively herding your large form forward.

You realized dully that his last grip on you must have been relatively loose compared to his grip on you now; it was clearly only a fraction of his actual strength.

“What are you doing?!” You cry, a hair's breadth away from a shriek. Your head whips back to John, imploring, “Stop—Stop, I don't know what you want!”

This is probably what it feels like to be a frog. Pounced on and scooped up roughly by some huge creature—some grubby kid’s scrambling fingers. Slippery, round body gripped tight.

You were finally out of the alley, pulled by Ghost as well as your own unsteady feet, your body's instinct to try and avoid cracking your cranium on the concrete abetting him, betraying you.

“What we want?” Ghost chaffed over you, mimicking your voice. “Go on then,” he urged, “give your ‘ead a wobble?” 

You could practically feel him cocking his head, feel his smile even with him against your back, even behind the mask.

The open air did nothing for you. It didn’t clear your mind or relieve the claustrophobia churning in your belly a single iota. After all, it wasn’t really the walls closing in on you—it was bodies.

“You’re just trying to scare me!” You accuse sharply, voice strained, grunting as you only manage to nearly heimlich yourself on the last attempt to free yourself from the steel grip around your midsection.

Gaz and the Scot chuckle.

John says your name. He utters it like it was a complete sentence, but you're not sure what it means, what he wants. Either way, it made you regret giving it to him. You suddenly preferred not hearing it on his lips in that rumbling baritone.

Ghost scoffs. “For ‘avin such a smart mouth she’s a bit thick, eh, Soap?” he comments meanly over your head.

Soap’s responding before you have a chance to voice any displeasure, somewhere between a laugh and a scold.

“A bit? Haud yer wheesht!” He turns his attention quickly back to you, leaning in close, “Aw, pet, dinnae pay him mind…Lt kens our bonnie is well thick”, he pats your cushioned hips affectionately.

A shocked gasp slips out of you unbidden at the brief but unmistakable gentle fondle of your fat love handles.

They all drank in the vulnerable, little noise. It would be the first of many. It was impossible to interpret the gesture as anything but “familiar”.

Your body jolts. You would have practically jumped a foot off the ground if not for Ghost anchoring you. With the hold, stark realization floods you like a bucket of ice water—there’s quite literally nothing you can do to avoid any of their touch. Your skin crawls at the unfamiliar contact and doubly so at the threat of more yet.

“Dead fit,” Gaz says readily, sounding like an agreement if you’ve ever heard one, his eyes roam your form.

Words were stolen from your overheating brain, still trying desperately to reboot, to process what the fuck is going on.

“Captain ‘s a man of taste—such a pretty, dainty thing,” Ghost sneers in your ear. “Playin’ coy now, when she was practically battin’ ‘er lashes all night.” 

“—It’s not too late—it’s a joke, right? Let’s—we can just forget about this—”

Ghost completely ignores you. “Soft thing like you prancin’ ‘round, cunted at this hour, thinkin’ you're safe?”

“Cun—? I’m not fucking drunk!”

“You’re lucky someone with bad intentions didn’t hear you.” The grin is loud in his tone, oozes off every syllable.  

“You think I'm a dog? So you knew wha’ you were doin’ then? You were teasin’ a ‘ungry dog, waving a juicy steak under ‘is nose. Rubbing it in all our faces, of any bloke ‘n earshot? That it?”

“What—what the hell are you talking about?! You—you can’t be serious!” You finally parroted uselessly, equal parts baffled and horrified. These men are crazy.

“She keeps sayin’ tha’,” Soap comments, perplexed.

“‘Denial’ ‘s not just a river,” Gaz shrugs.

Ghost continues. “Captain—” A big hand is suddenly on your jaw, centering your gaze back on John, ”—‘s doin’ you a kindness. Keepin’ you safe n’ sound, makin’ sure you don’t get yourself chewed up and spit out 'n some dirty fuckin’ alley,” nodding back towards the way they came, “Nice of ‘im, innit?”

You flailed desperately, hoping to catch Ghost off guard for even a second. You send your elbow into his ribs, as hard as you could manage at the awkward angle.

It was akin to hitting granite. You sucked in air through your clenched teeth as pain radiated through your ulnar nerve. His grip on you didn't waver, he didn't flinch. He laughed.

A true, low “heh, heh, heh”, that you regretted ever wanting to hear—could have happily gone your whole life without hearing. It sent rogue shivers down your spine and piloerection up your arms as you gawked up in shock, pain forgotten.

“Och, that’s a bit better, Bonnie.” Soap feigns, judging your strike like he’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“John—” you plead helplessly, turning your gaze back to him. But saying his name was a mistake, deepening the look already there. Rubatosis filled you.

“Think you're strong, eh?" His words still swollen with caustic amusement, "That you could ever ‘urt any of us? Show ‘im you can fend f’ yourself then.” Ghost wobbled you to and fro, shook you, as if you were some weightless bauble.

As your world tilted, you instinctively gripped his arm for dear life, dizzy, afraid you would topple over.

You knew he was right, of course; there is no point denying it. 

But a man like him, like them—saying it? It was wrong—it chilled your blood. It felt needlessly cruel, to rub in how weak you are compared to them. The provocation freezes you, making Ghost’s dark eyes crinkle. 

“Slim pickings, huh? Must be feeling desperate?” you bit out, before you could stop yourself, voice bitter and thick with emotion—panic and anger congealing into snark. A hole is a hole, after all. Bad luck that you happened to be the one around.

Who would you trade places with? Better you than someone else, your conscience whispered faintly.

“You really don’t get it?” John wonders aloud, bafflement mixing with a heady intensity.

“Imagine thinking no one would want all this—” Fingers grazed your curves. Touched every roll, every hill and valley on your side with a reverence that shocked you for the hundredth time that day, left your mouth literally agape. 

“—thought is an utter travesty. One of life’s greatest pleasures is a big, soft girl. Nothing sweeter,” he declared breathily despite himself. “Nothing. So much more to hold, to squeeze—”

There was a certain palpable greediness to his touch, even while he was clearly restraining himself. Groping, not bruising. He only went so far, skirting frighteningly close to your more private bits.

At least it appeared your actual debasement was not going to happen on this particular street corner. His hands make a slow jaunt, mapping your contours. Down your back, your side, your belly, your thighs—kneading and squeezing your ample flesh.

A pitiful, “Please stop—” is eked out of you. Your unadulterated fear on full display, sincere and raw. Begging. You were begging, or trying to, anyway. Your breath hitched, flesh jolting with every unwelcome brush against you, sending your nerve endings alight, already feeling overstimulated. 

There was that expression again, that you didn’t recognize before. But it was no longer just simmering under the surface; it was boiling. Emanating out through his pores, muddled with a touch of pity. You finally recognized it—hunger.

“I’m not cross with you,” he adds oddly. “You don’t understand now, but you will. This isn’t a punishment—it’s a consequence.” 

Your throat clamped painfully, words tumbling out of your mouth incomprehensibly, trying to find the right thing to say to make him stop. “Please, I don’t, I can’t, wh—”

More hands were on you, pulling your wrists together in front of you.

“Am not going to hurt you. You have my word.” The solemnity of the promise rattled you. Maybe he truly believed it, but you certainly didn’t. After all, you’d wager you had different definitions of “hurting”. You’d die on the hill that this was “hurting” someone.

Somewhere inside you, your body was screaming at you to do something. You’d take the inspiration.

Scream what, exactly? You couldn’t be sure. You should scream “fire” not “help”, right?

But you’d never get the chance, because on your inhale, John’d somehow divined your intentions, and suddenly a hand was clamped over your lips before a sound could escape them. The pressure of the palm was close to bruising this time, unyielding—he wasn’t taking any chances, apparently. 

Jerking your head did nothing to dislodge the hand, unlike those on your limbs. It followed the movement rather than impede it. As fate would have it, your struggles only left your head spinning, vision partially obscured by the force of the hand pushing your plump cheeks into your eyes. Whiplash pinched in your neck at the frantic jerks. God, you felt sick.

After that, everything happened very quickly. Suddenly it felt like there were hands all over you, everywhere. Grabbing, holding, pressing. You could hardly tell up from down.

You’d shut your eyes for even a momentary reprieve, willing the vertigo to cease. For everything to stop. For all of them to stop touching you. Hoping desperately that you’d wake up and find yourself safe in bed, this all a bad dream. 

Then there was a ripping sound, then a couple more. Someone was pushing stray hairs out of your face. The hands on your wrists moved up instead to grip your forearms. No sooner than you heard it, the large hand had fled your lips only to be immediately replaced by some large sticky substance that was stretched taut across your mouth, from cheek to cheek.

Startled, your struggles renewed, some expletives trapped by the stuff, transforming into useless “mphhhing!” as your hands jumped to pull the offending material from your face. An entirely fruitless endeavor considering the grip on your arms, which didn't budge an inch. John seems fit to ignore your pitiful struggle, simply smoothing it out carefully, layering a couple more pieces. He hums in satisfaction, wide palm patting his work, cupping your mouth and jaw again for good measure.

There was that sound again. With the fear it shot through you, it might as well have been a gun racking. You couldn’t see it, but this time your sloshy mind recognized the distinct creak and shrill shrrrrrrrrrrrp. It was duct tape being pulled from the roll, then wrapped noisily around your wrists, aided by the hands forcing your arms together. 

Trying to shove, to bully yourself between them was hopeless. They were all too close, too strong, too heavy, all bearing down on you. You didn’t have room to throw your weight around or even properly kick out at them. Round and round, the tape went, and round and round again for good measure before the end was ripped, smarting where it snagged slightly on the hair on your arms. 

You're quite literally fighting for your life, sweating with exertion and panic, panting behind the tape, but your desperate flailing didn’t deter them at all; you didn’t receive even a single hitch in any of their breath for your effort. Hell, it couldn’t even hinder some conversation. Not that you caught most of it with your head swimming, heart pounding loudly in your ears.

“—‘course she’s scrikin’, we’re nicking ‘er,” Ghost rolls his eyes. 

Something else was said, probably by Soap, based on the accent.

Ghost just doubles down. “No point tryin’ to talk sense into ‘er. Thing doesn’t know what’s good for ‘er—“

John took his time; he’s dedicated to his task. Precise yet generous with the tape. As soon as the hands left your forearms, more tape was applied where they departed, this time around your entire body, effectively pinning your arms down at your front, circling you enough times that you lost count.

Your struggles and thrashes reinvigorate, an absolutely method portrayal of a snared rabbit. It hurt—hurt how hard you were pulling against them. Bruises would undoubtedly bloom in the coming days wherever their hands gripped you from your wild jerking. That is, assuming you lived that long. Your chest heaves with anxiety. The men allowed you a bit more space, enough that you didn’t feel actively compressed on every side. By them at least.

Not John, though. It was his face that filled your vision, his eyes that pinned yours.

“Shhh. There’s a girl. It’s already over.” You hadn’t yet noticed the tears gathering, that you were so close to falling apart. He said it like it would be some sort of comfort, cupping your plump cheeks delicately. John spoke to you gently, in the softest tone you’d heard yet, softer than you would have believed his husky voice capable of, and yet, with an disturbing finality. “It’s done. Nothing you can do now,” he whispered into your terrified face. 

He was too close—there was a little mole on the right side of his nose you never noticed before. He smelled of smoke, and under that, something woodsy and spicy. A large, rough palm smoothed over your hair. Your terrified eyes squeezed shut, willing him out of your face, to stop looking at you. You’re certain he could feel your terror; hell, he could probably feel each little panicked puff of air forced out of your lungs on his face as you tried vainly to regulate your breathing through your nose. “There you go,” he praised, “In and out.”

Shining tears wobbled precariously in your waterline. You tried with all your might not to let them loose, to salvage any shred of dignity. Any sense of control. As if that would somehow make things worse, as you sucked in a wet, sniveling sound.

Your internal pleas for space were less than useless, as John leaned in ever closer, cradling your skull in his hands, pressing his lips to your crown in a chaste, whiskery kiss.

The sheer intimacy of the gesture made you balk. Held and boxed in, there was no way to move away, making you whimper pathetically. Sounding foreign to even your own ears. A savourable sound, that went right to John’s belly.

Trying to hold it in was all for naught; as soon as John’s lips touched you, your resolve shattered. Shattered into so many pieces even Kintsugi couldn’t repair it.

Your face was soaked with the onslaught, tears traveling as far as down your neck. Dizzy with panic, the duct tape swallowing up most of your damp sobs. You couldn’t recall the last time you'd broken down like that in front of another person, much less four near strangers. 

“I’m keeping you.” He says suddenly. He waits for you to take in the words, thumbs stroking slow circles into your cheekbones.

You hiccup behind the tape, teeth chattering in your clenched jaw as you realize you’re shaking. Face tacky with tears. You angrily tried to pull away again, but John just held you still as you quake. 

…John didn’t need Ghost for muscle, you realized dully. His grip was an epiphany, the promise of strength in his hands alone—it made you feel all the more useless.

Calloused thumbs rasped over your cheeks, wiping away the wetness there, only for more to replace them. “I won’t try to stop you from crying, won’t punish you for being upset,” he rumbled, “but, you have to understand it won’t change anything. What'll happen. From now on, you’re mine—but I take care of what’s mine. You’ll see.”

Why?! Your heart ached. You couldn’t understand how people you’d been chatting and laughing with mere minutes ago could do this to you. People who had seemed so normal—

Gaz smirks, nudging Soap, murmuring, “Oh, don't worry, she’ll feel heaps better when she’s creamin’ on—”

You didn't think you were capable of feeling worse. Your eyes bulge in horror, breath snagging again in your throat.

John sighs, interrupting him with a harsh jangle of metal as he pitched some keys to Gaz, who caught them easily in one hand. “Bring the car ‘round will you?” John asks, but it’s really not a request.

“On it!” Gaz’s reply is prompt and cheery as he steps off the curb into the darkness beyond the reach of the streetlamp, practically a spring in his step. 

You sniffled, sinuses starting to burn, following your eyes’ watery influence. Feeling humiliated as you can feel your nose start to run, tickling your philtrum. Soap cooed over your teary face. You flinched as he raised his hand to you, but he only wiped your nose, disgustingly with his own sleeve. 

He had the nerve to look chagrined at your reaction. When he spoke again, it was uncannily quiet compared to his familiar boister, as if he was trying to soothe a spooked horse. “Dinnae fash, it’ll be awricht, bonnie, swear it.”

His words were worthless; didn’t pacify you at all. You were possessed by a primal terror of a cornered animal that couldn’t fathom what was going to happen to it. Your eyes flooded, everything in your vision warped by tears. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear over your own hammering heart. Soap’s cursin’, saying something. Maybe it was fucking Gaelic, you didn’t understand what he was saying.

“—Wee lamb, greetin—”

“‘Nough fussin’, Soap. You’re almost as bad as ‘er.” 

“Ah ken, ah ken…”

“I did warn you, even gave you an out.” John sighed, commiserating, as if he weren’t the source of your angst. It wrung completely hollow, he didn't sound disappointed in the slightest with any of the events. If anything, you'd suspect we has trying to tamp down the opposite.

“Jesus wept, Cap—” Soap blurts, any remorse apparently long forgotten as he suddenly grips your ample belly possessively, making you shriek, “—almost made us lose out,” he grumbled. “Ah knew ye were tryin’ tae tip ‘er aff”.

You thrashed in his rude hold, face hot, but he just grinned, loved how your squirms just showcased your enticing bounce. Despair and humiliation ached in your chest, heavy like lead. You just wanted to go home.

Headlights round the corner.

In a last-ditch attempt, you allow yourself to completely go limp, following through on the threat of being unmovable. You barely start tipping before Ghost and Soap are on either side of you, holding you up between the two of them, completely halting your descent.

Your mind shuddered to a halt with the idea they might actually be able to lift you. When you tried to buckle your knees, they went ahead and confirmed your fears true. Not even a slipped grunt of exertion gave you any satisfaction, when you were being half carried, half dragged practically kicking and screaming to the car. Well, as much as you could through the tape. As you’re urged onward, you lock your knees as your legs jam against the car’s running board.

“You’re going one way or another,” John calls simply, tapping something into his phone.

“Watch your head, trophy.” Ghost grins, huge hand spanning your skull, pushing you down past the door frame, but you think you just might have preferred the concussion. Your own weight does the rest of the work, sending you sprawling belly first onto the back seat, teary cheek smooshed against the cool, leather interior.

You should have been prepared to be absolutely as difficult as possible, regardless of whether or not it’d change your fate, but you were utterly spent. Your limbs ached at all the struggling. You couldn’t muster any more fight as Soap and Ghost maneuvered you into the middle seat. Your plentiful "handholds" aiding the process.

The lone lap belt buckled tightly across your lap before Ghost and Soap followed you in, sandwiching you, sitting in the seats on either side. You were practically spilling over onto them, it was a tight fit. 

You couldn’t quite swallow a yelp as rough fingers were wedged under your plush form on either side. Apparently unsatisfied with your positioning, you were swiveled so your ass remained in the seat while the rest of your body lay flat. Your upper body in Ghost's lap and legs curled in Soap’s, the seat belt digging into your soft belly at the awkward angle.

You were normally hyperaware of the space you occupied and tried to be as respectful as possible about it. You would be mortified, feel a bolt of white-hot shame if any squishy bit of you even accidentally brushed up against someone else. You’d do anything to risk a stranger's look of annoyance or disgust, god forbid someone say something. And yet, here you were, your fat body draped across two men's laps, both looking quite fucking pleased with the arrangement. There was nothing you could do about it, as Soap paws at your thigh, humming happily.

“Behave, you lot.” John stoops, smiling at the group fondly as he shuts the door.

The car is moving.

You were completely adrift. Maybe you were in shock. All it took was a handful of seconds for your life to become entirely and irrevocably derailed. 

While lying prone, the motion rocked you slightly. Outside the window, the world flitted by. All you could make out from your vantage point was the wide expanse of sky, purplish, the color of a dusky developing bruise, only swagging power lines and the tops of towering street lamps flashing across the horizon.

Just like that, slow conversation started up again, right above your head. It was as if they were back at the bar; the normalcy of it was chilling. Soap’s hands were still resting over your thick thigh, petting you. Repetitive strokes up and down your thigh that also eventually blended into the background. The car was so warm now—John must have cranked the heat. You feel the warmth dust across your face where it filtered into the backseat.

You're feeling floaty—disconnected. Your body couldn’t sustain the level of terror that should still be at the forefront of your mind. Adrenaline burned everything out of you, drained you till there was nothing left but fog, thick and cloying. It became a task to keep your eyes open.

You were so tired. 

Your limp body bounced lightly as the car went along. The voices were even more distant now, a muted background noise, like someone speaking on the phone in the next room over—you can just hear the mumble through the wall but can’t decipher any of the words.

…

“—get some proper rest on the plane.”

(I horked this up originally after re-reading one of @391780 posts. I think it was the one where Simon calls dibs on you while you're out with friends? Clearly things deviated a lot, but still. Do yourselves a favor and read all of their stuff.)

[celuere]

New to this whole requesting stuff and leaving this b4 i forget but here goes nothing, sorry for the language. You work as arlecchino's maid in a mansion except everyone absolutely fears her, and here you are on her lap with dick/strap inside you scared for your life

I swear to you that sounded so much better in my head BELEIVE ME

help me get away from myself.

pairing: vampire!arlecchino x fem!maid reader

cw: bloodsucking, cockwarming, arle‘s fat dick, kinda forbidden relationship, no actual plot arle is just a horny fuck for you

anon i allowed myself to add a little extra to your request because vampire arle with her human maid... oh i’m SOLD. also kinda shirt but i really like this nonetheless, will probably be making a lil nasty series out of this… please go wild about this in my inbox. ignore the request break. just throw them at me.

thursday 3pm: dust off lord arlecchino‘s study.

that was your task. one might think it couldn’t get any easier than that. 

she was by no means an easy person and there was barely a subordinate or one of her children who didn’t fear and/or respects her. 

but trying to do your job turned out extremely difficult when you were sat down on your lord‘s dick as she buries her fangs into your neck. 

„m-my lord-”, you couldn’t help but press yourself closer against her, wanting a bit of comfort to the stinging sensation that spread like a wildfire over your shoulder.

she only hummed against your skin, a low moan getting swallowed up from her side at your sweet taste. cursed hands coming up to further strip you of your already messed up attire, freeing your beautiful tits and rubbing her index fingers over your hardened nipples.

it only contributed to how tightly you were clenching around your master’s cock you were nestled onto. like a doll she was keeping in place. 

she slowly let go of your burning skin, letting the blood run down your perked up tits before staining the fabric of your dress „you‘re tasting particularly sweet today, my dove…“, she leaned in before you felt her tongue gliding over your dirtied skin and savoring the crimson fluid. you tasted like salvation and sin at once. the forbidden fruit she wasn’t allowed to have. mocking her lack in self discipline. an ancient vampire- a vampire turned by her majesty herself- unable to keep her hands off of the sweet human maid that stumbled into her mansion a few months back. poor you was merely looking for a shelter from the rainy weather. you didn‘t plan on becoming your lord‘s pretty little bloodbank. her very own sanctuary. but the tip of her dick oh so gently pressing against your cervix wasn‘t exactly helping you to feel at least a little humiliation from your decision. you choose to stay here after all.

her fangs suddenly piercing the soft flesh of your right tit caused you to yelp, hips buckling into her as you watched arlecchino suck on your breast for all you were worth. the other hand resting on your thigh was now digging its nails into your muscle, trying to somehow fuse her very being with your poor soul. you didn’t know how much more your pussy could take like this with how arlecchino was practically moaning into your breast.

usually the lord was a feared figure within the fatui ranks. the clan was known for their ruthless agenda, yet its leader was kind right down to the bone. arlecchino forgot the details of her mortal life long ago, but something about the fragile mortal taking her cock while allowing her done on her crimson nectar. she was absolutely besotted with you.

the metallic taste spreading over her tongue with each gulp made her feel… alive. she forgot what it felt like. to feel. to be able to look at herself in the mirror. to be human. 

to be weak.

you tried pulling away when she started taking bigger gulps of you. her grip no longer desperate but almost hurtful. 

arlecchino often debated wether she should kill you or not. to leave you alive meant leaving a weakness in her profile. a weakness she couldn’t allow to influence her.

but who would suspect the knave having a soft spot for the mortal maid she kept hushing around like a dog?

the soft plea for her to let go of you pushed her out of her thoughts and surprisingly… she obliged. retreating her fangs from your flesh before pressing a soft kiss to your wounded skin, your consciousness was hanging by a simple thread. a thread she loved playing with. wether it by having you pump your fingers in and out that greedy cunt or watching you strip in front of her. she always found new ways to entertain herself with you.

just when she wanted to open her mouth, the soft knock against the door to her study reached your ears „my lord, some letters have arrived for you.“

your heart rate picked up and suddenly warming your master‘s cock seemed like a horrible idea to you but the hand resting on your ass kept you firmly pressed down on her shaft. she only clicked her tongue in slight annoyance.

„not now. i have…“, two fingers delicately rubbed over your already hard nipple before pinching it. you barely managed to cover up the yelp.

„important business to tend to.“, the corners of her lips quirked up at her wording. that terrified look amused her way more than she‘d like to admit. 

„mh… did you really think i‘d just… let him come in?“, the black hand palming your behind was now gently tapping against your skin. she wanted you to start moving.

your mind was still hazy from her huge blood intake, but you were still the master of your senses enough to stay put on her aching dick.

„a-ah… m-maybe… i-i wasn’t sure…“

„now, now… i have no desire to show you off to the world while you’re riding me senseless.“, the woman leaned back in her chair, legs seemingly spreading wider as the red crosses in the void of her eyes lit up, „get to bouncing, pet.“

[scarluna]

KNOCKOUT (001)

⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒

Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.

⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N

⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 1/?

⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas

⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.

⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ So, again, I am back at it. Completely fictional.

I don’t look in mirrors if I can help it.

I glance—never stare. I avoid reflections like they’re landmines, each one threatening to detonate everything I’ve worked so hard to bury.

I pull my hoodie tighter around myself as I walk down the hall of my apartment building. Even though it’s warm out, I keep it on. I always keep it on. Oversized, black, long-sleeved—my version of armor. Fabric that hides the parts of me I hate the most.

Which is basically all of me.

My thighs touch when I walk. My arms jiggle when I reach for things. My stomach… don’t get me started. Every inch of me feels wrong, and no matter how many times people say things like "beauty comes in all sizes," I can still hear the laughter from the girls in middle school locker rooms. I can still feel their eyes on me. Judging. Mocking.

I learned early that boys only look at girls like me when it's a joke—or a dare. So, I don’t let them. I keep my head down, earphones in, and move like I’m invisible.

It’s safer that way.

I fake normal better than most. Smiles when I’m supposed to. Laughs at the right moments. I even let my mom believe I’m doing "so much better" lately.

She wouldn’t notice either way. She’s too busy.

She works fifteen hours a day and answers my texts with thumbs up emojis or, if I’m lucky, a "K." I get it. She’s trying to keep us afloat. But sometimes I think she works that much so she doesn’t have to come home.

Can’t say I blame her.

My dad is... well, he’s usually passed out almost every time I visit them. His breath smells like cheap whiskey and bad decisions. He tells me I’m beautiful sometimes—slurred, half-sincere—but only after his third drink. And the next morning he doesn’t remember saying anything at all.

I hate that I still want him to mean it.

No one knows how I eat in secret. How I wait until everyone’s asleep to tiptoe into the kitchen and stuff myself until I can barely breathe. Chips, cereal, cookies—whatever I can find. It’s not even about the food. It’s about silence. About filling something inside me that always feels empty.

Then comes the shame. The guilt. The promise to do better tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes.

People think being fat is a choice. Like I woke up and decided to hate myself. Like I don’t already know what every calorie means. Like I haven’t stood in dressing rooms, numb and silent, while my mom said, “You just need a little more discipline.”

If she only knew.

But she doesn’t. No one does.

And that’s how I survive. By hiding the real me. By locking away every ugly thought and pretending I'm okay. It’s exhausting—but I’m good at it.

I finally curled up In my bed, wrapped in the same blanket I’ve had since high school—frayed at the edges, soft from too many washes. The TV was on, playing some show I’ve already watched three times over. Something comforting. Familiar. The kind where characters have perfect lives, perfect friends, and perfect bodies. The kind where no one ever breaks down crying because they can’t zip up their jeans.

I mindlessly shove popcorn into my mouth, even though I’m not really hungry. I just need something to do with my hands. That, and I don’t know how to exist in silence.

Outside, life moves. People laugh, date, go out for coffee and brunch and spin class. I watch it all through the filtered lens of social media, like I’m peeking through a window at a party I wasn’t invited to.

But the truth is... I don’t want to go.

Not really.

Being outside is exhausting. People are exhausting. The stares, the judgment—even the polite ones, the forced smiles, the awkward glances that say "I see you, but I don’t want to."

I’d rather sit here, in the stillness of my own space, where no one expects anything from me. Where I don’t have to suck in my stomach or pull down my shirt every time I stand up.

Unless she visits.

My best friend, Vicky. The only one who’s ever stuck around long enough to see all my ugly truths and not run for the hills. Unfortunately she lives two hours away. We talk every day tho—text, memes, random voice notes that trail off mid-sentence because we always know what the other means. But when she visits? That’s when I pretend, just for a night, that I’m someone else.

Someone better.

We’ll pour a glass of cheap wine and sit on the floor like we’re still seventeen. She’ll blast music we used to love and I’ll let my hair down, throw on a slightly-too-tight dress I usually hide in the back of my closet, and for a few hours, I’ll play the part.

I’ll laugh too loud. I’ll talk too fast. I’ll flirt with the mirror and call myself a bad bitch even though I don’t believe a word of it.

It’s not real, but it’s fun to pretend.

Sometimes we go out—to a bar or a lounge or some half-dead pub that plays throwbacks—and I’ll catch a man looking my way. And for a second, I’ll feel like maybe... maybe this time is different.

But it never is.

They smile. Then hesitate. Then give me mixed signals that make my head spin. One moment, it’s flirty texts and compliments. The next, it’s radio silence or a sudden ghosting like I imagined the whole thing.

I used to blame myself. Still do, if I’m being honest.

Maybe I’m not pretty enough. Maybe they didn’t like how my body looked up close. Maybe they thought I was fun—until they realized I came with baggage.

They say I’m “hard to read,” but they never bother to learn the language.

Now, I don’t expect anything. I don’t chase, and I definitely don’t hope. Hope is a cruel thing when you’ve been fed disappointment your whole life.

So I stay here.

Buried in the comfort of my bed. With my blanket and my snacks and my fake little world where I don’t have to feel like a mistake.

And honestly?

Sometimes, it feels like the only place I truly belong.

Some nights, the silence feels like it’s screaming.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The TV is still on, playing something meaningless. Just noise to drown out the thoughts. But it doesn’t work. It never really does. The thoughts always find their way back in—slipping through the cracks like cold air under a door.

I don’t even know when I started crying. My eyes just feel heavy, and my chest aches like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.

I sit there, knees hugged to my chest, tears rolling quietly, silently. Because that’s the only way I know how to break down—alone. Always alone.

I wish I could explain this feeling. This tightness. This numb, dull throb of sadness that doesn’t go away. It’s not just about my body, though that’s a part of it. It’s the loneliness. The kind that makes the world feel like it’s moving on without you. Like you’re stuck behind glass, watching everyone else live while you just... exist.

People talk about love like it’s this magical thing. Like it just happens. Eye contact across a room. Sparks. Butterflies. Hands brushing and souls colliding.

I’ve never had that. I don’t even know what it feels like to be touched by someone who wanted to stay. Who wanted me. Not some idea of me. Not some mask I wear to get through the day. The real me.

And God—don’t even get me started on sex.

Everyone acts like it’s supposed to be this beautiful thing. Passionate. Intimate. But for me? It feels terrifying. Not just because of my body—though that fear is always there, a weight pressing down on me—but because letting someone that close means showing them everything I try so hard to hide. The scars. The stretch marks. The parts of me I can’t fix.

The parts of me I’ve learned to keep locked up.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of being loved. Like maybe I was born with something missing. Or maybe I’m too much. Too broken. Too guarded. Too something.

Would anyone ever actually stay, if they saw all of me?

The depression makes it worse. It lies to me. Tells me I’m unworthy. That I’m hard to love. That I’m destined to always be someone’s maybe, someone’s almost. The girl who’s good for conversation but never good enough to hold.

And the worst part? Some days, I believe it.

I hate how much I crave affection, even though I’m terrified of it. I hate that I want someone to hold me and kiss my forehead and tell me I’m safe, but I wouldn’t know how to accept it if they did. My body would flinch, my mind would panic, and I’d probably ruin everything before it even began.

Because that’s what I do. I ruin things.

And then I cry about it in the dark, wondering what’s wrong with me.

I wrap the blanket tighter around me and bury my face in my arms. My tears come harder now, not quiet anymore. Ugly sobs that make my throat burn. I wish I could scream. I wish I could tear it all out of me—the pain, the shame, the fear.

