Random

You groaned, throwing your forearm over your face to shield your eyes from the sun. Beams of light spewed in through the curtains, casting your bedroom in a subtle orange tint that warmed your skin as you awoke from your deep slumber.

It was a peaceful Sunday morning, birds could be heard chirping outside as the world woke up around them, with car engines rumbling by and the occasional jogger mumbling along to their music as they passed your half-open window. A gentle breeze passed through the screen, the gentle blow of the curtains resembling that of ocean waves.

You rolled onto your back, grunting slightly as you adjusted on your pillow; Björn and Benny, your two very cuddly cats, were sprawled out on the end of your bed cleaning one another and yawning, seeming to just be waking up like you were. After a reluctant stretch, you carefully peeled back the covers and stood up, cracking your neck and silently heading for the bathroom to not disturb the other presence in the room.

You made your way to the sink, turning on the water and running your toothbrush under it before applying your toothpaste. Once you finished brushing, you swirled water in your mouth and rinsed before stripping of your clothes and hopping into the shower. You sighed when the warm water hit your body, running down your skin and relaxing your tense muscles with ease. You were quick with your wash, scrubbing your body with a loofah and shampooing your hair before rinsing off and stepping out. You wrapped a towel around your waist, scratching your neck as you exited the bathroom.

After a quick glance at your bed, you headed into your closet to pick out something comfortable to wear. You pulled a sports bra on, opting to just disregard your shirt options, and threw on boxers and sweats before grabbing your hairbrush. You gently detangled your locks, setting the brush down and ruffling it up to give it some volume as it air dried.

Benny rubbed through your legs, and you smiled, knowing that a certain someone was now awake. You scratched between his ears and left the room, heading towards the other side of your bed. Sabrina was turned over onto her stomach, cradling her pillow under her head as she attempted to fall back asleep. You hummed, leaning down to press your lips to her temple.

“Hi baby.” You said softly, pushing her messy bangs out of her face, “How’d you sleep?”

She groaned, trying to burrow further into the warmth of the mattress, “Too early.”

You chuckled and squatted down, reaching under her loose tank-top to rub her spine. She sighed from your touch, arching her back from the pressure of your fingers on her skin. Your eyes followed the track of her body, a faint blush coming to your face from the sight of her back arched.

“Wanna get up for me, gorgeous?” You asked, leaning in again to kiss her, this time leaving little pecks on her jaw.

Sabrina mumbled a quiet “mhmm” and pushed the covers back, gingerly sitting up to stretch. She raised her arms above her head, her back popping pleasantly as a little whimper passed her lips. You opted to kneel instead of squatting, rubbing her soft thighs as you shamelessly ogled her. She was in a thin sleeping tank and lacy underwear, and nothing more. Little love bites were covering her neck and chest, and a few could be seen on her hips and inner thighs, which was your doing from a few nights ago. Her eyes caught yours, and she smiled cheekily before leaning forward and cupping your face to press her lips to yours.

Her movements were soft and gentle, her lips moist and plump against yours. You hummed at her touch, pushing yourself up and leaning on her thighs while she stroked her thumbs against your face. She tugged slightly at you, silently trying to pull you up closer to her. You smiled at her neediness but complied, moving up into her and pushing her to lay on her back instead. Your body hovered over hers, your forearms finding a resting spot on both sides of her head while she ran her hands up under your bra. Her acrylics scratched gently at your skin, tracing your muscles and running down your spine while you both kissed.

“Mm…baby…” Sabrina mumbled, threading her fingers into your hair as you pressed your lips against her neck.

You nipped at her skin, leaving little pecks around her jugular before sealing your lips onto her pulse point. You gently began to suck, your hands finding solace with holding her hips as you gave her another hickey to match the slightly faded ones she already bore. She let out a breathy moan, slightly arching her back up into you when your thumbs slipped under the hem of her tank top.

“Y/N…” She whined softly, pouting when you pulled away from her neck, “I need you…”

“What’s the magic word?” You asked playfully, nuzzling her cheek.

“Please baby…” She begged, trying to guide your head down, “Touch me.”

You smiled and pushed her shirt up her torso, revealing her muscular stomach and full breasts. You kissed across her collar bone, moving down between the valley of her breasts to kiss just under them. She writhed impatiently under you, ever so slightly tugging at your hair as a request for you to do more, and who were you to deny your girlfriend. After leaving tiny love bites on her warm skin, you finally took one of her nipples into your mouth, flicking your tongue across it a few times before sucking in a rhythmic manner.

She breathed out a moan, soft and airy, her grip tightening on your scalp as you sucked a little harder. Her body craved you, craved your lips and hands to be everywhere and anywhere at the same time. The heat between her legs was growing, a throbbing pressure that needed to be relieved soon or she would most likely loose her mind.

“Can…can you go lower?” She asked, her eyes fluttering as you switched to her other breast to give it the same treatment.

You hummed on her nipple, a mewl passing through her parted lips from the vibration, and slipped your thumb under the elastic of her panties, pulling them down her legs and tossing them somewhere behind you. Your fingers trailed back up her thighs, reaching her warm core. She radiated heat, and you sighed when you pressed your palm against her. She was soaked, practically dripping into your hand from your touch.

“Jesus Sab’…” You said, pressing a final kiss to her nipple before moving down her body to settle between her legs, “You’re so wet.”

Sabrina huffed; eyes fluttering shut when she felt your lips press against the soft skin of her thigh. You kissed around where she needed you most, gentle and teasing in such a way that it was teetering on the edge of almost enough. Her body ached for you, yearning and dying to be touched by you.

“So gorgeous.” You murmured to her, pulling her lips apart with your thumbs, “Let me know if you’re uncomfortable princess.”

Sabrina nodded with a smile that was quickly replaced by a gasp of pleasure, her eyes rolling back at the feeling of your tongue licking a long stripe up her entrance. You toyed with her, lazily lapping up her wetness as she whined and keened above you. She tasted divine, a sweetness like no other that you found yourself craving day by day when she wasn’t around.

After a few more moments of your torment, you pulled your tongue away from her, chuckling when she made a noise of disappointment. You sat and admired for a moment, taking in the meal before you. She pulsed unrhythmically, her cunt clenching around nothing as a poor attempt at satiating the arousal that burned in her stomach.

“Be patient for me Sab.” You reminded her, leaning down to kiss her clit, “Let me praise you.”

She nodded, gasping out a mewl when your lips sealed around her aching bud. You sucked with rigor, occasionally flicking your tongue out to stimulate the bundle of nerves as you worked. Your hand slid from her hip to between her thighs, two fingers sliding through her folds experimentally before pushing inside her in one go.

She moaned, deep and harmonious, her back arching beautifully as you worked yourself into her. Soon you were knuckle deep inside her warmth, unmoving as you sloppily sucked at her clit. Her walls fluttered and clenched around you, silently begging to be stretched and bruised, but you weren’t labeled as a tease for nothing.

“F-fuck..” Sabrina whispered, small pants exiting your mouth from the feeling of your fingers inside of her, “Please baby…move…”

You giggled, the vibrations rumbling against her bud that had her gasping a little more, “As you wish, pretty girl.”

You slowly began to feel her, exploring the waters of her limits with little curls to start. Her velvet walls parted for you, warm, wet, and intoxicating as you sped up your movements. Soft squelching began to sound in the room, her juices flowing past your fingers and pooling below on the sheets while you pumped in and out of her.

She was properly moaning now, your name chanted on her lips like a prayer as you finally scratched that itch that was so bothersome. You curled upwards a little harder, searching for that sweet spot that you knew made her crumble in your hold.

“S-shit!” Sabrina keened, reaching for your free hand to grasp it tightly, “Right there, baby! Right there!”

You smirked against her, giving her clit one last final suck before detaching your lips from her. You focused the tips of your fingers rubbing that sensitive spot, pushing up into it and massaging around to bring her to her orgasm. She moaned from above, her voice angelic and heaven-sent as she let herself come undone around your digits. You pressed your lips to her stomach, gently pulling your fingers away once her high fell back down to earth.

“Good job baby.” You praised, leaving small kisses up her naked body until you were face to face with her, “You okay?”

She paused a moment, catching her breath with deep gulps of the morning air as her eyes slowly peeled back open. Her gaze met yours, beautiful blue iris’ shining under the sun as she smiled. Her hands, soft and oh so warm, cupped around the back of your neck as she ogled at you.

“Hi.” Sabrina whispered, playing with your baby hairs as a stimulant.

“Why hello.” You replied, smiling when she giggled sweetly, “Think you can do more for me, princess?”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting so she could wrap her legs around you, “Do you even know me?”

You chuckled and pressed your lips to her forehead, mumbling a quiet ‘course I do’ before reaching down to undo the tie on your sweatpants. After fumbling for a moment, you finally pushed the soft garment off your hips along with your boxers. Your aching member sprung free, slapping against your stomach and almost pulsing with excitement. You took her thighs in your hands, pushing them up and apart before taking her hands and placing them on your hips.

Flexible, she is.

“Don’t move, kay?” You said to her, blowing air on her face that made her eyes flutter gently.

You aligned yourself with her entrance, letting the head of your cock brush through her puffy folds as an experiment. She whined softly, biting her lip at the feeling of your swollen head almost slipping inside of her from your slow movements. It was antagonizing how you teased her, barely bringing her pleasure yet not even pushing inside of her, it was brutal how she crumbled at your touch.

A gasp broke from her throat, turning into a cry of satisfaction when you finally entered her in one swift motion, filling her quickly as to not keep her waiting any longer. Her walls parted for you, stretching around you to fit like a snug embrace as you settled deep inside of her. A moan fell from your lips at the feeling of her, your eyes falling shut from her warmth enveloping you.

“Fuck babe.” You groaned, placing your hands on her knees, “This pussy feels so good.”

She moaned in response, eyes rolling backwards as you began to thrust into her. Her head fell backwards, pants and breathy whines escaping her plump lips while you fucked her with no abandon. You gritted your teeth, focused on finding that deep spot she would always rave about, saying you were the first and only that ever found that pinpoint that had her cumming over and over again.

“Look at me.” You grunted, pushing her hands off you as you leaned over her, your hands finding their place on her hips, “Sabrina, eyes on me.”

She weakly fluttered her eyes open, pupils dilated and blown out as she found yours. You smiled softly, nudging your nose against her before speeding up your pace. She cried out, eyes burrowing into yours all while you just watched her so gently. She looked so wrecked under you, half-lidded eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill, it made your head spin in circles.

“M' close…” Sabrina moaned high-pitched, pulling at your sports bra as a grounding method as she once again neared her high, “Fuuuuck you’re so big.”

Your hips drilled into hers, small grunts leaving your lips as you chased after both of your releases. She keened into your ear, walls becoming impossibly tight as she reached her second orgasm of the night. Her body arched up into yours as you plunged as deep as you could, letting yourself go with her and filling her with your seed. Your bottom lip slipped between your teeth, your hips still gently pumping as you weren’t quite satisfied yet. You carefully pulled out, giving your girlfriend a soft kiss before rolling her over onto her stomach and pulling her hips up, her back arched with her ass up, your favorite position to put her in.

You were soon back inside of her, easily slipping in from how wet she was. Her tight walls parted for you yet again as you invaded her, hips finding a fast and strong pace to get the mood back up. She moaned your name like a song, gripping the sheets until her knuckles turned white, the overstimulation clouding her senses. You held her hips tightly, one hand releasing to spread her cheeks apart so you could spit on her tight hole, your thumb massaging the sensitive area before pushing into her.

“Fuck, babe! Babe!” Sabrina cried out, reaching back to your hand as you pounded into her, “I ca…oh god…I-I can’t!”

You grunted, skin slapping against hers as you searched for that certain spot, your hips tilted up slightly, and a smile of satisfaction graced your face when you heard her inhale sharply, “There it is.”

She called out your name yet again, ducking her head down as you repeatedly fucked into that spot. Her back arched up, her velvety walls clenching on you as her orgasm hit her harshly. You felt her start to pull away from you, but you were quick to grab her hips and pull her flush against your pelvis, giving her ass a harsh spank before giving her small thrusts to extend her release.

“Where the hell ya’ going?” You curled your thumb inside of her when she choked out a sob, her body shaking as you forced her onto your cock, “That’s right, cry on this dick.”

She cried out, her orgasm still pumping through her as you continued to pound against that sweet spot, her eyes rolling while you forced her to stay on your cock. You sighed in satisfaction, removing your thumb from her ass to grasp her hips in both hands and completely let loose on her, thrusting aggressively into her as you chased your own release. She sobbed your name, too sensitive to do anything but take each inch you gave her, mouth falling open in a cry while you ruined her. You soon reached your peak, emptying yourself into her in one full swoop. Her body shivered slightly, flinching hard when you began to remove yourself, and she promptly collapsed into the mattress as soon as you were out of her. You laughed lightly, moving her back onto her back before placing her legs on your shoulders.

“Baby~.” Sabrina whined, moaning when you entered her for the third time that morning, “…can’t feel my legs…”

You bit your lip at the sight of the large bulge in her stomach, inhaling when she yelped from your hand pressing against it. She bucked her hips up to yours, the squelching sound of her soaked cunt gaining your attention.

“You aren’t going to the studio today.” You said, picking up an easy pace as she gasped, “This pussy is too good.”

The neighbors weren’t to happy to hear the two of you all day long.

———————-

you remember a lot about her, actually. how she would laugh over stupid things and not have a care in the world. when her natural talent was brought up, she always remained humble about it and even made small jokes about it. you loved her confidence, but you yearned for it. at least something along those lines.

it started ever since you were kids, seven or eight years old at least. you and Jenna were best friends, stuck together like glue at the hip 24/7. there was never a day where you two would be separated or apart. it drove your parents crazy.

You two would spend everyday hanging out together, and as you grew, so did your bond... though, your play dates and sleepovers were always canceled early because Jenna usually had to do something along the lines of acting or of some sort.

It was just a few times every few weeks at first, then almost every week, then daily. it cut the time between the two of you, causing your distance to become thicker as she spent more and more time away from her childhood era.

some days, you would just spend sitting on the sidewalk along Jenna's home as you waited for her, knowing she wasn't going to show up. the feeling never went away, the yearning for her to return. you were 13 when she came back.

by the time she did come back for more than a few days, she was... different. not in a bad, mean way, no. she was different in her demeanor and how she acted.

she was especially different with how she talked towards you. her eyes roamed you experimentally, as if studying you for a moment before she spoke. you finally went to cut the silence, though she beat you to it.

"You've... grown." Jenna spoke softly in a soft murmur, her eyes still glancing at you as if recognizing- no, remembering you to memory. you tried to catch up with Jenna, but her news was much more interesting than you catching a few frogs here and there and crashing your bike.

you wanted to be a good friend, listening intently as she spoke so highly of her new career that she enjoyed. you saw the way her eyes sparked - the way they hadn't sparked like that since before she left made your stomach turn in anxiety.

it was a small grow in your belly at first, though you ignored it with the feeling of success for Jenna. you showered her constantly with affection and amusement.

you continued to push the feeling away, though it only seemed to gnaw harder at you as you both continued to grow.

───

Jenna was leaving for the night. she had told you previously a few days back that she would be hosting SNL monologue, which you were impressed about.

"It's a bit weird, don't ya think? I mean, not this place. I love being here," Jenna gestured to the comfort of the shared hotel between the two of you.

"you mean weird as in...?" you perk, your mind curious as you glance at her. she looked up at you and gave an awkward smile, "uh.. not being home?" she took a breath before slumping beside you on the couch.

you nod in agreement, sniffing as her perfume hit you. "yeah, but not too weird. I like being here with you, anyway." you say in a lighthearted tone, to which Jenna gave a warm smile to.

"are you gonna watch my monologue? what if I forget it? what if someone else forgets their part?" she started rambling, her brain working 100 miles per hour as each what if theory grew within.

"Jen." you say in a gentle yet firm tone, trying to ground her once more. she gave a look of slight embarrassment but nodded in question.

"yeah..?" she inquired. you chuckle slightly as you move a stray strand of hair from her face. "you're overthinking this. you know how great you are!" you say with a soft expression, honesty gleaming in your eyes.

Jenna gave an honest, lighthearted smile at your words as she slowly nodded her head in agreement. "yeah," she took a deep breath in. "I probably am just overthinking this," she laughed it off.

Jenna was always on the more talented side of things when it came to remembering and acting out things. you were just... there. you weren't excellent at anything, you were just there for Jenna and she was there for you.

as Jenna prepared to leave, she gave you a small hum of goodbye. she stammered out the apartments as you call out to her, "see you! and i'll watch it, promise!" you promised her, to which she gave a warm smile of gratitude before she finally left for the night.

The glow of the TV was bright against the dimly lit room. you were slumped into the couch, wearing a pair of shorts and a hoodie that you found on your floor. most likely Jenna's.

you had watched Jenna's monologue, to which she did amazing with, no doubt. you just... felt that pit in your stomach once more.

you wanted to excuse it, trying to convince yourself that you were feeling excited for your friend as you watched her grow into the woman she is today... but you would be lying if you said that.

that was far from the truth. it's not that you were jealous of Jenna and her success, you were jealous of how carefree she seemed to be and how at bay she looked 25/8.

you, on the other hand, were almost always stressing about your job and if you'd get fired based off something as small as forgetting to move a box from one place to another.

Jenna loved her job from what you had heard, and it even gave her more opportunities. way more than you ever got. Jenna just seemed more talented than you in everything.

It seemed that she poisoned every little thing that you did with her own charm, causing you to have no effect on anything or anyone.

you didn't know how to handle it, you just wanted that ache in your stomach to disappear.

you give a long exhale, pressing your back into the couch cushions with a hum of contentment. you turn the TV off, slipping a blanket up to your chest as you got comfortable whilst waiting for Jenna.

It wasn't much longer until she came, giving a small yawn as she walked through the door. she seemed tired. you turn your head in an instant, humming at her presence. "hey! I told you that you'd do good." you say.

Jenna gives a hearty laugh, her dimples evident before she threw her bag aside and crawled onto the couch with a slump onto the cushion. "I'm so exhausted." she murmured.

initially, you took it as a more rhetorical statement than serious. you figured she was just tired from doing so much today - you didn't consider the fact that it might be her expressing how mentally drained she was.

you give a small chuckle at her words, turning your head to look at the brunette girl as you toss the blanket over her, as well. "is that so?" you perk an eyebrow, as if not believing her. "you're naturally talented. surely, it can't be too hard?" you offer.

Jenna gives a shake of her head, her expression puzzled as she eyed you. "too hard?" she scoffed slightly. she gave a small huff, her brows pinched together in confusion as she glanced at you. "i'm exhausted." she empathized the word now, her eyes softened in a drained way. she gave a small frown.

you glance at her frown, then back up to her eyes. "...you mean, like, mentally?" you perk quietly, as if afraid to say the wrong thing to the girl, who nods her head. your expression falls flat as realization hits you like a train. was being naturally talented and pursuing it really that hard? your stomach churned.

"this is so tiring. I feel like I don't get to hangout with you anymore because of work- even if we live together!" she carries on her words with a small droop of her shoulders. she shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, and you could see the sadness building up inside her.

you gave a small puzzled look, not expecting this from her. talented, carefree Jenna... maybe you should have expected it. I mean, no one is perfect? "but-" you began, though, your mouth remained stuck open as your throat dried and your words died out.

Jenna looked at you, curious as to what you were going to continue saying with hooded eyes. it was just then you took notice of Jenna. real notice. you took in her appearance at once, your eyes flickering with concern and empathy.

her eyes were worn and seemingly empty, showing little to no expression as the eye bags under her eyes are evident when her face is studied. her hair is ruffled and there's a bit of torn skin on her bottom lip, indicating her anxiety getting the best of her.

"oh, baby..." the words slipped from your tongue as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Jenna gave a small wince as you moved, her eyes tired. "c'mere," you breathe softly as you open your arms up for her, your chest burning with sympathy for the brown haired girl.

Jenna looks up at you before crawling within your grasp, her heartbeat staggered as she rested against you. you open your mouth to speak, your words coming out softer and weaker than intended. "i'm sorry- I had no clue you were so... tired." you say gently.

Jenna shakes her head against the fabric of your hoodie, her gaze unwavering as she looks up to you. "y/n," she sniffled. "I- I didn't know how to tell you. I thought living together would be the perfect solution but-" her voice chokes out as it creeps away.

"perfect solution to what, Jen?" you asked softly, trying to grasp an understanding of how her mind exactly worked and how her thought process brought her to this moment.

"the perfect solution for feeling so... empty and lost." she exhaled. she brought her gaze to the ground below, messing with her fingers in an anxious state whilst hiding from your gaze, as if scared.

you frowned at her honest words, rubbing her back softly as she choked out her words. "I should've noticed. don't feel bad, Jen." you coo gently, trying to calm her nerves. yet, she still shook her head, her eyes brimmed with tears.

"I am so tired. all the time. I want to be the best for you and for everyone else who's looking up to me, like my fans! but, i-" you cut her words off with a sigh. "Jenna." you say, a bit stern.

She gives you a hesitant look, her gaze curious as she glanced up at you. "yeah?" she said in a breathy voice, her eyes softened as her gaze met yours.

"you don't have to make anyone the happiest besides yourself. if you aren't happy, you shouldn't push yourself until you're emptied out... you should take a break." you whisper softly, as if nervous that if your tone was a bit higher, she'd be scared off.

Jenna nodded slightly in understanding, her movements slow as she took it into thought. "but, my fans-" she started. "forget your fans. just for now. worry about yourself so your fans don't have to, yeah?" you say with a small, reassuring smile.

Jenna listened with an intent glare, taking every word to heart. "yeah... yeah, okay." she muttered quietly at last, her gaze soft as she looked up at you.

you give her a ruffle of her hair as you pull her beside you, allowing her to be enveloped whole by the blanket. you wipe her eyes of her damp tears, giving her a concerned yet caring glare.

Jenna looked at you once more before taking a small breath, inhaling and exhaling deeply before nuzzling into the side of the hoodie. she took in a whiff of your scent, her body easing against yours as she closed her eyes. she was tired.

you whisper sweet words, small promises, and even heartfelt comments as she drifted off. you toy with her hair for a bit longer before moving your fingers away, holding her against you like a lifeline as you closed your eyes, as well.

You clear your throat, eyes fixed on the screen. “I’m trying to concentrate, Tara.”

“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t sound convinced. Instead, she shifts closer, pressing against your side, her breath warm against your neck. “You’re really bad at pretending this isn’t getting to you.”

Your grip on the Switch tightens. “You’re annoying.”

Tara just hums, sliding her hand up a little higher. “And yet… here you are, rock solid.”

You nearly choke. “Tara.”

She grins, smug as hell. “Yes?”

Before you can even think of a response, the bedroom door swings open.

“Jesus Christ—” Sam’s voice fills the room. “Do you two ever stop?”

Tara doesn’t move an inch. She just tilts her head, throwing her sister a look that’s far too innocent. “We’re literally just sitting here.”

Sam’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, right.”

You quickly hit pause, setting the Switch aside. Because let’s be real—Tara isn’t stopping anytime soon.

As soon as Sam walks out, you turn to Tara with a deadpan look. “For the record, I’m not even rock solid.”

Tara barely holds back a laugh, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Oh?” She leans in closer, fingers dancing up your arm. “Rock soft, then?”

You sigh. “Flaccid as hell.”

She snorts, finally breaking into laughter. “Damn. That bad, huh?”

“Tragic, really.” You shake your head, feigning disappointment. “You should work on your technique.”

Tara gasps, shoving you playfully. “Excuse me?”

You grin, picking your Switch back up. “Just saying.”

Tara huffs, crossing her arms. “Alright. Challenge accepted.”

You try to keep your focus on the game, but Tara isn't having it. In one smooth motion, she pulls the Switch right out of your hands and tosses it onto the bed. Before you can even protest, she's straddling your lap, knees bracketing your thighs, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders.

"I think you're distracted enough," she declares, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Her eyes are dark, almost black in the dim light of the TV, and her cheeks are flushed a soft pink.

"Tara..." you warn, but your voice comes out softer than intended. Your hands come up to rest on her waist, thumbs brushing the bare skin beneath her tank top. She's so warm, so soft.

Tara leans in closer, until her forehead is resting against yours, until you can feel the whisper of her breath against your lips. "What are you afraid of?" she murmurs, her voice low and teasing. "That I might actually make you feel something?" Her fingers dance along your collarbone, tracing the line of your jaw, the curve of your ear.

You swallow hard, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding against your ribs, the way your skin feels too tight and too hot. "I'm not afraid of anything," you say, but it sounds like a lie, even to your own ears.

Tara just smiles, a slow curve of her lips that's somehow both innocent and wicked all at once. "Good," she whispers, and then she's pressing her mouth to yours, and you can't think of anything at all.

Tara grins against your lips, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. She nips at your bottom lip, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of electricity through you. Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp as she tilts your head back, deepening the kiss.

She takes her time, exploring your mouth like she's trying to memorize every inch of it. Her tongue traces the curve of your lips, the hard edge of your teeth, the soft cushion of your tongue.

When she finally pulls back, you're both breathing a little harder, your chests heaving against each other. She leans in close, her lips brushing your ear as she whispers, "I can feel how much you want this, how much you want me. Don't try to deny it."

Her hand drifts down your chest, fingers splaying over your stomach, your ribs. She traces the lines of your muscles, the dips and curves of your body. Her touch is electric, setting your skin ablaze, making you ache for more.

"But I want to hear you say it," she murmurs, her voice a low purr in your ear. "I want to hear you beg for it, beg for me."

She rocks her hips against yours, a slow, deliberate grind that has you gritting your teeth, your fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs. She's not even trying to hide how much she wants this, how much she wants you. And fuck, the way she's looking at you, like she wants to devour you whole... it's enough to make you forget your own name.

Tara grins wickedly as she feels you start to respond, your growing hardness pressing insistently against her core. She grinds down harder, relishing the way you gasp and tense beneath her. "There it is," she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I knew you couldn't resist forever."

She leans back slightly, looking down at you with a smug, triumphant smile. Her fingers dance along your chest, toying with the hem of your shirt. "Come on, baby," she coaxes, her voice a low, teasing lilt. "Don't be shy. I want to hear that pretty mouth of yours begging for what it needs."

You try to hold out, to maintain some semblance of control, but Tara isn't making it easy. She rolls her hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding down on your now fully hardened length. It's almost too much, the way she's touching you, teasing you, pushing you to the brink of desperation.

"Please..." you hear yourself whimper, hating the neediness in your own voice but unable to stop yourself. "Please, Tara..."

She hums, a sound of pure satisfaction, as she leans in closer. "Please what, baby?" she murmurs, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Tell me what you need. I want to hear you say it."

"Please, Tara..." you breathe out, your voice strained with need. "I need you. I need you so fucking much. Please, touch me... taste me... anything. Just please, don't make me wait anymore." The words spill out of you in a desperate rush, all thoughts of holding back forgotten. You're completely at her mercy now, ready and willing to beg for whatever she wants to give you.

As Tara moves off of you, you feel a pang of disappointment, of loss at the absence of her warmth and weight in your lap. But that feeling quickly turns to awe and desire as she starts to undress.

She pulls her tank top up and over her head, tossing it carelessly to the floor. She's not wearing a bra underneath, and your breath catches in your throat at the sight of her bare breasts. They're perfect, and you can't look away as she reaches for the button of her shorts.

Slowly, teasingly, she pops the button and drags the zipper down, revealing a sliver of skin inch by tantalizing inch. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and her panties, and with a wicked little grin thrown your way, she tugs them down and steps out of them, leaving her completely bare.

Your mouth goes dry, your heart pounding against your ribs as you take in every inch of exposed skin, every curve and line of her body. She's stunning, a work of art, and the sight of her standing there, unashamed and unapologetic in her nudity, makes your cock throb almost painfully against the confines of your jeans.