I just want to be held. Not for how I look. Not for what I offer. But for who I am.

All of me.

Even the messy, haunted parts.

Even the parts I don’t know how to love myself.

But maybe that’s a lot to ask.

Maybe no one’s coming.

Maybe I’m all I’ll ever have.

-

Friday night.

The clock on my screen blinks 6:01 PM, and just like that, my shift ends.

Another day of smiling through gritted teeth, typing out canned responses to strangers who think “customer support” means “emotional punching bag.” My fingers are sore, my eyes ache, and I have exactly zero energy left to pretend to be a functioning adult.

I close my laptop and sigh, rolling my neck until it cracks. My apartment is dim, lit only by the fading orange glow of sunset bleeding through the blinds. I consider changing into pajamas and crawling under a blanket burrito-style. It’s what I usually do on Fridays. My little reward for surviving the week. Thank God I was a home office or else I’d be definitely drained at the office.

Then I hear it.

Knocking.

Sharp, insistent, like the sound of someone who knows you’re home.

I freeze. I’m not expecting anyone.

Another knock.

I drag myself to the door, hoodie still on, hair a mess, socks mismatched—classic me. I open it cautiously, peeking through the crack.

And there she is.

“Surprise, bitch,” Vicky grins, arms wide like she’s just delivered the winning lotto ticket.

Right behind her stands Trevor, tall and unbothered, holding a paper bag that smells suspiciously like garlic bread. He nods at me like we’ve just seen each other yesterday, even though it’s been months.

“What the hell—” I blink. “You guys didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“That’s what makes it a surprise,” Vicky smirks, pushing past me into the apartment like she owns the place. “Also, we know you’d say no if we warned you.”

She’s not wrong.

Trevor chuckles as he walks in behind her. “Hey, Y/N. We brought food. Don’t yell at us.”

I just shake my head, trying not to smile too hard. It’s impossible with these two.

Vicky and Trevor have been together for five years now. They met online—some obscure Reddit thread about mental health turned into DMs, which turned into phone calls, which turned into a weekend meetup that never really ended.

She’s a psychologist, whip-smart with a razor-sharp tongue and a heart of gold. He’s an IT guy, quiet and patient, the kind of man who listens more than he talks and somehow always knows when you need space... or a hug.

They’re that annoying kind of couple that actually works—the kind that finishes each other’s sentences and still giggles at inside jokes no one else gets. It’s weird seeing that kind of emotional intimacy up close. Beautiful, but also kind of brutal.

Because deep down, I want it.

That connection. That safety. That soft, quiet love that doesn’t disappear at the first sign of mess.

And it hurts—just a little—because a part of me still believes I’ll never have it.

“You’re staring again,” Vicky teases from the couch. “Are you mentally writing fanfiction about us?”

I roll my eyes, laughing despite the lump in my throat. “No, I’m just wondering how two socially awkward nerds made it work.”

Trevor winks. “Magic and memes.”

“And therapy,” Vicky adds, tossing a cushion at him. “Lots of therapy.”

We eat. We talk. We laugh—really laugh, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. For a moment, I forget about everything else. My body. My fears. My loneliness. It all fades under the glow of garlic knots and sarcastic banter.

Until Vicky suddenly looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“We’re going out,” she says.

I blink. “Out where?”

She stands, brushing crumbs off her jeans. “It’s a surprise.”

Trevor groans playfully. “God help us all.”

I hesitate. My instinct is to say no. I’m not dressed for “out.” I’m not mentally prepared. My anxiety starts bubbling up—but Vicky grabs my hand before I can retreat.

“Trust me,” she says, softer now. “You need this.”

I swallow hard, nod slowly, and let her pull me to my feet.

-

An hour later, we’re walking down a narrow alley lit by a single flickering bulb. The sound of bass and shouting grows louder with every step. The building looks like an abandoned warehouse, tagged up and half-broken—but there's a bouncer at the door and people going in like it's nothing.

“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You’ll see,” Vicky smirks. “Just… keep an open mind.”

I glance at Trevor. He just shrugs and smiles, which tells me nothing.

We walk in—and the moment we do, the world shifts.

It’s hot. Loud. Electric. The air is thick with sweat, adrenaline, and tension. People crowd around a caged ring in the center of the room, shouting, cheering, drinks sloshing in their hands.

A fight is happening. An actual underground fight.

“What the hell, Vick?” I whisper, stunned.

The air hits me like a punch.

Heat. Sweat. Noise.

A crowd of bodies packed like sardines, all facing the makeshift cage in the center. The shouting is relentless, echoing off concrete walls, drowning out my thoughts. People are laughing, jeering, spilling drinks. Some are on tables. Some are barely dressed. Every part of it screams get out.

Vicky turns back and says over the noise, “Trust me. You need this. It’s good for your mental health.”

I shoot her a look. “You dragged me to a fight club for my mental health?”

She grins, unfazed. “You live in your head too much. This place? It pulls you out. It’s raw. Real. No filters. No fakeness. You just feel everything, whether you want to or not.”

I open my mouth to argue but the words stick. Because as chaotic as this place is, I can already feel the numbness cracking. Not in a good way—more like being ripped out of a too-warm blanket and thrown into a blizzard.

I tug my oversized hoodie tighter around myself, the sleeves swallowing my hands. My skin feels too exposed, like people are looking at me even when they aren’t. I’m not dressed for this. I’m not ready for this.

I did shower before we left, thank God. But even that small self-care win can’t calm the panic twisting in my gut now.

Overcrowded places make my skin crawl. I’ve never liked loud spaces, or too many people talking over each other, or being somewhere I can’t make a quick escape from.

It’s too much.

I scan the room, my eyes flicking from face to face. Most people here are loud, confident, half-drunk or fully fearless. Girls in tight dresses, guys in muscle shirts and tattoos, people laughing like this is a Friday night comedy show and not two men bleeding into the floor.

And then there’s me.

Tucked into the corner. Hiding. Heart racing. Wondering why the hell I agreed to this.

“Vick,” I say, leaning closer to her so she can hear me. “I don’t think I belong here.”

She turns, her face softer now. “You do. Just breathe.”

But how can I?

Every step into this place feels like walking deeper into someone else’s life. Someone who isn’t afraid. Someone who belongs in their skin. Not like me. I shrink without even realizing it—shoulders curling in, body trying to disappear into the folds of my hoodie. My safe zone.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want anyone to look at me.

But at the same time… some twisted part of me does.

Just once, I want to be the girl someone notices.

And I hate myself for it.

“Just give it a minute,” Trevor says gently, voice like a low anchor in the storm. “You might surprise yourself.”

But I don’t want to surprise myself. I want to be back home, curled up in silence, not vibrating from the bass of a place that smells like blood and beer.

Still—I don’t leave.

Because as much as I hate this, as much as I want to run, there’s something about this space that feels important. Like I’m on the edge of something.

Even if I don’t know what.

Suddenly, the crowd erupts louder than before—cheers, screams, a few scattered boos. Everyone turns their attention to the ring as a man climbs through the ropes.

A voice booms from the crackling speakers overhead, broken slightly by static but loud enough to cut through everything.

“In this corner, we got the reigning champ of the Southside pits… undefeated in seventeen fights, no tap-outs, no knockouts—only carnage. You know him. You fear him. Put your hands together for THIAAAGOOOOO!”

And that’s when I see him.

Thiago.

He steps fully into the ring—and my heart stalls.

He’s massive.

Tall—at least six foot five—built like a mountain, shoulders so broad they look like they could crush skulls. His skin is littered with scars, some healed into thick ridges, others fresher and angry red. A jagged one runs across his collarbone like a warning sign.

He’s bald, his head gleaming under the overhead lights, and his face—God, his face—it looks carved from stone. Cold, emotionless. A sharp jaw, a crooked nose that’s clearly been broken more than once, and dark eyes full of fury.

He’s not just a fighter. He looks like he’s made for war.

And he’s terrifying.

My stomach flips. My body stiffens. I take a half-step back without thinking.

“Holy fuck” I mutter, clutching my hoodie like it’s a shield. “This is insane. That guy looks like he eats souls for breakfast.”

Vicky doesn’t respond right away. She’s watching the ring with a curious glint in her eye. Trevor’s more stoic, but even he looks a little tense now.

Thiago circles the ring like a predator, chest rising slowly, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s daring someone to challenge him next. He radiates danger—pure, undiluted rage wrapped in muscle.

“He’s one of the best here,” Vicky finally says. “Or the worst, depending on how you look at it.”

“He looks like he could snap someone in half,” I whisper.

“He has,” Trevor says casually. Too casually.

My hands start to sweat.

Why are we here?

Why did Vicky think this was good for me?

My anxiety’s climbing fast. My heart won’t slow down, and my breath is catching in my throat. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere near people like him.

Just being in the same room as that kind of anger—raw, visible, unfiltered—it makes my skin crawl. It reminds me of my dad on a bad night. It reminds me of yelling behind closed doors. Of breaking things that don’t heal. Of fear you can’t explain to anyone.

I can’t tear my eyes away, though. Even as my body begs me to.

Because there’s something about him that feels like a mirror—sharpened, brutal, broken.

And maybe that’s the scariest part.

The referee’s voice cracks through the mic again, pulling the attention of the crowd back toward the entrance ramp. People around me start shifting with excitement—some chanting already, others leaning forward, trying to get a better view.

“And in this corner…” the announcer growls with theatrical flair, “…the one you’ve been waiting for. The wildcard. The Ghost of the East Ring. He’s fast, he’s vicious, and he doesn’t say much—but when he moves, you listen. Give it up for—JUNGKOOK!”

The lights dim just slightly. Smoke—real or fake, I can’t tell—floods in at the entrance. Then he steps out.

And everything slows.

He’s smaller than Thiago, yeah. Not small, just… more compact. But somehow his presence fills the room in a different way. Controlled chaos. Stillness before a storm. His body is lean but powerful—tattooed arms flexing under the flickering warehouse lights as he casually rolls one shoulder, then the other.

A black wet mullet hangs across his forehead and brushes against the nape of his neck, damp with sweat or maybe water poured over him before walking out. His dark eyes flick across the crowd—slow, methodical—like he’s searching for something or someone specific.

When his gaze sweeps past me, I freeze.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even notice me. But for a second, I feel… seen.

Then it’s gone.

He climbs into the ring like he’s done this a thousand times. Calm. Efficient. No flashy entrances or chest-beating bravado. Just quiet readiness.

Unlike Thiago—who still paces like a caged beast—Jungkook stands still in his corner, bouncing lightly on his feet, head down, breathing slow. Controlled. Poised.

A storm in waiting.

“What’s his deal?” I mutter, frowning as I watch him from under my hood.

Vicky grins. “That’s Jungkook. He doesn’t talk much, but he moves like poetry.”

Trevor nods. “He’s fast. Thiago hates him.”

“Why?”

“He can’t catch him,” Trevor says with a half-smile. “And when he tries, he gets hit. Hard.”

The bell hasn’t rung yet, but the energy in the room is shifting. The crowd is buzzing, already leaning forward in anticipation. Two men. Two energies. One unhinged rage, the other ice-cold focus.

And I’m standing there in the shadows, heart pounding, watching it unfold like it’s all some dream I don’t belong in.

But I can’t look away from Jungkook.

There’s something about him—quiet, deadly, beautiful in a way that shouldn’t belong in a place like this. Like he’s made of sharp edges and unspoken things.

And I have no idea why he’s making my chest feel like this.

The moment the bell rings, everything changes.

Jungkook and Thiago explode into motion at the same time, their bodies colliding with a sickening thud as the crowd roars around us. The sound is deafening, a mass of screaming voices and wild excitement. I can’t take my eyes off them. The chaos, the violence, the raw power—it feels like it’s coming at me in waves.

Thiago lunges first, furious and relentless. His fists are like battering rams, crashing into Jungkook’s body, and the crowd is losing it, egging Thiago on. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sickening, and I feel a rush of unease—nausea swirling in my stomach.

But then, Jungkook moves.

It’s so fast, so fluid, that I barely register what happens until Thiago’s momentum is thrown off. Jungkook ducks under his next punch, a move so smooth it’s like watching someone glide through water. He weaves out of the way, and then, like a snake striking, his fist connects with Thiago’s jaw with a crack that echoes through the room.

Thiago stumbles back, and the crowd goes wild. Thiago roars in frustration, lunging again—but this time, Jungkook’s ready. His footwork is impeccable, always staying just out of reach, and every time Thiago throws a punch, Jungkook dodges it like he’s reading Thiago’s mind.

And then, in an instant—Jungkook moves in, faster than I can process. He shifts, gets in close, and with one sharp, devastating blow to Thiago’s midsection, he drives his opponent to the mat. The crowd gasps.

Thiago struggles to get back up, but it’s no use. Jungkook moves in again, his body like a machine, precision in every movement. With a calculated swing, Jungkook lands another hit—this one to Thiago’s head.

Thiago falls.

The crowd goes wild, a tidal wave of cheers and screams as Thiago is knocked out cold. Jungkook stands over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. His nose is bloodied, but his eyes are laser-focused, scanning the crowd as he stands tall, shoulders heaving, sweat glistening across his skin. He’s breathless, but there’s no sign of slowing down.

The referee steps in, holding up Jungkook’s arm.

“Winner!” he shouts into the microphone, his voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Jungkook!”

My breath catches in my throat as I watch Jungkook stand there, still and proud, despite the blood smeared across his face. He doesn’t celebrate like Thiago would have—no shout of triumph, no cocky grin. He just stands there, like this is exactly where he was meant to be.

I’m still frozen in place when the crowd starts to quiet down, and my eyes move to Vicky.

“How do you know these two?” I ask, still watching Jungkook as he wipes the blood from his nose, catching his breath. “You’ve been here before, right?”

Vicky glances at me, her eyes flashing with something I can’t quite place. “In my four years of studying psychology here? Yeah. I’ve been to this place three times. Every time, I’ve seen Jungkook win.”

My brow furrows. “Three times?”

Vicky shrugs, leaning in to make herself heard over the fading buzz of the crowd. “Jungkook doesn’t lose. Ever. And not just here, either. He’s been in the underground circuit for a while now. He doesn’t talk much, but the guy’s a machine. Everyone here knows that.”

I’m still staring at Jungkook. The blood on his face doesn’t make him look weak—it makes him look… stronger. Like the fight is a part of him, something embedded in his bones. The way he carries himself—the way he moves—it’s like there’s nothing in the world that could touch him.

He’s not just a fighter. He’s something else.

I try to push the feeling down, the one stirring in my chest, but it’s there. Something about him pulls at me.

“He’s scary,” I whisper, though the words don’t feel like they fit the way I’m feeling. It’s more than fear. It’s something like… awe. And maybe a little envy.

“Scary?” Vicky laughs. “Nah. He’s a fighter. And trust me, if you ever find yourself in his corner, you’ll know exactly why people respect him.”

I don’t answer. My mind is too wrapped up in the image of him standing in the ring—barely breathing, bloodied, but still unshaken.

I’m about to turn away and find a quiet corner to collect my thoughts when a sharp pang hits my stomach.

I can’t ignore it.

“Vicky…” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Vicky doesn’t even look at me, still watching the ring as the crowd starts to thin. She gestures to the far side of the room, near the back exit. “Down that hall, last door on the left.”

I nod quickly and make my way through the maze of bodies and noise, feeling like I’m moving through a fog. I don’t care what’s going on around me—I just need to get some space, somewhere I can breathe and not feel so… exposed.

The hallway is dim, the walls dirty and covered in old graffiti. I find the door easily enough. But when I push it open, my stomach drops.

There’s no sign for male or female. Just a simple bathroom with no distinction.

Great.

I freeze for a moment, standing in the doorway. I can hear people in the bathroom—voices. Laughter. But I’m not sure if they’re men or women, and the last thing I want is to stumble into a situation where I’m forced to confront anything uncomfortable. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears.

There’s a stall at the far end, empty.

Without thinking twice, I rush in, lock the door behind me, and press my back to the cool metal of the stall. The air feels thick again, like it’s closing in around me, and I force myself to take slow, steady breaths, in and out.

But it’s not enough.

The panic is rising—fast. My hands start to shake, my chest tightens. I try to block it out, but the air feels suffocating, too thick, too hot. I can hear the muffled sound of footsteps and the low murmur of voices from the other side of the bathroom.

Just breathe. It’s fine. You’re fine.

But I’m not.

The panic is already clawing at my throat when the door to the bathroom swings open. Two women walk in, their voices high-pitched and giggly. I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay as still as possible, praying they won’t notice me.

“Oh my God, did you see Jungkook out there?” One of them says, her voice dripping with excitement.

“Yesss!” the other responds, laughing. “I was like, wow—how is he so hot? Like, he’s got that whole dangerous vibe, you know?”

“Totally,” the first one giggles again. “I would literally do anything to be with him. I don’t care if he’s a fighter. He can take me down anytime.”

My stomach twists. I close my eyes, feeling the heat rush to my face. This is exactly what I hate. This feeling of being on the outside, the feeling of not being the one they’re talking about. Not being the one that someone notices.

“Can you imagine how good he must be in bed? I bet he’s rough,” the second woman whispers with a smirk. “Like, you know, he’s got that energy. He could probably have any girl he wants. Hell, he’s probably had every girl he’s ever looked at.”

My heart stops. My hands are trembling against the cold stall door, but I can’t bring myself to leave. I can’t seem to move. The words echo in my ears, over and over, and I want to scream.

Why does this bother me so much? Why does this hurt?

I can’t understand it.

I want to run out of here. I want to disappear. I want to get away from the laughing, the whispered thoughts about Jungkook, about how he’s someone they can have—someone they want.

For a second, I wonder if I’ll ever be wanted like that. If anyone will ever look at me the way these girls are looking at Jungkook.

Stop.

I breathe in deeply, trying to steady myself again. My fingers are cold and clammy as I grasp the edge of the toilet paper dispenser. The walls of the stall feel like they’re closing in on me, but I force myself to stay still. I have to. If I move, it’ll make everything worse.

The last thing I need is for them to hear my panic, my heavy breathing, my brokenness.

The girls continue talking, oblivious to me in my corner.

“God, I’m so jealous,” the first girl sighs, “but I bet I’d die if he even looked at me.”

“You think he’d go for a girl like us?” the second one snickers. “Doubt it. He’s probably all about the hot, fit girls. You know the type.”

The conversation continues as if I’m not even here, and I can feel the sting of their words, even though I try to push them down.

He doesn’t want girls like us.

The thought slips out before I can stop it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t make the hurt go away.

I wait for what feels like forever, the girls’ laughter and giggling fading as they finally leave the bathroom. Their footsteps echo down the hallway, their voices growing softer with each step. The silence that follows feels too loud, too heavy.

I take a few more slow breaths, trying to steady myself. The panic is ebbing, though the tightness in my chest lingers. You’re okay. It’s over. Just get out of here.

I wipe my clammy hands on the sides of my jeans and push open the stall door. My legs feel weak, unsteady, as I step out into the dim hallway, my heart still hammering in my chest.

Just get to the door.

I make my way toward the exit, trying to ignore the lingering heaviness in my chest. But as I round the corner, I’m blindsided by a sharp collision.

“Oof!” The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. I stumble back, my phone slipping from my hand and hitting the floor with a hard thud.

I immediately bend down, scrambling to pick it up. My face flushes with embarrassment, my hands shaking as I retrieve the phone, fingers fumbling for a moment as I focus too much on my own awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, voice barely above a whisper as I stand up, still feeling the warmth of my cheeks. My eyes instinctively dart to the floor, avoiding any kind of eye contact. The last thing I need is for someone to see how flustered I am. Especially not after all those words in the bathroom, all those thoughts swimming in my mind.

Then I hear a low chuckle.

I freeze. My stomach lurches, the breath in my lungs catches.

No way.

I look up—and there he is.

Jungkook.

He’s standing in front of me, his presence almost overwhelming. He’s no longer in the fighting gear, but even in casual clothes, he still carries that intimidating aura. His shirt is loose, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattooed arms, and his black jeans sit low on his hips. His black mullet hangs a little messy, slightly wet from sweat or maybe water.

But what catches my attention first—what makes my stomach twist—is his face.

Bruises. Dark, angry purple bruises marking his cheekbone, a cut across his lip, and his nose—still swollen and bleeding slightly. The aftermath of the fight. But even with all that, there’s something so… captivating about him. Like a storm you can’t look away from.

I feel my heart pounding harder, my palms slick. Every insecurity I’ve ever had seems to slam into my chest all at once. Oh my God. I must look like a mess. No makeup, a baggy hoodie, messy hair. He’s so… perfectly put together—even with the bruises.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. I stand there, completely frozen, completely aware of how ridiculous I must look. I hate how much I want to hide.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, his voice surprisingly soft considering the way he fights. His eyes—dark and unreadable—scan me for a second, waiting for a response. He tilts his head, an eyebrow quirking slightly as if waiting for me to speak.

For a moment, I can’t find my voice.

What the hell am I supposed to say to him?

“I—uh—yeah, I’m fine,” I stammer, cringing at how small my voice sounds. “Sorry about, um, bumping into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going…”

He chuckles again, this time a little quieter, almost like he’s amused by my awkwardness. “No problem.” His gaze shifts down to my phone in my hand, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, like a silent understanding. “You should probably hold onto that better. Might break it next time.”

I nod quickly, biting my lip. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, be more careful.”

The silence stretches between us, and I can’t stop myself from feeling completely out of place. His mere presence—his proximity—feels like a weight on my chest. I want to say something more, something that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot, but the words are stuck in my throat.

What is he even doing here? My brain races. Why is he talking to me?

The bruises on his face, the way he carries himself, the intensity he exudes—everything about him screams confidence, while I can barely keep myself together.

“Hey,” he says again, his voice quieter this time, almost like he’s trying to make sure I’m not completely shut down. “You’re alright. You don’t have to apologize.”

I look up, meeting his eyes for the first time since I bumped into him, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. His gaze is steady, almost piercing, and there’s something strangely gentle in the way he looks at me—like he’s trying to figure me out.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur again, my voice soft, barely audible. “I… didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smirk curling on his lips. “No trouble. But if you’re gonna keep bumping into me, I might start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

My face burns. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s standing right in front of me, and I’m acting like I’ve never spoken to a guy in my life. I’m sure I look like a mess.

I look down again, hoping he won’t notice how flustered I am. But when I glance back up, I catch a glimmer of something in his eyes—a mix of curiosity and something else I can’t place.

“Well, I’ll make sure to avoid you next time,” I mumble, trying to force a smile, but it feels so awkward.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything right away, but his gaze softens just a fraction. “Don’t worry about it,” he replies simply, his voice steady, like he’s seen this kind of thing a thousand times.

And then, with a slight nod, he turns and walks past me, heading back toward the crowd, leaving me standing there in the dim hallway, my heart racing, my breath still shaky.

Did that really just happen?

Monday

The morning light hits different when you’ve had a whole weekend to forget the world. I wake up to the sharp trill of my alarm and the sun creeping through the blinds like it’s personally offended I’m still in bed.

Vicky and Trevor left late last night, their hugs lingering longer than usual. We spent the rest of the weekend curled up on my couch, talking about everything—really talking. The kind of conversations that make you feel both lighter and heavier at the same time. The ones that peel you open in a way that’s terrifying but necessary.

Vicky told me she’s worried about how I retreat when I’m hurting. Trevor said he thinks I deserve to stop living like I’m waiting for something to break. I didn’t say much. Just nodded a lot. Smiled at the right parts. I don’t know how to explain that sometimes, talking about the darkness makes it feel more real.

But it felt good.

Safe.

And now Monday feels like a slap.

I throw on my usual work-from-home uniform—baggy hoodie, leggings, messy bun—and log in just before my boss can ping me. My headset’s tangled, my coffee’s lukewarm, and the emails are already giving me hives.

By 10 a.m., I’ve mentally clocked out.

I’m rereading the same sentence for the third time when Katherine messages me.

Katherine (10:03 AM):

Hey! Got a sec to hop on a quick call?

Katherine is the kind of person who always has her camera on during Zoom meetings. Perfect hair. Perfect lighting. She once told me she drinks celery juice every morning. I pretend to like her but mostly because I’m afraid she’ll sense my existential dread through the screen and report me to HR.

I reply with a thumbs-up emoji and brace myself.

She starts with small talk—weather, client updates, a weird squirrel that got into her balcony. And then she says it.

“So, this is random,” she begins, her tone suddenly shifting. “But... you were at The Pit this weekend, right?”

I blink. “How do you know about that?”

She smiles like she’s trying to be casual. “One of my best friends is in that crowd. I used to go with her sometimes. Total chaos. Honestly, I thought you were more... I don’t know, library-core?”

I laugh awkwardly. “It was a surprise outing.”

“Ah. That explains it.” She leans closer to the camera like she’s about to deliver state secrets. “So listen… I’m telling you this as a friend, okay? Don’t get too caught up in Jungkook.”

My stomach flips.

I try to keep my expression neutral. “I’m not… I don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, “just in case. I’ve known him for a while. He runs with a rough crowd. Really rough. He’s not some tortured artist or romantic bad boy. He’s a fighter. Like, literally and metaphorically. The guy doesn’t let people close. And if he does? It never ends well.”

I swallow. “Okay…”

She shrugs, taking a sip from her green smoothie. “He’s rich, by the way. Like, crazy rich. Family money. Old money. The kind that hides skeletons behind designer walls. He’s rebelling against it, or whatever. But still—trust me, girls like us?” Her voice softens, almost sympathetically. “We don’t survive guys like him.”

I stare at the screen.

Katherine offers a smile like she’s just done me a favor. “Anyway. Just thought you should know. Back to work!”

The call ends.

And I sit there, headphones still on, heart pounding, trying to make sense of everything she just said.

Girls like us.

We don’t survive guys like him.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Because I already knew that.

But hearing it out loud?

It stings in a way I wasn’t ready for.

The call ends.

And it’s like the silence in my apartment changes shape—heavier, sharper, pressing in from all sides.

I stare at my screen, blinking at the spreadsheet I was supposed to be editing, but all I can see is his face again. Jungkook’s bruised jaw. His quiet stare. The way his voice was soft when he asked if I was okay.

I thought it meant something.

God, I’m so stupid.

Why did I even let myself feel anything at all? One second of attention from someone like him and I’m already spinning stories in my head. Already hoping. Already aching.

But he’s not a story.

He’s not the exception.

He’s a walking warning sign with pretty tattoos and a reputation I should’ve seen coming a mile away.

And me?

I’m the girl who doesn’t even look in mirrors.

The girl who flinches when someone raises their voice.

The girl who hides from kindness because it always turns into disappointment.

What the hell was I thinking?

I push my laptop away and curl in on myself, wrapping my hoodie tighter around my body like it might hold all the unraveling parts together.

It’s pathetic, how easily I fall back into this. This sadness. This hole. Like I never even tried to climb out.

My chest feels tight again. Like there’s not enough air in the room, not enough silence in the world to quiet the noise in my head. Katherine’s voice keeps looping:

“Girls like us… we don’t survive guys like him.”

She’s right.

Not just because he’s dangerous—but because I’m already drowning.

I don’t need someone like him lighting a fire next to the flood.

I’m barely surviving myself.

I can’t afford to let someone else in. Especially someone who could burn me just by standing too close. I’ve done that before—opened the door a crack and let someone walk in like they had a right to rearrange the furniture in my soul.

And when they left, they took everything I had with them.

I won’t survive that again.

I don’t care how soft his voice was. I don’t care how different he seemed. I don’t care about the way his eyes looked like they could hold secrets.

I’m not his mystery to solve.

I’m not some redemption arc.

I’m tired.

I just want to be left alone.

So I grab my phone, fingers trembling, and type out a message to Vicky.

me (11:21 AM):

hey. Can we talk later?

She replies almost instantly.

Vicky (11:22 AM):

of course. you okay?

me:

not really.

Vicky:

I’m here. whatever you need.

I drop the phone onto the bed and let myself cry.

Not the quiet, hidden kind this time—but the ugly sobs. The ones that shake my whole body. The ones that feel like mourning.

Because that’s what this is.

I’m mourning the version of me who thought, even for a second, that maybe someone like Jungkook could want someone like me.

But that girl doesn’t get to stay.

She was too hopeful.

Too naive.

And hope? It’s just another way to hurt yourself when you know better.

-

The apartment walls feel like they’re closing in again.

My chest is still heavy from crying, my eyes swollen and tired, but I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. My stomach growls like it’s mocking me, like even it is tired of my emotions.

I don’t want to go outside. I really, really don’t.

But I don’t have the energy to argue with myself anymore.

So I throw on the armor—the same oversized black hoodie I’ve worn three days in a row, the one that swallows me whole. Baggy sweatpants that drag at the hem, sleeves covering my hands. Greasy hair scraped into a low, half-hearted bun. No makeup. Glasses on. Invisible mode activated.

If anyone looks at me, they’ll see nothing worth seeing.

Which is exactly the point.

The convenience store is just down the block. Two turns and I’m there. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I keep my head low, shoulders hunched, heart pounding in my ears for no reason at all.

I grab a pre-made sandwich, a pack of chips, something sweet. Something to feel something. The cashier doesn’t say much. I pay and leave, crinkling plastic bag in one hand, the weight of my exhaustion in the other.

And then—

I hear it.

A low, throaty vrrrrmmmm.

A motorcycle.

It pulls up to the curb just as I step outside. Black. Shiny. Sleek. Yamaha. The kind of bike that looks fast even when it’s parked.

The rider is dressed in all black—black jeans, black hoodie, black gloves, black helmet. The mirrored visor reflects the late afternoon haze, faceless and quiet.

But somehow—somehow—he looks straight at me.

Not at the store. Not at the sidewalk.

At me.

I freeze.

My breath catches in my throat. My pulse spikes. No one sees me—no one is supposed to see me. Especially not like this. Especially not him.

Because I know.

I know it’s him.

Even before he moves, before he speaks—my bones recognize the tension, the quiet storm under the surface. My body flinches like it’s muscle memory.

I take a shaky step back. Then another. My fingers curl tighter around the plastic bag like it’ll protect me. I turn, heart in my throat, ready to bolt in the opposite direction.

But then—

“Hey!”

Just one word.

But it’s enough.

The voice is familiar—low, rough around the edges, quiet in that way that still demands attention. Not yelling. Not sharp. Just… deliberate.

And it comes from behind me.

I freeze mid-step.

My grip tightens on the bag, but I don’t turn around. My whole body tenses like I’m waiting for the ground to open and swallow me whole.

Please no. Please let me be wrong.

But then—

“You dropped this.”

I glance down. My receipt flutters on the pavement behind me.

I should keep walking. I want to keep walking.

But something in that voice… that calm, steady voice—it wraps around my ribs like wire and holds me still.

I turn, just a little.

And there he is.

Helmet off now. Tousled black hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat or wind. Dark eyes, unreadable. That same bruised jaw from the fight. That same calm chaos in the way he stands, like he’s always ready to run or punch something—but right now, he’s doing neither.

He holds out the receipt between two fingers, casual like he’s done nothing unusual.

I don’t take it.

I can’t move.