As Tara crawls back onto the bed, your pulse races. She kneels between your spread legs, her bare skin brushing against your jeans-clad thighs, sending sparks of electricity shooting up your spine. Your breath catches as she reaches for your fly, her fingers undoing the button and dragging down the zipper with a low, deliberate hiss.

She doesn't say a word, but her eyes speak volumes as they meet yours, dark and smoldering with lust. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your jeans and your boxers, and you lift your hips instinctively, allowing her to tug them down and off. The cool air hits your heated skin, and you hiss at the contrast, your cock springing free, hard and aching and already leaking at the tip.

Tara wraps her hand around the base of your shaft, stroking it once, twice, before slapping the swollen head against her tongue, smearing the bead of precum that's already leaked from the tip. The sensation is electric, sending a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine, and you can't help but groan at the feeling of her wet, warm muscle against you.

She holds your gaze as she does it again, and then again, each slap of your cock against her tongue sending waves of heat coursing through you. She's looking at you with pure, unadulterated desire, her eyes hooded and dark, her cheeks flushed a deep, rosy pink. She's enjoying this, enjoying the power she has over you, the way she can reduce you to a needy, desperate mess with just a touch and a look.

She parts her lips, her tongue darting out to lick a slow, teasing stripe up the underside of your shaft, from base to tip. She swirls her tongue around the head, lapping up the precum that's leaking steadily now, before taking you into her mouth, just the tip at first, her lips sealing around you like a tight, wet heat. 

She suckles gently, her cheeks hollowing as she takes you deeper, inch by inch, until you feel the head of your cock hitting the back of her throat. She holds you there for a moment, her throat constricting around you, before pulling back and starting all over again, driving you closer and closer to the edge with every second.

Tara takes you deep, her nose pressing against your pelvis as she swallows around your length, her throat a tight, rippling heat. She holds you there, keeping you suspended on the brink of ecstasy, refusing to let you tip over the edge. 

After long, agonizing moments, she pulls back, releasing your cock with a lewd pop. Before you can catch your breath, she's crawling up your body, straddling your hips, and grinding her bare, slick folds against your shaft.

“God….”

"Don't you dare come until I do," she warns, her voice a low, breathless rasp. She rocks against you, coating your length in her arousal, using it to slide herself along your cock with shameless abandon. "I want to feel you throbbing inside me when I let go. I want you to fill me up, baby. Can you do that for me?"

Tara moves off of you abruptly, leaving your aching cock throbbing and bare, slick with her saliva and arousal. Before you can protest the sudden loss of contact, she flips onto her back on the bed, spreading her legs wide. She's glistening, swollen and ready, her pink folds just begging to be filled. Tara crooks a finger at you, a wicked grin playing on her kiss-swollen lips.

"Come here," she purrs, her voice dripping with lust. "Fill me up like you promised, baby." She reaches down to spread herself open with her fingers, revealing the tight, clenching entrance of her pussy. "Hurry up and give it to me."

You move over Tara with a whimper that turns into a low, almost feral growl as you settle between her spread thighs. You line yourself up with her entrance, the head of your cock nudging against her slick, swollen folds, and with one hard thrust, you bury yourself inside her to the hilt.

Tara lets out a small cry, her back arching off the bed as you fill her completely. She's so tight, so hot and slick and perfect, her walls clenching down around you like some sort of trap. You have to grit your teeth and dig your fingers into the sheets to keep from coming right then and there.

"Fuck, yes," Tara hisses, her nails raking down your back, leaving red lines in their wake.

Tara's hands move to your ass, gripping the firm globes tightly as she guides your movements. She urges you on, pulling you harder and deeper into her with each powerful thrust. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with both you and Tara's moans.

"Yes, just like that," she pants, her hips rolling to meet yours, taking you impossibly deep. "Harder, baby. Fuck me harder." Her nails dig into your ass, no doubt leaving crescent-shaped indents in your skin, marking you as hers.

You comply, pouring all of your pent-up desire and lust into each forceful, driving thrust. The bed creaks and shakes beneath you, the headboard slamming against the wall as you lose yourself in the heat and tightness of Tara's body. She's like a drug, and you're addicted, craving more and more of her with each passing second.

After a while, you feel your release approaching, your hips starting to move erratically as you near the edge. A desperate whine escapes your lips, your fingers scrabbling at the sheets as you try to hold back, to delay the inevitable.

"Please..." you beg, your voice strained and high-pitched. "Tara, I can't... I'm going to..."

"No," she snaps, cutting off your pleas. She squeezes her legs around your waist, holding you deep inside her as she grinds her hips against yours, chasing her own pleasure. "Not until I do. Don't you dare come before me."

She's ruthless, focused solely on her own climax, using your body to bring herself closer and closer to the brink. Her walls flutter and clench around you, and you know she's getting close, but she refuses to let you find your own release until she's satisfied.

You grit your teeth, trying desperately to hold back, to keep yourself from falling over the edge. Your hips jerk and stutter, your thrusts becoming sloppy and uneven as you fight to keep control. Lewd, choked sounds spill from your throat - whimpers, whines, and groans as you struggle to do as Tara demands.

"Please..." you pant, sweat dripping down your face and back as you continue to move over her. "Tara, I can't... I'm trying... but you feel so good..."

She just shakes her head, her eyes squeezing shut as she loses herself in the sensation of your body against hers, your length stirring her insides. She's close, so close.

"Touch me," Tara demands, her voice urgent and breathless. "Rub my clit, baby. Make me come."

She reaches down and pulls your hand up between her legs, pressing your fingers against her swollen, throbbing clit. It's slick and hot, and slick with her arousal. She rubs your fingers against it in tight, quick circles, her hips bucking up into your touch.

"Don't stop," she pants, her eyes squeezing shut as she grinds herself against your hand, against your still-throbbing cock buried deep inside her. "Keep going, just like that. Fuck, I'm so close..."

"Please, Tara," you beg, your voice cracking with desperation. Your hips jerk and stutter, your length pulsing and throbbing inside her as you struggle to hold back your impending release. "Please, I need to come. I can't... I can't hold back anymore."

Tara just shakes her head, gritting her teeth as she grinds herself against your hand, chasing her own pleasure. "Not yet," she grits out, her voice strained. "Don't you dare come until I do. I'm so fucking close, baby. Just a little more, please..."

With a sharp cry, Tara's body goes rigid, her back arching off the bed as her climax crashes over her. Her inner walls clench down around you like a vice, rippling and pulsing as wave after wave of pleasure consumes her.

"Fuck, yes!" she groans, her fingers digging into your wrist, holding your hand firmly against her spasming sex. Her hips jerk and shudder, grinding herself against you, prolonging her intense orgasm.

"Come," Tara demands breathlessly, her voice ringing in your ears as she rides out the aftershocks of her intense climax. "Come inside me, baby. Now."

With Tara's permission and the feeling of her still fluttering walls, you finally let go. Your hips jerk forward one last time as your orgasm overtakes you, your length pulsing and throbbing as you empty yourself deep inside her. You groan long and low, your body shaking with the force of your release.

"Fuck, Tara!" you grunt, your vision going white as sparks of pleasure burst behind your eyelids. Your cock twitches and jerks inside her as you fill her up, just like she demanded, your hot seed painting her walls.

You collapse on top of Tara, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath of your intense lovemaking. Your softening length remains nestled inside her, plugging her up, as the last spurts of your release dribble out. Tara wraps her arms around you, holding you close, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your sweat-slicked back.

"That was... incredible," she murmurs, her voice still breathless and sated. She tilts her head up to press a soft, languid kiss to your jaw. "You did so good, baby. I'm so proud of you for holding out until I was ready."

After a few moments of basking in the afterglow, you carefully pull out of Tara, both of you wincing slightly at the sensation. You collapse onto the bed next to her, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. Tara rolls onto her side, curling up against you, her head pillowed on your chest.

You reach for your Switch, picking it up and turning it back on. The game loads, the characters frozen on the screen in the exact moment Tara interrupted your gaming session. You glance down at her, taking in her satisfied, contented smile and the flush still dusting her cheeks.

Tara looks up at you curiously as you fiddle with the Switch. "What are you doing, baby?" she asks, propping herself up on her elbow to get a better look.

"Just... getting back to the game," you mumble, pressing buttons and navigating menus. "I don't want to lose all my progress."

Tara rolls her eyes but can't help grinning. "Seriously? We just had mind-blowing sex and you're worried about some stupid game?"

Dating a celebrity isn't as easy as people might think.

There's definitely some glam, flashes and cameras, but there's also a lot of time lost, days being apart from the one you love and cherish the most.

There are days where it's bereable, but there are other days... Specially nights, where the lack of her body next to yours feels like the greatests of agonies.

Once again, Jenna is busy attending to premieres and events on the other side of the country, painting a polite smile on her face, offering clever answers to sharp questions, but her eyes shine with yearning and deep hankering for you.

You stalk the socials of her team members whenever she takes long to reply to your messages, which has been the typical thing to expect these past days.

You've always found endearing how she desperately needs you, yet remains being the worst texter ever.

Your phone buzzles interrupting your train thought. A warm smile spreads on your lips as soon as you read the name on the screen.

It's a snapchat of your favourite girl. Your smile widens when you stare at the picture; pupils capturing every detail of her beautiful face.

Her skin looks soft under the dim light; full parted lips tempting you, hooded eyes you've stared at too many times. Not enough.

The strands of hair that crown her temples and sides of her face make you wanna take a plane right now and fly wherever she is, doesn't matter how long it would take you; doesn't matter how far.

She has this effect on you— always.

You always. Want her.

You take a picture of yourself mirroring her angle, adding some emojis: "🫡🫡🫡🫡"

She sends you laughing emojis, "hurry up, dumbass." You smirk, knowing damn well you made her smile.

The call beeps two times before she picks up.

"Hey" she breaths out, her voice sounding husky and soft, given the hour.

"Hey. You sound tired" you press the phone against your ear as you scoot back on the bed, leaning back onto the headboard.

The rustling of your blankets distract her for a moment, it takes her some seconds to reply.

"Well, it's 3 in the morning" she gently jokes. "But I am" she admits in that low, breathy voice. "Today work was a lot, and now I can't sleep..." She sighs, truly frustrated by the situation.

You ask her about her day, why was it 'a lot', what did she find challenging on set. Eventhough she's exhausted, her voice gains a different hint, almost excitement, as she explains you everything she went through today.

As she keeps talking, you notice a definite change in her tone. She slowly begins to sound like herself again. The passionate, playful, beaming Jenna.

A soft smile appears on your lips as she keeps yapping. You ask occasionally, but it really doesn't take her long to be comfortable and cheerful enough to just talk and talk. It looks like it was a good day really, just very challenging and energy-consuming.

"So what about you? How was your day?" She sounds much cheerful now.

Your smile widen, and you go on and tell her about your day. After some minutes speaking, you pause and sigh deeply. "I thought about you all day, though. Just couldn't get you out of my head."

You can hear how her breath hitches. She inhales sharply through her nostrils, and dares to ask. "Why was that?"

You let out a breathy, relaxed chuckle. You can hear the shift in her breathing; how your ease, the relaxed way in which you're carrying the conversation, is trapping her.

"Because" you state simply. But you know what you have started. You know she now wants more.

"Because, what?" She inquires, her voice casually playful. But it's also trembling; hiding the true intoxication behind her words. She's eager.

You hum, as if thinking about it. Laying more comfortably in your bed, you speak again. "Well, there was a moment today at work where someone said a joke, and I remembered how you always find a way to be so sarcastically funny. And then I remembered how you joke when you tease me, and well... One thing led to another..."

She listens intently, and she's already asking again when you've barely pronounced your words. "One thing led to another? How so?"

You smirk, she can hear the little playful puff that escapes your lips. "Thinking about that... Led to thinking about you in a different way."

You pause, and this time she remains silent, waiting.

"Led to your lips on mine. Those soft lips, murmuring trembling pleas. Led to your legs around my waist, your thighs squeezing my sides. Led to the quiver in your hips when you struggle to hold back. Led to your shiny, beautiful hair fanned out across the pillow."

You stop again, taking a moment to let your words sink in. Your heart is slammering against your chest, and your breath is ragged now, shallow.

She's gripping her phone tightly, as in trying to absorb your words. She loves it when you talk like this, so poetic yet erotic.

"What else?" she breathes out in a thin voice.

You inhale, slowly, the air filling your lungs. She flutters her eyes close, hearing you breath. She pictures you on top of her, she can almost feel your warm breath fanning the side of her neck.

"The thoughts kept coming" you resolve dryly, but there's a smile tugging at the sides of your lips. You want her to insist.

"Oh, come on" she complains, falling for it. "You can't just practically serenade me and then just... Leave me like this" the last phrase comes out softly, almost a shy murmur.

You arch an eyebrow. "Like this?" You repeat, teasing.

She huffs, knowing what you're doing. "Yes, 'like this'..." She rolls her eyes a bit, although you can't see it, you can imagine it by her exasperated tone. "You know what I mean" she adds in that husky, low voice.

"I know what you mean?" You ask again, wanting to tease her even further. "..."

"Yes!" She interrupts you as you're about to speak again. "Yes" she repeats, softer. "You know how I get when you talk that way" she explains in that soft, vulnerable voice of hers. "I get all... Funny. You know what I mean." She repeats herself, which makes her huff in frustration. "Just... Just keep going, please. Please."

You grin, amused by how easily she has let down her barriers and expressed her needs. "Well, if you ask so nicely..." You murmur, letting her know she acted like you wanted her to.

"So, where was I... Oh yeah. Yeah. Your body under mine" you introduce, your voice playful and hoarse, soft yet raspy.

She shifts restless in her bed, you can hear her moving. "Are you laying down?"

She gulps, you've catched her. "Yes" she admits, hesitating. "Can... Can I?" She asks, so beautifully pliant.

A bigger grin paints your lips. "Yes, princess. You can definitely lie down" you concede, benevolent.

She shivers at the nickname, enjoying every second of it slipping through your lips. She bites her own lip, picturing how you'd nibble it if you were with her right now.

"Okay, so... Your body. I was all day thinking about your body, about you. I was thinking about you laying down for me, just like you're doing right now. And I was thinking about... My hand on your skin, just below your beautiful breasts."

You pause, and you don't even have to tell her. You know she has already placed her free hand right where you have indicated, her hand laying languidly below her boobs. "What else?"

Her voice has grown higher, in her most feminine range. You love it when she sounds like that.

"I pictured my hand roaming up and down over your abdomen. Fingertips grazing softly all over there, drawing lazy circles, iddle patterns."

Your voice is like a vice for her, like a spell that gets into her brain and tells her what to do. She explores herself in the way you're describing, her fingers splayed out on her abdomen, grazing skin, goosebumps appearing everywhere she touches, her eyes shut imagining it's your hand instead of hers.

"Then I picture you naked, and I picture your cunt, princess."

She gasps loudly, snapping her eyes open. The blunt term dripping down your lips so casually surprises her, blush creeping up her cheeks. She shifts, rubbing her thighs together, both outraged and excited.

"You... Do you... Really?" She stammers weakly.

You lick your lips, making sure she hears the slight click of your tongue before you speak.

"Oh yes. Definitely."

She has to catch her breath for a second. "And what... What is it about it, exactly?" She manages to ask, struggling to find the words.

But you know what she means. You know exactly what she means.

"Hmm... Everything about it, princess" you tease, testing that word in your mouth once again. "It's about its touch, its smell, its taste... Damn, even how it looks. Everything, sweetheart."

Her hand is still grazing absently, trailing inches lower with each word you whisper.

"I miss tracing your slit with my fingers. Your wetness coating my digits... How you'd whimper when I press a little—, how your lips would spread open, an offer in the form of a flower, all for me to survey."

She lets out one of those so said whimpers, this one is breathy and soft. Her voice cracks, and she tries to silence herself, failing misserably. Her hips pull up, seeking friction she's not allowing herself just yet.

You let out a quiet giggle, knowing damn well what you're doing. "You wanna remember how it feels, baby?"

She nods fervently, whining quietly. "Y-yes" she whispers, her voice already thick from holding back the impeding need.

You swallow, your own center throbbing with her needy whimpers and soft moans hitting your ear.

"Do it, then" you murmur, "touch yourself."

She nods again, feeling stupid because she knows you can't see her, but her vast vocabulary is reduced to stifled moans and quiet pleas when it comes to you.

She pulls her pajama shorts and underwear down, revealing her bare self waist down. "I've taken off my pants and underwear" she lets you know in a thick, trembling voice.

"Good" you praise, voice low; pleased. "That's very good, princess. I bet you look incredibly sexy right now."

"Oh, stop it" she retorts, blushing a little. "How can you... How can you describe how you love my pussy, and then call me beautiful?"

"Those can coexist perfectly" you quip, chuckling slightly.

She rolls her eyes playfully, getting comfortable. "Anyways..." She sighs, placing her hand on her abdomen again.

You let out a playful huff, but resume. "I was talking about my hand on your cunt. So now you should put yours there." You suggest in a tantalizing tone.

She complies,her hand trailing down. She grazes her mound, fingertips tracing the V shape, until she reaches lower. "What now?" She whispers, expectant.

"Now... I want you to picture how I'd touch you. How I'd trace your slit with two fingers, up and down, deliberately slow."

She chokes a whimper as she does what you say. Normally she's be much sloppy with herself. She'd please herself carelessly quickly and call it a day.

But you don't touch her like that.

And you're telling her to touch herself in a very specific way. A way she's gonna mirror obediently.

"I want your pretty fingers applying a bit of pressure, and I want you to spread your legs, princess. I want you to spread like you would if I was there."

She gulps, then tilts her head up and parts her lips, gasping quietly as she pushes her legs to the sides, spreading. She looks down with hooded eyes, staring at the spot before her where you'd be.

"I want your fingers lower, baby. Circle your entrance."

She slides her fingers, reaching down to her entrance. She massages there, feeling herself getting wetter under her pads.

"How does it feel?" You breath out, a bit eager than intended.

"It feels... Warm. And... Slick." She whispers. "Can I go a bit faster?" She asks, her voice going higher, her question sounding more like a plea.

You roll your eyes slightly in pure bliss. Her compliance, her way of asking for permission... Her sweet, charming submission. It's all too much for you sometimes. The way she wants your approval even for that.

"Babe?" She asks again, in a breathy moan.

You blink, reconnecting with the situation. "Yeah yeah. Yeah, princess, go faster." Then you pause, but decide to speak again, testing the waters. "I wanna hear."

She pauses her hand for a hot second, voice failing and dying in the back of her throat. "You want t-to hear?" She stammers, and then you hear her swallow.

"Yes" you affirm, nodding slowly, with a wry smile on your face. "Can you do that for me, princess? I'm sure you can" you use that scolding voice she secretly loves, that low, encouraging tone.

She'd do anything when you ask in that tone.

Like a snake dancing for her flutist, she resumes with the circling massage. This time, she uses more lenght of her fingers, and she draws bigger circles, making herself hiss and buck against her own hand.

And then you start to hear it.

Behind her soft panting and quiet whines, there's a wet noise, the squelching sound of friction. Your ear literally tickles, and you choke a groan in your throat.

"Holy shit... You're really wet, aren't you?"

She swallows hard and whines again, this time louder. "So much" she admits in an embarrassed, aroused high-pitched voice. "I... You're getting me... You... I'm soaking, baby..."

You throw your head back, panting heavily. You shift, laying on your stomach now, and you start to roll your hips against the mattess. Your breathing grows heavier as you find a pace, the friction providing some sort of relief.

She hears the movement on the other end of the line, and she frowns in curiousity and pleasure. "What are you doing?"

Her thin, sweet voice makes you buck harder. "I'm laying on my stomach" you pant out. "Rubbing against my bed."

You make her hiss with your confession, and you know she's speeding up because you can fucking hear it.

"Just how I would rub myself against your thigh if I were there" you add, licking your lips in anticipation to her reaction.

She moans, she moans loud now. She bites her lip, desperately trying to keep it cool. She rolls her hips more purposefully, and she whimpers, her clit throbbing with need.

"Touch higher" you order, rougher this time.

She whines in appreciation as she drifts higher, finding her needy bundle of nerves.

She's about to circle there too, but you stop her with a hum.

Stopping your own movements too, you make sure she hears every word you're naughtly murmuring.

"I want you to trace my initial there. Because, dearest... You're mine."

You can hear her gulp, her breath stuck in her throat. You can her the rustling of her head tilting back, lifting her chin, making her hair graze the sheets gracefully. You can almost her her forearm moving, her wrist twisting as she writes the initial of your name over her clit.

It's not necessarily pleasurable on a physical level, but it does something to her. Something profound that words can't explain.

"You're fucking killing me here" she whispers, almost daring to question your orders.

But she sounds cute when she complains after being so good. "Hmm, yeah? Does your clit hurt or something?" You tease once again.

She clicks her tongue, struggling not to snap. "No. Of course it doesn't fucking hurt..." She argues weakly. But the way in which her voice trembles at the end of the phrase makes you wonder. Because you were playing around, but there's a slight possibility...

"Don't lie to me." You scold dryly.

She squirms, pushing her legs together. "I'm not" she mutters. But then she shighs, helpless.

"It doesn't hurt like that, but..." Her fingers are hovering over her bud. "But it's getting fucking... Unbereable."

You smile smugly. She's very stubborn, and it's extremely rare that she admits how much she needs it when she needs it.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You ask almost tenderly. All facade, of course.

She knows you too well, and she scoffs at your words. "You know. You fucking know."

"I do" you admit shamelessly. "But you're not gonna wank properly till I say so. Are you?" Your voice is playful.

You're making fun of her situation. In such an obvious, explicit way, that makes her both irritated and horny as intensely and equally.

"No" she admits, the word barely above a whisper. You love it when you get to push her buttons and she. still. obeys.

"And so if you want to touch yourself till you cum all over your fingers," you begin, relishing the stifled whimper she lets out as you speak "you'll have to fucking admit what you—"

"I fucking need it, okay?" She moans breathily, tracing your initial over her clit over and over again.

"I fucking need it a lot, please, come on. I've been so good, you know I've been good. And I'll be in the future. I swear. I swear, please, just let me..."

She keeps on pleading, begging so beautifully. Her needy whimpers and begs slip from her mouth, caressing your ears, tickling your brain, making you roll your eyes slightly, pull down your hips and curl your toes.

She pauses after a minute of desperate petition, any sign of dignity now fading away from her. Her face is heated and bright red, and her eyes are squeezed shut, feeling exposed and vulnerable, two things that would make her throw up in any other scenario, but make her want more when she acts like this with you.

She waits in an ironically impatient silence.

"Touch" you say, when she has almost lost hope. "Hard. Fast. Show off."

Those five words are exactly what she needed to hear. The teasing is over, and now it's her moment.

She bucks her hips wildly, uncontrollably, as she finally touches herself how she would normally, giving in to her deepest desires and hidden needs.

You rub against the mattress as you listen to her unbridled moans, high-pitched whines leaving her lips as she strokes herself fast, furiously almost.

She clenches her jaw, frustrated because she has to do this instead of you doing it for her, but also immensely stirred up by the circumstances that lead her to this.

She fucks herself with her fingers until she can't take it anymore. It's all written on her face, contorted in harsh pleasure and guilty pain, eyes shut so hard that a stray tear falls down her cheek.

"Can I...? Let me..." She pants out, feeling the pressure building rapidly and mercissely below her stomach.

You decide you've played her enough today. She's been your little toy to play with, the little puppet that does everything you want her to, as you want her to.

"Come now, princess, I've got you. It's okay" you murmur, your voice a bit muffled against your duvet. "Let me hear you."

She breaks. Her hips sttuter, she goes stiff for a moment before letting go a shuddering, sharp breath that becomes a satisfied whine as she relaxes, her body going limp under her own touch, which slows down to a stop.

You keep rolling your hips against the bed, eyes shut in bliss as you listen to her soft panting and ragged breath.

"That was so beautful, love. It's always a pleasure to hear you when you're like this."

Your voice is gentle, not teasing anymore. You're being serious now, tender.

She whines quietly. "Thank you" she murmurs in that high-pitched voice that drives you mad.

And you smirk. Because you know that comment got her feeling praised.

You and Jenna had been dating for about 3 years and it had only recently been revealed to the public due to the fact that both og you greatly enjoyed their privacy. Close friends and family, on the other hand,have known for a while. You where slowly falling asleep in your girlfriend's arms when she gets a call. Now roused from your sleep, you perk your head ever so slightly out of curiosity. "I got it, love," Jenna mumbled. So you snuggle back up and attempt to go back to sleep, but your curiosity gets the better of you. In your defense, if you guys don't have anything to hide, what would be the harm in listening? You couldn't tell who was on the other side of the phone,but after a after a few minutes of quietly listening, there wss a name drop. Percy. That alone was enough to make you stomach curl. It's not like you had anything against him, but before anyone new that the two of you were together, It was brought to your attention that Percy may have had a bit of a crush on Jenna—and I mean who wouldn't? You didn't even know why you didn't like him, when he was made aware of you and Jenna's relationship, not only was he super supportive, he was supper kind too. But you just couldn't shake the feeling of distrust when it came to Percy even though technically, he hasn't done anything wrong. You know your just being insecure at this point, but that doesn't change your feelings about him. you forced yourself to pull out of your thoughts so you could continue listening to the conversation. "This is really risky Percy, what if she finds out?" Jenna whispered, her voice laced with concern. Your insecurities continue to get louder and louder as an uneasy feeling spreads through your body. You quickly push the feeling down so you can focus on listening properly. "So?" She asked, "Do you have it?" Their was a quick pause as Jenna listens to Percy's response. "Tomorrow at 4, she'll be at an audition across town," She whispered excitedly into the phone. You didn't want to assume anything, but you were now so lost in your own thoughts that it was impossible not too. The rest of the conversation was just a "goodnight!" and "see you tomorrow!" wich didn't help the spreading feeling of dread. You felt so awful that it took you ages to fall asleep, so you just laid there, eyes closed and mild racing.

Mornings were always a blessing for you, especially after falling in love. Every morning you get the pleasure of waking up to the most beautiful woman in the world.

Jenna was always so intriguing to you. Her obsequious personality made for a very kind yet incredibly humorous aura that she produced. She always had something new and complimentary to say about you, in which made you all giddy and warm.

But under all the glowing comments she had, there was a peaceful dove that just needed you and your comfort. You were the part of Jenna that she was missing, and she didn’t even know it.

Every morning was the same for the two of you. Jenna would always be up first, seeing that you easily fall asleep in the right conditions. Her morning consisted of getting up, admiring how ethereal you looked in the glowing sun, then heading to the bathroom to do her business and take a shower.

Currently, that’s what she was planning on doing. She had used the toilet and was now looking for her towel so she could do her daily morning shower, but she just couldn’t find it.

“Fuck.” Jenna quietly cursed when she accidentally knocked a basket of laundry over.

You were an extremely light sleeper, but was weirdly a night-owl. Still, any kind of noise would stir you awake and that was the last thing she wanted to do since you required sleep to preform the best.

Holding her breath, she looked over to you to see if you woke up; thankfully you didn’t, but you did in fact roll over onto your side and was now spooning Jenna’s pillow.

She internally sighed in relief and went to clean up the spilled laundry. Once finished, she took the extra towel that was in the pile and went to go prepare for her warm deluge.

Carefully, as to not make noise, she started the shower to let it get warm while she brushed her hair to remove any unwanted knots. As she detangled her locks, she failed to notice the presence of her awakened girlfriend; that was until you flipped her around and sat her on the counter.

“Jesus babe!” She squealed, dropping the brush in surprise, “You fucking scared me.”

You hummed, smile gracing your face as you moved in to kiss her. Your lips locked with hers in a tender embrace, your hands squeezing her hips as she cupped your face.