I just stare at him, half-hidden behind the oversized hoodie and fogged-up glasses, knowing full well there’s nothing about me worth noticing—but he still is.

His eyes linger for a second.

Not in a gross way.

Just… curious.

Like he’s trying to place me.

“You are familiar, didn’t we spoke this weekend after my fight?” he says, voice soft but certain.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

He waits a second longer, like he’s giving me a chance to say something—to confirm or deny or at least react—but I just stand there, frozen in oversized fabric and fear.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says after a moment, voice even lower now. Almost gentle. “You okay?”

Something in me cracks.

I shake my head—not to answer the question, but to shake off the moment. The whole thing. Him. This.

I take a shaky step back, then another, until I turn away again. This time, I do walk.

Fast.

He doesn’t follow.

But I can still feel his eyes on me.

And it hurts in a way I wasn’t ready for.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I’m sweating under my hoodie even though it’s barely 65 degrees out. My legs feel like they’re made of wet sand. I shut the door behind me, double lock it, and lean against it like maybe it’ll hold me up better than my spine currently can.

What the actual fuck just happened?

I drop the plastic bag on the kitchen counter and stare at it like it might answer me.

How the hell did he end up here?

What are the odds? No—seriously. Statistically. What are the goddamn odds that Jungkook, bruised, violent, beautiful Jungkook, the guy from the underground fight club with a face like a problem I’d never solve—what are the odds that he parks his sleek-ass murder-cycle right in front of my stupid corner store?

Does he live around here?

Does he live on my street?

Fucking hell.

My head spins. I kick off my shoes and shuffle toward my room like a zombie with trust issues. I don’t even bother with lunch. I just face-plant onto my bed and let out a strangled scream into my pillow.

Muffled, of course. Don’t want the neighbors to call someone.

My brain is already galloping down all the wrong roads.

What if he does live nearby? What if I see him again? What if he recognizes me next time, not just as “the girl from the fight” or “the hoodie gremlin who nearly dropped her sandwich,” but me—the real, fragile, overthinking version who wears pain like perfume and flinches when people care?

God, what if he saw through me already?

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

And just like that, it begins.

The daydream.

The soft edges blur and shift, my breathing slows, and the version of reality I can actually tolerate starts to take shape.

In this one, I’m still me—but I’m her, too.

The cooler version. The one who didn’t flinch. Who took the receipt with a small smirk, thanked him, maybe even made a joke that made his bruised mouth curve into a smile.

Maybe he would’ve asked my name.

Maybe I would’ve told him.

Maybe we would’ve sat on the curb, talking about the way silence sometimes feels safer than words. Maybe he would’ve looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like I wasn’t too much or not enough or anything in between.

In this version, I’m magnetic. Mysterious. Someone he wants to chase.

Not someone who runs.

Not someone who hides.

But the fantasy falters the second my phone buzzes.

A calendar notification.

Break over. Back to work.

I blink, and the ceiling collapses.

The daydream dissolves like mist under a spotlight.

And I’m back here again.

Greasy hair. Unanswered emails. Sandwich still untouched on the counter.

I sit up with a groan and reach for my laptop, the screen lighting up with the cruel reminder that no matter how hard I try to disappear, the world still expects me to perform.

Because I don’t get to be the girl in the fantasy.

I just get to pretend I'm okay for eight more hours.

-

It’s been three days.

Three long, weirdly quiet days since that day outside the convenience store.

He didn’t follow me.

He didn’t try to talk to me again.

But I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Or him.

Or the way his voice sounded when he said “hey” like it wasn’t a loaded word, like it didn’t feel like it cracked something open in my chest.

But today, I need air.

I’ve answered all my emails. Sat through two Zoom meetings where I didn’t say a word. Ate half a protein bar and convinced myself that counted as lunch. The weather’s decent. Grey sky, soft breeze. Not hot, not cold. The kind of weather that makes you feel invisible in a good way.

So I shower. Real clothes aren’t an option—my body still feels like a burden—but I pull on my cleanest hoodie and loose cargo pants. I throw on some concealer, smudge some eyeliner. Just enough to look… functional. Human-adjacent. Lip balm, not lipstick.

My comfort zone.

I pop a Red Bull from the fridge, grab my lighter and smokes, and head out.

The walk to the park is quiet. Familiar. It’s only a few blocks away—lined with sad little trees, apartment windows with peeling paint, and the occasional dog-walker tugging along a leash like it’s a lifeline.

By the time I get there, I’m already feeling a little lighter.

I head straight to the bench.

My bench.

The one facing the outdoor fitness area. It’s a concrete platform with metal bars and makeshift equipment—mostly used by shirtless guys trying to impress no one in particular. Usually, I avoid the place when it’s busy. But I’ve learned the timing.

Late afternoons on weekdays? It’s usually empty.

Quiet enough to breathe.

I sit down, crack the can open with a hiss, and take a long sip. The carbonation burns down my throat, sharp and sweet. I pull a cigarette from my sleeve and light it, the flame catching with a soft flick. First drag, and the world slows down.

My mind goes quiet.

For once.

I exhale smoke into the open air, let it drift above me, unfurling like a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.

And then—I see him.

At first, I don’t realize it’s him.

I just register movement.

Someone using the pull-up bar.

Shirtless. Muscled. Moving with a kind of effortlessness that makes my stomach flip.

I glance up, casual.

And freeze.

It’s him.

Jungkook.

His back is to me, muscles flexing as he pulls himself up again and again, like he’s chasing something only he can see. The tattoos on his arms are vivid under the dull light, ink curling down to his wrist in sharp, beautiful lines.

He drops down from the bar, hands on his hips, chest heaving with each breath.

He’s glowing with sweat.

And for a second—I forget how to exist.

He doesn’t see me.

Not yet.

I duck my head fast, pulling my hoodie slightly forward like it’s a curtain I can hide behind. I take another drag of my cigarette, hoping the smoke masks the sudden panic rising in my throat.

Why is he here?

Again?

Does he live around here? Was Katherine right?

Or is this just some twisted coincidence?

He wipes his face with the edge of his tank top, and I catch a glimpse of more tattoos on his ribs—black ink over golden skin—and I have to look away. My heart’s beating like I’ve done a line of adrenaline instead of just caffeine and smoke.

I shouldn't be looking.

He’s not for me.

He’s a storm in a human body. A fighter. A blur of danger and sharp edges.

And I’m just… this.

This hoodie.

This body.

This invisible mess on a park bench, pretending the world isn’t too much.

But even as I look away—

I can feel it.

That shift.

That pull.

And when I glance back, just once, just quick—

His eyes are on me.

Right on me.

Unmistakable.

Direct.

Not in a flirty, playful, hey-girl way.

No.

It’s deeper than that.

Like he remembers me.

Like he sees something he doesn’t quite understand.

I look away so fast I almost drop my Red Bull.

My fingers are shaking again.

What the fuck is happening?

Why does it feel like he’s always three steps ahead of where I want him to be?

[kirislovelygf]

Req: (pre end of s1 events) Sevika falls in love with the (maybe younger??) reader who works at the last drop and she awkwardly has to figure out how to talk to them, knowing that she's intimidating.

across the bar (sevika x gn! reader)

contents: sevika has a crush on the bartender and keeps coming by but doesnt know how to talk to reader, have a little late night walk, they talk more, fluff, first meeting, confession, first kissesssss, reader has a FAT crush on sevika wrd count: 3.1k (yikesss)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

i’ve been a bartender at the last drop for about a couple months now. and almost every night i’ve been working here, sevika’s been in the corner. i thought she was hot at first. 

but then i caught her staring. at first i thought it was cute, like eye flirting but she never actually came up to talk to me. i’d bring shots to her table, some of her minions would come up and order for her, but she never talked to me. 

and every time i tried to talk to her, i’d miss her. she’d walk out ot he bar before i could get the chance. 

i was kind of creeped out. a big scary woman with scars and dark eyes watching me?

i got freaked out and started carrying a knife with me for the late night shifts. 

but then later, she actually started saying hi. my first instinct was to be nice. and there’d be instances where she’d try to come up to the bar but i was busy running around, making drinks. 

but the day came when she actually came up to order from me. 

i was laughing with my friend as they were sitting, sipping on a beer, when sevika came up and slammed her beer glass on the wood. we stared at her awkwardly and my friend took that as a sign to walk away. “i’ll.. come back later.” he said. 

i glared as he left. i look up at sevika. “hi. need a refill?” i asked. 

“nah.. what’s that?” she tilted her chin to a green and yellow colored drink a woman was enjoying in the corner booth.

“oh... zaun sunset. want one? i make them myself.” i said to her. she tilts her head slightly. “don’t you make all the drinks yourself? 

“i make some of them. but i just pour everything else.” i said. she squints her eyes at me, making my heart drop to my stomach. 

“anyway.. i’ll get started on that.” i smiled softly.

i went to get the drinks to make it while glancing every couple seconds. she didn’t leave the bar and everytime we made eye-contact, she’d look away. 

now that she’s not in the darkest corner of the bar and i can see her face, she’s actually really hot. 

hopefully she’s just hot and not a creep. 

i placed two cherries on the drink and went and placed it in front of her with a napkin beside it. 

“here you go.” i smiled softly. 

she stared at it. “it’s a little.. frilly, don’t you think?” she muttered. 

“is it the cherries?” i chuckled. 

she stares at it for another second and picks out the cherries onto a napkin i placed beside the drink. i laugh softly before she takes a long sip. 

i watched her eyes widen and i chuckled softly. “is it still too frilly?” 

“what the hell did you put in this?” she asked. “everything.”  

i smiled at her. she's kinda.. 

someone called me over for a refill. “you enjoy that.” i said to her. i took the cherry from her napkin and popped it in my mouth before  i walked away. 

the rest of the night continued to pour people's drinks and stuff. 

around two a.m, i closed the bar for the night. i waved bye to the last person that walked out and locked the door. 

i then turned to the dirty, unorganized, sticky, smelly bar and sighed out. 

it was my night to clean so i walked over to the record player before getting started. 

while looking for some music, someone knocked on the door. 

“we’re closed, go away.” i yelled out, looking back at the door. the silhouette looked familiar and i walked over to the window. i stepped on a chair to look through it. 

it was sevika pacing the floor outside the door. 

“oh..” 

i jumped down from the chair, unlocked the door and opened it. she had her fist rased, about to knock again.

“hey. sorry about that, um.. you know we’re closed right?” 

“i know. i just uh..” she stuttered. 

“i noticed you didn't leave.. and there’s some drunk guys down the alley. i just.. didn’t want you walking home alone.” she explained. 

so she was waiting for me to leave..

“oh! okay.. well, i have to clean the bar, so maybe once i’m done, you can walk me home?”

her eyes widened slightly. “um..” 

“i’ll be quick. i could use the company anyway.” 

she nodded and i let her in before locking the door again. i went over to the record player and found a song. “la camisa negra” played the opening notes before i turned up the volume. 

“can i help?” she asked as i walked over. 

“nah, just sit. talk to me.” i smiled. i went to find a rag and spray. 

“your name’s sevika, right?” 

“um.. yeah.” she said as she took a seat at the bar.

“do you know my name?” i asked as i walked to a table. 

“i might be wrong. is it y/n?” 

“yeah, good guess.” i chuckled. 

i looked up at her, smiling softly. she shakes her head. “i feel bad just sitting here.” she stepped off the bar stool and walked over. 

“here..” she stands in front of me and gently takes the rag and spray from my hand. 

“i got these tables.” she hummed in a low tone. 

i have never been so turned on. oh my god. 

i stared up at her as my face went hot. “uhuh.. thanks..” i muttered as i walked away. i looked back at her wiping down the table with her hand. 

i huffed and waved a hand at my face. “hot.. hot in here.” i whispered. 

i found another rag and spray bottle and joined her. 

it was silent for a second before i started talking to her. 

“so.. what do you do? besides hang around here..” i asked. she glances up at me before muttering. “um..” 

“if i had to guess.. cake decorator?” i smiled. she laughs softly. 

“orr.. maybe you make cute clothes for little dogs.” i said. 

“dogs need clothes?” 

“yeah! they get cold.” i joked. she shakes her head. 

he picks up her supplies and moves to a table closer to me. oh my god, look at her muscles. she looks so good. 

“so what do you actually do?” i said, regrettably taking my eyes off her.

“i work for vander.. sort of.”  

“wow.. i was way off.” i moved to another table. “you just.. move deliveries for him or something?” 

“sort of.” she hummed. 

i look over and she’s not smiling anymore. 

“what about you? is this the only thing you do?” she asked. 

“the only thing i get paid for. and it’s not much, you know how cheap vander is.” i joked. she smiles softly.

wait, she's so cute, aw.

“but i paint and stuff sometimes. that canvas over there?” she looks at me and i direct her to a canvas hanging over the booth in the corner. it was of the skyline of zaun but brighter with happier colors. 

“i just finished it last month.” i told her. 

“whoa...” she hummed. “it’s nice.” 

i smiled. “how long did it take you?” 

“just a week or two. it’s hard to stop when i’m really into something.” i said. 

“hm.. is there more?” she asked. 

i look up from the table. i move on to the one she was at. “yeah, i paint stuff all over the city. not those dumb, sloppy graffiti tags kids make.. most of the murals you see, i made them.” i shrugged. 

“no way.” she said. “you should show me once we get outta here.”

“you sure? we’re gonna walk a lot.” i said, looking up at her. oh my god, her lips look so biteable. would she mind if i jumped over this table right now? 

“i don’t mind.” she shook her head slightly before moving on to another table. i watched her before moving to another table. 

we eventually finished and she insisted on lifting all the chairs to put them over the tables. i’m so glad i let her. 

i got to watch her flex her muscles for like ten minutes while pretending to clean the bar. 

i wasn’t cleaning no damn bar. i was imagining what her muscles would feel like around my head. 

“you finished?”

“huh?” she was in front of me on the other side of the bar. she blinked. “are you finished here?” 

“oh! yeah, just about.” i chuckled. i quickly wiped it down before moving to put away the bottles of liquor i left out. 

i was too lazy to get the step stool from the back, so i tried reaching the top shelf to put away the whiskey.

“let me get that for you.” i heard sevika mutter.she went up behind me and she took the bottle from my hand before placing it on the shelf with ease. 

she goes for the other bottle. “this too?” 

“yeah..” i breathed out. 

i was under her, watching her, staring at her face before she looked down at me. 

i should have some shame but i don’t. and i don’t care!

“thanks.” 

“no problem.” 

“i could use your help around here more often. to reach the tall stuff.” i hummed softly. 

i thought she was going to kiss me before she walked away. “maybe..” she hummed. 

i swear she was teasing me. or what if she hates me? 

my eyes rolled to the back of my head before i went to go find the broom. 

she tried to take the broom from me but i insisted it was fine. “it’s okay! i got it.” i laughed. 

“just go sit.. pour yourself some whiskey or something.” i chuckled. 

“i just put it away.” she said as she walked over to sit. “then water, i dunno.” 

we look at eachother, chuckling softly. 

“i still feel bad just watching you.” 

“there’s literally nothing else for you to do. just talk to me.” i chuckled as i sweeped under tables. 

“i’m not.. very good at that.” she said. 

“that’s okay. um.. what's some stuff you like to do?” 

“drink.. gamble.. smoke.. read.. that’s it.” she shrugged. 

“okay..” i chuckled. “reading is cool. what do you like to read?” 

“old history books mostly. sounds boring, but i always loved learning.”

i look over at her. “that's… unexpected. you don’t see many people over fifteen reading down here.” 

“my old man made me learn when i was young.” she said. “ohh.” i chuckled.  

“so history.. what about fun fantasy books, hm? you like the ones with magic and stuff?” i asked. 

“when i was a kid, yeah.” she chuckled. “grown-ups can read those books too.” i said to her. 

i look over at her. her back against the chair, her arm and hand on the bar, my clothes slipping off. 

i mean, whaaatt. 

“i dunno.. after growing up down here, i stopped believing in  those stories, you know?” she walks over to the record player and changes the music. 

“just like everyone around here.” she hummed. 

i stared at her. i realized i just sweeped up the whole bar. i walked over to stand next to her seat. 

i leaned against the bar. “isn’t it better to believe in those than in whatever mess zaun is?” 

“it’d be nice but it’s not reality.” 

i studied her face. she had dark circles under her grey eyes. i wonder if her lips look that good  naturally or if she likes wearing lipstick. 

she looks down at me before nervously averting her gaze. 

“d-don’t you need to put that away?” she muttered. 

“ah.. yeah. i’ll be right back, then we can get out of here.”  

i walked away from her and came back to her, taking a cigarette out of her pocket. 

“alright, i’m done. lets go look at some of my art.” i sighed out. 

she turns off the record player and i turn off all the lights. 

she holds the door open for me. “what a gentle-lady, thank you.” i smiled. she laughed nervously and i turned to lock the door. i glanced at her. 

she was nervously flicking her lighter to get a flame. 

i smiled to myself at how such a terrifying woman can get nervous so easily. 

“come on..” i said to her. 

i’ve gone home with other hot people but i never completely trusted any of them. but for some reason, i felt so safe with her behind me. 

probably because she’s 6’5, like two hundred pounds of muscle and has a gun on her belt. 

i led her through the lanes, showing her a couple of my smaller murals. she had little to say about them but seeing her face, i knew she liked them. 

i finished showing her another one before taking her hand. “my best one is this way, come on.” 

i led her to an alleyway before i let go of her hand. we turned a couple corners, climbed a couple stairs, until we reached the rooftop of an old building and then onto its balcony. 

she jumped down first before holding her arm out to help me. 

“thanks.” i smiled at her as i touched the metal floor. we look over at my mural on the wall of an old factory that towered over the neighborhood we were in. 

“this is the biggest one i’ve ever done. took me a couple months.” i said to her. “i named her 'the woman in the wind.' i think it’s my best piece.” 

she stared up at my piece in awe and i never felt so accomplished for a piece. 

i look up at her face. “you’re.. so incredibly talented.” she spoke. “how’d you even come up with something like this?” 

“it was supposed to start out as a mural of my mom, who died when i was little.. but i realized when i was sketching out her face that i didn’t remember her as well as i thought i did.” she both leaned against the railing to stare at the artwork. 

“even now, i’m not completely sure i remember what she looked like. and it was just barely.” i smiled. 

“so, i called it the woman in the wind because everytime i tried to remember her, it was like little details would come and go, like they were blowing past in a breeze..” i shrugged. 

i look up at her and she’s still staring. “i know it sounds weird and corny but-” 

“no.”

oh?? 

“it’s.. absolutely beautiful.” she nodded. 

she looks at me and smiles. suddenly, the scary woman who never spoke was the sweetest and prettiest person i’ve ever seen. 

“you know i’ve walked past this mural… probably a hundred times.” she sighed out.

“i think it’s even more beautiful now that i know someone like you made it.” she said.

no she didn't! that was perfect.

i laughed softly. “come on, don’t make me blush.” i jokingly hit her arm and she laughs. 

we’re silent for a moment, just staring at it. 

“have you always dreamed of doing something like this?” she asks, taking a drop from her cigarette. 

“yeah, but.. i dreamed of becoming someone famous and getting out of the undercity. i’d dream of owning a fancy apartment up on topside, selling my art..” i said.

she chuckled. i shoved her arm. “hey, don't laugh. i was a kid.” i laughed. 

“okay, okay..” 

ugh, she’s gorgeous. 

“you had to have had crazy dreams when you were little too., right?” she chuckled.

she blinks and looks away. “nah..”

“yeah, you do. come on, i won’t laugh.” i smiled. 

“i mean.. it was a long time ago but for a while i wanted to be a zookeeper. i liked animals, so..” she shrugged. 

“that’s.. not crazy. that's so cute! never would've assumed you were an animal lover.” i said teasingly. 

she laughs softly. “you have any pets?” 

“nah, i don’t got any time for that. running all over the lanes keeps me busy.” 

“hmm..” i watch her with a smile on her face. i dont know why i was ever scared of her, she’s so cute and sweet.  

“anyway.. we should get you home.” she said, exhaling smoke. “it’s getting late.” 

“you can say you’re bored of me, it's okay.” i said jokingly. “what? no!” she chuckled. i climbed up to the roof before turning to help her but she barely needed it. 

we walked through the lanes lit by neon green and purple lights. we talked the whole way home and all the weird junkies and prostitutes and just weird night people walked right past us or avoided us. 

i have to take like ten shortcuts just to avoid the main streets. but everyone was  terrified of even making eye contact with sevika.

the closer we got to my house, the more she started opening up to me.

we finally arrived to my small place. i had my key in my hand and stepped on one of the steps that led to my front door. 

“i really appreciate you walking me home.” i said, leaning on the railing. 

“yeah, of course. but.. do you usually work so late? and walk home by yourself? it’s not very safe.” 

i laughed. i pulled up my pant leg and took out the knife i mentioned i started carrying when she first started borderline stalking me. 

“whoa-” she jerks her head back at the size of the blade. 

“yeah, not safe for anyone who talks to me. me? i’m good.” i shrugged. she laughs slightly before i put it back. 

“huh.. well, next time, just let me know. i’d be happy to do it again.” she inched closer to me. her chin was slightly lifted up as i’m now around her height. 

“unless you have a scarier and taller person to do it instead.” she shrugged. i laughed.

“nah, i think i'll just stick with you.” 

ugh can she kiss me already. okay, you know what? i’m getting this over with. fuck a slowburn, i need her tonight.

“actually, it’s way too late for you to walk home.” i said. her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

she knows she will obviously be fine walking at any hour at night by herself. 

“you can stay over tonight..” i hummed. 

“are you sure?” she asked. i simply shrugged. she looks down at my hand and takes it in hers. 

she stares at me for a second before pulling me forward. i caught myself on her chest and we laughed as my hands went to hold her face. 

we kissed before her hand snaked around my waist. 

i never walked home by myself again after that night. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

a/n: thank you @dopemusiccowboy for submitting this!! i had fun writing it!

[bookhobbit]

As I'm rereading I'm thinking the thing about Vimes is that he is genuinely sooooo repressed. In many ways including sexually. This man is unbearably embarrassed by the concept of having marital sex. A lawyer says "fruit of the union" and Vimes freaks out so hard he zones out for the rest of the appointment. Man who is about to get married can't contemplate the prospect of future heterosexual sex with his lawfully wedded wife because this concept is too immense!

And I do think some of this comes from self-loathing in a very "that stuff's not for me" kind of way, that's extremely clear in canon. For me I think Vimes also reads quite demisexual/demiromantic, so through that lens it also kind of comes across as "I am Not Ready for the sex stuff to be part of this because that part of my brain is not switched on yet." But I think also some of it is just good old fashioned Being Surprisingly Straightlaced For Someone Of His Life Experience which is really funny.

I was talking about this to @overelegantstranger who pointed out that it's easy to read this, in G!G! and MaA, as "Vimes is kind of put off by the large, fat, strong woman he is marrying," but that it's absolutely not textually what's going on if you analyze it. Notably, Vimes (almost?) never views other women in a way that is at all sexual. Like, Angua is a canonical hottie but you never have ANY sense that Vimes has noticed this and in fact I think he'd rather die than think about her that way. He just doesn't Do that.

On the other hand, with Sybil he's constantly flustered and thinking about her Size and Power and Movement and Body so it comes across as, he's kind of into her but doesn't know how to process the whole concept of being into someone or even how to process the fact that what he's into is different from the conventional idea of attractiveness. He's so deeply alarmed by having Feelings that it comes across as him being terrified of her....but like.......in a slightly scandalized, titillated way. "Oh my goooood I hope that scary rich lady doesn't ravish me, twirls helmet, that would be horrible." I don't think there's Zero fatphobia in the way Sybil is depicted, nuance etc, but for me it definitely feels like Vimes is going. Fuck, finally met a woman who is large and strong and powerful enough to tell me what to do AND she wants to AND I kind of want her to. How do I react to this. I need to flee the scene immediately.

Anyways. You do see why Vetinari had to invent a whole BDSM dynamic to make their working relationship functional, is what I'm saying.

[petew21-blog]

Friends with benefits

Two long time friends Trent and Brett. A classic story. Met in kindergarten and have been friends since. Grew up together. Spent their holidays together. Graduated together. But then stopped seeing each other as often. Why? Because adult life ain't easy. Brett had to find a job while Trent got into college, graduated and on top of that became a fitness influencer. Brett started his Twitch account and became a gamer, which he had time for, cause how he was constantly doing a different job, depending on what he could find. But both of them always took some time off for a beer with their buddy.

This is Trent

Although he doesn't appear like that, he is a 24 year old male with young looks

On the other hand Brett is also young, but his looks are a bit more mature. Maybe it's because of all the hair

This is Brett

So hairy.

Normal guys, right? Well something was about to change very soon

Friday, August 2nd, 5 PM

Brett:"Hey, dude. Wanna grab a beer later tonight?"

Trent:"Yeah, sure. I am down. Is 8:30 ok? I gotta finish a video"

Brett:"Oh yeah, totally fine. See you then"

Friday, August 2nd, sports bar, 8:33 PM

At the bar Brett waits patiently, only his leg is slightly shaking. Trent comes in through the door. It's kinda funny, cause Trent used to be really insecure and not confident. Now he looks basically like a god. But still, he has this cute shy looking guy whose face doesnt match his body and the fact that he's 24. Brett was kinds jealous, most of the people that didn't know him always thought he was older because of his looks. Trent had the opposite problem. Always had to show ID whenever he went. Yet Brett was probably more jealous about his life in general. He finished school, took great care of his body, which now could help him hook up with anyone he would set his mind to.

Brett:"Hey, maaaan. How are you doing?"

Trent:"Heyyy. Yeah good. You know, single influencer life, haha"

Brett:"The ladies must be driving you crazy"

Trent:"If only it were just ladies. Haha. You should see the messages some of these gay dudes keep sending me. It's insane"

Brett:"You tell me. They always send random shits to my chats while playing. But it's mostly dumb kids."

Trent:"I think we should find you a date for tonight"

Brett:"Nahhh, fuck it. I'm not in the mood. I just wanna chat with my bro."

After a few beers

Brett:"Shut up, you did not!"

Trent:"I swear. She came on to me without a word."

Brett:"So what did you do?"

Trent:"You think I put up a fight? Haha"

Brett:"Maaaan. I want this stuff to happen to me to. That's so hot"

Trent:"Come with me to the gym then, I bet more chicks woukd be into you if you would gain some muscles"

Brett:"You calling me fat?"

Trent:"No, just saying that all that body hair would be good to match with a good body. You're just a walking gorilla right now"

Brett:"Oh shut up twink! Haha"

They finished their drinks, said their goodbyes and went home.

Brett felt amazing. He really needed to get a beer with his best friend. He came back home, sat behind his computer and searched Dark web. He already knew what he was looking for. He wanted to mess with Trent. Just a another one of his pranks. All he needed was Trent's personal item. He found the body swapping website. He read the rules and conditions and filled out his and Trents name. The only next step he had to follow was to go to sleep. And so he did. Only taking off his shirt in the process and collapsing on the bed. Not even brushing his teeth

Brett woke up feeling better than ever. He was used to have a hangover by now, but today he felt great. He opened his eyes and immediately noticed the different sheets. He looked around. This is Trent's place.

Brett:"Trent?" he said, but he heard Trent's voice.

He turned around to get up

His body. He has a different body

Brett:"Holy shit. It worked" he said amused. He looked down at his now soft chest. He got up

Brett:"Oh wow. getting up is so different when you have these hard muscles"

He went to the nearest mirror. And there he was. Trent in his glory. Brett was so happy right now. His prank worked. He is now inside of his best friends body. And the pranks probably won't stop there. Now he can mess with him all he wants. But not now.

He looked from top to bottom how tall and slim his body was. "Almost no hair anywhere. Lucky guy"

He took Trent's phone and snapped a photo to send it to Trent in his body. He knew it would take a while for Trent to wake up so he proceeded in his exploration.

He felt his curly hair. "How come you don't even have widow's peak? So unfair" He traced his jawline, now with tiny baby hair that Brett wouldn't even call a beard. But his sight was now caught by those nice Calvin Klein's. He looked around as if there was someone in the room with him who would judge him. He pulled on the waistband

Brett:"Just as I thought. Also shaved" he grabbed his new dick, that was getting harder and harder by the second, when suddenly his phone received a notification. he let go of his dick

It was Trent. Brett:"Haha, this is gonna be good"

There was a photo of Brett's body, observing his hairy armpits in shock

Trent in Brett's body:"Hey. Got any idea why I am a gorilla now? And why that gorilla looks exactly like you?"

Brett:"Surpriseee. And fuck you"

Trent:"So this is your doing?"

Brett:"Yeah, I kinda wanted to prank you somehow for all the pranks and the gorilla jokes. Joke's on you ape man"

Trent:"Fuck you. So this is reversible?"

Brett:"Sure, man. No worries. We'll meet tonight at the bar again and chat how our day went?"

Trent:"I don't know how to feel about this, bro"

Brett:"Just try enjoying being another person"

Trent:"Do you realise there are some no go things including intimate stuff and hygiene?"

Brett:"Sure I do. I'm already holding your dick in YOUR hands right now"

Trent:"Dude! Not cool. I meant more stuff like shitting etc. But yeah, this too."

Brett:"I gotta say Trent. You have a very nice dick"

Trent:"I'll comment on your size when I find it in the bushes I guess. Have you never heard of trimming?"

Brett:"Keeping it natural, baby face"

Trent:"Fine, let's see each other tonight at 8, ok?"

Brett:"Enjoyyy" Hangs up

Trent:"Jesus, this guy. I hope he doesn't fuck up something or someone"

Starts observing himself. "I must say, It feels good to look like a mature man and not a teenager. All of this hair. And the moustache is hot too. I could never grow this thing"

Trent looked down and had a mischievous thought. "Well, Brett. Since you have already held my dick, I think it's time to step it up. Gonna see if you can last longer than I do" Trent said with a smile and whipped out his new hard hairy dick

Saturday August the 3rd, bar, 8:04 PM

Brett is sitting amused in the bar, eating chips on the table and drinking beer. Winking at the ladies looking at his direction.

A waitress came by his table:"Want another?"

Brett noticed his old incoming body:"Sure, and another one for my friend who just arrived. Thank you, sweetheart" he said as his flirtatious look almost seduced the local waitress

Trent:"You need to stop!"

Brett:"What? I was just flirting"

Trent:"Not that. Stop eating those chips. God knows how many calories you ate already"

Brett:"So you don't mind that I was flirting with her?"

Trent:"Nah, I don't care. I jerked off your dick for like the fifth time half an hour ago"

Brett:"What? You beast. I would have never expected that. Cool. You have a really good dick to jerk off too. I didn't expect to shoot so far tho. Made a bit of a mess"

A couple off bikers started eavesdropping to their conversation and turning heads

Trent:"You might want to quiet down, or we're gonna get beaten up for mistakenly speaking like gay guys"

Brett:"But you gotta admit that my body is not so bad, right? All the hair and everything. You like it"

Trent:"It's not bad, but I prefer being in my own body. I'm used to it."