“Mmm good morning.” You parted from her to say before going back in for another kiss.

She sighed against you, her mouth opening slightly so you could infiltrate her with your tongue. You pushed yourself flush against her as her legs wrapped around your waist, a small mewl escaping her throat as you rubbed your hands up and down her sides.

“Y/N…the shower.” She said breathlessly as your lips connected with her neck.

“It’s running, I know.” You replied, nuzzling your face against her skin.

“It’s hot..”

“Shhh…”

“But I need to take a shower-”

“Stop.” You whispered, your hands finding their way under her oversized shirt to pull at the hem of her underwear.

She lifted her hips to help you pull the article off, laughing as you stuffed them a pocket of your sweatpants. You smiled and glanced up at her with a chuckle; then you leaned down and spread her legs open.

Your delve was soft and loving, and the way you held her made her feel oh so cared for. Your hands gripped her thighs and gently squeezed, letting her know it was okay to let go whenever she was ready to.

Her hand was in your hair, threaded into the thick locks that she loved oh so much. Shaky, weak breaths came through her parted lips as you ate her out gently. You were hungry, clearly, but was so kind and patient with Jenna anyway because you knew that was what she liked.

Her orgasm came harder than expected, her hips bucking up and down as she came onto your face. You tapped her leg, a sign of appreciation and approval, and proceeded to carefully lick her clean.

“Honey…” Jenna pleaded, grasping your hand to pull you up to her.

You laughed, infectious and sunny, and kissed her nose happily. Your lower jaw was covered in her slick but she didn’t mind in the slightest; in fact she grabbed a hand towel and did her best to wipe it off, all while you both giggled like young school girls.

After cleaning your face, you tugged your clothes off and kicked them into the bedroom, throwing her discarded shirt along with them. You then helped her up and brought her in to the shower with you, gasping slightly at the water hitting your back.

“Too hot?” She questioned, reaching behind you for her shampoo.

“No it’s fine, I was just surprised.” You replied, kissing her shoulder as she squeezed some shampoo into her hair.

“Wash yourself.” She stated, handing you the bottle before she began to scrub her hair clean of dirt.

You glanced at the bottle, looked down at her, and put it back on the shelf. She quirked an eyebrow but didn’t protest, so she moved you aside to switch places so she could rinse her hair out.

“You are so beautiful.” You purred, a sudden new lust clouding your eyes, “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“Why thank you, you’re pretty cool yourself.” She shot back, rubbing her hands along her body as she rid her skin of any unwanted grime.

“I’m so lucky to be able to hold you.” You said, taking her wet hands in your own.

“As am I…” She quipped hesitantly, eyeing you up carefully.

“To kiss you.” Your lips landed on her cheek.

“To care for you.” Your hands slid down and cupped her ass.

“To fuck you.” You growled, pulling her into your chest.

“Oh…baby.” Jenna groaned, putting one of her hands on your chest.

You licked your lips before suddenly picking her up again and leaning her up against the wall. She glared down at you, a warning look on her face that was telling you to slow down.

“Baby.” She said more firmly.

“Relax, I got you.” You said while reaching outside of the shower curtain to grab something.

She watched with wide eyes as you retrieved a large strap-on, it was grooved with faux veins and was fully see-through, your favorite one. You smiled giddily, biting your lip as you hooked the harness around your waist.

“You planned this, you sneaky little..”

“Hush up, ‘m gonna make you feel good.” You hummed before lifting her legs to rest on your shoulders.

The tip of the faux cock pushed against her entrance, ever so barely slipping in as she watched in anticipation. Jenna’s eyes scanned your face as you slowly entered her, stretching her out all while she whimpered in need.

“God you are so tight.” You purred, pressing yourself against her as she was finally full.

She whined sadly, trying to move her hips for some sort of friction but was denied. You chuckled at her little attitude, nipping her cheek with your teeth before roughly thrusting against her.

“Mmph! God Y/N!” She moaned, throwing her head back as you gyrated yourself into her.

Your thrusts were even and quick, the pace you set was just perfect for her bubbly need of being broken in. She felt the grooves and the veins, the way they rubbed on her walls and stretched her so far was impressively perfect.

You hissed in satisfaction, ruthlessly plowing into her as a means to satiate your ravishing appetite, and oh god were you feasting.

She was always enough for you, wether it was a long day after work or if you just needed to let your frustrations go, she was always the thing you craved for.

“Babe, babe slow down.” Jenna keened, reaching down to place her hand on your stomach.

Your abs flexed under her fingers as your hips thrusted into hers, both of your skin covered in water and mixed juices. A pleased sob passed her lips but was immediately muffled by you shoving your lips against hers.

Her eyes fluttered shut as her orgasm washed over her, covering the strap-on in a sticky, off-white substance. You hummed in approval, holding her hips tight against your own as you helped her calm down.

“Fuck…” She exclaimed breathlessly, her chest rising and falling fast.

“You okay?” You asked softly, brushing a lock of wet hair out of her face.

“Mhm.”

She smiled, genuine and real, and let her forehead lean on yours. Always, without fail, Jenna would do that action after each time you had sex. She would let you hold her close, relishing in the soft side you showed to only her.

“The shower is still running.” You noted, gazing into her eyes.

“I know.” She replied, not moving an inch.

“The water bill is gonna suffer.”

“I can pay, it doesn’t hurt me to.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, pecking her lips as you both enjoyed each others presence in the morning hue.

———————

taglist: @i984 @cursedchar @tundra1029 @fall-08 @simp4thena @king-scarlet @efectoangel @alexkolax @k1mba @annalestern @dreifhraniquo

“Which color do you want?” You questioned, peering down at the toddler in your lap, “Do you want the red?”

The small girl, named Emma, nodded shyly and made grabby hands for the crayon you picked up, giggling when you handed it to her. It was a required part of your Education class to spend time with kids and observe their behaviors so you could become more prepared for teaching in the future, so your professor invited some kids in the foster care program to come hang out with you and your classmates.

The on-campus coffee shop offered to host the event, reserving half of the tables for it. Currently, you were seated at a small circular table with a couple kids and another one of your classmates, doodling on a drawing pad and passing a few drawings around for the kids to color in. They were super engaging toddlers, with one boy even cracking a few dad jokes that made you chuckle from time to time, but Emma was the one who connected with you the quickest. She had clung to you as soon as she got there, and had been adding color to almost every single one of your drawings for the past hour.

“I’m kind thirsty Emma, wanna come with me to get a drink?” You asked, setting your pen down.

“Ya!” The girl replied, tossing her crayon onto the table.

You smiled, picking her up and setting her on your hip before heading towards the front counter. The cashier greeted you and happily waited to take your order, giving a little wave to the toddler on your side, but your attention had been captured by a certain brunette.

It was Tara, your girlfriend of almost two years, was eyeing you with a gentle smile from the back corner booth. She was wrapped up in one of your hoodies, the article seeming to swallow her tiny frame whole as your clothes were always oversized on her. Her brown eyes were tracking you precisely, and they immediately lit up when you met her gaze. She gave you a little wave, holding up a second drink from her own that you recognized as your favorite.

“Actually, I won’t need anything.” You said to the worker before heading over to Tara’s booth.

Emma babbled in your ear, playing with a little toy unicorn you had brought for her. You set her down on the booth seat, before sliding in next to her and facing Tara with a big smile.

“So are you stalking me now?” You asking, leaning into your palm.

“I have your location at all times, so yes.” She teased back, pushing the drink towards you, “And I knew you’d be thirsty.”

You smiled wider, taking the beverage and sipping it with a sigh, “It’s perfect Tar, thank you.”

“Perfect!” Emma squealed from your side, standing up and placing the unicorn on top of your head.

You chuckled, wrapping your arm around the toddler to make sure that she didn’t fall, “You having fun Em?”

Tara watched from across the table, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth from the sight before her. She always knew you had a soft spot for children, being that you were majoring in education and you were always taking up babysitting jobs, but she had never experienced your skill set firsthand. You pulled Emma into your lap and began to tickle her, the small girl laughing sweetly, and that’s when Tara knew she had to get you home immediately.

A certain feeling was bubbling in her stomach, and watching you be a mother figure made her want nothing more than for you to get her pregnant.

——Time Skip——

“Mmph.” You groaned softly, muffled by Tara’s lips against your own.

After your coffee shop play date with the kids, Tara had insisted on you coming back to her single dorm to spend time together, though you knew she had other plans when a familiar glint flickered across her brown iris’.

Hence why you were now here, your hands firmly placed on the fat of her ass while she rode you fiercely. Her hips ground into yours with vigor as she threw her head back, a guttural moan falling from her lips when she finally sat back fully onto your length.

“Fuck babe, stretching me out so good.” She moaned, placing her hands behind her and rolling her hips up.

You whined, your eyes rolling from the stimulation. Tara had been at this for awhile now, unrelenting and determined to make you cum over and over again until you couldn’t remember your own name.

Her words, not yours.

“Think you can be a good girl and give me another?” She asked breathlessly, biting her lip while rocking her hips a little faster, “I know the answer…but I want to hear it.”

You moaned in response, gasping when she clenched down hard and pushed herself down. Her torso bent over you, hands reaching to grab your face and force you to look at her.

“Use your words.” She stated, subtly grinding her hips against yours.

You gulped, fighting back another moan, “Y-yeah, I can.”

Tara smiled, pressing a sweet kiss to your nose before returning to sitting upright. She carefully raised herself up before slamming back down, the wet noises of her soaked cunt enveloping your cock filling the room. Your orgasm approached fast, the knot in your lower stomach tightening quite quickly with how Tara was manhandling you.

“That’s it.” She mumbled when you cried out her name, her hands running across your breasts with each roll of her hips, “Good girl, just let it out.”

You whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling back and toes curling when you finally came. Your seed pumped deep inside of her, and she soon followed you through when she felt the warm liquid coat her walls.

“Fuck.” You muttered, letting your arm fall over Tara’s waist when she snuggled into your chest.

“Always fill me up perfectly.” She whispered against your collarbone, leaving little kisses there, “So perfect.”

She locked her legs around your waist, trapping you inside of her, and rolled you both over until she was on her back and you were hovering over her. She looped her arms around your neck, giggling when you sucked in a breath at the movement.

“I just did sooooo much heavy lifting.” She whined playfully, pushing you closer to her by her heels, “And after seeing how good you handle kids, well…”

She bit her lip, playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, “How about you do some of the work now, hm?”

You stared at her a moment, weighing your options before pushing your hips forward gently. Carefully, you worked yourself back into her, eliciting small huffs and whines from the both of you. She was tight, very very tight, yet her walls caved and opened for your thickness, and before you knew it you were fully sheathed in her warmth again.

“Shit…Tara!” You moaned, your head falling to her shoulder from the feeling of her.

“Poor baby, all flustered.” She cooed, running her nails across your muscular back, “I know it feels good, but I’m expecting you to do what I told you to.”

You nodded weakly, drawing your hips back before thrusting them forward again, soon settling into a smooth rhythm. Your pants were muffled against her skin, your hands holding her ass tightly as you pumped into her. She would sigh in your ear from time to time, mumbling little praises and sweet things, but other than that she was silent. It was a test, to see if you could please her in the way she needed you to.

“I’m…close.” Tara murmured after a while, purring when you moaned back to her, “Bring me to it baby…that’s it…mMM!”

She came with a tight lipped squeal, her eyes fluttering shut as her orgasm washed through her. You gritted your teeth, giving a couple few thrusts before following her through, promptly collapsing on top of her when you finished.

Her hands wound into your hair, massaging your scalp gently whilst turning you both to the side. You were still inside her, dimly aware of that fact, but you knew Tara had a thing for falling asleep while being stuffed with your cock, so you didn’t mind in the slightest.

“You did such a good job beautiful.” She praised to you, pressing little kisses to your forehead, “Always so obedient.”

You grumbled an incoherent sentence, nipping her skin lightly before burying yourself into her neck. She giggled at you, hugging you close and pulling your hips even closer with her legs.

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” She said, noting your tired body, “Can’t promise that I won’t be sucking you off when you wake up though.”

You chuckled, patting her butt as a way to say that you didn’t care, and soon fell asleep tucked against her.

Thank god Tara was on birth control.

————————

you tugged the dainty wire, sending it tumbling out of her ear with ease. you’d been calling her name ever since you’d caught sight of her sitting on the park bench, doodling in her little book she kept so furtively.

“hey!” she spoke in annoyance, whiny and high pitched, as you sat down next to her.

“hello to you, babe.” you handed her the coffee you’d brought on your way here and she accepted it, closing her book and stuffing it in her bag along with her pens.

“i’m not the one who was late.” she countered to your sarcasm, however enjoying the coffee you’d brought to her.

“i’m not the one who insisted i buy us coffee on my way here because you were too lazy to make the detour.” she rolled her eyes, her small smile contradicting the action.

“i need to get some wireless earphones.” she hugged, yet still happily sipping the coffee.

“but your wired ones are so cute.” there was a pause before she spoke, one that was not unusual, but unable to be labelled.

“they’re cute?” she raised her eyebrow, cute not having been a common adjective used to describe her.

“you know what i mean, it’s gives off the whole anti overconsumption thing.” she laughed, as you pulled your legs up and onto the bench, simultaneously shifting closer to her.

“that’s why they’re cute?” she raised her brows, still amused, while you pushed back a strand of her hair.

“you’re cute.” she chuckled and pecked your lips.

“i love you.” she grinned, and picked up the earbud that had fallen out, fiddling with it until she got it into your ear.

and even after you’d bought her a pair of wireless headphones, she insisted on wearing them around her neck, her wired ones resting, snug in her ears.

Jealousy wasn't something she dealt with, at least not in the same way other people did. She told herself she wasn't the type to stew over what someone else had or waste time feeling resentful.

But looking back, there were moments—small, fleeting ones—that didn't quite fit the version of herself she liked to believe in.

When she was little, the first spark of that unfamiliar emotion would hit when someone snatched a toy out of her hands. It wasn't sadness or disappointment—it was sharper, hotter, and before she even realized what she was doing, she'd yank the toy back, sometimes with enough force to send the other kid stumbling.