Brett:"Ok, I'll pretend I didn't hear the part before about masturbation. But what do you say? We didn't even have enough time to see what the life is like in our new bodies. It's only been a day"

Trent:"And your point is?"

Brett:"Let's stay swapped for a while. We can swap back anytime we want. It's reversible. We know almost everything about each other, so pretending to be the other one will be easy. You'll just teach me your workout routine, I'll show you... what games to play and how to set up a livestream and we'll figure it out"

Trent:"Livestream? That's all you got?"

Brett:"Come on, man. We got nothing to loose"

Trent:"I don't know man. It's gonna be complicated. I agreed to leave for a few weeks to work at one of our gym branches in another city. And now you'll be the one that has to go. I think now is not the best time"

Brett:"So? I can update you about everything. We can chat all the time. We can call. And I got nothing to do. Actually, you might need to find some job for those few weeks. And there's never gonna be a better time then now. We're single, ready to mingle. So let's enjoy that month"

Trent:"You wanna stay swapped the whole tíme I'm gone?"

Brett:"Yeah, I'll be a fitness instructor/viral star and you'll ne enjoying my chill life"

Trent:"Chill life. Man, you won't even recognise your life when we'll swap back"

Brett:"So you agree?"

Trent:"Yeah, what the hell. I'll be a gorilla for a month"

Brett:"Deal. Now, let's see if you'll have a better game in finding a hookup then me"

Sunday, August 4th

Brett sends a text to Trent:"Why do I feel like my body still hasn't gone through puberty?"

Trent:"Piss off. Yours looks like it went trough yours several times."

Brett:"Nah, gotta be honest. I'm really enjoying this lean figure and hairless body"

Trent:"And my dick..."

Brett:"Haha, yeah and your dick. How are you doing in my body?"

Trent:"Feels pretty weird to be so hairy, but gotta admit it's a nice change. Like... feeling so manly"

Brett:"Yeah, but tip for that hairy stomach. Don't cum on it. It's really irritating to get cum from it"

Trent:"Never had the issue in my body, so yeah. Thanks for the tip"

Brett:"No problem. I had to try it out in yours haha"

Trent:"Doesn't this feel kinda gay to you? All the dick and jerk off talk. Appreciating each other's bodies"

Brett:"Nah. We're exploring, man. Who knows if we ever get that chance. Gotta enjoy it"

Wednesday August 7th

Trent:"How are you settling in?"

Brett:"Yeah. Pretty great. I just jerked off to some porn"

Trent:"Ew. I mean the appartement"

Brett:"Whooops. Sorry. Right. Yeah it's nice. Very clean. Very modern"

Trent:"It's yours only for a month so don't destroy anything there"

Brett:"It's kinda poetic right. New appartement, new body, new job"

Trent:"I don't see anything poetic about me playing games in front of a camera"

Brett;"Dude you have to. My fans are gonna wonder what happened to me"

Trent:"Fine. I'll log in tonight. By the way. Dude your feet smell so much when you work out."

Brett:"Work out? You took my body to the gym?

Trent:"Yeah. I had to show off these bushes somewhere, right?"

Brett:"Ahhh thanks man. Looking good"

Trent:"And I think oke girl was checking you... me out"

Brett:"If you can score than go for it. I'm actually late for a date. Or... how do you call it if you're just gonna have dinner and fuck?"

Trent:"Standard hook up man. Please be safe. Wear a condom. And watch our foe those carbs, man."

Brett:"Sure thing, bye"

Monday, August 12 th

Brett:"Dude do you like ever have to shave your face?"

Trent:"Sure I do. I just don't have to do it so often as you. Btw can I please shave off this moustache?"

Brett:"Absolutely not. You'll learn to love it and appreciate it. Just like I will your baby face"

Saturday, August 17th

Brett:"I have to admit I really love showing off your muscles man. I have been doing it constantly at every occassion. So many people turn their heads to take a peak"

Trent:"Yeah I get it. It helps with the confidence a bit"

Brett:"A bit? I feel like I can beat any fucker whk crosses me"

Trent:"Brett, please don't beat anyone in my body"

Brett:"Just kidding, man. How have you been"

Trent:"Well I tried being consistent with the gym. I think your body is doing pretty well"

Brett:"Daaaamn bro. I look good. You really do take care of my body really well"

Trent:"I was actually thinking I could offer this for money. Swapping with people, doing their routines and then swap back. But that's a talk for another time after we swap back"

Brett:"Yeha, sure. Cool idea. Anyway... how was the streaming?"

Trent:"I don't know, man. I think they are desperste for me to say your catchphrases, but they are so cringe."

Brett:"Nah, you have to do that. That's how you get into Tiktoks and become viral"

Trent:"Honestly. I can't wait to get back to my body and to my life back. So we will swap on September 2nd?

Brett:"Yeah. I suppose. Depends how the work will be etc. Anyway I gotta go man. Talk soon"

Trent to himself:"It feels like he's avoiding me with amswering more and more. Trent rubbed his hairy chest, recalling his sweet soft pecs that he missed.

Thursday, August 22nd

Trent:"Hey, man. How is it going?"

Friday, August 23rd

Trent:"Hey. I just wanna know if you're ok. I just wanna talk about the reversal."

Saturday:"please call me back as soon as possible"

Sunday, August 25th

Brett:"I'm ok"

Trent:"What the hell happened?"

Brett:"Nothing I just felt like I needed a break from phone and that stuff"

Trent:"Brett you didn't answer the phone for 4 days"

Brett:"Ok, I was avoiding you, cause I kinda fucked up and was afraid to tell you"

Trent:'What did you do? Is my body ok?"

Brett:"Yeah your body is unharmed. Nothing that bad. We just had a party in the appartement. Broke the TV and... I had unprotected sex with one girl. She didn't know if she was pregnant or not. So I was waiting. And congrats. You're not gonna be a dad"

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett:"I know. I'm so sorry. Won't happen again. Promise. I just got drunk once and it led to this. I'll be good now"

Trent:"Please, don't do anything anymore. I want to switch back"

Brett:"Nah man. We still gotta week to finish. You said until September 2nd."

Trent:"I didn't know you'd do something like this"

Brett:"Please Trent. I'm begging you. Just that one week"

Trent:"Fine. But don't do anything else!"

Sunday, September 1st

Brett:"Hey. Are you packed yet?"

Trent:"Hey. Not really. I planned on packing tommorow. You can come and help if you got time"

Brett:"Sure. I'll come by"

Monday, September 2nd

Trent arrives to the appartement. Brett is on the couch playing video games

The TV is new and there is a PlayStation on the table

Trent:"You didn't tell me you got back into gaming and that you bought all this."

Brett:"Yeha, I missed it. I thought to myself that you'd like it too. So I bought it. By the way. You should see how the fans dig it"

Trent:"Fans? You're live streaming in my body?"

Brett:"Yeah. The gamers are so into it when I'm flexing in the spare time. I even got a viral Tiktok already!"

Trent:"I think we should swap back, Brett. My life is out of your control now."

Brett:"I'm just using all the goods, man. You don't like my body anymore?"

Trent:"Stop changing the subject. I want to swap back"

Brett:"Ok... but on one condition"

Trent:"You want money?"

Brett;"Nah I want to have sex with my body. I want to have sex with you."

Trent:"You have lost your mind"

Brett:"Oh come on. Admit it, that you thought about it. Who gets the chance to fuck their body? To watch their body in the most animalistic moments from somebody else eyes?" Brett flexes his biceps to let Brett watch

Trent:"Brett..."

Brett stands up and goes towards Trent

Brett:"You know you want to kids thus face. To suck this hard dick" he says holding tightly his hardening bulge

Trent:"I... I do. I want to suck my dick"

Brett:"Atta boy"

They begin making out. The fast movements heading towards the bedroom could be described as chaotic, but for them it was a dance of passion. Brett was ripping his old clothes from his old body was all over his body, kissing his neck. Sucking each part of his skin

The kissed even more

Brett began to be more dominant. He gripped Trent's now receding hairline and pushed him down to suck his dick. Trent was choking. But did his best to swallow most of the shaft he now had. He had his dick in his mouth. He couldn't believe it. He is straight and he is sure of that. But this is absolutely different

Brett took his old body by the neck, choking him. "Say you love being in my body"

Trent:"Brett I can't breathe"

Brett:"Fine, let's do this the hard way"

He turned him around. Trent now on all fours. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready

Brett spit in his hand and spread it all over the head od his dick. Ready to penetrate his old hairy hole

Trent:"Brett wait... I... Ahhhhhhhh". Trent screamed in pain

Brett:"Yeah. Sorry about that. I'm just so horny. I love your body, Trent. I love every inch od it. Admit you like mine"

Trent:"Brett, please slow down"

Brett:"Naaah, you'll get used to it in a sex"

Trent:"Please, get lube or something"

Brett spit again to where his dick was penetrating Trent's ass. Brett:"Should do it"

Trent was still in pain, but now a new feeling was making him feel better. The pain was now... pleasant? He wanted to feel more. With every thrust from Brett. He felt like shitting himself and cumming at the same time

Brett:"Admit it. Admit you love being in my body" he sped up. Thrusting painfully.

Trent:"Yeah.... yes..."

Brett:"Louder"

Trent:"I do... I love your body. I love being you"

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm gonna cum. Turn around. I want to cum on your chest"

Trent turned around. He could feel cum leaking from his dick. And now he saw his old face like he never did before. Brett was so into it. His face was full of lust, rage and mischief.

Brett:"Ahhhh. I'm cumming!"

The cum shot all over Trent. Not only on his chest, but also on his mouth and face

Trent watched in awe what just happened.

Brett:"Whew. That was a ride wasn't it? First gay sex. Am I right?"

Trent:"Brett... I?"

Brett:"Oh sorry. I have to catch my breath. You look so funny with my cum all over you. Haha. By the way. I'm glad you love your new body. You get to keep it"

Trent:"Brett, you said we would swap"

Brett:"Yeah I did. That's true. But after this little 'cum over your face' and 'dick in your ass' we made it permanent"

Trent watched in shock as his old body was still standing on top of him. Breathing rapidly and laughing.

Several months later

Hi my name is Brett. Welcome to my only fans channel. If you got any hairy request, hit me up

Brett in Trent's body:"Well this is just pathetic. Man, I knew you'd crumble. But this just seems you lost your mind"

Trent's massive colleague came next to him:"Hey, bro. What are you looking at?"

Brett:"Just looking how one of my friends threw away their life, kinda sad. But whatever. Their life, not mine"

Friend:"Hey, wanna grab a beer later this evening?"

Brett scanned his friend from top to bottom and smiled:"Sure thing. Be there at eight"

Brett thought about switching it up a little. That body would be amazing. But then he turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. And flexed

Brett:"Nah. I'm Trent. And I'm keeping this body"

A request from messages (another one who waited for a LONG time, sorry guys) for @swappwas

Hope you like it :)

P.S. written late at night on a phone with a very irritating autocorrect, so please excuse the mistakes

[flippinpancakes64]

Hello! I love your stuff and I wanted to request their response to:

Reader: Let me take care of you.

Them: It's rotten work...

Reader: Not to me...not if it's you.

Keep writing! You're amazing! (And I need something to read while I stay up)

Taking care of the Cullens

Ok ngl this ask has me giggling and kicking my feet

Jasper let me take care of you 😡😭❤️

Uhm and remember in my request rules thing where I said I don’t do narratives… i might be a big fat liar cause that’s what I did here… don’t come for me

And thank you so much for the kind words! Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

Edward:

We all know he has a bit of a complex when it comes to his worth and his humanity

He tends to get in his own head a lot

Especially when it comes to you and your relationship

He doesn’t really get jealous in the normal sense

He just sort of gets sad when he sees you with other people

It’s one day after school and Edward seems to be avoiding you. You’re sitting at the table with Emmett, Alice, Esme, and Jasper playing a card game.

Only Edward is nowhere to be found.

The game finishes, Alice winning and Emmett immediately going into ranting mode about how it’s rigged. You excuse yourself to go check on him.

You find him upstairs in the piano room, plunking away on the keys mindlessly. If he wasn’t a vampire and you didn’t know better, you would say he didn’t even notice you enter the room.

You stood behind him for a while, watching as his fingers danced over the ivory keys.

“It sounds beautiful” you say.

He doesn’t respond.

“Edward, what’s the matter? You’ve hardly spoken to me all day.”

“Do you ever wish I was human?”

The question catches you off guard.

“To wish for you to be human would be to change you, and I happen to love you just the way you are.”

He huffs, his fingers halting.

“But don’t you wish I was warm? Don’t you wish I could eat the foods you like, actually sleep next to you at night, grow old with you?”

You sit down next to him at the stool and take his hands in your own.

“What were you like when you were human?”

The change of subject seems to catch him off guard, his face twists slightly as he thinks. He pauses for a beat before answering.

“I was a bit of a troublemaker. My mom always said I was giving her grey hairs way too early. I didn’t do any of my schoolwork, I just wanted to go and be free.”

“Hm, sounds like the you that could sleep, eat, and grow old was a bit of a wild card. Not really my type. You know I prefer the sophisticated, musical type.”

He laughs at that, hanging his head down to press a kiss to your joined hands.

“So what you’re saying is you like the version of me without a soul better,” he says bitterly. You frown at that.

“No, I’m saying I like the you that I have now. I love you, Edward. I would never trade you for anyone else in the world whether they have a pulse or not.”

He’s quiet for a moment.

“You know this is how it will always be, right? I’ll always be here, trying some new way to push you away from me. To make you realize that you deserve better.”

“And I’ll always be here to take care of you and make sure you know that my mind will never change.”

“Taking care of me for the rest of your life… talk about the worst job you could get.”

“Only it won’t be a job. Not for me. Not when it’s for you.”

He looks at you then, finally. His big, black eyes staring into yours.

You’ve wished it before, but in this moment you wish you were the one who could read his mind instead of the other way around.

“You’re so stupid,” he smiles, and leans in for a kiss.

Maybe one day he’ll fully believe you.

Alice:

Alice has a tendency to shut down whenever there’s too much going on

Too many people are on the cusp of making decisions that could change their lives

It seems that every person she meets on the street has a vision attached

She can’t take it anymore

You find her curled up in a ball in her room, the TV playing a program you don’t think she’s watching.

Around her are scattered sketchbook pages, each one hastily ripped from the pad and thrown to the floor.

On these pages are drawings of buildings, people, animals, and tragedies. You catch the face of a woman who’s screaming as a bullet heads straight for her face. In another is an open room with a small grenade in the center.

No wonder she’s been so upset.

None of the pages show joy, every single one a warning of a disaster that’s just waiting to happen.

In front of her, there’s a stack of drawings that she’s flipping through. On one of them you catch what looks like your face, only it’s contorted in a scream. In another you see Jasper, but you can’t make out what’s around him.

“Alice,” you call out, and her head whips up. Maybe she hadn’t heard you like you thought she did. “What’s wrong?”

She looks at you like a deer in headlights for a moment, before her eyes glance back down to the papers in front of her.

“There’s nothing wrong. Not yet, at least.”

Her tone is grave. You can hear the desperation for an answer, or at least a break.

You sigh, and move to sit next to her. You reach to take the stack of papers from her, meeting no resistance. If she wanted to keep them from you, she could. But she knew now that fighting you was always going to be useless.

“Alice, I know you can’t control the fact that you see these visions. But you can control how much you obsess over them. This isn’t healthy.”

“I don’t need to be healthy. I can’t die or get sick.”

You sigh again. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. You can’t keep withering away in here obsessing over what might happen.”

“But-“

“No buts.” You say, throwing the stack of papers to the side. “How long ago did you have these visions?”

She thinks for a moment.

“Yesterday, I think.”

“Alright. Have they happened yet?”

“Well, no…”

“From what you saw, are they still a possibility now?”

“…they are… a very low possibility…”

You could see her reluctantly piecing together your words, clearly not wanting to admit her mistake out loud.

“Look, Alice, you know that I’m always touched by you looking out for me, but in moments like this I need to look out for you too.”

She looks into your eyes, then hangs her head again.

“But that’s not how it’s supposed to be. My gift, I should be the one taking care of you-“

“No. There is no ‘supposed to’ anything. Humans aren’t ‘supposed to’ be with vampires and yet here we are. So please just come with me and watch a movie or cuddle or something?”

She looks at you again, then. Staring into your eyes, then glancing around her room, at all of the papers, then back to you. She smiles slightly and floats up to her feet.

“Fine. But I’m picking the movie.”

Jasper:

This is a man who needs some serious love and reassurance

He’s always on edge around you, even if he plays it off like he isn’t

He’s just always so scared of hurting you or doing something wrong

And a lot of the time that manifests as him isolating himself to try and get you to leave him

It was gonna be one of those nights again.

A night that you would spend alone in the bed you were supposed to be sharing with the love of your life, Jasper.

But no. On a night like this, he’s out in the woods, far, far away. Stewing in his feelings and brooding.

You don’t even remember anything happening this time. Sometimes something can set him off; a jab from someone at school, a hug he gave you that ended up being WAY too tight, anything really. Anything that reminds him of how he’s not supposed to be with you.

But right about now, you’re sick of it.

The Cullens have taken to being quieter at night since you’ve started sleeping over a lot more, but you know they’re all here- all except for the one you want.

So it being 2 am won’t bother any of the other residents of the house. You roll out of bed and march your way over to the door, throwing it open (politely) and stomping down the steps.

Emmett is the first one you see, and you decide he’ll be perfect for the job anyway.

“What’s got you going, firecracker?” He asks.

“I need you to go find Jasper and bring him to me. Now. I need to talk to him,” you couldn’t help the anger and frustration that seeped into your voice. Lack of sleep will do that to you.

Emmett stood up straight and gave a stupid salute, “One loner coming right up, boss.”

And with that he was out of the door, and you trudged back upstairs to wait for your boyfriend.

You were laying in the bed, still trying desperately to go to sleep when you heard a light knock on the door. Your eyes flicked open to see Jasper standing in the doorway, looking completely out of place and uncomfortable.

All of your anger left instantly, all you saw was the sweet man who was far too worried for his own good.

You sighed and scooted over, patting the spot next to you.

“Come here, Jasper.”

A look of what could only be described as fear flashed across his face before he shook his head and muttered a small, “i can’t.”

You sighed again and stood up, making your way over to him. When you reached him, you stretched your arms out to take his face in your hands, his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

“Look, Jas, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but I have a pretty damn good idea. You’re not gonna hurt me.”

“You don’t know that,” he says, looking into your eyes, something about the black made him look more human, more scared. “Vampires are already dangerous, but I’m the worst of the worst. You’ve found yourself a faulty cannon amongst rifles, darling.”

You frowned at his analogy, squeezing his perfect face in your hands.

“You are NOT faulty, you hear me? You are perfect. Perfect for me, at least.”

“The perfect man for you wouldn’t be tearing himself up inside trying not to kill you.”

“And a lesser man would have already done it.” He was shocked at that, stunned into silence. He hung his head slightly, not meeting your eyes once more.

“And what if I do hurt you one day? Would you ever forgive me? Could I ever forgive myself?”

“I don’t think you will. But if you do, Carlisle will put me back together and I’ll jump right back into your arms.”

His eyes bore into your soul as he stared at you like you were crazy.

“Why the hell would you do that? Come running right back to me?”

“To make sure you don’t hate yourself for too long. Now come on, I’m tired and I can’t sleep without my personal AC unit.”

He looked at you with disbelief. You knew he didn’t believe you, you don’t know if he ever will.

But that’s okay. You’ll keep him right here, and pull him back to you every time he runs away.

Eventually, he’ll understand that you love him.

Rosalie:

The topic of kids has always been a very touchy one for Rosalie

It’s all she’s ever wanted, and all that she still wants

Most days, the pain is not too much of an issue

But some days, it just gets to be too much

You and Rosalie were walking down the street, hand in hand as you strolled by the different shops and food stands.

The city was busy today, many young couples out and about, shopping, talking, kissing far too passionately to be in public, the usual.

“Rose, do you mind if we sit down for a bit? These shoes Alice chose for me look really nice, but they are so uncomfortable.”

She giggled, but nodded and led you both to a bench. You sat down with a heavy sigh, finally getting off of your feet after what felt like forever (even though it was only about an hour).

Across the way in the little park you’ve both found yourself in, a young couple is sitting on a bench.

The woman has long, flowing, blonde hair that frames her face in loose curls. She’s wearing a gorgeous floral-patterned dress, and on her left hand is quite possibly the biggest, gaudiest ring you have ever seen.

To her right, a man sits, one who bears a striking resemblance to you, regardless of gender.

And in the middle, a little baby. A perfect mix of the two, her hair and his eyes, her nose and his jawline, all swaddled in a cute little onesie.

You’re about to turn to Rosalie to point out the cute baby (she always loves to look and maybe go touch it if the parents allow her to) when you see that she’s already looking.

Her face is grave, like she’s looking at her own headstone. Her face is twisted in grief, and she looks on the verge of tears.

It takes you a second to connect the dots, but once you do, your heart clenches for her.

That woman looks like her, reminds Rosalie of herself. And the man looks like you. And that baby is what she wants, all she’s ever wanted. What she can’t have.

Babies are always hard for her, but this struck a deep chord.

“Rose… do you wanna go home?” You ask softly, not wanting to come off as pushy.

“…”

“Come on, let’s go,” you grab her arm to pull her up, she goes with you, but keeps her head craned back to the young couple the whole time.

Once you’re far away, she breaks down. You’ve never seen a vampire cry, and that’s probably because they can’t. But if they could, Rosalie would be sobbing.

You know it’s bad because she doesn’t even care that she falls to the floor in this dirty, nasty alleyway. Normal Rosalie would rather die 100 times over than get her clothes dirty, especially here.

You sit down next to her, letting her dry heave and gasp into your shoulder, her wails breaking your heart.

You’re helpless here. Cause what can you really do? You can’t give her a kid, she can’t give you one either. You can’t go back in time and stop her from being killed. And you can’t go back and steal that baby from that couple (even though you kind of really want to).

So you just hold her.

You run her hair, pat her back, kiss her head, and whisper into her ear. How much you love her, how she’s perfect, how it’s okay, how you don’t think less of her.

Once she’s calmed down and her breathing has slowed, she looks up at you.

“I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be seeing this side of me.”

“What? I want to be here for you, Rose. I know I can’t fix this for you, but at least I can-“

“Fix it? Darling, don’t worry about fixing me. I’m already completely broken, there’s nothing to fix.”

With that you just take a moment to look at her. Her face screams that she is broken. In her soul, at least. Her and Edward are a lot more similar than they like to think.

“Rosalie. You are not broken. There is nothing wrong with you.”

She scoffs at that. “I’m not human. I’d say that’s pretty wrong. Not to mention the fact that I can’t even look at a couple with a baby and not want to violently kill someone.”

“And that’s okay.”

She scoffs again.

“No, really, Rose. I mean it. I’m never ever going to think less of you for something like this. You went through something I can never even imagine and now you’re left to pick up the pieces. Just let me help you.”

She looks at you, her eyes staring into yours. The grief that she’s feeling is evident. But deep in her eyes, you see a touch of something else. Trust, maybe.

“You know, you’re gonna be picking up pieces for the rest of your life.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind. Not if it’s you.”

Emmett:

He likes to pretend to be all big and bad all of the time

But in reality, he's still a person

He just has a hard time remembering that sometimes

You don't know where he got all of that energy from.

I mean, realistically, you know that he can never get tired.

But really, even for a vampire this was unnatural.

Some nobody in school had challenged him to an arm wrestle. Of course, he can never resist. He grabbed the guy's hand and prepared to pummel him, only to flinch and have his hand thrown down against the wood of the desk.

The guy had one of those fake shock things in his hand, and as soon as Emmett clamped down it vibrated like crazy.

To say he was pissed would be an understatement.

And now he was taking all of that anger out on the trees around the Cullen house.

"That-" punch "fucking-" punch "ASSHOLE!" punch punch punch

It had been days. And you were honestly getting worried. He hadn't hunted in those days, much less came inside the house. You're surprised the park ranger hasn't come knocking yet.

You heard a hollowed cracking sound and looked to see Emmett standing triumphantly as a rather large oak tree fell to the ground, followed by a guttural roar from the man.

"Emmett," you called, barely above a whisper. But you know he heard you. "Come over here please."

He looks at you with a slightly guilty look, the anger from before fading away as he hangs his head and trudges over to you. He stops just a few feet in front of you, lamely kicking the rocks beneath his toes as he avoids your eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s that stupid fucking guy-“

“No,” you stop him, putting your hand up to silence him. “What’s actually wrong? Don’t tell me you’re seriously this pissed about losing an arm wrestling match with some nobody.”

He just stood there in silence for a second. You took this chance to stand up and grab his face in your hands, instantly he leaned in, perching his head on your palms.

“I just… need to be strong. That’s what I am, I need to be strong,” he whispered, his voice coming out shy and meek.

You just smiled at him sadly and rubbed his cheek.

“I can be strong too you know. So every once in a while you can let me take care of you instead.”

He laughed at that.

“You, strong? As if. I could fold you in half!”

You punched him lightly in the arm.

“You jerk! I’m trying to be sentimental!”

He laughed again and grabbed your hands, bringing them back up to their previous spot cradling his face.

“Ok ok, serious sentimental time.”

You just laughed and kissed him.

Esme:

She has a bad habit of overreacting

Just a dash of anxiety

So when something-anything happens to you, she freaks out

This is bad.

Like really, really bad.

You were supposed to be driving to go see Esme at the Cullen house, but of course your piece-of-shit car decided that now would be a perfect time to break down.

Too far away from home to walk back, too far away from the Cullens to walk there, and the nearest anything was also too far.

Not to mention the snow covering the ground didn’t really entice you to get out of your still-warm car.

So you tried calling someone to come get you.

Only, of course there’s no service out here because why would there be.

Just your luck.

You weigh your options, and decide that walking is just gonna have to do.

You didn’t pack a winter coat because you didn’t think you’d be outside for this long, but you had a blanket stored in your backseat and it was better than nothing.

So off you trekked through the freezing cold winter storm to the Cullen house.

Inside, Esme was (in)patiently waiting.

Your favorite meal was waiting for you, already plated and getting colder by the second on the dining room table.

You said you were on your way 30 minutes ago. It takes about 30 minutes to get from your house to their house.

So where were you?

Her ears perked at the sound of a slowly beating heart coming from down the driveway.

It didn’t sound like one of the foxes or deer that roam around this time of year. No, it sounded a bit bigger, a bit more human.

She was out the door in a flash. Before anyone had the chance to ask what she was doing she was by your side.

“Oh my god, honey, why are you out here?!”

“An angel…” and then you collapsed.

Cue Esme absolutely freaking the fuck out.

She has you in front of a lit fireplace, a heating blanket rested over your shoulders and a warm towel on your head.

She’s pacing back and forth in front of you. She wants to hold you so bad, to kiss you, cuddle you, protect you. But she can’t. She’ll just make the shivers wracking your body even worse.

“Es…” you croak, your eyes blinking open finally.

“Oh my god! Are you okay? How are you feeling? Why were you out there? Where’s your car? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Shhhh,” you whisper, bringing your finger up to shush her. “Just come here.”

You open up your blanket in an invitation to her.

“Are you out of your mind? I can’t cuddle with you right now, I’ll freeze you!”

“Please, you deserve to be taken care of too.”

She crumbles at that, you can see the resolve leaving her face. And then she figures that you won’t get too cold with the heated blanket and everything.

She cuddles up next to you, wrapping her arms around your waist and ducking her head into your neck.

“I’m so sorry, I should have been there. And least of all I shouldn’t be such a mess right now.”

“It’s okay to be a mess, I’ll always be here to hold you.”

Carlisle:

No one really talks about the stress of being a pretend father for a bunch of eternal teenagers

Really, it’s a blessing that he doesn’t need sleep and isn’t affected by long hours

But despite that, he still gets so worn out

Today had been a long day for Carlisle.

It was student-teacher conference day. And while that’s not usually an issue since he always tells the kids to behave, Emmett decided it was necessary to punch a kid last week.

To be honest, Carlisle didn’t really care if the kid was a bully or not, all he viewed it as was something more drawing attention to them.

On top of that, the cattiness between Edward and Rosalie seemed to be especially bad today.

They were at each other’s throats for the better part of the day, and nothing would get them to separate.

At work, at least a dozen new patients showed up. A factory that was close by had a gas leak, very minor. None of the people were harmed at all, but many still insisted on going to the clinic.

Carlisle’s not one to discourage people from getting checked out, but he is one to tell people to go home when they’re fine, which everyone was.

But these people kept insisting something was wrong. A boy with a broken arm had to wait for three hours for a room to open up because the factory workers refused to leave.

By the time he got home, he was exhausted, you could tell. His eyes were heavy, as were his footsteps. His hair was disheveled, he had clearly been running his fingers through it all day from the stress.

He looked like a mess. But even then, he greeted you with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

He always takes such good care of you, whether you’re sick or not, he’s always there with whatever you want.

Now it’s your turn.

“Carlisle, are you busy?” You ask, peeking into his home office. Even after the super long day, he’s a man of habit.

“Not particularly,” he turns to look at you, setting his pen down, “why?”

“Follow me.”

You lead him to the bathroom, where a nice, warm back is drawn. Complete with lilac scented bath oil and two candles lit on the sink.

“The bath looks beautiful, darling. I’m sure the lavender will be great for your skin.”

“Oh, it’s not for me,” you quip. All he does is raise an eyebrow. “It’s for you. I know you’ve had a long day, so go relax and meet me in the bedroom when you’re done.”

You don’t give him a chance to argue before you leave, shutting the door tightly behind you.

He emerges about 30 minutes later, still toweling his hair off.

“Ok now come on over here,” you pat the bed next to you, motioning him to sit there. Again, all he does is quirk and eyebrow but he obliges.

You take the remote to the TV in yours and Carlisle’s room, turning on his favorite movie. A classic one from the silent film era.

“But this… I haven’t seen this movie in years… how did you get it?”

“That’s the beauty of streaming platforms.”

You both sit in silence for a while, Carlisle seemingly happy to just watch his favorite movie after so long. Eventually, he turns to look at you with an inquisitive expression.

“So, what’s all this for?”

“What, am I not allowed to take care of you from time to time?”

He laughs slightly at that.

“A human taking care of a vampire, how twisted.”

You grab his face between your hands at that, drawing him close and looking deep into his yellow eyes.

“It’s not if I want to do it, and I would move the Earth for you.”

“Hopeless romantic,” and with that he kisses you.

Vampire! Bella:

She tends to… shut down

We all know how she was when she couldn’t be with Edward

That translates over

It really wasn’t supposed to be that big of a deal.

Your Spanish class was going to be taking a two week trip to Spain.

Only, Bella wasn’t in Spanish. This time around, she chose to take French. Which was all fine and good, until it meant that she couldn’t go with you.

Cue two weeks of endless calls and texts.

On the phone with you , she sounds fine. But from your calls with Alice, she’s not doing too hot.

She hasn’t been hunting since you’ve been gone, she’s completely stopped going to class, and she also hasn’t talked to anyone in the house.