She didn't mean to hurt them, not really, but the instinct to make things fair—or at least fair by her standards—was too strong to ignore.

Her teachers called it "trouble controlling her temper." Her mom called it a "phase." But it kept happening.

There was the time in first grade when another girl in her class got to play the fairy princess during dress-up. Tara had been stuck with the frog costume.

She'd sulked in the corner, watching the other girl twirl around in sparkly wings, until something inside her snapped. The girl didn't see it coming when Tara stomped up, grabbed the glittery wand, and broke it clean in two.

She didn't even regret it until she was sitting in the principal's office with her mom glaring at her from across the room.

By the time she was nine, Tara had lost count of how many times she'd been dragged to the teacher's office. Sometimes it was for yanking a classmate's hair after they showed off a new toy she didn't have. Other times, it was for shoving someone too hard during recess when she thought they were bragging about something they shouldn't have.

Her teachers always asked the same question: "Why did you do it, Tara?"

She never had a good answer.

Her mom tried everything—calming techniques, time-outs, grounding her from TV or playdates—but none of it worked.

The truth was, Tara didn't know why it bothered her so much when someone else got what she wanted. All she knew was that the feeling burned in her chest, hot and heavy, until she had to do something to let it out.

She couldn't pinpoint what the feeling was, not even as she got older—when she was supposed to be able to handle her emotions better, to control the bursts of anger and the bubbling rage that seemed to come out of nowhere.

It wasn't jealousy though. She was sure of that.

Jealousy felt petty, childish, like something people dealt with in middle school when they saw someone else wearing the same pair of shoes but in a better color. Tara wasn't petty, and she definitely wasn't childish. At least, that's what she told herself every time the heat rose to her face, her fists clenched so tight her nails dug into her palms, and her vision blurred with that same fiery haze she'd felt since kindergarten.

It didn't make sense to call it jealousy. Jealousy implied weakness, didn't it? Like you couldn't be happy for someone else because you wanted what they had. Tara didn't think she wanted what anyone else had—she just hated the idea that they had it at all.

She didn't think it was anywhere close to jealousy—not until Chad broke up with her.

At first, all she felt was heartbreak, raw and overwhelming, the kind of sadness that made her chest feel hollow and heavy all at once. There was anger too, bubbling beneath the surface, but she pushed it down, unwilling to let him see that part of her. Tara told herself that staying calm was the only way to keep control of the situation, even as she listened to him try to explain himself.

He had said he didn't feel the same anymore, that something between them had changed. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but he no longer felt the love they once had. His voice had been quiet, hesitant, as if he didn't want to hurt her more than he already was. He told her it wasn't her fault, that she'd been a great girlfriend and that he still cared about her.

The words sounded like they should've been comforting, but they weren't. They only made her feel worse. Love didn't just disappear, did it? And if it did, what did that say about her? She couldn't wrap her head around how everything could change so quickly, how something that had seemed so solid could slip through her fingers without warning.

For days after the breakup, she replayed his words in her mind, searching for some clue, some sign she might have missed. The sadness lingered, a constant ache she couldn't shake, and when the anger flared, she shoved it back down where it belonged. It wouldn't change anything, and it wouldn't bring him back.

At first, she thought heartbreak was all she'd have to contend with. But then, as the days stretched into weeks, another feeling began to creep in—something darker, sharper, and impossible to ignore.

That dark, sharper, and impossible-to-ignore feeling had only grown worse. In fact, it had become unbearable when she saw Chad a few weeks later.

With you.

She hadn't been prepared for it. In hindsight, maybe she should've been. They had gone to the same school—it had only been a matter of time before she ran into him again. But Tara hadn't expected him to look so... fine. Like nothing had happened. Like breaking up with her hadn't fazed him in the slightest. And she especially hadn't expected to see him with someone else.

You had been standing next to him near the lockers, your body slightly turned toward his as you spoke. She hadn't been able to hear what you were saying, but whatever it had been, it had made him laugh. That same, familiar laugh that had once been hers to hear.

Her chest had tightened, the weight of it pressing down on her like a physical force. It had been the first time she had seen him since the breakup, and heartbreak hadn't been what she had felt then. No, it had been something else entirely. It had been hot and all-consuming, curling its way through her like wildfire.

Her gaze had locked on the way you had reached out, your fingers briefly brushing his arm as you spoke. It had been such a casual, effortless gesture, but to Tara, it had felt deliberate. She had clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she had struggled to steady her breathing.

She hadn't wanted to look at you. She hadn't wanted to acknowledge the way your presence, your closeness to Chad, had made her feel. But she hadn't been able to tear her eyes away.

It hadn't been fair. Chad wasn't supposed to move on so quickly. He wasn't supposed to look this happy, not when she had still been trying to piece herself back together. And you—God, you hadn't been supposed to be so... perfect. So at ease, standing there with him like you had belonged.

Tara's stomach had churned, a bitter taste rising in her throat. The feeling bubbling inside her had been almost painfully familiar, a twisted echo of the jealousy she had felt as a child.

She could still remember the heat of it, the way it had burned through her tiny body when someone had gotten the last cookie in class or taken the swing she had wanted on the playground.

Back then, her jealousy had been wild and unrestrained, often spilling out as anger—pushing, hitting, shouting until someone had intervened.

But this hadn't been the same. She wasn't a kid anymore, and she had known better than to lash out. And yet, the anger had simmered beneath the surface, waiting for her to slip, to let it spill over.

Her jaw had tightened as she had forced herself to look away, her fists clenching at her sides. Chad hadn't been hers anymore, she had reminded herself, no matter how much she had wanted him to be.

She hadn't had the right to feel this way, to be so consumed by jealousy over someone who had clearly moved on.

But knowing that hadn't made it stop. The jealousy had still been there, sharp and unrelenting, twisting inside her like a knife.

It had dug in deeper with every passing day, lodging itself in a part of her she didn't know how to reach, let alone remove.

It didn't help that Tara knew exactly who you were. Of course she did—everyone in Woodsboro seemed to know everyone.

The town was too small for anyone to go unnoticed, their business too easily whispered about or pieced together.

She had known who you were since kindergarten, though, in moments like these, it felt like a cruel twist of fate that you hadn't been one of the kids she'd shoved in a fit of childish rage.

Maybe if you had been, she wouldn't feel so powerless now. She could have at least claimed to have gotten her frustration out once, a long time ago. But no. You had been one of the few to escape her younger wrath, and somehow that made this worse.

It wasn't just that, though. Tara couldn't think about you without hearing her mother's voice in the back of her mind, muttering something about how she wished Tara were "more like you."

Her mother said things like that about plenty of kids, especially when Tara landed herself in trouble at school. But the way she spoke about you had always felt different—like she meant it.

You were polite, diligent, the kind of kid parents liked to hold up as an example. Tara had hated it back then, hearing those comparisons tossed her way whenever she acted out. Now, remembering it made her blood boil.

You weren't a stranger to her. Not really. How could you be when Wes had spent all of middle school hopelessly infatuated with you? His crush had been embarrassingly obvious, even to people who weren't paying attention.

Tara remembered the way he'd stumble through his sentences whenever you so much as glanced in his direction. How he'd linger near your locker as though working up the courage to say something, only to turn red and scurry off when Amber caught him at it.

Amber had loved teasing him for it. She'd nudge his arm and whisper loud enough for everyone to hear, calling him love-struck and pitiful. And Tara? She'd roll her eyes and laugh right along with her.

She hadn't understood the appeal back then. Sure, you were nice. Polite, from what people said. But to Tara, you'd just been another person in the hallways, someone she could name but not care much about. Wes's hopeless pining had been little more than background noise to her.

But now... now that memory left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Not that she'd ever had a real problem with you. If anything, she'd been indifferent toward you all these years. You were nice, she supposed. Everyone said so, and it wasn't hard to believe.

You dressed well enough to stand out without trying too hard, cared enough about your grades to keep them respectable, and generally managed to avoid any kind of trouble. There wasn't much about you that people could complain about.

Tara hadn't spoken to you much. Maybe a couple of times, when group projects forced you together or when politeness demanded it. But it had never gone beyond that, never lingered in a way that mattered. You were a passing presence, just one of the many faces she'd seen over the years, easily forgotten once you were out of sight.

At least, that was how it used to be.

Now, it felt like you were everywhere. And worse, you weren't just a face in the crowd anymore. You were always laughing, always smiling, always looking so damn perfect. And you weren't alone. You were with Chad. His arm slung around your shoulders like you were his.

And that, Tara couldn't ignore.

You were with her Chad. Her boyfriend.

Or at least, that's what her mind insisted on calling him, despite the breakup. Despite everything. He was still hers. He had to be. There was no way he wasn't, not when she could still feel the ghost of his hand in hers, not when her chest tightened every time she thought about him laughing at something you said. It wasn't right. It didn't feel right.

You didn't belong under his arm like that. You didn't belong anywhere near him.

Tara's jaw clenched as the image burned itself deeper into her memory: the way his arm had draped over your shoulders so effortlessly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It wasn't. It couldn't be. That spot was hers—had been hers for so long that seeing anyone else there made her stomach twist with something jagged and unbearable.

And it didn't help that you didn't even look good there. Not to her, anyway. You didn't fit the way she did. You didn't mold into his side like you belonged there, not like she had. Chad was tall, broad-shouldered, and Tara had always thought they looked balanced together. She'd fit neatly under his arm, a perfect complement to his size and presence. You? You just looked... wrong.

At least, that's what she told herself as her eyes lingered on you for too long, darting between the way you smiled at him and the way he smiled back at you.

Her chest tightened further, the edges of her jealousy sharpening with every second.

She tried to tell herself not to care. Really, she did. She told herself that it didn't matter anymore, that Chad wasn't hers, that this—whatever this was—wasn't her business. He had every right to move on. She even tried repeating it in her head, like some kind of mantra: It’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

But it didn't work. It never worked.

It wasn't just the jealousy, though that was certainly the loudest emotion screaming in her chest. It was the helplessness that came with it. The same helplessness she'd felt back in kindergarten, when that dark, fiery feeling had bubbled up inside her and she hadn't known what to do with it. Back then, she'd pushed people, shoved them, let her rage and frustration spill out in any way it could.

Now? Now she was older. Supposedly more mature. She was supposed to be able to handle her emotions, wasn't she? But standing there, watching Chad lean into you, laugh at something you said like it was the funniest thing in the world, Tara felt that same fiery frustration rise in her chest.

She didn't shove people anymore—didn't let that dark feeling spill out like she used to—but that didn't mean it wasn't still there, simmering just below the surface. And now, as she stood frozen in the hallway, all of it—every last ounce of it—was directed at you.

Because you didn't belong there.

You didn't belong with Chad.

You didn't belong in the picture she still couldn't stop replaying in her head: you laughing at something he said, him pulling you closer, the two of you looking... happy.

Tara bit the inside of her cheek, hard enough to taste blood. She told herself to turn away, to stop looking, to let it go. But it was impossible. Just like it had been when she was five years old, that feeling burned too brightly, clawed at her too viciously to ignore.

And now, as she stared at you from across the hallway, she realized she didn't know how to make it stop.

She couldn't stop seeing it—couldn't stop feeling it. You and him. It was burned into her mind, an image so vivid it felt like it had been seared there with a branding iron. Every time she closed her eyes, it was there. You and Chad. Laughing together. Holding hands. Kissing.

Tara's hands clenched into fists at her sides. She hated it. She hated you.

She hated the way you were always smiling, like you didn't have a care in the world. She hated the way you stood so close to him every day, the way his arm so casually rested on your shoulders. She hated the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you. Like you were the only person in the room. Like you were perfect.

You weren't even that cute. That's what she tried to tell herself, over and over again. You weren't anything special. There were plenty of other girls in Woodsboro prettier than you, smarter than you, more interesting than you.

But it was a lie.

Because you were beautiful.

You were effortlessly beautiful in a way that made Tara's stomach churn. She hated the fact that she couldn't use your looks as an excuse. She hated how good you looked with Chad, how perfect you seemed together, how easy it was to see why he'd chosen you.

And that made her hatred burn even brighter.

Most nights, she couldn't sleep. The second her head hit the pillow, her mind would start spinning, and the thoughts would creep in—dark, ugly thoughts that wrapped around her like a vice. She could see it so clearly, almost like it was happening right in front of her.

You touching him in places she was supposed to touch. You undressing him, his hands roaming over your body instead of hers. You kissing him, making him moan, sitting on top of him—doing all the things she was supposed to do.

It made her blood boil. It made her want to scream.

The images were relentless, vivid and visceral, and every one of them felt like a knife twisting deeper into her chest. Sometimes, the anger was so sharp it made her want to claw at her own skin, like she could rip the feeling out of herself if she just tried hard enough.

But no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to push the thoughts away, they always came back. They stayed with her, haunting her like a ghost she couldn't escape.

And every time, the hatred burned hotter.

It wasn't fair. You weren't supposed to have him. You weren't supposed to be in his arms, weren't supposed to hear his laugh up close, weren't supposed to know what his lips felt like. You didn't deserve any of it. You didn't deserve him.

He was hers. He'd always been hers.

But now, he wasn't.

And it was all because of you.

And this wasn't like any other time. Not even close.

Tara had always known her temper was a problem. She'd been told that enough times growing up—by her teachers, by her mom, by anyone who'd had the misfortune of crossing her when she was angry. But this? This was different.

She'd never felt this way before.

She'd tried everything to stop it, to keep herself from unraveling. Everything her mom had suggested back when she'd first started noticing how intense Tara's outbursts could be. Taking deep breaths, counting to ten, picturing a happy place—none of it worked. It never had.

And when her mom's suggestions fell flat, Tara had turned to the internet, searching desperately for anything that might help. Techniques to control anger, ways to keep herself calm, tips to avoid losing her temper. She'd read every article she could find, watched every video, tried every trick. Not because she cared about managing her emotions—no, she just wanted to avoid her mom forcing her into some anger management program or therapy session she'd be stuck in for months.