It’s the last night of your trip, you’re in your hotel room, the girl you’re sharing with is sound asleep in the other bed, but you know one girl who’s never asleep.

You call Bella’s number, and she answers instantly, like she’s been waiting all day for you to call. In all honesty, she probably has.

“Hey, what are you up to?” You can hear the attempt to be nonchalant in her voice, but her eagerness gives her away.

“Oh nothing, I just got off the phone with Alice… wanna tell me why you didn’t leave our room today? Or yesterday? Or the day before?”

You can hear her pause on the line, like she’s trying to come up with a convincing lie, but eventually she sighs.

“I just… I’ve just been missing you a lot, is all. I want you here next to me, I feel incomplete without you.”

Yowch. Right through the heart.

You decide then to help in some way, you don’t know how immediately, but you have to do something.

So you start to hum.

Whenever you have a bad day, Bella hums the song her mom used to sing to her. You always ask her to, and even though she says she isn’t a great singer, she indulges you anyway.

Sometimes it’s the only thing that can stop you from a panic attack or calm you enough to go back to sleep after a nightmare.

You hear her gasp slightly before y he sound of sheets rustling, presumably her laying her head down.

You go through the whole song twice over, Bella never telling you to stop or joining you.

After your voice fades out and the line stays dead for a moment, you swear you can hear Bella overthinking.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that. I’m an apex predator. I shouldn’t be so upset whenever you leave for a little bit.”

You laugh lightly at that, and you can hear her scoff across the line.

“I don’t mind. Especially when it’s you. Bella, I love you and I would do anything for you.”

“Even if I’m a beautiful monster who was designed to kill you?”

“Even if you did kill me, I would hope that my blood nourishes you for months on end.”

[princessbrunette]

all of a sudden, jj suddenly felt severely underdressed in his black muscle tank and cargo shorts. it’s not that he hadn’t been in a strip club before, he’d just never come to see pogue!bunny!reader at her place of work.

you’d left your shoes at the chateau after one of the many infamous pogue parties that you’d been invited to. if it were any other kind of cheap shoes, you’d probably just said forget about it. but for some bizarre reason, you’d worn some of your prettiest shoes that cost you an arm and a leg from the bills thrown your way at the club, so you’d been damned if you let those just get tossed in the trash because guys don’t know the value of things.

jj had actually used it as an excuse to slide into your instagram dms. shooting you a super casual ‘hey, left your shoes at the chateau. want em back?’ to which you responded ‘my hero!!!! <3’ and so on. anyway, the agreement was — he’d bring your shoes to you on your break.

it’s not as grimy on the inside as it is on the outside, but he doesn’t have much time to look around before he’s hearing the slapping of bare feet through the hallway — and suddenly a scantily dressed figure is throwing itself into his arms in the dimly lit space.

“holy— jesus christ.” he catches you anyway, though you can tell he doesn’t know where to put his hands, settling on the fat just beneath your ass. he swore you were put on this earth to tempt him.

“you came!” you smile in that melodic voice, unhardened by your surroundings. hell, he nearly did come.

“well, you called.” he shrugs, trying to be all nonchalant about it. he swings the shiny pink heels around his fingers and you squeal, taking them from him. “yeah— so, uh— if that’s all i could probably just see myself ou—” he juts a thumb towards the exit, going to stuff one hand in his pocket and missing all together as he backs away. he wasn’t sure why he was being so awkward, aside from the fact you were just stood infront of him wearing a tiny little triangle bra and a g string.

“stay!” your brows furrow adorably and it physically pains his chest, infact — he’s pretty sure he had a physical reaction, face screwing up with a wince. how does one tell the girl he’s attracted to that if he stays any longer he will pop a hard on? “s’the least i can do. come watch the show. i can hook you up with wings and some beers for free?” you bat your faux-lashes, the glitter on your cheekbone glowing in the low lighting as you tilt your head sweetly, putting on a show to convince him.

“wings, beer n’ boobs? you’re talkin’ my language young lady.” he smirks, unable to hide his usual ways and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“yay, follow me!” you grip his hand, long acrylics scratching against his wrist and he rolls his lips together, eyes practically following each jiggle of your ass cheek as you walk before he even realises he’s in the main section. you settle him in, a little booth that usually probably occupies pervy businessmen— which really makes the blonde feel out of place. he came alone, and now he was sat here — occupying a booth. what kind of creep comes to watch strippers alone?

he’s about to jump up and make up an excuse to leave in pure embarrassment, but you’re smoothing your hands along his shoulders, batting your lashes and telling him you wish you could stay and chat but you’ve gotta go dance, and that his wings and beer will be coming soon. he blinks at you, under a trance and settles into the worn and suspiciously sticky leather arm chair.

soon you’re up on that stage and he wants to sink into the fucking ground. you’re unbelievably hot, and now it’s like something out of a porno he made in his mind, watching you saunter around the pole, dropping down to the ground and arching your back, shaking the meat of your ass effortlessly as faceless men throw money your way. he had nothing to throw but some receipts and old nickels in his pockets and he didn’t think you’d appreciate that — which didn’t matter anyway, because he was somewhat stuck to his seat.

he lifts his hands to adjust his cap before realising he’s not wearing one, and just as he realises his dick is sitting hot, heavy and hard in his shorts— you’re off stage, bounding over with everything jiggling. lord help him.

he thinks he might die when you clamber confidently onto his lap, straddling him front on.

“so how was it jayj did you like it? i know it’s a lil’ weird seeing me up there, i’m your friend n’all but was the song choice good atleast?” you tilt your head like a befuddled puppy dog before wriggling around— crotch to cock. “oh, nevermind. i can feel that you’re like super hard so i take it that you liked the show!” you smile, like you’d just said the most innocent sentence in the world. jj blinks, lips agape.

“uh— y—no, yeah it was… well, y’know. the body doesn’t lie.” he bucks his hips lightly in gesture before immediately internally questioning why he’d do something so creepy. luckily, you giggle — but he’s not sure if it’s because you liked it or because you’re well trained.

“well, next time you get paid come get a lapdance i’ll fix that problem jayj, even give you a discount.” you let that giggle slip through again, but there’s a breathiness to your tone that feels all too real. his brows jump up, eyes flickering unashamedly to your tits as you lean forward to his ear. “or jus’ get me drunk again next weekend? will probably do it for free ‘cus i like you.” you admit, looking all nervous when you pull back. you just shook your ass on stage, yet jj maybank was making you flustered.

“for sure. yeah uh— can… can definitely do that. yep.” he plays it calm and collected, sees you out with another bone crushing hug against your tits before speed walking to his company truck that he drove over here. his shift was over, so he wasn’t rushing to get back to work. moreso to beat off in the parking lot thinking about pulling that g-string of yours to the side.

[comicaurora]

hi red!! just listened to the newest episode of the ospod and i have one question: did you and magenta enjoy sonic three??

TREMENDOUSLY

(spoilers below)

Maria playing a soft acoustic cover of Live And Learn on the guitar was Incredible

We both lost it when Sonic looked directly at the camera and quoted "talk about a low-budget flight!" word for word

Almost every Sonic vs Shadow scene in the trailer was from the very first action scene in the movie, which was absolutely the way to do it. They didn't spoil anything important AND they didn't drag out the opener.

That first action scene was KILLER. They hit every single beat they needed to establish exactly who Shadow was.

The pacing overall was fantastic. When Blue and I watched sonic 1 and 2, we concluded that sonic 2 had More Fun Stuff, but sonic 1 was far more tightly paced. I think sonic 3 got back to the pacing of sonic 1 - not an ounce of fat on there.

CHAO GARDEN TOURIST TRAP

Magenta called the movie cowards for not letting the GUN soldier actually shoot Maria

Extremely elegant way to take Tom and the ancillary humans out of commission and motivate Sonic to have his obligatory "I must go alone and Take Vengeance" darkest hour, BUT I really respected how they let Knuckles choose to back off and trust him, even if narratively we know Sonic is making the wrong choice. My boy Knux got a shockingly good showing this movie, considering all he really had to do was get worf'd to prove how badass Shadow is. They do some careful work making sure he still feels like a powerhouse even though he's outclassed by both super hedgehogs.

Making Shadow's motivation in this movie raw, fresh, suicidal grief was absolutely the right call, because that makes this whole Destroy The Earth thing the equivalent of an extremely understandable but short-lived temper tantrum caused by "from my POV my best friend died in my arms like YESTERDAY" and that means it feels like he could conceivably be talked out of with a little empathy and compassion, which is exactly what Sonic gives him, after the COOLEST FUCKING FIGHT SCENE I'VE EVER SEEN

This Sonic is cleanly growing from a good-hearted kid into exactly the kind of relentlessly compassionate paragon hero they're portraying him as in the IDW comics and it is Rad As Hell

And on the flip side, making Gerald's villain motivation slow and calculated and locked in over the course of fifty deliberate years was a very clever way to convince us that Shadow just needed kindness and a good example, but Gerald had made his choice and could absolutely not be redeemed.

"You're no Maria" is cold as ice and I'm still thinking about it days later

everyone's acting like Robotnik's dead but my man was wearing a nanotech suit that could turn into anything like if they want him back he'll be back

excited for Shadow to just Turn Up at some point in the future during a risky fight scene and for literally only Sonic to be happy to see him, As Their Dynamic Should Be

Magenta really likes Metal Sonic as a character so hopefully he's not just relegated to Interchangeable Army Of Minions status forever

A M Y

I predict that in Sonic 4 we will get Silver as the main first-half-of-the-movie misled villain and Shadow WILL reintroduce himself into the plot by kicking Silver in the back of the head and I WILL lose my mind

[bigification]

Jealousy Jealousy

Strong, loyal, dedicated. All words used by the boss to describe me, and every word seemed like a knife in the back of my roommate. I can hear it in the way he talks to me, ever since I joined the military all he ever seems to be is jealous. I've always been stronger and more dedicated than him, he's smarter but that doesn't even matter that much.

The walk back to our room is awkward. It is completely silent and I can almost see the steam coming out of his ears. I wanted so badly to be friends with him, but he makes it impossible. I've always worked out and kept my body in good shape, and apparently that's unforgivable to him.

We get back to our room and he immediately goes rummaging through his stuff. I pace back and forth, debating whether I should talk to him. It's hard living with him and I just want things to be civil between us.

"Hey man, I wanted to ta-" I'm interrupted when he quickly swings around and jabs something into my stomach. I look down and see a needle sticking into the side of my stomach. I feel frozen with fear, I can't talk, almost as if there is something stuck in my throat. I let out a groan as he pushes the end of the needle, injecting a green liquid into my body.

"I'm tired of being in your shadow, let's see how long you'll last after this." He monologues like some cartoon villain. What does he even mean by that, was that some kind of poison? Is he killing me just because the boss likes me more.

I stumble back against the wall, I feel weak but it hurts less than I thought it would. Although my stomach feels like it's boiling.

Am I dreaming... It feels more like a nightmare. But it must be a nightmare. I see a lump form under my shirt, and it seems to grow every time I blink. It can't be real, but it feels so real. The lump grows until it looks like I have a little belly. Do I have a belly? It's growing faster and faster until my shirt becomes untucked. It finally stops after growing into a sizable beer belly, making it impossible for me to see my feet. Maybe he gave me drugs, maybe this is just a bad trip. But it feels so real.

It doesn't end with the beer belly. Next my pecs start to swell. Something I worked so hard on is gone in seconds. I see them soften into a pair of man tits, growing until they press against my shirt. I always swore I would never let myself go like my father did, but I guess that's a lie. At least it took him until his thirties to get fat, I can't even make it to my late twenties without pigging out.

I still have no idea what's happening to me. It's getting harder and harder to think. I was thinking about... Something about pigging out. It must be because I love pigging out, that's how I got this belly.

As I'm trying to think, my body continues to grow. I hear the button on my pants pop off and feel the pressure release. I think my ass is growing, not that I mind. I feel my body being pushed further and further away from the wall as fat spilled into my ass.

Why does my crotch feel so tight? I could have sworn it didn't feel this tight a moment ago. I don't really care anyway, I can't even remember why I should care.

My pants strain against the fat filling my legs, I think I can even hear some rips tearing through them. My arms follow suit, softening up my defined muscles and fattening up my hands. Better off that way if you ask me, fatter hands means better belly rubs, and I like belly rubs.

I feel an itchiness engulf my body as a thick pelt of hair covers my skin. My arms, my legs, my chest, and most importantly my belly become a forest of sweaty hair.

My body finally relaxed and I let out a loud burp. Oh... I'm so hungry. I rub my belly trying to get any relief. It's all I can think of. Wasn't I stressed about something? What would I have been stressed about, maybe I was just hungry.

"How ya feeling big guy?" My roommate asks me.

"I'm so hungry." I cry out.

"Aren't you supposed to be on a diet?" He teases me.

"Why the fuck would I be on a diet. This is the mark of a true man!" I say as I slap my gut.

"Well I'm sure this box of donuts won't hurt your fitness assessment next week, and they won't eat themselves." He pulls out a dozen donuts. It feels like I lose control of my body as I instinctively ravage the donuts.

I lean back after finishing off the last donut and let out a loud burp. God I'm stuffed, but I want so much more. I rub my belly, trying to process the snack I just had, so I can make room for more.

"There's plenty more where that came from, big guy."

Credits to bulkgainer92 for the video and for inspiring this story.

[fatphobiabusters]

Hello. I’ve never sent a message on here before, although I’ve been following for awhile, but I was hoping I could vent a bit (anonymously, if possible. Thanks.). So I came across a disgusting YouTube video (channel name is Asmongold Clips so people can avoid it) where a guy mocked a fat airline passenger and joked about essentially locking fat people up in concentration camps to lose weight, all while using very dehumanizing language. Against my better judgment, I left a reply (my first-ever YouTube comment at that) since I didn’t come across anyone calling him out. I immediately got attacked for it, and while I’ve gained a lot more confidence in myself and my ability to handle offensive things ever since coming across blogs like this, it still bothered me. Probably doesn’t help that I’m also autistic as well as a minor and can’t process things like this very well. Not long after this, I also heard that leaving comments on any kind of YouTube video supposedly gives the channel money if it’s over a certain amount of words. I’m not positive if this is true, but it left me feeling guilty/worried. I don’t know, I guess I just wanted to see what your all’s thoughts are on this and if I handled it well, or if there are better ways of dealing with things like this. Thanks for listening, and sorry if it became a bit rambling. Also, know that I really appreciate this blog; it’s helped a lot.

____

Mod squirrel:

People in the youtube comments are uniquely out of pocket and Im not sure why. To be frank no one will listen if they want a fight. If you leave a comment you do it on the off chance someone else relates but not in hopes of changing minds. Ive actually disabled notifications for comment replies because I argue too much in YT comments. I try a one and done approach with comments and dont wait around or care if someone who can't even upload a pfp has to say.

All that said:

You aren't obligated to fight every battle. Its definitely a skill that has to be trained up. You can leave a dislike and move on. Like I said youtube doesn't work for changing minds in the comments. If you want to make comments look into disabling the notifications for replies, say your peace and not look back.

The money thing I have no idea. I thought everything was about views and retention time. Either way thats not your burden. You can try the dislike button instead (at a minimum this teachers the algorithm what you don't want to see giving you more peace, hopefully).

And because this got me thinking: I dont suggest minors going full face forward like, say Greta Thunberg. As sad as it is to say. Any minor, on any issue, leave it to the adults because these bigots and trolls can be vile. You can support and stuff but dont become the "face" of anything. Being swatted or something is a possibility and I especially don't want any minors getting caught up in that. You can help in other ways but yall gotta stay safe. Greta has had absolutely horrid things said about her and if you want to care about issues there's levels between 1 and 100.

The occasional youtube comments won't put a target on you. That level of stuff is fine. Reading books and educating yourself is a foundational level that can take years.

I dont think you, anon, specifically are going to run off to do something wild but your ask got me thinking about how in movies there's always the teen who wants to save the world. Today's digital climate is so murky and dangerous. Its a balance between safety and realizing your full activism goals.

Anyway a bit of a tangent there.

Tldr you're doing great, you didn't do anything wrong. 🫂

[jackiestailor]

line without a hook (wasteland, baby! series)

chapter one: enter RIO and NATALIE, stage right.

masterlist

(divider from @dollywons !)

note: first chapter ! woooo ! ok this is only a prologue which explains why this is just 17k of a whole lotta yapping. i locked in last night and wrote like 4k+ words for like 4 hours just because i was tired of looking at this sitting in my docs taking up space

SOME POINT IN SPRING, 1996.

Nobody really liked Rio Marcini.

It was a universal fact. Very few people in the world—specifically small town New Jersey where most of the population consisted of uptown people and their trailer park counterparts who were often looked down upon with the suspicion that each and every one of them were up to no good—ever got along with Rio. It primarily circled around the stereotype that people (particularly white people, but they’d never ever own up to their oppressive thoughts and beliefs) made about Mexicans. Plays soccer; wears alternative clothing; foul mouth; mediocre grades. Some people even went far enough to assume she does drugs (‘some people’ referring to the ones who left their first interaction with her with a fat lip after boasting their stereotypes about her), but whether that’s true or not doesn’t play into the deeper part of her.

She hadn’t been in Wiskayok very long, moving further up north when she was 14 and was pushed into the 8th grade class in the middle of the year. Long before then, during her time in a sun-soaked Miami, it wasn’t as bad as people in New Jersey rumored it was. Maybe it wasn’t as ideal to them as it was to Rio, probably because everybody there either grew up with their whole lives on a silver platter or still had to work three jobs to pay rent. Skin color and clothing style was the first thing people noticed when she came to Wiskayok—because of course the most head-turning thing in the world is a brown skinned girl walking around the 8th grade building primarily surrounded by a bunch of white kids.

She didn’t care—that’s what it looked like to most of them, anyways. Further proving that ignoring the bully doesn’t solve anything and only gives them the impression that their actions don’t have consequences when their main target is a person of color.

A few people did end up liking her. A handful. It wasn’t enough. She’d always find herself wanting more until she’s satisfied with who she thinks people want her to be.

But this’ll do.

A girl—the first person to actually show kindness to her aside from her mom and occasionally her younger half brother who sometimes pops in whenever things in Montana (her father left just a few months before Rio and her mom moved up north to New Jersey, taking her unknown half brother with him) with her father were rocky for however long it would last—her name was Natalie. Nobody really liked her either, save for the few people she hangs out with after school and the varsity soccer team she got into to distract herself from her own home life.

Natalie wasn’t exactly the ideal Wiskayok high school girl, either. She was considered a ‘burnout’—skipped school sometimes (a habit which Rio actually picked up on), smoked, drank, all sorts of stuff. It was nothing less that was expected of people who lived in the trailer park on the other side of town. She didn’t show much emotion, though Rio could see that she cared when she looked between the lines when Natalie would show up to her house with a ceram wrapped peanut butter and jelly sandwich one morning in their freshman year (she claimed it was because the breakfast the school served in the cafeteria was shit, but Rio knew better than to buy into the shallow excuse to show her affection). Rio did admire her fierce loyalty—nobody ever messed with her without messing with Natalie (which sometimes led to the two of them getting into a mini argument over Rio claiming that she wasn’t a damsel in distress).

There were these few other boys who liked her. Two of them had some sort of homoerotic friendship going on that earned a bunch of head turns and questioning glares from the people around them whenever they talked a little too loudly. One of them was one of those boys who looked like they’d roll out of bed and throw on their cleanest shirt (most of the time it would be some sort of band t shirt) and basketball shorts and pull up to school riding a skateboard and half expect the senior girls to swoon over him instantly. At least, he looked like it, anyway. His hair was never neat—always messy with a black squirrel's nest sitting over his head with shitty eyeliner smudged over his eyelids with little splotches even getting into his eyes. He was one of those guys who trashed on people who listened to really popular bands and artists and swore to the gods above that he had the best music taste around (he couldn’t convince anybody that he was simply “branching out” when Natalie caught him listening to Sir Mix-A-Lot after he heard Rio listening to brown shuga on her walkman).

Despite all that stuff about him, his quirks and faults and flaws and annoyances, he wasn’t that bad. He was incredibly sweet, all things considered—in Rio’s sophomore year she only got a few things on Valentine’s Day (one of which was from the varsity soccer team captain Jackie—but whatever goes on between her and Rio is another can of worms) and he—Seth, the guy with the shitty hair and the guyliner and the ‘godly music taste’—gave her her first Valentine’s Day gift in all her time at Wiskayok. She recalled seeing an unnatural blush on his freckled cheeks as he handed her the rather fancy box of chocolates that was rumored to be shoplifted from the mall (whether or not that was true didn’t necessarily matter—it was the thought that counted), warm from being in his backpack the whole day and waiting 7 periods before he could hand it to her just a few minutes before soccer practice started.

The soccer team itself was actually quite entertaining for Rio. The teammates were nice—one of them instantly clicked with her once she joined the team. Back in Miami, the community soccer team she played for was mediocre at best and they believed that having fun was the most important part. Rio couldn’t have disagreed more—and apparently so did the Wiskayok soccer team. That didn’t mean she didn’t miss them.

The team goalie—Van—was the one that instantly clicked with Rio. Taissa often stuck with her and was always talking to her whenever practice was over or just before it started. Laura Lee was probably the sweetest girl Rio ever met; a Christian girl with absolutely no hate in her heart. That being said, Rio never ever missed an opportunity to tease her about ‘finally accepting Jesus into her heart’ only to reveal she was messing with her every single time. Shauna was one of the harder ones to bond with. She was one of those quiet girls with excellent grades and a few friends. Part of Rio thought she was only on the soccer team because she felt some sort of obligation to one of the other teammates—Jackie, to be precise. She was never caught staring at anything else for a long period of time other than Jackie.

Jackie herself was an easier one to get along with—not as easy as Van or Natalie or Laura Lee, but they had their moments together. She was an excellent team captain—albeit she definitely wasn’t the best player on the team, with Rio dominating all of them in terms of footwork and a few others being faster than her, she was definitely the most enthusiastic about the sport. In addition she was also one of the most caring people on the team—and that she ever met in general—after finding out that once Rio had gotten diagnosed with glaucoma and had a really bad habit of “forgetting” to do her eye drops (she hated them) that Jackie had somehow gotten her hands on the same exact tiny bottle and sometimes did them for her. On the rare days when Rio was feeling the effects of other people being their ignorant selves and dogging on her for fitting the stereotype that they saw her as, Jackie would be the one to tell Rio that ‘they can talk shit all they want about someone they don’t know, the more they do it the more stupid they’ll look when they come to realize that this heart of gold in your chest is something they could only dream of having.’

Moving on.

Lottie was nice. Rio didn’t know a whole lot about her aside from the fact her parents were fucking loaded. Maybe too loaded and it didn’t really make sense to Rio that the Matthews decided to live in this tiny town. A lot of the parties she’d been to were at her house—more of a mansion, really. Mari was what was called an acquired taste—Rio didn’t care for her all that much in the beginning and even thought she was a bit of a bitch. She couldn’t recall when it was, but at some point in time she got used to Mari’s shit and most of the things she said didn’t phase her. Misty was…definitely an equipment manager. Rio had only three one-on-one interactions with her before and she had nothing nice to say about any of them.

The rest of the teammates she didn’t pay much attention to—they either opted not to interact with Rio outside of practice or they were underclassmen (which Rio soon found she had a heavy disdain for once she was a sophomore). Altogether she barely considered her teammates as “friends” aside from Natalie and Van.

_________________________

The middle of February came around again—the entire month itself was always a mix of warm and freezing temperatures in Wiskayok. Some people had plans for Valentine’s Day that they made a month ahead (Jackie, for example). Seth danced around hinting who he would ask to be his Valentine (nobody was oblivious to the hints he thought were “sneaky” when the next thing he’d look at was Rio with the tenderest look in his eyes). Rio wasn’t dense—she knew Seth had some sort of thing going on for her, though it wasn’t very easy to believe at first considering that the only Valentine’s gifts she received were in elementary school in Miami back when it was mandatory for all the students to pass gifts out to the whole class. And then Seth started hanging around her more often: showing up to her locker (and sometimes getting there before Rio could and waiting for her there), buying tickets to whatever movie had come out that Rio had only expressed interest in for a few seconds (then faking an apology to his friends when they asked why they didn’t get any, saying “these were the only ones left, guys”), putting together cassette tapes of all sorts of genres and bands he thought she might be into. Seth often did other things for Rio, really dumb stuff like opening the door for her and taking an extra roundabout in the classroom so he could take her paper up to the teachers desk and turn it in for her so she wouldn’t have to.

Natalie sometimes teased Rio about it—for what reason she’d never understand, but she definitely knew that Natalie was secretly rooting for the both of them. Or maybe not—it’s hard for Rio to tell with Natalie (as well as anyone in general, but especially her), like when she’d poke fun at Rio for it when they’re hanging out with their dysfunctional friend circle or at soccer practice (and get everyone else in on her shenanigans in the process), but when it’s just the two of them she makes no effort to bring up how Seth always always took up whatever spot next to her. If their shoulders weren’t almost smushed together then it was him sitting right behind her with Rio between his legs and the front of his shirt almost brushing against her back. Jackie and a few other girls on the team thought Rio was dense when she said she didn’t think much of it and wasn’t reading into it at all.

As a result of all of that, it was an understatement to say Rio didn’t really appreciate the teasing and the shipping. The pressure she felt from Mari when she arrived at practice on some days when she asked her unofficial trademark question Rio was sure she’d heard more times than any other phrase in her life, “so how are things with Seth?” Completely platonic, is what she wants to say and possibly scream out to the whole team in hopes it’d give her some peace from their suggestive tones when they’d occasionally see her walking to practice with Seth glued to her side. She wonders if this is how rednecks feel when they say their infamous quote to voice their opinion on the lgbt community, ‘stop making everything gay,’ but then her thoughts are undermined when she remembers that’s about same-sex attraction and not boy-girl relationships.

Then she wonders how it’ll sound when she ultimately tells Seth that whatever they have is platonic when someone from around school takes it too far and assumes something extreme like sex (which unfortunately is looking to be inevitable, given that even the boys fucking baseball team is getting in on the teasing too, probably from Jackie’s doing, but Rio’s frustration towards any of them would be neither here nor there), only for Rio to find out Seth thought the same thing too and make a fool of herself for bringing it up.

But that instance didn’t sound very likely, anyway. Especially not when February went by in the blink of an eye and March rolled right around with a flurry of games coming up (including the one that following Saturday) and the very last thing that Rio needed to worry about became a fucking worry of hers.

It wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, in Rio’s fair and inexperienced opinion. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be charmed by the rushed confession of Seth’s feelings for her just minutes before he was supposed to leave for a culinary exam he’d been scheduled to retake. She also wasn’t sure if she’d ever be charmed by him if it was something more intimate—maybe leaving a movie theater well into the night or sitting on the hood of his car at the park and eating sandwiches from Subway. Regardless of where or how it took place—in the middle of a busy atrium or with the chilly night air blowing through Rio’s hair—the sentiment would still be there. A sentiment she wasn’t clinging onto very tightly. She supposes Seth would still have been equally as nervous if he’d planned and orchestrated it ahead of time than if it was spontaneous like it was that day.

“I know this is extremely rushed and sprung on you—and onto me, too, cause technically I’m supposed to be in the cafeteria by now, but this isn’t really about me! Unless you think it’s not just you or me but it’s the both of us and this is just as nerve wracking and pressuring for you as it is for me—“

The incredibly slow and wordy build up wasn’t necessarily doing the trick for Rio. If it weren’t for the fact he was standing right in front of her (more specifically right in the way of her first period economics class) she would’ve been zoning out and looking at literally anything else aside from him. Maybe at the chipped wall painting that definitely was overdue for a new layer, maybe at her nails that suddenly became more interesting to inspect and mentally debate which color polish would look better than to look at the nervous wreck in front of her, maybe at her soccer captain strolling by with her usual strut and her quiet girl best friend beside her, or possibly at the dried gum that's been spat onto the floor some fifteen years ago.

Then came the inevitable million dollar question:

“—can I be your boyfriend?”

Seth, standing in all his loser glory, with his usual eyeliner smudged and heavily contrasting against his sickly pale skin and his absolute mess of haircut that Rio wasn’t sure even had a name, as well as his orange 2Pac shirt (whom she was sure he wasn’t even into) and his wildly unmatched khaki colored cargo shorts, looked at her with a nervous smile like this was the first time he’d ever talked to her. To anyone who didn’t know any better it might’ve looked just like it—Rio never had a more forced smile on her face than the one she brought up to her lips. At first she thought it was obvious it wasn’t very sincere, then over time it just melted and it became something like a flustered grin, because the more seconds that passed the bigger Seth’s nervous smile turned into a hopeful beam.

Rio was sure Seth knew she never had a boyfriend before—or ever even really done anything intimate, save for that one kiss she had back in Miami when she was at a 7th grade dance at the end of the school year. The closest thing to a kiss she’d ever done after that was hugs and sharing an icee with Natalie (and occasionally kissing her goodbye after games and parties—but that didn’t count). Rio was also sure Seth knew she didn’t necessarily understand the pressure that a ton of girls face when it comes to boys—like they’re expected to have a boyfriend as if it’s some universal rule you have to follow or else you aren’t really good for anything. She always wondered why it almost seemed like the concept of a heterosexual romance was being advertised at her every turn. She remembered a few weeks into her freshman year her mom asked her if she’d seen any “cute boys” yet. Her mother never stressed the concept of a straight relationship over Rio that much, but even when the amount of times the conversation happened was only a handful, she never failed to notice the undertone at the end of each and every one. Remember, Rio. It’s only natural to be attracted to men as a woman. Be with a man, why don’t you.

She never quite questioned it. Because god forbid Rio bring up the idea of her being into anything other than a traditional life with her male counterparts.

Nobody in the atrium was watching them, but the heat that crept up the back of Rio’s neck and seemingly attacked her face like a hot flash made her think that this was some sort of spotlight moment in a play where the only thing the audience could see was them, and the prying eyes felt like pointing fingers aimed towards Seth as if to tell her this is your destiny. She surely felt a fever was coming over her with how hot her face felt—her chest, as well. Her tank top felt like it was stuck to her, latching to her chest with the intent to squeeze and wring the air out of her lungs until she was a raisin. Her armpits were screaming at her to take her jacket off before they caught on fire, and she would’ve if she wouldn’t get dress coded by the deans lingering around. It wasn’t even that warm and fuzzy feeling that one of the girls from the soccer team described. It was sweltering, incredibly uncomfortable and it might as well set her whole heart on fire and burn uncomfortably in her chest the whole day.

Rio could see that Seth was visibly growing nervous the longer they both stood there in the middle of the hallway. Despite the bell having already rung and a few people sped past them because they were late for whatever reason, nobody stopped to look at them and question what the fuck they’re standing around for like they’re freshmen. When a hall monitor emerged from the doorway to the main hallway, Rio was pulled out of her train of thought and looked away from Seth.