But now? Now, she couldn't even pretend to have control. Nothing worked. Nothing.

Her heart pounded in her chest, her skin prickled with heat, and the jealousy burned so hot and sharp that she felt like she was coming apart at the seams. It wasn't just anger anymore. It was something else entirely, something darker and more consuming.

Tara felt insane.

Because no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to push it down or ignore it, the feeling wouldn't go away. It wrapped around her like a second skin, suffocating and unbearable, until there was only one thought left in her mind:

She had to get rid of you.

It wasn't even a question anymore. It was a fact, plain and simple. There was no other way to fix this, no other way to make the feelings stop. You had to go.

At first, Tara thought about spreading a rumor or two. Nothing big, just enough to make you and Chad fight. Enough to plant a seed of doubt, to tear apart whatever connection you had with him. It sounded perfect at first—until she realized how easily it could blow up in her face.

Chad would figure it out eventually. He'd find out Tara was behind it, and then she'd lose any chance of getting him back.

She thought about telling you to leave, to move away, to go anywhere but here. But that was ridiculous. You'd never listen.

She thought about kidnapping you.

The thought came and went so quickly it almost startled her. For a split second, her mind flickered to the idea of forcing you out of the picture entirely, taking control in a way that left no room for argument.

But no. That was insane.

...Wasn't it?

Tara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms hard enough to hurt. She was spiraling. She knew it. But she couldn't stop.

Nothing else would work. Nothing except you being gone.

She didn't know how, she didn't know when, but Tara knew one thing with absolute certainty:

You couldn't stay.

You didn't belong here. You didn't belong with Chad. You didn't belong anywhere near him, near her, near this town.

You didn't belong anywhere.

And Tara? Tara was going to make sure of it.

She toyed with possibilities. But none of them seemed right.

Kidnapping you crossed her mind more than once though. Briefly.

But it was stupid, insane.

Because what would she do when she had you?

Just keep you there?

It seemed suiting, but it wouldn't work out.

But she couldn't help thinking it—if only because she was running out of options.

And then, the thought hit her. It came out of nowhere, sharp and sudden, like a knife to the gut.

She could kill you.

At first, the thought had hit her like a slap to the face, sharp and jarring in its absurdity. It had seemed insane. Because it was insane. What kind of person even thought something like that, let alone seriously considered it?

But as the days dragged on, the idea didn't fade. If anything, it took root. The more Tara thought about it, the less insane it seemed. Her anger, that relentless, boiling rage, started to simmer. It didn't disappear entirely—not even close—but it

lessened.

For the first time in weeks, she could breathe.

The idea itself was enough at first. She didn't need to act on it. Just thinking about it was enough to bring her some semblance of peace. She let the fantasy play out in her mind like a sick little movie: you, out of the picture, gone forever. It didn't matter how or when—just that it happened.

And for a few days, she was happy with just that. She let herself exist in that space, in the calm that came with imagining a world where you didn't exist. A weekend of relative peace, of daydreams that made her anger feel manageable.

But then Monday came.

And Tara saw you again.

You were standing in the hallway, smiling up at Chad like he was the only person in the world. His arm was slung casually around your shoulders, his head tilted toward yours in that stupid, familiar way that made Tara's stomach twist.

It was like being set on fire all over again.

Her chest burned, her vision blurred, and that fleeting peace she'd found over the weekend vanished in an instant. The rage came roaring back, hotter and more vicious than ever, tearing through her like a wildfire.

Because the thought of you being gone wasn't enough anymore. Not when you were right there, so close, so perfect, so fucking smug without even trying.

Tara's fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms until they left crescent-shaped indents. Her jaw tightened, her teeth grinding as she stared at you, as she watched you.

You didn't belong there. You didn't belong under his arm. You didn't belong anywhere near him.

And now? Now, Tara knew what she had to do.

It wasn't a matter of if anymore. It was a matter of when.

Because just thinking about it wasn't enough. Not anymore.

She was going to kill you.

And she was going to feel better for it.

___

Tara had everything prepared.

The thought of it had consumed her, growing like a rock inside her chest, feeding off her every waking moment until it was impossible to ignore.

And now, it was time.

She had spent days balancing on the edge of dread and longing, torn between the weight of what she was about to do and the twisted satisfaction she knew it would bring. It wasn't something she wanted—not really. But it was something she had to do. The only way to end the torment that had been eating away at her since the moment she saw you with him.

So Tara had done her research, gathering every scrap of information she could. She watched you closely—closer than ever. She had listened, observed, bided her time until the perfect opportunity revealed itself.

And it had.

It had been math class on Monday afternoon, and Tara had been lucky enough to snag a seat directly behind you and your friends. Normally, she would've tuned out your conversation entirely, drowning it in her thoughts. But this time, she had leaned in, careful to catch every word.

You'd been talking about the upcoming math test, about how you'd be studying for it Wednesday afternoon. Alone.

Your parents were going to be at some lame work conference, and they'd decided to take your younger brother along to make a trip out of it. You'd rolled your eyes as you explained how stupid it all sounded, but Tara hadn't cared about your opinion.

All she cared about was the opening.

You'd be home. Alone.

It was perfect.

Tara's pencil had hovered over her notebook as she pretended to take notes, but her mind wasn't on algebra. It was spinning with possibilities, with plans, with the kind of clarity that had eluded her for weeks.

When the bell rang and you left the room with your friends, Tara sat frozen in her seat for a moment, her fists clenched around the edge of her desk. The pounding in her chest felt louder than the shuffle of students leaving the classroom, louder than the voices in the hallway.

Because now, it wasn't just an idea.

It was a plan.

Wednesday. After school. It would be done.

And finally, finally, she would feel better.

Wednesday came, and Tara felt something she hadn't in weeks. Happiness.

It wasn't the fleeting, muted kind that came and went without leaving a trace. No, this was sharp, visceral, alive. She could feel it buzzing beneath her skin, coiling around her chest like a warm, electric current.

She didn't remember the last time she'd woken up this excited. It was like every nerve in her body had been lit aflame, pushing her through the motions of her morning routine with a sense of purpose she hadn't felt in so long.

Because today was the day.

Every second that ticked by brought her closer to it. To you. To the end of the endless cycle of rage and jealousy that had consumed her. She could picture it already—vivid, perfect, satisfying.

You'd be scared, of course. How could you not be? She imagined the way your eyes would widen, the way you'd stammer out a pathetic plea. You'd try to push her off, scramble for an escape, but it wouldn't work.

It wouldn't work because you were weak. You weren't like her. You didn't know what it meant to fight, to claw your way through something until you got what you wanted. You'd crumble like paper.

And then you'd be gone.

She could see the aftermath so clearly it almost felt real. Chad, walking through the school corridors alone, his shoulders slumped with the weight of grief. His face twisted in pain as he thought about you.

And then—then he'd come back to her. He had to. It was inevitable, wasn't it? He'd remember how good things were with her, how much better they could be now that you were out of the picture. He'd pull himself to her, broken but needing her to put him back together.

It was all Tara could think about.

The entire day felt like a blur, her mind too preoccupied to focus on anything else. Teachers droned on and on about tests and essays, classmates chatted about meaningless things, but none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except what was waiting for her after school.

And yet, the anger was still there.

It simmered beneath the surface, coiled tight in her chest, a constant reminder that nothing was done yet. You were still there, still laughing and smiling and making her blood boil with every second that passed.

In English class, she caught sight of you leaning over Chad's desk, your voice low as you explained something to him. Grammar, maybe. Whatever it was, Tara didn't care.

What she cared about was the way he was looking at you. That stupid, soft smile, the same one he used to give her.

It made her stomach turn.

You didn’t even know what you were doing, she thought bitterly, her fists clenching beneath her desk. You didn't know him. You didn't know how to help him, not like she did. You weren't supposed to be there, leaning over his shoulder, pointing at his textbook like you had any idea what you were doing.

Tara's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together as she stared at the two of you.

But it was fine. It wouldn't matter soon enough.

By the time the final bell rang, she was practically buzzing with anticipation, her hands trembling as she shoved her books into her bag.

Because today was the day.

And by the time it was over, you'd be gone. Forever.

By the time last period rolled around, Tara could barely contain herself. She was bouncing her leg under the desk, the rapid up-and-down movement making the surface wobble slightly. It wasn't stress, though. Not even close.

It was excitement.

Because in just a few hours, everything would be different. You'd be gone.

She'd spent the entire day anticipating this moment, and now that it was so close, she could hardly breathe. Her chest felt tight, but not in the way it used to when the anger consumed her. This was something else—something electric, like a firework waiting to explode.

When the bell finally rang for the last time that day, Tara practically shot out of her seat. Her heart was pounding, her pulse thrumming in her ears as she sprinted to her locker, dodging through the crowded hallway like her life depended on it.

She grabbed her things in a flurry, barely paying attention to what she was stuffing into her bag. The details didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting out of there as quickly as possible.

The walk home was a blur. She couldn't even remember the route she took, but she knew it was fast because she'd gotten there in record time. She practically burst through the door of the apartment, slamming it shut behind her with a force that rattled the frame.

The space was empty, just as she'd hoped. Sam wasn't home, probably still at the café down the street where she worked long shifts most afternoons.

Tara didn't waste any time. She stormed into her room, yanking her bag off her shoulder and dumping its contents onto the bed. Books, hair ties, pens, and random scraps of paper spilled out in a messy heap. She didn't bother organizing any of it, her focus locked on what came next.

She started packing what she'd need instead.

First came the basics: a pair of gloves she'd swiped from the closet, a small hand towel, and a few cleaning supplies she'd found under the sink. Just in case.

Then there was the book. She'd borrowed it from the library earlier that day, an afterthought at the time, but now it served a purpose. If anyone asked what she'd been doing when you turned up dead, she'd have an alibi.

And then there was the knife.

Tara headed to the kitchen, her hands trembling slightly as she opened the drawer where Sam kept the cutlery. She stared at the knives for a moment, her breathing shallow as she considered her options.

Finally, she picked one.

It wasn't the largest or the sharpest, but it felt solid in her grip. Familiar, almost.

She held it for a moment, staring down at the blade as it caught the light. Her reflection stared back at her, warped and fragmented in the metal, but she didn't flinch.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself before tucking the knife into her bag.

This was it.

She was ready.

Tara zipped her bag shut and slung it over her shoulder, not even sparing a second thought for the knife or the other incriminating items inside. Evidence of what was about to happen was tucked away in plain sight, but the thought didn't concern her. Why would it? She wasn't going to get caught.

She paused in the doorway of the apartment, pulling out her phone to double-check the address one last time. It was burned into her memory by now, but a quick glance wouldn't hurt. She'd found it easily enough a week ago, scouring the school directory that had been left out in the counselor's office during one of her "mandatory check-ins." Your address had been listed next to your emergency contacts, all neatly typed out.

Perfect.

Satisfied, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and stepped out into the hallway. The stairwell echoed with her footsteps as she made her way down, each step slow and deliberate. She wasn't in a rush. Not yet.

The walk to your house wasn't short, but it wasn't unbearably long either. Just far enough to give her plenty of time to think, to imagine, to savor the anticipation building in her chest like a drug.

Tara was thrilled.

Not just because of what she was about to do, but because of how clever she'd been about it. The idea had struck her like lightning, and the more she thought about it, the more genius it seemed. She wasn't just solving a problem—she was removing it, erasing it entirely.

As she walked, her thoughts grew darker, more vivid. She pictured you in front of her, on your knees, crying and begging her to stop. But she wouldn't stop. She'd pin you down with a strength you couldn't fight against, her hands steady, her resolve unshakable.

Her gaze flicked down to her white Converse, and she pictured them splattered with red. Blood staining the canvas, dripping onto the pavement, marking every step she took.

She imagined your blood on her hands, warm and slick, streaked across her fingers like war paint. She pictured your face as she hovered over you, the way your eyes would widen with fear, the way your mouth would open to scream—only to be silenced.

The image sent a thrill through her, a jolt of satisfaction that made her grin.

To anyone else, these thoughts would be horrifying. Disturbing. Insane.

But to Tara, they were... liberating.

She couldn't wait.

Tara had dreamt about this moment. Every detail had been mapped out in her mind, as vivid and meticulous as if it had already happened. She hadn't missed a single thing while planning it.

She knew exactly how it would go.

You'd answer the door, your steps light as they always seemed to be. When the door swung open, you'd greet her with that confused little smile, the one that would tug at the corner of your lips as you tried to figure out what she was doing there.

She could already imagine the polite mask you'd pull on, hiding the confusion behind your soft smile as you asked—probably in that gentle, saccharine voice Chad loved so much—what she was doing at your house.

And Tara would match your politeness, feigning a warm, almost apologetic smile as she began to speak. She'd tell you that you'd left the classroom before the teacher had a chance to hand you a paper—a makeup assignment for the math test you were apparently struggling with. She'd tell you how she'd volunteered to bring it to you, mentioning offhandedly that your house was "on the way" to hers.

It wasn't.

But you were probably stupid enough to believe it.

Tara could almost see the way you'd nod, your suspicion melting away as you stepped aside to let her in. And that's when she'd set her plan into motion.

She'd unzip her bag slowly, her movements deliberate, casual, as if she really were pulling out a sheet of paper. She'd even keep talking, her voice calm, explaining how the assignment wasn't that difficult, just a review of material you should already know.

But when her hand came out of the bag, it wouldn't be holding any paper.

It would be holding the knife.

The image was so clear in her mind, so vivid that it felt real. She could see the shock on your face, the way your smile would drop, the way your eyes would widen. She'd let you stand there, frozen and clueless, for just a moment before she lunged.

The first stab would be quick, precise. She'd aim for your stomach, the blade plunging in before you had a chance to react. And as you stumbled back, clutching at the wound, she'd step inside, closing the door behind her with her free hand.

It wouldn't stop there. It couldn't.

She'd keep going, stabbing again and again, her movements frenzied but deliberate, each strike fueled by the rage that had been festering inside her for weeks.

By the time you hit the floor, Tara would already be kneeling over you, her knife rising and falling with a terrifying rhythm.

She'd finish it. Completely.

Tara found herself smirking at the thought, her steps quickening as she neared your street. The plan played out in her head like a movie she'd already watched a hundred times, each scene perfectly clear, perfectly executed.

The thought of it all—the fear in your eyes, the blood on her hands, the peace that would finally follow—was almost enough to make her laugh.

By the time she reached your street, her smirk had settled into something more fixed, more certain. The weight of the knife in her bag wasn't something she second-guessed. There was no hesitation in her steps, no flicker of doubt in her mind. She had played this moment over so many times that it felt inevitable, like she was simply walking through a prewritten script.

And then she saw your house.

That perfect, suburban home—one of those places that looked like it had been plucked from a family sitcom. The kind of house where nothing bad was ever supposed to happen. The driveway was empty, just like it was supposed to be. No parents home. No witnesses. But that didn't matter.

What mattered was that you had all of this.

Tara felt her stomach twist in something that wasn't quite anger, wasn't quite jealousy, but a poisonous mix of both. The house itself was nice—not a mansion, but big enough that she knew you had space that was yours. No sharing. No constantly moving from one place to another. You had stability. The porch light was already on despite the sun still clinging to the sky, because you had parents who actually cared if you got home in the dark.

Parents who were probably normal.

Not like hers.

And it wasn't just the house. It was everything. The car parked on the curb—the one that she knew was yours and not some shared family vehicle. The way your front yard was neatly kept, the way there was a welcome mat in front of the door, the way it all screamed a life she never had.

It made her hate you even more.

But that hate only made her more certain. Because soon, none of it would matter. Your perfect house, your caring parents, your stupid little car—they would all be meaningless.

Soon, the only thing you'd have was a gravestone with your name carved into it.

And that made her happy.

Tara forced herself to relax as she walked up the front steps, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. She let out a slow breath, schooling her expression into something neutral. She wasn't just about to commit murder—no, she was just a classmate doing a favor, dropping off an assignment.

The thought almost made her laugh.

She reached the front door, lifting a fist and knocking twice against the wood.

The house was quiet. Peaceful.

But soon, Tara imagined, it would be fuller.

Fuller with screams.

And then—she heard it.

A soft, thoughtless hum from the other side of the door. Light, airy, clueless.

Her hands twitched at her sides, damp with sweat before she even realized it. A sick, twisted heat pooled in her stomach, curling around her ribs like a vice, because for the first time all day, something foreign crawled up her spine.

Nerves.

Real, undeniable, nerves.

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

No. No. That wasn't right. She had waited for this.

She had planned, dreamed, prepared for this exact moment. She was supposed to feel good. Excited.

Not like this.

Not like her body had turned against her.

Tara's jaw tightened, anger sparking white-hot beneath her skin, because that was your fault, too.

Of course, it was.

You were the one who made her feel this way. You were the reason her mind had been tangled in knots for weeks, the reason she couldn't breathe without choking on the thought of you, the reason everything felt so wrong.

And that was why she was here.

She sucked in a sharp breath, planting her feet firmly on the doorstep, pushing the shaking from her hands, the sweat from her palms.

Because it didn't matter.

It didn't matter that her heart was hammering against her ribs. It didn't matter that her mind was racing.

All that mattered was that you were coming.

And then—

A quiet shuffle of footsteps.

Closer.

Tara's stomach twisted.

Another step.

And another.

The shadow of movement from behind the glass.

And then—

The door clicked as the lock turned.

The handle shifted.

And Tara stopped breathing.

The door swung open.

And there you were.

Tara didn't know what she had expected. She had run through this moment in her head too many times to count, had pictured every detail—the way you'd react, the way she'd feel, the way it would finally happen. But none of those versions had prepared her for the real thing.

Because the real thing was you—standing there, so normal, so alive in a way that made something tighten in her chest.

You hadn't even looked to see who it was before your lips curled into a soft, polite smile, like answering the door and finding someone waiting for you was just another part of your evening. Like she was just another part of your evening.

And Tara—

Tara froze.

Her grip tightened around the strap of her bag, fingers stiff, nails pressing into her palm. The weight of it suddenly felt too heavy, dragging her down, pinning her in place.

You weren't looking at her yet, not fully, but she could see the moment it registered. The way your eyes flickered, widening just a little before settling, before you adjusted.

Tara swallowed hard, throat dry.

She hadn't planned for this—for the way time seemed to slow, for the way her pulse slammed against her ribs, not in anger but in something else, something unreadable. She had prepared for every possible scenario, had thought through every single step. She knew exactly what she had to do.

So why the fuck wasn't she doing it?

Why was she standing there, frozen, when this was exactly what she had been waiting for?

Her stomach twisted, a sick, sudden nausea creeping in.

She had to say something.

She had to move.

But she just stood there, staring.

It was like her body had short-circuited, her mind blanking out in a way it never did. She had pictured this moment a hundred times, had mapped it out in her head with a precision so sharp it felt real—but now? Now, standing in front of you, with your stupid soft smile and your wide, expectant eyes, everything felt wrong.

She was supposed to have control.

She was supposed to speak first.

But before she could force a single word out of her mouth—

"Oh my God, Tara!"

Your voice hit her like a slap to the face.

Not just because of the voice—bright, warm, too friendly for what this moment was meant to be—but because of how you said her name.

Wrong.

You stretched out the A like it belonged there, like you had never even considered the right way to say it.

Tara's stomach twisted, her nose scrunching slightly before she could stop it.

She hated when people did that.

It wasn't even complicated. It wasn't hard.

Tara. Short. Sharp. Simple.

Why the fuck would it be anything else?

But then—before she could even say anything, before she could snap at you the way she wanted to—you noticed.

Not in the way most people did.

You didn't fumble over yourself, didn't look nervous, didn't react like someone who had just made a mistake in front of the wrong person.

No.

You just... realized.

"Oh—sorry. It's Tara, right?"

And this time, you said it right.

Tara felt something hot crawl up her spine.

You didn't wait for her to correct you.

You didn’t need her to tell you you were wrong.

You figured it out on your own.

And yet, you still smiled.

"I'm sorry, I totally suck at names," you added, your voice easy, a small, amused sigh slipping through a quiet giggle.

A giggle.

Like this was nothing.

Like you weren't standing in your doorway, staring at someone who had come here to kill you.

Tara's grip on her bag tightened.

You weren't nervous.

Not even a little.

Why weren't you nervous?

You were supposed to be. Yet she was the one that was.

Tara didn't know what the fuck was happening to her.

This wasn't right.

She was supposed to be in control. She was supposed to be sharp, precise, already halfway inside your house by now, setting her plan into motion.

But instead, she stood there.

Frozen.

Silent.

She couldn't speak.

Her body acted before her mind caught up, lips pressing together in something barely resembling a smile. Thin. Tense. Fake.

"It's fine," she mumbled, her voice lower than she intended.

It wasn't fine.

Nothing about this was fine.

And yet, you still didn't ask her what she was doing here.

You didn't look suspicious. You didn't hesitate. You didn't ask.

Tara could feel something bubbling in her chest, frustration twisting in with something else, something hotter, sharper.

Why weren't you asking?

Why weren't you wary?

Why weren't you treating her like a stranger who had no reason to be on your doorstep?

But before she could dwell on it for too long, your face lit up even more—

And you started talking.

"I've actually been wanting to speak to you for a while."

Your voice was too warm. Too light.

Tara's jaw clenched.

"This whole thing with Chad..."

You trailed off, tucking a bit of hair behind your ear, tilting your head ever so slightly as your eyes flicked to her face—

Waiting.

Waiting to see if she reacted to his name.

And fuck, she did.

She hated that she did.

But you didn't seem to notice.

Or maybe you did, but you didn't care.

You just continued, words spilling out like you had been holding them in for too long.

"I wanted to ask if you guys were fine before... yeah, you know."

Tara didn't need you to finish that sentence.

She knew exactly what you meant.

Before you.

Before Chad moved on.

Before you ruined everything.

Her nails dug into the strap of her bag.

And still, you didn't stop talking.

"I know we're not friends and barely know each other," you admitted, still looking at her with that same softness. That genuine fucking softness that made her stomach twist in ways it shouldn't.

"But you're really nice," you went on.

Tara almost laughed at that.

Nice.

You thought she was nice.

And then—

"I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable or, you know... secretly hate me."

The way you said it was almost casual, like it was just a thought, something light, something small—

But Tara felt her heartbeat slam against her ribs.

You didn't know.

You had no idea.

And for the first time since she got here, she felt a flicker of something close to panic.

You didn't hate her.

You weren't afraid of her.

You thought she was nice.

What the fuck was she supposed to do with that?

Tara tried to reason with herself.

If she just did it now, everything would be fine.

If she just said what she planned to say, if she reached for her bag, if she pulled out the knife instead—

It would be over.

It would be done.

You would be nothing but a mess on the floor, and Chad would be devastated, and he would come crawling back, and everything would go back to how it was supposed to be.

So why wasn't she moving?

Her fingers twitched against the strap of her bag, but her body stayed rooted to the spot.

She wanted to.

Oh, how she wanted to.

She had dreamed about this moment.

Had imagined the way you'd look at her—terrified, confused, realizing too late what was about to happen.

She had longed for it.

And yet—

She couldn't.

For some stupid, inexplicable reason, she couldn't.

Something in her wouldn't let her.

What the fuck was she even thinking earlier?

Why did she think this would be easy?

Why did she think she could just walk up here and do it like it was nothing?

Her head felt too full, a war raging behind her eyes, pushing, pulling, twisting.

She wasn't supposed to hesitate.

She wasn't supposed to second-guess herself.

She was supposed to kill you.

So why was it suddenly feeling impossible?

You studied her face as she stood there, silent.

To you, it probably looked like she was still hurt over Chad.

Like she was standing here, struggling to find the right words, caught up in old feelings she hadn't moved past yet.

And when she didn't answer, you didn't take it the way you should have.

You didn't question why she was just standing there.

You didn't wonder why she was looking at you like that, like something wasn't clicking in her head.

Instead—you invited her in.

You stepped back, opening the door a little wider, glancing at her with the same warm expression you had greeted her with.

"Do you want to come inside?"

Tara blinked.

For a second, she thought she misheard you.

But you weren't kidding.

You were actually letting her in.

You, the person she had been planning to kill, were offering to welcome her into your home.

You didn't even know her.

And when she didn't immediately respond, you just smiled a little and added, "Only if you want to."

That was it.

No hesitation. No suspicion. No fear.

Why weren't you scared of her?

Why weren't you acting like someone who was about to die?

Her fingers clenched tighter around the strap of her bag.

She should leave.

She should end this.

She should do what she came here to do.

And yet—

Almost without thinking, she found herself nodding.

Slowly, stiffly.

And then she was stepping inside.

Her body was acting on its own, ignoring the part of her mind still screaming at her to just fucking do it already.

She heard you close the door behind her.

She stood there, fists tightening at her sides, eyes flickering around your house—your nice, warm, safe house that made her sick.

And then you were talking again, so casually, so easily.

"I'm trying to study for the math test, but it's not going really well."

You let out a small, light laugh, like this was nothing.

Like she was just a friend stopping by instead of a fucking killer in your home.

Tara didn't know why she followed you.

Why her feet carried her further inside instead of turning around and doing what she was supposed to do.

She barely processed the way you walked ahead of her, leading her through the house like she belonged there.

Like she wasn't holding a knife in her bag.

Like she wasn't planning to use it.

Her fingers curled tighter around the strap, knuckles aching from the pressure, but she still didn't stop.

She stepped past the entryway, eyes flickering over everything she could see—the framed artwork on the walls, the coat rack near the door, the way the house smelled warm, lived in. There was something painfully normal about all of it. Too normal. It made her stomach turn.

And then her gaze landed on it.

The photo sitting neatly on the shelf above the couch.

She didn't mean to stop. Didn't mean to let her focus linger. But she did.

It was you.

Your family.

Your mom, your dad, your little brother.

All of you smiling, arms wrapped around each other like you had never known anything but happiness.

Her throat burned.

Her chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped their hands around her ribs and squeezed.

She didn't know why.

She didn't fucking know why.

All she knew was that she hated that picture.

Hated the way you had that.

Hated the way she couldn't even imagine a photo like that of her own family.

Most definitely not framed in the living room.

Her mouth pressed into a hard line, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag.

The weight of the knife sat heavy inside, like it was taunting her.

She should reach for it.

She should pull it out and remind herself why she was here.

But her body still wouldn't move.

And that made her furious.

Why the fuck was she just standing here?

Why wasn't she doing anything?

It would be so easy.

A few steps. A flick of her wrist.

Blood against the perfect little life you had.

A stain.

A reminder that nothing was ever really safe.

So why couldn't she do it?

Her fingers twitched at her sides.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out everything else—until your voice cut through the haze.

"Tara?"

She blinked.

Snapped back to the moment.

You were looking at her now, head slightly tilted, waiting for her to follow you further inside.

She forced her jaw to unclench, tearing her eyes away from the photo and moving again.

She followed you into the living room.

And that was when she saw the mess of notes and open notebooks spread out across the coffee table.

Pens scattered. Pages half-filled with numbers and formulas. Homework left abandoned mid-thought.

She stared.

She didn't even know why.

Maybe it was because it was so normal.

Like you had no idea what was standing right in front of you.

Like she wasn't supposed to be anything other than some classmate stopping by with an assignment.

Her fingers twitched against the strap of her bag.

Maybe if she just—

Your voice cut through the silence again, still light, still unbothered.

"You can sit down if you want."

You motioned toward the couch, as if this was just normal.

As if she wasn't standing in your house, her heart hammering, her mind completely unraveling.

Tara swallowed hard, forcing her feet forward.

One step.

Then another.

She made it halfway across the room before stopping again, her breath catching somewhere in her throat.

She shouldn't be here.

She shouldn't be doing this.

She should just grab the knife, should just do what she fucking came here to do.

But she couldn't.