“Uhh…” she began with no pre-orchestrated plan on what she would’ve said next. And she thanked whatever god was up there when the hall monitor practically sped his way over to the both of them, pushing his rather expensive looking pair of glasses up the bridge of his freckled nose and got ready to hiss for them to go to class so that she wouldn’t have to give Seth an answer (whatever answer that may be, she wasn’t necessarily sure yet but she wasn’t leaning towards the ‘yes’ side).

“Go to class!”

“Fuck off, Henry,” Seth frowned as he whipped his head around to look at the incoming hall monitor, watching him make no effort to stop power walking towards them seemingly with a notepad at the ready. For what reason he had such a portable thing on him, neither Rio nor Seth could ever find out, but they both assumed it wasn’t for any reason that would benefit either of them in any way, so instead of focusing on the more romantic aspect that Seth thought they had going on, they both opted to go their separate ways for the while and go to their given destinations before getting chastised by the helicopter hall monitor.

Rio was internally grateful that Seth decided to drop the initial topic and went away before she could be pestered any more than she already had been. She didn’t necessarily feel like listening to him explain to the hall monitor that instead of going to the cafeteria for the culinary exam retake he was spending the past five minutes standing there and asking out one of his only lady friends to be his girlfriend only for him to get nothing but a cheap smile and dead silence in return. Consider that his very late and very bland Valentine’s Day gift after having nothing to give him in return.

Although there came the embarrassing feeling of walking into class late and without a proper excuse as to why she was a whole three minutes late. She couldn’t think of anything to say when someone had opened the door for her as a result of all the pairs of eyes that suddenly became so interested in her tardiness, as if that’d become a universal entertainment for the whole school population.

Her economics teacher stood there at the chalkboard with her arms crossed and a small piece of chalk sitting between her fingers and with a raised eyebrow on her face. “Tardy pass?”

No, you moron, I just got here ten minutes ago and was immediately pestered by a guy who thinks I want him.

“No,” Rio drawled out quietly and almost shamefully, until she dared to look around the classroom and find none other than fucking Natalie Scatorccio sitting at the back in her usual spot with her usual smirk and her usual cocky glint in her eyes.

“Any valid reason as to why you’ve decided to express your tardiness?”

Rio hated that her economics teacher did this to everyone who was late, even if it was a measly three minutes. No, she obviously didn’t have a valid reason as to why she was tardy. It irritated her. And what was she supposed to say? The throes of romance got the best of her and rendered her a victim of Cupid’s unfortunate arrow? That she was being held up by a dude who wanted her to fit into the role of a “guy’s girlfriend”?

“No,” she grumbled out again, looking around again and letting her eyes land on Natalie, her face scrunching up slightly at the smirk that didn’t seem to want to leave. As much as it irked her she couldn’t really find it in her to be mad at her. Not just at that but in general—but she’d digress if someone were to ever ask why.

The teacher didn’t bother with publicly shaming Rio for being tardy. It was only eight in the morning, and frankly she hadn’t even taken attendance yet, much less started class. Though instead of showing her tiredness like a normal person would at eight in the morning she opted to be a bitch to her first period class, because everybody’s too groggy to pay attention to the way her eyes carry a tired glint to them despite having a bit of makeup on to cover her eye bags underneath.

Rio shuffled to the spot reserved for her in the back of class—not that assigned seats were a thing in this teacher’s class, since this kind of class was specifically for seniors, and she had just enough faith in said seniors that they could behave themselves with no seating arrangements that prohibited them from sitting next to their friends—Natalie’s shoe covered the seat next to her, with her leg stretched across the row and a shit eating smirk on her face.

“Nuh uh,” Natalie shook her head teasingly, her eyes staying on Rio as she stood there with an entirely unamused look. For the sake of not having the teacher get on her case again, Rio only kicked her leg away and took her rightful spot next to her best friend, tearing her impossibly heavy backpack off her shoulders and setting it on the floor next to her chair.

“You wanna tell me why you’re late?” Natalie prods, turning in her seat to face Rio. The teacher never bothered to pay any mind to the students in the back of her class who sat there for a reason—doing stuff and talking about stuff and doing anything and everything except paying attention to the class itself, which is why Natalie so casually turned to face Rio instead of facing forward.

“Don’t act like you have a leg to stand on,” Rio countered, turning her head to look at Natalie. “You fucking skipped classes before.”

“Yeah, but like,” She licks her lips as the gears turn in her head and she thinks of something else to say to defend her case. “That’s kind of expected of me. You’re kinda like a goodie two shoes, except you’re not that great.”

“Listen to the teapot calling the kettle black,” Rio lets out a chuckle meant to make fun of Natalie, furrowing her eyebrows with a grin that mirrors the cocky look on her face. “You aren’t up to people’s standards either, burnout.”

Around other people, like Seth or Laura Lee or Mari or the other handful of friends she has, it wasn’t very often that they saw Rio with a spunky attitude. Most of the time it was her acting the same way as them—mirroring their personalities and talking like them. Nobody ever really questioned that fact; verbally, anyways. A few of her friends wondered why she had such varying attitudes towards others at different times but they never actually asked her about it because they thought it was her way of being everybody’s friend. Natalie was no exception—whatever snarky and sarcastic thing she had to say, Rio had a quip ready on the tip of her tongue to keep Natalie on her toes. It was just like that between them and nobody else.

Maybe Natalie was into that. Probably not, but it was safe to assume for everybody that never spoke to her a day in their lives that she was into anything with the kind of reputation that surrounds her.

Natalie knows it’s all in good fun, when Rio calls her “burnout”. She doesn’t mean it like other people do when the word rolls off their tongue and seemingly lands in the mud puddle it was originally meant for. It doesn’t sound like a bitter taste on her tongue, it doesn’t sound like a punch to Natalie’s face. Instead it ignites a warmth in her chest that makes her feel a different way about the word. Like she shouldn’t give a damn what people judge her by calling her that, because as long as it carries a different connotation in Rio’s mouth, everybody else doesn’t matter.

“You’re avoiding the question, loser,” Natalie leaned her arm on her desk. “You’re late, dude.”

“No shit,” Rio snarked back, and a second later she ran her hand through her hair and let out an exasperated sigh. She knew Natalie wouldn’t stop being nosy about why Rio was late until she told her whatever it was she was hoping to hear. So instead she opted for a smartass remark.

“I was late cuz I was doing anal with your mom.”

“Interesting,” Natalie raised an eyebrow to accompany the now confident grin that’d taken shape on her face. “So do you want me to report the both of you before or after Regionals?”

“You know I’m only joking,” Rio reached a leg over to her left to lightly kick Natalie’s ankle. “It was something else. It was really weird.”

Natalie’s eyebrow stayed lifted. She didn’t look surprised at all and if anything she looked curious—which she undoubtedly was judging by the way she shifted in her seat to get comfortable. “Well don’t beat around the bush.”

Rio groaned. It was too late. Natalie was already invested in it, and Rio began wondering how long it would take for her to lose interest in it once she found out it was about Seth. Now she began to momentarily orchestrate how she’d say it without Natalie getting that pouty look on her face. Rio nibbled on her bottom lip; she knew that Seth was a rather unenjoyable topic for her (and frankly she felt the same despite being friends with him for so long), and she knew, even if Natalie didn’t say, that she only hung out with Seth because Rio did. And Rio only hung out with Seth because he was friends with one of Natalie’s other friends. Point being neither of them really had an opinion on him. That wasn’t a good thing.

“You’ll never believe it,” she started slowly; she still only had part of a plan orchestrated on how to say it without mentioning Seth. Her teeth let go of her bottom lip. “But, someone…”

“Someone…?” Natalie pressed, tilting her head forward. The sun shining through the window casted a glint over everyone in the room, though Rio wasn’t really paying attention to them. She was watching the way the light shone over the bleached blonde hair, as well as the light doing wonderful things for her jawline, and the warm look in her eyes (which needed no assistance from the sunlight) that she always got whenever she was looking at Rio. Reason being, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know; or maybe she did know and she never brought it up out of fear that it would change things between them. And obviously it would, but she didn’t want things to be complex. She wanted it to stay the same, to stay simple and easy and without question.

Moving on.

“Someone…asked me out,” Rio finally pushed the words out of her mouth like they were originally stubbornly tied into a knot on her tongue. She watched the warm glint in Natalie’s eyes fade. Her heart clenched slightly. It sounded weird anyways despite her half-baked efforts not to make it sound weird. Natalie almost looked disappointed if it weren’t for her attempt at covering it up with a snarky smile and a look of disbelief.

“So people do have low standards,” Natalie let out a dry chuckle, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair. She crossed her legs next. “I almost feel bad for whoever it was.”

“Yeah, well, I could say the same thing about the guys who hit on you,” Rio rolled her eyes affectionately.

A pause. It’s only for a few seconds, but it was long enough for Rio to start thinking that what she said might’ve actually made Natalie upset before her train of thought was interrupted.

“Are you gonna tell me who it was or are you gonna make me guess?” Natalie quirked an eyebrow, her smirk solidifying into an almost genuine look. Maybe she manifested her own legitimate smile into existence. “Or is this shit all in your head.”

“Asshole,” Rio lightly kicked Natalie’s ankle again, earning a shove on her shoulder in return. “Why do you care who asked me out, anyways?”

“Why would I not give a shit? You’ve, like, never been asked out before,” the way Natalie said it so matter of factly nearly shoved it into Rio’s face that she could potentially have her first ever boyfriend today, in the instance she’d accept Seth’s confession with the open arms he was hoping for. Maybe the realization was there before and Rio was just avoiding it for whatever reason that pertained to wanting something else—someone else, though it seemed unlikely to Rio at that very moment.

“You’re so nosy,” Rio scoffed, shrinking away slightly and sitting properly in her chair as if to avoid the question by pretending to pay attention to whatever her teacher was saying. The way she shifted didn’t go unnoticed by Natalie’s watchful eyes.

“And you’re deflecting.”

“I don’t wanna fucking tell you,” Rio hissed, her eyebrows furrowed. Natalie narrowed her eyes at the sharpness in her voice; she could see the gears turning in her head and the process of eliminating going on in her mind’s eye. Where she got options she came up with, Rio would never know. But at some point between when she snapped and when Natalie finally clicked her tongue which signaled she had an idea of who it was, she came to the conclusion of who it was.

“It was Seth, wasn’t it?”

“It’s—“ Rio started, and she didn’t have a clue why. She couldn’t find a way to explain herself, much less figure out a way to make the whole thing not sound weird. The things she wanted to say were clogged up in her throat. The word vomit that tried making its way from her stomach just barely reached her mouth and left an unidentifiable taste on her tongue.

“I probably won’t even say yes,” she didn’t want Natalie to be upset if she did ever accept Seth. Like she already acknowledged many times before, both Natalie and Seth were indifferent towards each other. Why they were so weird around one another, that was between them and God.

“But you’re considering it,” Natalie retorted. It was only then that Rio noticed the smirk fell from her face.

“Kind of…” Rio started again. “But like, I don’t wanna turn him down and potentially ruin our friendship.”

“It’s not my place to tell you who you should and shouldn’t date,” Natalie held her hands up slightly in defense, signaling her surrender in an argument that never even started. Rio felt a familiar taste of disappointment replace the word vomit. “But if you say no and he doesn’t take it well, then that doesn’t sound like a dude you wanna keep around.”

“I know—you’re right,” Rio leans her elbow on her desk and rests a hand in her hair, frizzy from the humid March air she’d been trudging through just an hour ago to get to school just to avoid driving her car with no air conditioning. “I just don’t know if I like him or not.”

“Can you envision yourself kissing him?” Natalie quirked her eyebrow again in an attempt to give Rio the impression that she was already moving on and pretending there wasn’t any tension just half a second ago.

Fuck that. There was no way Rio could envision herself ever kissing Seth. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t dashing, either. She never paid too much attention to his lips but she imagined they weren’t very soft if she had any leg to stand on in comparison to Natalie—then again those “goodbye kisses” from leaving parties and games didn’t count. Not to Rio, anyways, and Natalie never made a big deal out of the whole thing being so casual despite the fact she was literally kissing her best friend. She was more than sure Seth wouldn’t even come close to being on her level. And doing more than kissing? The thought made her physically recoil in her seat.

And so came the weak “Yeah.” A lie. A fat one, at that. Natalie knew. She saw the way Rio made a face just a few seconds after such a blasphemous question was imposed on her.

“You’re such a shit liar,” Natalie grinned, like she had any idea just how much Rio truly began to resent the thought of having to kiss Seth. “Why would you wanna date someone you can’t even picture yourself makin’ out with?”

“Kissing and making out isn’t all there is to a relationship, is there?” Rio asked rhetorically. On the contrary she agreed with Natalie, but at the same time a very small part of her was curious. There’s always room for more: more money, more opportunities, more knowledge. Which means room for growth. Could she grow to like kissing Seth even if she’d never done so? Could she grow to like the idea of being with a man despite all her inner monologues against her mother’s rhetoric and her own pondering about her sexuality to prove otherwise? The universe does work in mysterious ways, after all.

“Not really,” Natalie shrugged. Like she knew anything about a stable relationship. “But it’s pretty strange if you’re with someone and you don’t even kiss them.”

“I guess,” Rio mirrored Natalie and shrugged in return. “But there’s other ways to show your love for someone without having to like…” she trailed off. She didn’t know squat about relationships either, the only knowledge she had about them was from watching the occasional romcom from time to time if she ever decided it was worth her attention. “Y’know. Get intimate.”

Natalie argued. “He’s just gonna wind up cheating on you.”

“And how do you know?”

“Well, for one, he’s a teenage boy. Two, he’d be stuck in a relationship where his girlfriend doesn’t wanna fuckin’ kiss him. He might think you’re the one cheating on him from all the times we kiss each other goodbye from games and parties.”

“That doesn’t count!” Rio whisper-yelled, which in turn made Natalie raise her eyebrows suspiciously. While Rio never saw or heard her make a big deal out of that whole affair being casual in Rio’s eyes or ever confronted her about it, Natalie did wonder why Rio was so insistent on it just being completely platonic. What was so friendly about kissing your best friend on the mouth? It wasn’t only kissing, either. It was the less physically intimate parts about them. Like when they’d sit on the bleachers share an orange creme soda together on the occasion that they got to the soccer field early and waited for practice to start. Or when Rio’s driving and she reaches a red light and they randomly turn to each other and gaze into the other's eyes until their moment of longing is interrupted by a rude honk from the car behind them. Being caught watching the warm glint in your best friend’s eyes and wanting to swipe your thumb underneath her eyelid doesn’t exactly scream “just friends!”

“Whatever you say,” and so Natalie decided to drop it. She figured it was better to just let it play out the way God intended than to try and fight it knowing damn well Rio probably would end up accepting Seth’s confession that Natalie was mentally sure wasn’t even sweet and considerate anyways despite saying otherwise just a few minutes ago.

Rio couldn’t find the words to keep the whole conversation going. Curse her awkwardness. Thinking back now, if she wasn’t so awkward earlier when Seth approached her with an inconvenience about him to match her uncoordinated conversation skills, this whole thing wouldn’t be an issue. She would’ve actually had the balls to turn him down and not give a rats ass if it sent his ego balled up into a knot and rolling down a very bumpy hill towards frown town. Heaven forbid she actually engages in what she’s feeling like a normal person. Heaven forbid the cat doesn’t get her fucking tongue.

A personal grudge she holds against herself. A few, actually, and part of said grudges pertain to a bunch of other people too, so as not to make it look like plain self deprecation to anyone who asked. Her own inability to speak for what she wants (which in this case is to not be Seth’s girlfriend), she sort of blamed on her mother. All those undertones that meant to say get a fucking boyfriend already, Rosario rather than do you wanna invite your friends over for your birthday? assuming Rio would include her guy friends in the process. She never did, by the way. Her letting other people make their assumptions about her without saying a thing to them to prove that their stereotypes weren’t true. Well, scratch that. A few might be on point, like her playing soccer and wearing alternative clothing. A grudge she holds against a few of those popular girls Rio calls “Heathers” despite having differing names and all those baseball and football guys who date cheerleaders and all look and act the same: white, buff, brown or blond hair, tall, and fucking stupid.

Grudge number three: her dad cheating with another woman, which ultimately resulted in Rio and her mother moving up north away from Miami. As well as a little brother whom Rio had no idea even existed until one day in her freshman year when this boy showed up on her doorstep and explained to her that he was her brother. She wasn’t too pleased with it.

Quite a few grudges. No biggy.

The silence that dragged between Rio and Natalie made the rest of the class feel like time was purposely moving slowly so that the both of them had to sit in their own awkward atmosphere they built up when Rio decided to announce that someone had their eyes on her as some sort of punishment for being too much of a pussy and not doing anything about the tension that started growing between them in their sophomore year.

Yes, tension. Between Natalie and Rio. Not bad tension, per say, but it did make things a little weird for them. For a time Rio wasn’t used to seeing Natalie in a light that brought a heat to her face—and no it was not from “the sun” despite all the times Rio would argue that it was whenever one of her annoying teammates would ask about it.

“I think she’s got the hots for Nat…” Van would whisper to Taissa.

Such a shocking thing to discover when they’ve been kissing each other on the mouth since tenth grade.

And the bell finally rang, much to Rio’s dismay that it didn’t ring about 30 minutes earlier. It certainly would’ve saved her the urge to rip her hair out simmering inside her. She was pissed off, and she couldn’t put a finger on the reason why. Not at Natalie, who seemed to be mildly irritated with her in turn, though neither of them made a point to talk about it because it would eventually fade away by the end of the day when practice started from the natural waves of the school day that washed over them whenever they saw each other again. If anything, Rio thought it was safe to assume that her anger was pointed at Seth, even though in reality he hadn’t really done anything wrong and he was only expressing the feelings for Rio that strummed evenly in his bloodstream like guitar strings playing a soft tune. She didn’t like that. Not really, anyways. She didn’t like the thought of being his girlfriend, of actively touching her lips to his and cuddling up with him and spending time with him in that way.

She was confused about herself, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. She could tell between what she wanted in general and what she didn’t want with certain people. She could tell that whatever Seth had going on for her, she clearly didn’t have it going on for him. And she didn’t think she’d ever have it going for any other dude that was bound to make their move on her in the foreseeable future she was supposed to make it to.

Then again, she was only a teenage girl. All sorts of things change in a teenage girl’s mind.

_________________________

LATER THAT DAY.

Natalie wasn’t too pleased with Seth. A mini grudge birthed itself in the back of her head to which she made no effort to keep back there. No effort to hide it, no effort to make it known to Seth that she didn’t feel anything else for him other than resentment.

Rio’s considering it.

Actually considering being Seth’s girlfriend, as far as she knew. Which in Natalie’s defense wasn’t a lot, given that their whole conversation earlier that morning wasn’t to show that they were champions at communicating with each other.

Defense fucking failed. Seth knew right off the bat that Natalie was pissed with him for the day. No need for assistance from one of her other bonehead friends to poke and prod at the wrong buttons today. Seth’s big fat Cupid’s arrow shaped thumb poked at the big red button at the center of Natalie’s chest, right above her heart, with Rio’s name on it and sounded off just about every alarm in her head that nearly sent steam blowing from her ears.

Fucking cool it, Nat. You’re being a weirdo. She’d tell herself after she noticed the look Seth gave her like she had grown an additional head after she’d barked a little too loudly that she was “fine” when she’d shown up to her English class looking a little too not fine.

This must be how Shauna feels, was what ran through her head for the rest of the day. And if Natalie knew anything from catching glimpses from the all-too obvious yearning in Shauna’s eyes when they lingered on Jackie, she was not gonna let herself go down that miserable Shauna Shipman path.

Not that she hadn’t been subconsciously going down a much similar path the whole time. Maybe a sister path, without a knockoff Jeff for the time being up until that day. It seemed that the whole week before spring break was a curse for Rio and Natalie. Like life had it out for them any time it saw them getting closer and closer until they were a hair’s touch from being satisfied with life as it was.

Practice had been waiting for Natalie with a shit eating grin on its face. Just like it always was, with the usual hour and a half of running laps around the soccer field for 10 minutes as a warm up that, more often than not, left a few beads of sweat sliding down her temples. Only for her to find out that her best friend had decided to fucking skip. Then it was accompanied with the whole team discussing what they were going to do for spring break instead of actually practicing despite Jackie’s speeches and lighthearted demands to do so (hypocrisy’s sassy head reared in in the form of Jackie standing over a few teammates crouched down on the grass with a hand on her hip and talking instead of kicking balls around). Natalie wasn’t too excited for spring break, and, to her halfhearted surprise, nobody else was, either. She would usually hear something interesting about whatever Rio was gonna do for the break, but to Natalie’s dismay resulting in her raising a lovely middle finger to the sky on her sweltering odyssey home after declaring life had pulled Rio from practice to spite her wanting to see her again, there was nothing to fucking hear.

Of course, that wasn’t all. Just like people do when either Jackie or Shauna weren’t there (which was an extremely rare sighting), the team asked “Where’s the rest of you?” referring to Rio’s empty spot at her locker next to Natalie. She was half tempted to come up with some bullshit lie. Another half of her was tempted to very angrily tell them a short and brief story that someone was trying to take away her only chance at happiness. Then she decided both ideas were dumb as shit and went with the blatant obvious she’s not here.

Yeah, no shit, Natalie. No other reason for you to walk around with a storm cloud over your head.

Practices without Rio were surprisingly boring, in Natalie’s opinion, which in this case wasn’t very credible. Surprisingly, because it wasn’t too often that Rio skipped practice and usually it was for something serious. They were boring because there wasn’t anyone around to get on Jackie’s nerves or condescendingly talk shit with Mari and let Natalie eavesdrop on it because Rio knew she’d only pester her about it later despite Natalie’s mild disinterest in gossip, so she’d listen anyway. Nobody was around to walk home with Natalie even when she didn’t want to go home—just about anywhere sounded better than her shitty trailer littered with cigarette butts and beer cans and her mom who didn’t give a rat's ass about her.

The next few hours dragged on like nails against a chalkboard. The humid, sweltering heat seemed to melt time into wax and make it move slower than usual, and normally Natalie wouldn’t mind it. She wasn’t too fond of the teasing from Van, who seemed to be one of the first to see right through Natalie’s grit teeth and the straight face she wore the entirety of warming up (running laps around the field).

“What’s with the storm cloud over your head?” Van asked once she’d finally sat down on the grass, taking a spot next to Natalie instead of her usual place next to Taissa during the second half of warming up: stretching until their muscles felt like rubber.

Natalie doesn’t ponder her answer which came out in her usual monotonous voice. “Just had a shitty day,” not necessarily a lie. Her day was only mildly ruined when she learned that Seth had decided to test his luck in his dating pool with an ambiguous answer in return. It wasn’t as bad as she made it out to be, though if Van knew the extent of the underlying issue behind why the day was so “shitty” then she’d never hear the end of it. “Typical Wednesday.”

“I hear ya,” Van made a face to show to Natalie that she agreed, and that she’d drop asking her why she was so grumpy through teasing comments. It only lasted a few seconds before she smirked. “Y’sure it ain’t got anything to do with a certain Rio-shaped gap next to you?”

“Absolutely, cuz my entire life revolves around Rio showing up to practice.” Natalie extended her legs all the way out in front of her before leaning over, stretching her arms out to touch the tips of her cleats with her fingers. She purses her lips to keep a satisfied groan from escaping the back of her throat.

Van scoffed. “Might as well,” she pulled her legs into a butterfly stretch, setting her hands on her knees and leaning forward slightly. “With the way you’re acting like a piss baby.”

“Piss baby,” Natalie grumbled under her breath with a shake of her head, pulling herself back up and running her hands up her legs before making a stop at her hips. “That’s a little dramatic.”

“Hey, man,” Van sat up straight and raised her hands slightly. “You’re the one who’s grumpy here.”

A beat. A long one, long enough for Natalie to think Van already moved on from pestering her about the real reason she’s so moody.

And once again Van proved her wrong.

“Maybe she’s just late.” Came her lame attempt at making Natalie not look like she just ate a lemon. She turned her head to get a clear look at Van, still looking like she ate a lemon.

“It’s been twenty fucking minutes, Van. She’s not coming.”

“Chillax, holy moly,” the way Van, even if it was playful and lighthearted, acted like Natalie had said something completely out of line (which, okay, maybe the aggressiveness wasn’t necessary, but it was completely justified!) made her frown deepen. She forced her eyebrows to relax and got herself to pull out her resting bitch face almost immediately.

“Worst case scenario, she’s runnin’ off making lean and probably doing lines off some aliens ass crack somewhere.”

Natalie’s eyebrows furrowed in a natural response to Van’s attempt at bringing her spirits up before she even had time to process the sheer absurdity of it. Her head whipped back around to look at Van with the scowl that’d curated on its own.

“Is that your own version of comfort?” Because anything short of what Van just said could be closer to comfort and reassurance than that.

“I’m just saying, dude. At least she probably isn’t doing that.”

Natalie shook her head. It’s more humorous than comforting, probably the closest thing to amusement she’s had other than pretending to find comedy in the mental picking apart of the sentence Someone asked me out in her head, only to find none but laugh it off anyways because laughter was always the best medicine when your heart is actively sinking into a pit in your stomach.

Stupid heartache, man.

“Doin’ lines without me,” Natalie tuts, pulling herself up from her spot next to Van and popping her neck in a way that left a sharp pain in the left side of her nape. Just another thing to be pissed about. “Nah. She wouldn’t do something so exhilarating as that without me.”

Van follows suit after her, pulling her goalie gloves out of her pocket and pulling them over her fingers. “Worst case scenario, you wind up asking Shauna where the hell your girlfriend is. Don’t they got last period together?”

“My girlfriend?” Natalie squinted her eyes incredulously as she glared at Van.

“Oh, that’s what you ask about,” Van gave her a look. “You’re so bad at hiding it.”

“There’s nothing to hide,” in the history of bad lies ever told, that was the worst of them. Natalie couldn’t have made it more obvious than if someone stuck a hat over her head with a sign that said I’m in love with Rio Marcini! And it is actively ruining my life!

“Right, right,” Van gave Natalie a brief nod and looked off to the side as she smirked. “So does she have a date to prom yet?”

“Fuck if I know,” Natalie set her hands on her hips as the look on her face changed from irritation to exasperation. Fuckin’ Seth Mitchell, probably. The poorly familiar taste of jealousy settled in her mouth as the thought of Rio showing up to prom with the skunk-raccoon breed looking guy hanging off her arm. She figured she’d have to douse out the jealousy in her tastebuds with a bit of vodka from her mom’s fridge.

“Why do you care, anyways? It’s not like my best friend’s date to prom is any of your business.”

“How do you, like, not know if she has one? Every best friend knows their best friend’s date to prom?”

Practice without Rio on a measly Wednesday before spring break was nothing short of annoying.

_________________________

A BIT LATER THAN THAT.

It wasn’t serious at all, unbeknownst to Natalie who’d made the assumption that Rio skipped practice for something serious, unbeknownst to Rio that an assumption was even made.

Natalie didn’t get very much out of asking Shauna if she knew what was up with Rio; all she got out of Shauna after asking, very roughly, you know where that asshole went? was a measly explanation that Rio’s mom had come up to pull her out for the rest of the school day. Natalie couldn’t say it irked her; she would’ve given up her right arm if she didn’t have to go to her 7th period English class with Seth and the other boneheads to her right and bitchy, cunty, stereotypical popular girls to her left that liked to bother her like it was a hobby.

Lucky for Rio, who didn’t even have 7th period English class, it wasn’t anything extreme like Natalie had presumed. If anyone asked, it would’ve been hard for Rio to explain, but occasionally when her mother felt like being nice, she’d do stuff for Rio that she didn’t typically do. For some people it might’ve been the bare minimum, but her mother didn’t want Rio to waste her energy on practice that day and instead spend the rest of her afternoon “sprucing up,” as her mother said when Rio got in the car when the question was lingering on the tip of her tongue.

Sprucing up for what, exactly, Rio had no idea. Part of her thought her mom had super hearing or some sort of telepathic powers that extended all the way to her school and could read her mind pondering on the million dollar question imposed on her that morning, and that was why her mother wanted her to spruce up. What her mother had in mind was getting Rio’s nails painted in the color of her choice (which, upon choosing black, made her mother’s nose crinkle for a half second before putting on a supportive grin in an attempt to silently tell her that whatever made Rio happy, she was happy), getting her hair trimmed, to which Rio was actually grateful for as she’d made plans a while ago to get her hair fixed up before States, then taking a trip to some restaurant Rio had never even heard of and getting take out.

Only for them to run into her little brother hanging around the counter talking to the dude standing behind the register.

Hugo, her little brother, with short and still somehow messy black hair, one of the thousands of plain black shirts he owned, jeans that looked like they’d been through hell and back and dragged to absolute filth, converse that looked like they experienced the same kind of evil, and a singular silver nose piercing that somehow made him stand out from all the other alternative boys at her school. His other saving grace was the glasses on his face and the fact his skin was just a tiny bit darker than hers and a voice so distinct it was easy for Rio to clock even if they were in a crowded room. He had the same slouch to his posture, which was given the way his arms were crossed over the white counter he was perched in front of on his feet with a toothy grin that, in some other peoples minds (probably Seth or Kevyn Tan from 3rd period ASL), seemed outwardly friendly. Rio knew better. Hugo was grinning stupidly wide at the cashier and had a twinkle in his eyes that told her it wasn’t a smile that said he wanted to be friends.

Rio and her mother stood there in awe as they watched Hugo casually stand there talking to a cashier he’d never met in his life before that day as if he hadn’t traveled all the way across the country from the west. At first they didn’t actually think it was him, and then he let out a hearty laugh in that annoying voice of his that pulled them back to reality and made them realize that, yes, Hugo was there once again.

It ended with Rio opting to hop in the back of her mom’s car instead of staying up front where her bag was so she could talk to Hugo on the ride home, while he ate all the fries and left the three of them only the mediocre, ridiculously greasy burgers and the nuggets that came with his.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Rio whispered, squinting her eyes before raising her hand when the car turned at an angle where the sun shone right into her eyes and nearly frying her retinas in the process. Hugo handed her a fry.

“Shit hit the fan in Montana again,” he whispered back as quietly as his pubescent voice would let him. He pulled a fry out from the bag before he looked back down and realized he had the last one. He turned back to Rio and ate it right in front of her.

She only scoffed. That was the same thing Hugo said every time he popped into Wiskayok. “Is that what you’re gonna say every time dad gets even slightly involved with the cops?”

“Better safe than sorry!” Hugo reached over and swatted Rio’s arm with his hand before he went back to holding the paper bag like it was his baby. A moment of silence lingered between them and Rio’s mother, who’d been eavesdropping on what they were talking about even when she made it seem like she was focusing on driving. Rio figured out the signals a while ago when she noticed her eyebrows would raise every time one of them said something shocking.

“I got a game on Saturday,” Rio whispered again. Hugo turned his head as if to ask if Rio still played soccer like he’d forgotten over the time he’d been back in Montana. “You wanna come see?”

“And watch y’all lose? Why not? It’ll give me something to clown on you for.”

“Ass,” Rio swatted Hugo’s arm again, biting back the smile that had attempted to make its way onto her face. “We’ve been undefeated all season. And we got States coming up soon in May, so if you think you’ll be stickin’ around long enough you can watch us make it to Nationals.”

“I heard about y’all playing our team a few weeks ago,” Hugo reached his arm around to scratch the back of his head. An invisible lightbulb went off over it, and a shit-eating grin took form on his already annoying face.

“You still friends with that Natalie girl?”

Rio’s face fell for a moment when Natalie’s name tumbled from Hugo’s mouth. The image of that detached look on her face flashed in the back of her mind, then she remembered she hadn’t said anything to her mother or to Hugo about Seth. She cringed internally, though it quickly went away when the thought crossed her mind that if they won the game coming up on Saturday, then Rio would be get to enjoy the temporary escape from her reality when her and Natalie inevitably shared another “goodbye kiss” that shouldn’t have sent a shiver down her spine and a hotter flush to her cheeks as many times as it did.

“Why are you suddenly so interested in my friendship with Nat?”

Hugo simply shrugged like he knew nothing of the real intentions he had behind asking. “Dunno. Just thought I’d ask if y’all are still platonic after all the things you said about her over the phone.”

Rio felt a wave of panic rush through her as her blood went cold.

She slapped her hand over Hugo’s mouth to keep him from saying a little too much while her mother was still around to hear it.

“Shut up,” she took her hand off of Hugo’s mouth, and he raised his eyebrows slightly. A look flashed across his face, a knowing look, one that told him that he was getting somewhere when he asked if Rio and Natalie were still platonic.

The rest of the ride back to Rio’s house was primarily quiet. Hugo once complimented Rio on her hair, though it hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d seen her; it was a bit messier and frizzier than it normally was, but spring weather had its conditions. In exchange for nice breezes (and only nice breezes), humidity filled the air and allergy season came in return. Occasionally, Rio’s mother would look in the rearview mirror and send a glance at Rio, something she’d started to do ever since Hugo opened his mouth and dared to suggest that Natalie and Rio were anything more than friends. Rio would’ve liked to think she didn’t care and that she was aware it wasn’t really any of her business, but the look in her mother’s eyes wasn’t exactly warm and welcoming, even if there was the slightest chance that what Hugo said was completely false. It disappointed her, and it only served to egg her on even further to wander away from Natalie.

The neighborhood which Rio and her mother lived in (plus, temporarily, Hugo thanks to his inviting himself in) was within walking distance to the trailer park Natalie and Van lived in. Rio could’ve gone out to her backyard and climbed up the fence and she probably would’ve seen the trailer park from there, if it weren’t for the overgrown grass and bushes that Rio nor her mother never bothered to clean up. Their house itself wasn’t quite the dump it would seem to be, given that they were so close to the lowest of the low one can get in Wiskayok. A medium brown covered the exterior that extended to the size that a normal house would’ve been, with a few windows on the front left side and one on the right with the door painted a darker brown in between them. The garage stuck out from the doorway, going past half of the walkway which led to the porch guarded by a veranda painted in the same shade as the exterior and extended to the side of the house. The roof was just plain black shingles that absorbed way too much sunlight; one of them had practically dangled on the left edge of the front near the garage and seemingly had been waiting for some divine force of wind to finally knock it out of place.

On the right side of the house was Rio’s room. It was only slightly bigger than her mother’s room, but the difference was so small that her mother couldn’t even tell and she’d been happy as a clam to see hers. The inside hadn’t started out very special; over the last few years they’d been there it was obvious Natalie had a bit of an effect on the way it was styled. In Rio’s freshman year her room only consisted of her bed, her desk, her drawer, her closet and a few posters here and there that she’d collected before she left Miami. In comparison to that, by the start of her senior year, fairy lights hung around the crevices of her ceiling and all around her room with a substantial amount of posters her and Natalie had been hunting for (in an effort to make Rio’s room have more personality, since the first time Natalie came over she’d pointed out that “the walls look a little bald.”) and trinkets were hung and held up by thumb tacks and pins. A nightstand was moved in next to Rio’s bed, where it’d been filled with all sorts of stuff: the top drawer with her numerous pairs of sunglasses, as she liked how convenient it went with her hair and her style, a few old cassette tapes she kept for the sake of nostalgia, and a few things of hair ties Rio made no use of in the two years since Jackie had given them to her from having a few too many to fit in her own drawer and had been towering up on her bathroom sink; the middle drawer keeping her polaroid camera that Lottie had given her for her birthday during the summer between sophomore and junior year (to which she’d put to use quite often), the rest of the drawer having been filled top to bottom with tons of polaroids of random things (most of them were of her and Natalie, which she’d never ever throw away no matter how much space they took up); the bottom drawer held a few of her notebooks she’d used to the very last page to write all sorts of things in. Most of the time she’d written something that involved whatever she had to complain about (which is one of the things she did best) or paragraph after paragraph about her own self reflection and a few attempts to psychoanalyze herself. The attempts were, more often than not, futile, but a few exceptions were made by the universe whenever Rio had been staying up at an hour which would earn an earful and a snatch of her walkman from her mother, and her lamp had been lit up just enough that she could see what she was writing and surprised herself in the morning when she’d woken up to find her open notebook containing things she’d concluded about herself in the dead of night when she was alone and had nothing to show for her enjoyment of life. Other times they’d been about whatever shenanigan she’d been up to with Natalie for the day or simply stuff about her best friend that she occasionally flipped to the pages of when she was feeling bored and caught herself smiling at the mere sight of her name written in the lead of her own mechanical pencil.

The left side of the house was where her mother slept in her slightly smaller room that she was oh so delighted about. Her mother took it upon herself to buy a bunch of paint during the early months of living there and painted her walls a rose-gold color to make herself feel more at home. A giant dream catcher was hung on the wall right above her bed, because that was the sort of thing Yesenia Marcini believed in. Her room wasn’t much special, just the typical things a mother would usually keep in there. Her mother specifically restricted Hugo from ever even going in there as a byproduct of the heavy distaste for his father still left simmering inside her. She tolerated him nonetheless, only because Rio loved him as her half brother. Hugo sometimes slept on the couch, that way he had the whole living room to himself at night while the other two left him alone. Other times he stayed in Rio’s room despite her demands for him to go away and slept on the floor after Rio caved in and gave him one of her pillows and an old blanket.

In between that was, ideally, a bathroom down the hall from their rooms on the left side, and a laundry room which also gave way to the back door. At the front of the house was the kitchen and living room, with typical kitchen and living room necessities. In one of the drawers in the kitchen was a specific set of silverware separated from the rest of the forks and knives and spoons. One of each set aside for Natalie, which went to prove she practically had her own place to stay there whenever she didn’t want to go home (which was more often than what was considered normal).

Upon arriving home, which took a little bit longer than Rio would’ve liked, considering that the air inside the car felt just a tiny bit suffocating for the second half of the ride, they’d been greeted with their back gate being propped open despite the fact none of them had even touched in the span of the past several weeks. The murky brown, rickety, wooden gate was swung open just a little bit, but it was enough to suggest that it was wide enough for someone to easily slip through. Rio had half a brain to turn to Hugo and raised an eyebrow at him to silently question him, only for her to have received a confused look in return. The suspicion sat uneasy in Rio’s stomach, and she felt that her need for food had vanished bit by bit as she was the first one to get out of her mother’s car to go and check out what it might’ve been. A stupid idea, she realized when it dawned on her that she wasn’t armed in any way and that she could’ve been walking into a fight with some dude with a gun or a knife at the very least. She was careful to look for footprints and shoe prints that weren’t hers, and when she found none, she assumed that the wind had somehow knocked the gate open. But then she looked at the lock and saw that for the gate to be opened that far, someone must’ve purposefully pulled the lever down and pushed the gate open.

Nothing was back there, Rio found out after she’d tiptoed around the yard and tested if the backdoor was unlocked. It wasn’t, but of course that did nothing to ease the anxiety that’d worked its way up her neck and squeezed around her throat like barbed wire. She earned herself an earful from her mother after that, the words having gone in one ear and out the other when she’d droned on abou how “that was a stupid idea” and “are you stupid? You could’ve gotten hurt, child!” Rio did find that her mother liked to use the word “stupid” a lot in those few minutes she’d spent yelling at her instead of letting it go and opting to eat in peace.

Rio and Hugo ate in her room. Despite Rio’s protests for Hugo to go somewhere else (even when she knew he would’ve had to face the consequences of her mother glaring daggers at him from time to time), he stayed in there anyway. He claimed that her demanding he leave her room only served to egg him on and stay there out of spite. He also told her that she didn’t have much of a choice anyways and that he’d make himself comfortable on the floor at some point that night. Another way to ruin her fun, in Rio’s mind, but she let it go nonetheless.

After they ate, Rio procrastinated on her homework instead of doing it right away like she usually did. Hugo was a massive distraction to her, one of many in her life. They talked and bickered and made jokes instead of leaving each other alone so Rio could focus and Hugo do…whatever it was that he could’ve done with little resources to entertain himself. The hours passed and before the two of them knew it, Hugo had first yawned like a child and gave Rio a sleepy-eyed look that told her he was beyond ready to sleep. She couldn’t blame him. He’d probably spent all day getting from point A to point Z just to wind up in Wiskayok from Montana with her mother, then had to sit around town and talk to people he didn’t know.

The dead of night came. Hugo was barely awake on the floor; he claimed that the roughness of the carpet was irritating him, and Rio did sympathize with him, but she wasn’t about to give up her spot on her bed just because her 15 year old brother couldn’t handle sleeping on some carpet.

Rio, on the other hand, was wide awake. Her mind wracked with the anxiety that came from having taken a peak in her backyard earlier and even went as far as to search her house for anything that was out of the ordinary to her. She found nothing after she’d even looked in the cabinets in case the hypothetical burglar was a dwarf and in the fridge in the event that they happened to like the cold. Earlier, Hugo had to bully the anxiety out of Rio and told her that she was being stupid for being worried about it even after it was confirmed that no one had broken in. It wasn’t quite shaken out of her head, but she pretended anyway just to get Hugo to shut up.

She glanced over at the clock on her nightstand next to her bed. 12:03 AM. Her body was practically glued to the bed. If Hugo had gotten up his gaze would’ve been able to cut through the darkness and see the evident uneasy look on her face. Her heart beat so loud in her ears she was sure it’d brought him back from nearly being unconscious. A part of her envied him for being able to be so carefree on the floor in the middle of the night. A fear lingered in the back of her mind that someone or something was hiding under her bed, waiting for her to make the wrong move so it could come up from the edges of her bedframe and snatch her, and eat her whole. The image of something dark and ugly and shadowy and deformed coming up from right underneath her played over and over in her mind’s eye, and it sent an absurdly unpleasant shiver down her spine. She was stuck. She was frozen with fear, too scared to make any movement or try to come up with any reason in her mind that there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

She wasn’t about to bother Hugo to make her realize that there isn’t a boogeyman under her bed because one, it embarrassed her to think that she needed such support from her little brother, and two, it wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter, anyway. She couldn’t even bring herself to lift her head up, and earlier she’d strained the muscles in her eyes to the point she surely felt she’d pop a blood vessel just to get a good look at her clock. Rio thought of a time a while back during her freshman year when she’d accidentally told Natalie about her massive fear of the dark. Natalie told her, in an attempt to shake the fear out of her habits, that most of the time there wasn’t anything in the dark to be scared of, and if there was, then she’d never have to face it alone. Her attempts amounted to little, obviously, but in Rio’s foolish and young ears, Natalie had basically said that she’d be her knight in shining armor during times like that night when Rio was spooked to the point even her voice had shrunk in its own shell and refused to come out from the back of her throat.

Natalie. Natalie, Natalie, Natalie. Rio already began to miss her bleached blonde hair and her eyeliner that’d been around her eyes for so long they could’ve been passed as real circles around her eyes like a raccoon. The sound of Natalie’s voice in her head saying she wouldn’t have to face her fears alone, all raspy and low, brought a warmth to her chest that seemed to work on thawing out the chilling fear that’d taken her body hostage.

She glanced over at the nightstand again. Her eye muscles strained once more, but this time she couldn’t find any ounce of giving-a-damn in her body to stop and let her eyes rest. Instead her gaze lingered on the telephone sitting on the top next to her alarm clock. The blackout curtain which was hung a few months ago let in just a tiny sliver of moonlight that shone on the top of the beige paint of the telephone. Rio contemplated on reaching over and risking getting snatched away by the boogeyman apparition accumulated by her imagination and dialing Natalie’s trailer and beckoning her over through the other end of the line. Then came a different kind of fear that was incredulously worse than the boogeyman under her bed. The fear that she was being needy, the fear of Natalie finally telling her to fuck off or just being straight up ignored.

The angel on her right shoulder told Rio that she should just take a few deep breaths and think happy thoughts. She was half tempted to reach over and flick off the angel for having made such a dumb suggestion when the department of sunshine and rainbows and cupcakes and bunnies in her brain was out of order for the time being and the nightmare department had been working overtime for the past thirty minutes since the lights went out.

The devil on her left shoulder told Rio to pick up the damn phone and call Natalie and completely ignore the off chance that she was asleep. Screw the boogeyman, the little red devil on her shoulder said, if it means you get to see your girl tonight, who gives a fuck if it’s Pennywise?

Wait— “your girl?”—

Pick up the fucking phone! And take a breath, damnit.

Rio mentally flicked the invisible angel off her shoulder and pulled her arm out from underneath her blanket. She leaned over, seemingly breaking through the ice that’d caked up around her limbs, and reached for her phone with her hand.

It shook in her palms, sweaty from the anxiety bubbling beneath her skin. She swallowed quietly, her tongue darted out to wet her lips after her entire mouth had gone dry. Her left hand reached over and dialed the number, her finger shaky and nearly missing all the digits and almost dialing a completely different number instead. She inhaled and exhaled weakly shaking her head before she pressed the phone to her ear.

Rio silently cursed the universe for having made the dial tone be so loud in a quiet room. She wasn’t even sure if Hugo was unconscious yet and she was calling someone past midnight. Third times the charm, or however the fuck it goes, she thought to herself when the possibility popped up in her head that her mother could’ve used her wicked spidey sense and sped over to her room to catch her on the phone. She gulped and wordlessly prayed to every deity in the history of theism and religion and mythology and whatnot that that wasn’t the case at all.

The stretch between Rio dialing the numbers and the tone starting seemed to be far too long for her liking.

One Mississippi.

A bug outside her window began buzzing. A moth, a bee, a wasp, whatever. The buzzing was so loud it might as well have been right in her ear.

Two Mississippi.

Maybe Nat isn’t home, Rio thought in an attempt to console herself and make up for the nervousness that’d started to swirl back in her stomach. She knew Nat sometimes wouldn’t go back home until the wee hours of the morning; she knew because most of the time it was because the two of them had stayed out all night.

Three Mississippi.

Okay, she better be fucking home—

“Hello?”

Rio’s teeth released her bottom lip, tearing off a piece after she’d been subconsciously chewing on her lap for the past few moments. A sigh of relief worked its way up her throat before she pushed it down once she remembered she wasn’t by herself.

“Hey, Nat,” Rio whispered. She turned her head slightly to try and see if Hugo was awake; he wasn’t. She felt blessed.

“Rio. The fuck are you doin’ calling me this late at night?”

Rio should’ve known that Natalie wouldn’t have enjoyed getting a call in the dead of night, regardless if she’d been asleep or not. She chuckled quietly.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m…I just feel like I’m about to have a literal nervous breakdown, or something.”

Natalie was silent on the other end. Rio couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad thing. On the other end, though, Natalie was swallowing a lump in her throat as she tried to think of anything to say that might’ve served to calm Rio’s nerves.

“You there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry I called you, Nat. You–”

“It’s fine, doofus. Are you sayin’ you need me to come over?”

Rio felt a smile trying to stretch across her face. She let it; it was the kind of smile that made her cheeks warm and her heart beat just a little bit faster. The fretful clouds in her head began to clear up already.

“If it ain’t too much trouble, yeah.”

A beat. A moment of silence.

“But be quiet, though. My little brother’s here.”

“Hugo?”

Rio was sure Natalie had the phone pressed between her head and her shoulder at that moment. She heard the shifting coming from the other end, as well as her getting up to go grab her boots. Her grin widened.

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence. For once, the lack of noise was comfortable.

“I’ll be at your window, idiot.”

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

Rio huffed out another chuckle when the dial tone followed immediately after. An excitement bubbled up in her chest as she looked at her window like that would’ve magically made Natalie appear in an instant. The fear was still there; it died down quite a bit in the moments that she and Natalie had called. It still lingered in the crevices of her shoulders and the hollows of the corners of her knees, watching, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike again and bind Rio to her bed until an inevitable Natalie-shaped antidote arrived.

The minutes passed. Rio glanced every few seconds at her clock and sometimes watched the minutes change from 12:20 to 12:21. She was impatient. She felt a hunger for Natalie’s very presence that was causing a pit to form in her stomach. She moved over to see if Hugo was still fast asleep and found him in a strange position that one could only be found in if they were having the best sleep of their life. So much for complaining about it earlier.

An hour passed. The hunger grew, and the more her body craved—no, not craved, because that’s weird— itched, for a lack of better words like craved, the more the fear came crawling back in a force that multiplied with each passing second wasted alone. Rio’s throat felt as if it had closed up on her. She knew first and foremost that Natalie would never abandon her for anything, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t stop the new and improved wave of anxiety that’d washed over her.

Her chest felt weird. A little too weird for her liking (the bar wasn’t very high to begin with). All prickly and impatient, her heart beat with the same connotation as someone tapping their foot on the floor, waiting.

Rio swore if she thought hard enough she could’ve manifested it into existence sooner: letting Natalie in, sneaking her around Hugo’s sleeping body and pulling her in by the collar of her leather jacket Rio knew she’d worn, laying in silence and listening to her breathing or whispering so quietly they could barely even hear themselves. Another smile tugged at her lips.

Then, she was certain she’d never ever feel this impatient for Seth, or anyone else, really.

Tap tap.

Rio’s head snapped upwards, the moonlight that’d shone through the sliver of her curtain gap casted a twinkle in her eyes unbeknownst to her. She cautiously crept out of bed, despite the fear that’d switched to taking root in her feet, and tiptoed to her window. Her fingers wrapped around the edge of the curtain to pull it back and revealed a head of bleached blonde hair glowing in the moonlight facing the side. Rio marveled in how Natalie looked even at this time of night, even if she’d taken an hour to get there.

Rio reached for the lock and nearly jumped out of her skin when it made a sound that Rio was sure would’ve woken up her mother. Rio and Natalie both locked eyes for a moment; Natalie looked much more calm than Rio had at the moment, with her hooded eyes and expressionless face. Rio looked a little… scared shitless, but she didn’t see any sign of Natalie brewing up some sort of tease in her head, so she brushed it aside. She pulled her window open and let Natalie crawl in after she’d taken off her boots.

The little devil on her left shoulder giggled in her ear when her heart started pounding in her chest again. Like it knew why it was doing that in the first place.

Natalie dusted off her black, dusty jeans (she’d tripped over a root and fell on her knee which resulted in a hole right where she landed) and messed with the hem of her shirt, fingers flitting back and forth over the edge like she was nervous. Was she nervous? Or just stalling so she didn’t have to say anything? Rio couldn’t tell, so she chose not to pay so close attention to it and opted to close her window and pull back her curtain instead.

“You didn’t say he was sleeping right there,” Natalie finally turned to face Rio after she spared the sleeping Hugo a glance. A teasing tone was in her voice, for reasons unknown to Rio other than the fact that was how she always sounded around her.

“I did say to be quiet, didn’t I?” Rio whispered back. She balled her fingers into a fist to stop herself from reaching out and grabbing Natalie by her jacket to pull her into bed with her. Natalie saw it. She said nothing.

“You don’t look like you’re on the verge of tears,” Natalie commented quietly, and gave Rio a once over. Rio swallowed and rolled her eyes, stepping away from Natalie and moving back to her bed. She sat in the middle criss-cross and looked at her pointedly.

“You look perfectly fine to me.”

“Hm. Must be the affection talking.”

Natalie scoffed. Her lips quirked into a grin as she ran her tongue over her front teeth. “You’re full of shit, y’know that?”

“Listen to the teapot calling the kettle black.”

Natalie flipped Rio off before she stepped over to Rio’s bed, kneeling beside it and resting her arms on the mattress. “Game recognizes game.” Rio inhaled quietly and looked at the edge, then back at Natalie. She raised an eyebrow.

“What, I got somethin’ on me?”

“No, idiot,” Rio chuckled quietly. She leaned over on her side and propped her head up with her hand, her other arm over her waist. “Our back gate was open earlier.”

“And?”

“And, it was what was giving me grief earlier.”

“Yeah, I still don’t follow.”

Rio internally groaned as she tilted her head back and clenched her jaw for a moment. Natalie huffed out a stifled chuckle.

“I, um…I kinda got scared. Like, what if something was under my bed?”

A moment of silence stretched between them. Rio let her head fall and her eyes met Natalie’s gaze, which held a look to them that told her she was about to pull some smart remark. Natalie raised an eyebrow as their eyes locked again, and a smirk smudged the corner of her mouth. She broke eye contact (which Rio was enjoying) to take a quick look under Rio’s bed, ducking her head under the bed frame and looking around with her naked eyes at the darkness that her best friend was oh so deathly afraid of. Then, with a stifled snicker, she went back up, and the size of her smirk had doubled.

“Well, no sign of the boogeyman over here,” Natalie shrugged. Her smirk lessened, and it turned into a softer version of itself. Possibly one of Rio’s favorites. “But, if it’s of any use to calm you and your nerves, you would’ve smelled something. Or heard something. Or someone would’ve jumped out as soon as the lights went off, or whatever.”

“You seem very confident in what you’re saying,” Rio remarked quietly. Her arm that was around her waist moved so that her hand rested flat on her blanket. Natalie didn’t want to think that it was Rio silently daring her to put her hand over hers and let a portion of her warmth engulf her for just a moment.

It was tempting, like dangling a carrot in front of a pig.

“Told you you’d never have to face these things alone, remember?”

“And you clown on me for being a sap.”

Natalie pulled away slightly from the edge of Rio’s bed with another quiet scoff under her breath. She shook her head, and she wondered if she should’ve just ignored the call and went to sleep immediately after. And though the thought floated around her head, she knew she’d never be able to deny her anything. Traveling from her trailer park to Rio’s neighborhood seemed about as easy as breathing, like going to such measures as walking around Wiskayok alone at night just to see Rio and make sure she was okay was a second nature to her.

Jealousy was like a snake hiding in the bushes. She’d stepped too closely to it, and it darted out and got her. The familiar taste of envy festered on her tongue like she was about to throw up. She found her emulous thoughts from earlier in the day circling back to the current moment and ruining it. She wondered, very rudely, if anything like this would ever happen with Seth instead of her. If Seth would ever be the one to sneak in through Rio’s window and have intimate moments where Rio held her hand out and wordlessly dared him to touch her like that. If Rio would ever call him for any reason in the middle of the night. If Rio would ever even think of him in such a vulnerable moment.

Obviously not, the little angel on her right shoulder told her. If that’s the case, you wouldn’t even be here. Get over feelin’ sorry for yourself.

“That’s somethin’ you and Seth both got in common,” Natalie knew she’d only just tested some very dangerous waters. She looked back at Rio to see if her face had changed at the mention of her chaser, to see if her suspicions were right or wrong and to either feed the doubt in her mind or try to extinguish it. “You’re both fuckin’ saps.”

“I don’t see what Seth has to do with this,” Rio mumbled, and she looked down at her blanket. Her fingers messed with the material of it, picking at it with her nails and smoothing her hand over it.

Natalie wasn’t about to let Rio know that her mundane response gave her an absurd boost of hope.

“Isn’t he your boyfriend now, or whatever?”

She’s playing dumb on purpose, Rio, the little devil on Rio’s left shoulder whispered into her ear as she looked back up at Natalie. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

“Y’know, this isn’t doing much to soothe my nerves.”

“Sorry,” Natalie murmured halfheartedly. She knew Rio was onto her. She didn’t care at that point. “You’re avoiding the question, though.”

“Not that this’ll do anything to serve as a balm to the big fat jealous wound over your heart, or whatever,” Rio started quietly. She looked around her room and hoped that some sort of god that had the power of forcible amnesia would make Natalie drop the topic already. “But he isn’t my boyfriend. I haven’t even seen him since this morning.”

“That’s right,” Natalie quietly snapped her fingers, like she really did magically drop the subject. “Your mom checked you out. Shauna told me.”

“You actually asked?”

“Well, yeah. I was wondering where my best friend went. I thought you’d totally blown off practice to go be with Seth or…do lines off an alien’s ass cheek, or whatever.”

Rio stifled a laugh, a hearty laugh this time, as she bit her lip with her teeth and pressed her lips together afterwards. “An alien’s ass cheek?”

“Gotta be as open minded and inclusive as I can be.”

“Yeah, you’re quite the progressive.”

Natalie laughed quietly, leaning her face into the mattress to stifle her voice with the blanket. Her shoulders shook slightly as she giggled, her hand snaked up the side of the bed and rested next to Rio’s hand. A daring move, one that Natalie’s proud of since Rio didn’t back away or retreat, didn’t tuck herself in her turtle shell and hide.

“You still don’t look like you’re on the verge of tears.”

Rio squinted her eyes. Her grin lessened into a tender smile. “You must be a fixer upper of sorts.”

“Is that the affection talking?” Natalie teased, earning an eye roll and a light swat in her arm from Rio as they both chuckled together in sync. Natalie glanced over at the alarm clock. 1:30.

“You think your mom would lose her shit if you let me stay the night?”

“Why, you gettin’ tired?”

“No,” Natalie’s grin turned bashful as she looked down at the blanket, her bangs working to cover her face.

“So you just don’t wanna leave, then?”

“Something like that.”

Natalie looked back up at Rio and they locked eyes again. She could’ve sworn she saw Rio’s gaze quickly drift down towards her lips then raced back up to her eyes like she’d been caught stealing from the cookie jar. It was one of the signals that this was one of the few times they found the conversation wasn’t going anywhere. She knew how that night would’ve ended, how her short time at Rio’s house would come to a stop. How she’d be inevitably sent off. It both hurt and soothed her heart that Rio couldn’t think of any other way to dismiss Natalie other than to seal the bounds of their time together with a touch of affection that left the both of them feeling flushed.

“Well,” Rio started after she cleared her throat nervously. Her heart was in her throat, and she knew as well. “I can guarantee you, you’d definitely be banned from coming over ever again.”

“You did well sneaking me in tonight,” Natalie shrugged one shoulder and looked at Rio pointedly. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“And what we know would make her pop a blood vessel.”

Natalie let out a dry chuckle, but she knew nothing was funny. She knew Rio’s mother wasn’t very fond of Natalie (as she wasn’t very fond of anyone but herself and her daughter), and she had the suspicion that her mother was starting to suspect the both of them having thoughts about each other that didn’t exactly pertain to the friendship they’d kept up over the last four years. She was right, of course, to have an inkling that they saw each other as anything more than friends. If she knew they’d been secretly kissing each other goodbye from time to time whenever they’d leave parties or games she definitely would’ve kicked Natalie to the curb and forbid Rio from seeing her again if she could help it.

Natalie looked over at Hugo, as if his snoring had ever distracted her before. “It’s a wonder how he didn’t wake up.”

“That’s all you, dude. You’re the one who kept laughing.”

They both sat in silence for the next few minutes. As they went by, they both sent each other knowing glances, and they weren’t the good kind. They both knew that they’d eventually bid each other goodnight and send Natalie on her way home with yet another invisible present to keep in her drawer and think about during her more vulnerable moments when no one was around, save for herself and a cigarette between her fingers.

Rio initiated it. An off chance, since it was usually Natalie who grew a pair first and went in.

They touched and they brushed and they ghosted each other’s lips. Natalie felt a rush, the same old rush she got every time they kissed and yet it never bored her. She felt she could’ve sat there for the rest of the night, simply bidding each other goodnight without ever actually leaving or going to sleep, knowing that come morning when the sun came to blind her with the bleeding reality that it would all be swept under the rug. And though this was the first time a moment like this actually happened, it felt so familiar to her, in a way that gave her deja vu and had her head nearly spinning off her body.

“Good thing he isn’t awake,” Natalie whispered once she reluctantly pulled back. Her tongue darted out as she looked up at Rio, and her lips immediately pressed together to hold back what she really wanted to say.

“I don’t think he’d snitch if he saw,” Rio muttered. Her lips felt like they didn’t belong to her body at that moment.

Natalie’s eyebrows drew closer together. She wanted to ask why, but a light turned on out in the hall and highlighted the bottom of Rio’s door. The light poured into a small part of the room, only a sliver, but it was more than enough to send a wave of panic crashing over Rio’s heart and frantically usher Natalie out as quietly as she could without Rio’s mother noticing her spidey sense going off and taking a detour to Rio’s room to see if anything was out of the ordinary.

Natalie went home a little bit afterwards. She walked around for a while, letting the cool breeze that followed the late hours of the night distract her from the dull pain that’d twisted in her chest at the knowledge that she was only a dirty secret at the moment. And that knowledge would never have the same moonlight shed upon it again, and instead the tears choked her heart that she’d never let out.

Natalie went home after her walk around Wiskayok in parts she knew she wouldn’t get snatched up in. She went to sleep a little bit afterwards, with her invisible present tucked to her chest instead of her drawer, the first ever.

[octuscle]

From tutor to rookie of the year

Hi, my name is Jake. My company has hired me to tutor a few students with poor grades. That's not necessarily the reason why I started working at the auditing company. But first of all, I'm new here and I'm not going to refuse right at the beginning of my career. And secondly, becoming a teacher had actually been an option for me. Maybe it's fate now or something.

The first lesson gets off to a very promising start. I almost have to tear myself apart to leave your office and get to school on time. But when I arrive, there is a yawning emptiness in the classroom. Only after fifteen minutes I hear noise in the corridor and a couple of football jocks barge in the door. A few still in football gear. And all obviously unshowered after training. Phew, it stinks. And as I look into the handsome, square-cut faces of the boys spraying with testosterone, I'm suddenly back at school. The small, clever but shy boy who, at best, the stars of the football team overlook and, at worst, stuff into the toilet. I clear my throat and say that I'm not here for fun either and that I'm asking for some attention. The boys barely react. Damn it, it's not my problem. I explain a few linear algebra problems on the blackboard and ignore the paper airplanes. I have my school-leaving certificate. I have my master's degree. And my bonus doesn't depend on the grades of these idiots. At least I hope so.

After the debacle of the first tutoring session, my appetite for the second is very dampened. But it was already hard enough to get this internship. The firm is one of the most prestigious accountancy firms in the city. And if my pro bono job as an intern is tutoring the idiots on the football team twice a week, I'll survive. Apart from the 60 hours a week in which I have to pore over balance sheets, that doesn't matter any more.

These days, the musclemen are even on time. And somehow nicer than last time. They even ask me reasonably sensible questions like whether you can predict the trajectories of footballs. I take this as an opportunity to tell them something about vector calculus. They collapse with laughter. "Bro, I was joking. And football isn't math. Football is strength and speed." I'm about to take a breath and say something about Newton and the relationship between force and speed. But instead of listening to me, the jocks start bragging to each other about their heroic stories on the field. And I can't help but listen to them spellbound. When the lesson is over, I look after them with fascination. I wish I could have been more like them at school.

Shit, because I'm the only nerd on the senior team who isn't a complete failure at sports, Coach made me give math tutoring to the football team. He thinks the Meatheads might have a little bit of respect for me. Shit! Them for me? I for them might be more correct! The thought of explaining math to my secret crush forms a wet spot in my Calvin Klein shorts.

I expected the boys to keep me waiting. If they were also punctual and disciplined off the pitch, they wouldn't need any help. And I don't want to tutor them any more than they want to be tutored. We reach a compromise. You listen to my math tutoring for half an hour. And then we'll go out onto the pitch for half an hour and play a bit of football. God knows I'm not unsportsmanlike. But soccer has somehow never been my sport. I'm more of a swimming pool or gym kind of guy. Team sports? Not really.

Shit, yeah, I'm no rocket scientist in math. But I have quite good grades in English and history. I'm not going to fail this year. Why the fuck do I have to go to tutoring with the other bros from the football team? I have no idea. But seriously, the tutor is a total loser. A beanpole in a stuffy shirt. The idiot even wears a tie. Seriously, who wears a tie these days? If I had to wear a tie, I'd change jobs. Or if I had to shower after training. Shit, these are just rules that can come from old fat men. Bros like me and my bros smell like test… Testo… Well that hormone stuff. Sweat, musk and Axe. If I didn't have to go straight to detention again, I'd let the loser smell my armpits… But I'm a sophomore on the team right now. Let the juniors and seniors do that.

"Jack, bro!" This is Chuck. The QB on the team. I can tell by his voice. And by his smell. And I'd also know it by the taste of his cheesy boner…. But he stays locked in his jockstrap cage right now. What a damn shame! "Bro, where were you in tutoring? The dean was there. You're in fucking trouble!" Shit, tutoring! I was at the gym. The other guys are all so pumped. I don't want to lag behind any longer. "Shit, dude, we said you were in the bathroom. The loser tutor didn't dare contradict us. But I think you have to let him suck you off so he doesn't tell on you." Hehehehehe, I like that idea. There are still 40 minutes until football practice… And I haven't cum yet today. "Is the loser still in the classroom?" I ask. Chuck nods. I fist bump him and say that I'll sort it out quickly.

If Chuck and Matt go to college next year, I have a good chance to be the QB. But until then I still have to build up a lot of mass. Those two are just in a whole different league. And I'm damn jealous of the hair on Matt's chest. You should see the bush under his arms. Dude, the man is going to be a fucking gorilla! Shit, I'm not half the man those two are. You can tell immediately by the size of the bulge in our compression shorts. Nevertheless, neither of them mind if I fuck them. But they like fucking me even more. Without eye contact. Otherwise it would be totally homo!

We skipped tutoring again today. Coch covers for us while we're in the gym or doing our laps on the cinder track outside. Nevertheless, it's still up in the air whether Chuck and Matt will be at college next year. And whether I'll be a junior by then. But screw it, NFL pros don't need to know math.

[charliegyrth]

I Really Want You to Like Me

A Gay Gainer Romance

When you walk into our dorm room freshman year, my first thought is: “Holy crap! My new roommate is the hottest guy I’ve ever seen.”

You know how you look, so I don’t need to describe your tall, muscular body. Your perfect ass. Your wide shoulders and thin waist.

My second thought is: “I really hope you like me.”

Back in high school, I was the life of every party. The funny, fat guy. It was so easy for me to make friends, but since I started college, it’s been a little harder for me to meet people. Three weeks into the semester and I haven’t made a single connection.

And now here you are, my new roommate. And you’re so freaking cool. I just really want to make a good impression.

Unfortunately, I don’t. You just see me as a fat slob. You grimace at the fast-food trash on my side of the dorm. You glance down at the ketchup stain on my shirt. You act nice, and you force a smile, but I know right away that you don’t like me.

For the next few weeks, we barely see each other. You go out partying most nights and don’t really acknowledge me when you stumble into the room. You spend your free time playing football or basketball with your jock friends while I’m here playing video games.

You’re not rude or anything, but it’s obvious that we’re just different people.

We don’t have our first real conversation until we run into each other at some frat party. You’re drunk. I’m drunk. You compliment me on how much beer I can put away. And I say, “Back at ya.” For someone with such a flat stomach, it’s pretty impressive how much you can chug.

We sort of bond at the party, and when things start to die down, we walk home together.

I really want to keep our conversation going, so I offer to cook us some pasta to fight off the next morning’s hangover. It’s nothing special, just ramen that I jazz up with a bunch of butter and other ingredients.

You freaking love it.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you’re a real cook, man?”

Because I’m not. You just like it because you’re drunk.

Whatever. We eat together and, for the first time, you ask about the video games that I’m always playing. You’ve never really played video games before. (Too busy playing sports.) I show you my collection of retro games from the 80s and 90s. Those are my favorite.

We try playing a few together, and you’re absolutely terrible. But it’s fun to watch. You’re having fun, too.

We really bond over this super-old game called BurgerTime, where we play as these little chefs that have to assemble burgers while running away from evil hot dogs. It’s really basic (just running across platforms), but I think that’s why you like it. You’re actually kind of good at this one.

We end up playing all night, making video game burgers and snacking on some of my potato chips. “Dude, this is great!” you say.

And it really is.

Things go back to normal after that. You go back to hanging out with your jock friends. You don’t avoid me as much as before, but I still don’t see you a lot.

Then Saturday rolls around, and you join me on the couch. “Rematch?” you ask. You were supposed to meet your friends for a basketball game, but you decide to spend time with me instead.

I’m so flattered that I keep letting you win. And I keep bringing out more of my snacks just to make you happy. When you’re gaming, you don’t notice how much you can put away. I’m impressed.

Hours later, you beat my high score and we’ve eaten literally everything in the dorm.

You turn to me smiling. “You’re a bad influence, man.”

That’s the moment I know that you finally like me.

That evening, I go to the supermarket to restock on snacks. I mostly get stuff that you prefer (salt and vinegar potato chips and anything with dark chocolate). I spend a little too much (okay, a lot too much), but I just really want to keep hanging out with you.

And it works. Throughout the rest of the semester, you spend more time with me and less time with your jock friends. Pretty soon, the messiness from my side of the dorm has spread to your side, too. It doesn’t take long for you to start snacking as much as I do. And sometimes, you stay in playing games even when I’m not home.

Then one day, you trudge into the dorm looking really upset. You were just playing basketball with your old buddies, and you didn’t have fun. You’ve lost some of your skill and the guys full-on insulted you.

I’m not surprised. I can see how your body is chunking out a little. Your thin waist isn’t so thin anymore, and your chest looks softer. But the big difference is in how you move. You used to move like an athlete with constant energy. Now, you’re getting kind of sluggish. Like me.

For a second, I get worried that you’re going to stop hanging out with me. That you’ll go back to the gym and force yourself to get back into shape.

Instead, you say, “Screw ’em. If they’re gonna be dicks, I don’t wanna play with them anymore.” Then you plop onto the couch and turn on BurgerTime.

You’ve made your choice, and I’m so freaking happy.

After that, we snack and game every day. We go to parties sometimes, too. Always together. (As friends, of course.)

By the end of that month, you’ve outgrown all your pants. They were always a little tight on you (to accentuate your ass, I’m assuming), but now you can’t pull them past your thick thighs.

“Dude!” you call from the living room, sounding frustrated.

I race in to find you standing in the middle of the room. You have a loose shirt on, but your pants are crumpled on the floor. You have white underwear to cover your crotch, but even those are tight enough to make your leg fat bulge out from under the bottom edges. I’ve never seen your bare thighs before, and I’m shocked by how shapeless they’ve already gotten. While your arms still have their muscular base, your legs look much softer.

No cellulite yet, though.

You look up at me with desperation in your blue eyes. “I can’t go to class without pants.” I know you’re asking me to loan you my clothes, but you’re too embarrassed to say it.

“Well, I definitely have some pants that I’m way too fat for. They should fit you just fine.” I run back into my room and pull out three shorts and two pairs of jeans. They’re not too small for me, of course. That was a lie to make you feel better. (Why would someone bring clothes to college that they can’t wear?)

I hand them to you, and you look so freaking grateful. “Thanks, man. You’re a lifesaver. I’ll give them back once I…”

“Keep ’em. I’ll never fit in those again.” (Another lie. In fact, the jeans you’re pulling on right now are actually a little baggy on me, though they fit you surprisingly well.)

It’s crazy that I’m so much bigger than you, and yet your hips are already as wide as mine. The miracle of fat distribution, I guess.

You spin around to model the new pants. “These look okay? I don’t look too chubby?”

You're a bit past chubby now, but I don’t say that. Instead, I assure you, “Everyone gains a bit in college. But trust me, you’ll never get as big as me.” That’s probably the truth.

You seem reassured. You strut out of the room with confidence.

The next week is finals. We stop gaming to focus all our time on studying. The snacking doesn’t stop. At first, I thought I was a bad influence on you. But I realize that you’re actually eating more potato chips and cookies than me, and I’m the one trying to keep up.

We both ace our classes. On our last night before Christmas break, we celebrate at the buffet just off campus. I absolutely stuff myself (as always), but you outdo me by at least a plate and a half. I have never been out-eaten at a buffet before. It’s impressive. (And honestly, I’m a little jealous.)

We both go back home for the holidays. We text each other a lot. You even video-call me so I can meet your parents. They seem super-nice.

My parents are a little upset with me. I’ve been fat all my life, so that’s not a big deal to them. But the amount I’d gained in one semester of college has freaked them out a little. I didn’t even realize I was fatter! I was too focused on your growing belly and hips. And I know that it’s because of you, because it’s so much fun to eat snacks together. I started as the bad influence, but you’ve taken over the role.

I don’t really overdo it over the holidays. I refrain from my mom’s cookies and stop myself from going back for seconds. I don’t lose any weight over the vacation, but I don’t gain anything either.

When I get back to campus, I realize that your vacation was a bit different. Your ass has definitely grown. And the fat has finally reached your face. You’re actually getting a double chin now. You’re still in much better shape than me, but I’m not sure how long that’ll last.

“How was your holiday?” you ask. You sound so excited to see me.

“Great. And yours?”

“So much fun,” you say. Then you tell me about all the food you ate. It’s like you’re bragging. You don’t mention sports at all.

Then you do something that surprises me. You wrap me in a hug, making me feel your belly against mine, and you say, “I really missed you, man.”

This isn’t a friendly hug. It’s something more.

I look into your eyes. I don’t want to read too much into this. But the way you’re looking at me… I know that I’m not. I know that you want me.

So I kiss you.

And I feel your new body, squeezing into the fat on your sides.

You feel me, too. We’re exploring each other’s bodies, giving in to the sexual tension that had been building all semester. And when you take me to your bed, when you strip off your new shirt, I can see that you’re even fatter than I realized.

You're on top of you, letting me play with your soft pecs, feeling me stiffen under you, and I ask you, “Are you trying to get fat?”

There’s no shame or embarrassment on your face as you look me right in the eyes and say, “Yes.”

“Why?”

You sigh. “I like you, man. I like spending time with you so much more than my old friends. And I just… I don’t know. I wanted to catch up. I wanted you to like me.”

I can’t believe it. I thought you were gaining because I was rubbing off on you. I didn’t realize that this was a conscious choice, that you chose to get fat because of me.

I jiggle your chest. “And you like… being like this?”

“No,” you say. Then you grab my moobs (so much bigger and softer than yours) and say, “Like I told you, I want to catch up.”

This is the first time we have sex. You’re incredible. You know exactly how to touch me, guide me, control me. You’re so strong. And so heavy. You make me feel your heft.

And now, three years later, so much has changed. We’re engaged now. We live in an apartment off-campus. We’re weeks away from graduating.

And you’ve gotten so, so much bigger than me.

I’m still obese, though significantly smaller than I was freshman year. This wasn’t a conscious choice. It just happened over the years, as I focused more of my attention on keeping you fed. It’s a little weird to be the smaller guy in the relationship, even if no one would ever call me small.

But you… My God. You’ve grown into such a beautiful, massive ball of flab. The first two years of your gains were very leg- and ass-centric. You were always meant to be much more pear-shaped than me, and I loved seeing your thighs stretch and dimple, your ass expand and droop.

But this last year, your belly has more than caught up. It’s so much bigger than mine ever was. Saggier, too.

When people see the two of us side-by-side, they’d probably assume I was the ex-jock instead of you. My fat looks so much more solid than yours. I think that’s pretty hot.

Right now, you’re sprawled on the couch, playing some NBA game with three potato chip bags next to your wide ass. (Two of the bags are already empty.) You look up, surprised that I’m home so early.

“Wanna play?” you ask.

I smile. “You’re such a bad influence.”

I join you, of course, and wait for you to finish your game. You’ve gotten so much better at video games than me. I’m not jealous, of course. I find it very cute.

I kiss your sweaty cheek and squeeze one of your stomach rolls.

“Don’t distract me,” you say. You’re so close to beating this level.

“Okay,” I say.

And as you finish your game, I feed you the rest of the potato chips.

The End.

Thanks for reading! I wrote this in response to my first ever story request! It's from Anonymous, but that's okay.

If anyone else would like to request something, please hit me up. I'd love to hear from anyone. Whether it's about a scenario, a setting, or even a body type that you'd like to read about... Whatever you want.

(But remember: I don't really do revenge-fattening or instant weight gain.)

[idkwhatever580]

Love you!

Masterlist

Pairings: Natasha romanoff x reader

Prompt: highschool!au where nat has a fat crush on yelenas bsf and needs a little help with what to do. Nat also has adhd :)

Warnings: swearing, nat being a dummy with adhd, smoochin, mentions of trigonometry 😰

A/n: I’m so sorry I didn’t post it earlier! Moving kicked my ass. @m0use123 I hope I did it justice!

Nobody’s pov

Natasha sighs and says

“I- I don’t know guys. It just. I can’t see her liking me back”

Wanda cuts in and says

“If there is a world where y/n doesn’t like you back then that world must be hell. Y/n is totally head over heels for you”

Nat rolls her eyes and says

“Y’all are so full of it. There’s no way that y/n even remotely likes me”

Maria says

“Actually we’re not kidding. She’s got the hots for you”

Natasha scoffs and says

“Okay. Whatever you say guys. Whatever makes you happy”

Carol gasps and says

“We should set you guys up!”

Natasha’s eyes go wide and she says

“No. No no no. No way. You are not setting us up”

Wanda then says

“But you’d be so cute together!”

Natasha sighs and says

“It’s not gonna happen. I mean. Could you imagine Lena’s reaction to us dating?! She’d flip her shit!”

Wanda looks over and says

“I don’t know. Yelena might be her best friend but they kind of act like sisters. Why not make it real?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and says

“Just stop guys.”

They all give up on their attempts but then they get an idea.

They subtly start texting back and forth on a group text without Natasha.

Ugly hags- Nat 💋

(Wand&Rabbit- Wanda

Christmas Carol- Carol

Mother Mary- Maria)

Wand&Rabbit: we should totally set them up

Christmas Carol: aren’t Lena and y/n supposed to come here later? We could make up a reason to get Nat and y/n alone 🤷‍♀️

Mother Mary: what excuse could we use to get them in nat’s room for enough time to figure out whatever they need to?

Wand&Rabbit: maybe we could play truth or dare and make them do 7 minutes in heaven! 🥵😏😏

Mother Mary: too obvious

Christmas Carol: Ria’s right we can’t be THAT obvious. Nat will know we’re up to something. She’s like a spy. Honestly I’m surprised she’s not sus about us texting rn 🥸🥸🥸

Wand&Rabbit: I think she’s looking at y/n’s insta rn. She’s prob lost in her eyes 🙄

Mother Mary: what if we use school as an excuse? I mean… y/n likes to tutor other students. And Nat has a trig text coming up. 👀

Christmas Carol: but Nat is like hella good at trig. Won’t y/n see right through it?

Wand&Rabbit: actually nat has been really stressed and has been wanting to work on more trig stuff. That’s a really good excuse. Especially since Lena despises trig. She’ll want nothing to do with it.

Mother Mary: so plan tutor sesh/ makeout sesh is a go?

Christmas Carol: I’m all for it.

Wand&Rabbit: I’m game.

Mother Mary: okay. Just checked y/n’s location. She’s pulling up with Lena now. 🤭

Christmas Carol: let’s do this. 🤫

Nobody’s pov

As Yelena walks in y/n trails behind her helping her carry a handful of groceries.

Yelena turns y/n and says

“Will you go get my fucking sestra? She needs to help with these. I got them. It’s her turn to unload them”

Y/n smiles and nods immediately knowing they get to see nat.

As y/n trots up to Natasha’s room she knocks and opens the door once she hears a come in.

She opens the door to find only Wanda, Maria, and carol

“Oh hey guys! Did you see nat? Lena is complaining that she needs to unload the groceries”

Carol says

“I think she’s in her closet maybe you could find her in there?”

Wanda smacks carols arm and says

“Actually! Tell nat we will handle the groceries”

They all make faces at each other which makes y/n quirk a brow but nonetheless she goes to knock on the closet door when they all move downstairs.

“Nat? Do you need help?”

“What! Oh! Uh- no! Shit- I’m good!”

As natasha says this she bumps her head on a hanger rack and y/n is concerned

“Are you sure? It doesn’t sound good in there”

Y/n goes to open the door and before she can see Natasha gets nervous and says the first thing that comes to mind

“I’m naked!!”

Y/n immediately closes the door and says

“Oh! I’m sorry I- I didn’t know”

She walks away before she makes it any more awkward.

As Natasha hears her crushes feet putter away, she slides down the door with a sigh.

Y/n goes back downstairs to help the others and Maria says

“So, is nat alright?”

Y/n blushes slightly and says

“Oh- yeah she um- she’s changing I think”

Maria nods her head and Wanda chirps in

“Hey! You’re good at trig right?”

Y/n nods her head and Wanda continues

“And you tutor other student who need help right?”

Y/n once again nods and says

“Why? Does somebody you know need help?”

Carol chips in and says

“Oh yes! Nat is really needing some help with studying for the upcoming exam”

Y/n furrows her brows and says

“Isn’t Natasha like way good at trig?”

Carol blanks and Maria falls in to help

“Yeah! But she’s been like really stressed out and has been trying to study in new ways! We think that having to study with someone who has the same skill set would maybe help reassure her”

Y/n nods in understanding and says

“That’s understandable. I could probably use some practice of my own as well! Does she know what time she wants to do it?”

Wanda nods and says

“Yes! Right now!”

Y/n pauses and says

“Oh- well I’m supposed to hang out with Lena today”

They pout and Carol says

“We will make sure you get the time you require with Yelena but I really think it would calm her nerves if you helped her now and she’s also been having a hard time with focusing on it as well. You know how she gets distracted”

Y/n weighs their options and finally agrees.

“Okay! Will you tell Yelena to not wait up on me? And help her with dinner please? Melina is out of town and Lena is just about as bad as Alexie with her cooking”

Y/n’s pov

I make my way up to Natasha’s room and knock again.

“Are you still changing? Or can I come in?”

She mumbles a small come in and I open the door

I step in and say

“Hey!”

Honestly I’m excited to spend time with her. I look at her desk and there’s books and papers spread out all messy.

She is drying her hair since she just got out of the shower.

God her natural hair is so beautiful. I wish she didn’t straighten it as much

“What do you want?”

She kind of comes off defensive and I say

“I don’t mean to intrude but the girls said that you needed some help with trig? I’m not as good as you but they said that you need to practice with someone who’s at least half way decent.”

She scoffs and says

“Of course. They don’t know what they’re talking about. I don’t need your help”

I sigh and sit down on her bed opposite of where she’s sitting.

“I never said you did. I just thought that maybe we could help each other? I mean we’re both really good, but sometimes I find it hard to get good practice in when I’m the one being the teacher you know? Like tutoring is hard. And I do it so much that I barely have any time to study myself. I thought we could work together.”

She thinks about it and says

“Y-you don’t have to if you don’t want to”

I smile and set my hand on hers.

“I want to I probably wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

She chuckles awkwardly and I say

“Let’s get started”

I stand up and step over to her desk and she immediately hops up.

“Oh! Uh don’t mind that mess!”

She scratches the back of her neck and says

“I- um. I’ve been a little messy lately”

She tries to go and fix it but I stop her wrist and say

“I said I’d help you right? We can clean it up together and then start. Yeah?”

Her face turns red when I grab her wrist and she says

“Y-yeah”

It’s honestly cute. Oh great. Butterflies. I hate when she does that to me.

I let go of her hand and pull up a chair so we can both sit. We start organizing her desk in a way that is efficient but also where she can easily manage it.

Then we open the books. We go back and forth with trig until our conversations drift off and we get distracted.

Now we’re talking about Chappell Roan and Reneé Rapp and how great they are.

“What are your favorite songs nat?”

“By Chappell Roan or Reneé Rapp?”

“Hmm. Both!”

“Let me think… This is hard. But I think my favorite by Reneé Rapp is I do and my fav by Chappell Roan right now is picture you”

I smile and heat rises to my cheeks and I say

“Is there a person that you think about when you listen or just good beats?”

She turns red and says

“Uh- yeah there’s a girl. But no more questions about that! What are your favorites?”

I know immediately but I pretend to think

“Hmm… I think snow angel is my favorite by Reneé Rapp and then by Chappell Roan… kaleidoscope!”

I smile knowing what her next question will be and I say

“And I think of my dad in snow angel because it talks about addiction and my dad is an alcoholic. Which you know is why I spend a lot of time here. And I think about a girl for kaleidoscope as well”

She smiles and says

“That’s rough. I’m so sorry about your dad”

I shrug and say

“It’s alright. I can’t change him. But maybe he’ll be better one day”

I sign and space out for a split second before I shake myself out of it and say

“Let’s finish practicing this trig!”

Honestly. It kind of startled Natasha a bit when I said that because she seemed to be spaced out as well.

“Oh! Right yes! Sorry I get so distracted all the time”

I smirk and say

“It’s okay I do too.”

We smile at each other and finish working on trig. Then I say

“We better wrap it up. We’ve been up here for an hour and Yelena is sure to start crawling her way up here soon”

“Yeah I guess so.”

I get up to go and I turn around when Natasha says

“Wait! Y/n, I just want to thank you. You didn’t have to do this for me”

I smile and say

“Don’t worry about it. I needed it too. So we’re even.”

Then I turn to her door and she follows me to the room.

As I step out of the door, I turn around and smile at nat. I hold my hand out and twirl a piece of her hair in my hand and say

"You should wear your hair natural more."

She furrows her eyebrows and says

"Why?"

I sigh and say

"It's so beautiful. I love it so much"

After I say that I kind of realize how close I got to her and how she is super tense.

Fuck I'm making her uncomfortable. God dammit y/ n you dumbass

I pull away after accidentally looking at her lips a bit too long. I feel the heat rising to my cheeks and say

"I should probably get going. Yelena is waiting for me probably so bye!”

Nat nods her head equally as awkward as me and says

"Okay bye! I love you!"

I freeze when she says this and she immediately realizes her mistake and slams the door in my face.

Did she really mean it? What the fuck?

I turn around and am about to go to the living room downstairs where Yelena is inevitably waiting for me but then I make a last minute decision and turn back around.

Yelena can wait

Nat’s pov

Fuck. I just did that. Shit shit shit. It just slipped out. I didn't even mean to. And I slammed the fucking door on her too!! She probably hates me

I am pacing back and forth in my bedroom as l contemplate my life. Then she starts banging on my door and I weigh my options.

If I let her in she might punch me in the face. But then again a punch to the face doesn’t sound half bad.

She stops knocking and says

“Nat I know you can hear me. Please let me in”

Her voice is so soft I can’t help but listen.

Y/n’s pov

The second the door swings open I step in and close the door.

“Tell me you mean it”

She looks dumbfounded and says

“Wha- what do I mean?”

I roll my eyes and say

“Tell me you meant it when you said that!”

She looks scared but defeated and says

“I meant it. I’m so sorry I-”

The second she says that I immediately pounce on her.

Her lips are so soft. And she kisses back immediately.

We kiss until I have to pull away for air and I giggle at her silly face.

“I love you too”

She widens her eyes and says

“You do?”

I laugh and say

“You know. You’re really stupid for someone who is better than me at trig”

She blushes and says

“You know, you’re really mean for someone who claims to love me”

I dramatically gasp and say

“I can’t let our friends think that you have the upper hand on me now can I?”

“I guess you’ll just have to suck it up from now on”

“From now on?”

I am literally standing in her arms with our lips slightly swollen and pink and I asked that.

She gets nervous and pulls away and says

“Well. Yeah. I thought maybe since this happened it meant we would be a thing?”

I sigh and say

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to confuse you”

I said the wrong thing again. God dammit. Why can’t I just be normal?

She gets scared and says

“Oh. I thought you liked me. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize”

I immediately fix my mistake

“No no no! I meant I was a little nervous and confused. And I didn’t mean to confuse you. I questioned it because I didn’t know if you wanted us to be a thing or not. I would love to be a thing. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to”

I stumble over my words and ramble

“Y/n, I want to be a thing”

I smile and say

“Oh okay. That’s good”

She smiles and I say

“So does that mean?”

“That were girlfriends? Yes”

I smile and hug her and say

“This is unreal”

She pulls away and says

“I know. I’ve liked you for so long now. Honestly I think the girls just wanted you to ‘tutor’ me as a ploy to set us up”

I laugh and say

“Probably”

Then I realize that I haven’t gone down to Yelena yet and I say

“I need to spend some time with Lena. I’m sorry. Oh my god! I just realized what is Yelena gonna do when she finds out about us! She’s gonna hate me forever and try to kill me!”

I start pacing back and forth and then Natasha grabs my arms to stop me and says

“Hey hey! It’s gonna be okay alright? She might have a hard time at first but she’ll get over herself eventually.”

I sigh and say

“Thanks natty. You always know how to calm me down”

She smiles and I look at her lips again.

Before we can kiss I say

“Maybe we just don’t have to tell her yet. Let her figure it out on her own?”

Natasha smiles and says

“I like that idea. Now kiss me”

I listen and touch our lips together. It’s soft and fiery at the same time. Like her touch is burning me but it’s also soothing at the same time.

She runs her tongue along my lip and tries to gain access into my mouth but I’m a little hard to get so I don’t comply.

She obviously takes charge in the bedroom because she never acts this brave any other time.

Once she gets tired of me rejecting her she grabs my butt and I gasp when she picks me up.

She uses this time to slip her tongue into my mouth and I moan at her taste.

My hands thread into her hair as she lays us down on her bed.

We’re so lost in the moment that we don’t hear her door open

“Y/n when are you guys going to be don-”

Yelena freezes in the doorway and the rest of the girls are standing behind her with all different reactions.

We pull away at her words and our eyes are wide and Natasha scurries to get off me.

Once Yelena composes herself she clears her throat and says

“Um. Gross. But kinda… cute.”

Honestly this kind of makes my heart calm down a bit. I thought it was going to jump out of my throat for a second.

Then Wanda breaks the silence and says

“Eee!! This is great!”

Maria smirks and crosses her arms

“Glad you two losers finally figured it out”

Yelena turns to them and says

“Figured what out?”

Carol rolls her eyes and says

“These dumbasses have been crushing on each other forever!”

We both are standing there and Yelena says

“Oh. I didn’t know that. But I guess now I do”

I sigh and say

“What do you think Lena?”

She thinks for a sec and says

“I don’t give a fuck. Love who you love. But please for the love of God don’t do anything while I’m here”

I smile and say

“Don’t worry we won’t.”

“Great now that that is settled I have a movie to watch with my best friend”

Yelena grabs me and pulls me downstairs and the rest of the girls come with us.

Thankfully Lena and I never sat on the same area of the couch. She always sits on the left side and I sit in the corner of the L so nat can join me.

She sits behind me and Lena looks over, fake gags, and then plays the movie.

——————————————

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish @justarandomreaderxoxo @lovelyy-moonlight @symp4nat

[meanstepdad]

i made these little mini-zines as a way of processing. well. everything going on lately in the united states lol

"make zines" is a double-sided mini zine that includes a mini poster on the inside with instructions for how i made both of these zines.

"it would do us all well to make more art" comes with an additional PDF that gives instructions on how to print, cut, and assemble the zine from one double-sided sheet of paper.

both zines are available for free/pwyw to download and print from my ko-fi shop! feel free to print them, share them, take them apart to make your own zine templates, etc.

if you'd like to order physical copies of the zines together—because you don't have access to a printer, because you want to support me, or because it's nice to get things other than spam in the mail sometimes—i'm selling the physical copies together for $5.

here's a link to my ko-fi shop if you want to check out my other work!

and i'll put my big long rant about the thoughts i had while making these zines behind a cut.

i don't think that art is the solution to all our problems or that making art is on par with direct action, protesting, forming local community networks, calling representatives, donating to mutual aid funds, etc. art isn't a free pass to avoid doing the hard stuff. especially all of the stupid, silly art that i make, like my zine about the sims games lol.

when i think of discussions about the importance of protest art, i can't help thinking about that quote from vonnegut: "during the vietnam war, which lasted longer than any war we've ever been in -- and which we lost -- every respectable artist in this country was against the war. it was like a laser beam. we were all aimed in the same direction. the power of this weapon turns out to be that of a custard pie dropped from a stepladder six feet high."

creative doubts are a very leisurely problem to have in the scheme of things.

with that being said, these zines are more of a mantra that i've developed to pull myself away from all the spiraling thoughts that come when i spend too much time online doomscrolling, or when i think about the works i've made on gender, queerness, and anti-fat bias and how pointless it all feels.

and then i remember there are both very shitty, rich people and their very shitty, indoctrinated followers that would prefer i continue to feel this way, and that i and the people like me stop existing, or at the very least stop making our existence known and stop thinking our work and joy and community is of any importance. and then out of spite i resolve to scroll less and make art more, because i'm not going to give them that kind of resignation for free.

additionally, i think zines are a really valuable tool to utilize during a time when it's getting more difficult to organize and access information online. we're coming into an age now where we're really recognizing the impermanence of the internet—from important webpages and communities being wiped from existence to the increase in online content censorship that we see from platforms trying to appear more advertiser friendly family-friendly. this inherently conflicts with the nature of the world that we find ourselves in, whether it's talking about queer bodies or the ongoing genocides. additionally, it's getting harder and harder to access news that isn't from extreme right-wing sources without running into paywalls, which makes it difficult to educate yourself and others on important topics.

but nobody can shadowban zines. if your zines get taken off the internet for whatever reason, no one can stop you from printing off physical copies and mailing them, putting them in public places, or sharing them in-person with others. zines are both ephemeral and eternal, and also a great way of turning feelings of hopelessness into hope and community that you can share with others, whether they're about important things or silly video games.