It starts small—so small you almost miss it. A shift. A change in the way he says your name. A softening that isn’t soft at all.
Martin used to say your name like it was something warm. Now he says it like he’s tired.
You tell yourself you’re imagining it… until it becomes impossible to ignore.
It’s a Thursday evening. He’s sweating through his shirt in the practice room, hair stuck to his forehead. You show up with banana milk, because he mentioned craving it days ago.
You place it beside him, smiling.
He glances. “Thanks.”
That’s it.
No teasing. No grin. Nothing.
It feels like someone took the air out of your lungs.
You tell yourself he’s tired.
You tell yourself it’s just a day.
You tell yourself too many things.
But days become a pattern.
He replies slower.
He texts shorter.
He doesn’t wait for you after practice anymore.
He doesn’t ask you about your day.
He doesn’t look at you long enough to notice anything.
You’re no longer his first thought.
You’re barely his fourth.
And you can feel it.
You feel everything.
He stops choosing you. Softly at first. Then blatantly.
One night, it’s just the two of you on the dorm couch. The boys are out. A few months ago, this would’ve meant him tugging you into his lap or teasing you until you lost it, leaning into him, his arm around your waist, the kind of silence that feels like home.
Today?
Different couch corners.
Different energy.
Different boy.
“Are you okay?” you ask.
He doesn’t look up. “I’m fine.”
You bite your lip. “You sure? You’ve been kinda off.”
This time he finally looks at you—expression unreadable, eyes distant.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he murmurs. “I’m just trying to manage everything.”
You nod even though it stings.
‘Everything’ doesn’t include you anymore.
He starts becoming careful around you.
Too careful.
Polite in a way that feels like a slap.
The kind of polite that feels like a goodbye disguised as manners. He stops brushing your knee with his. Stops tucking your hair behind your ear. Stops being Martin—the one who loved loudly and stupidly and with all his focus.
This one is neutral.
This one is quiet.
This one holds doors for you but doesn’t hold you.
The gentleness hurts more than distance.
One afternoon, you catch him packing his bag.
“Can we talk?” you ask.
He hesitates. “I have practice.”
“It’ll take a minute.”
He doesn’t pull away when you touch his sleeve, but he doesn’t hold you back either.
“What’s wrong?” you whisper.
His jaw tightens. “Nothing.”
“Did I do something?”
“No.” Too quick.
Then softer: “I’m trying to manage everything.”
The way he says it feels like he’s explaining why you’ve become extra weight.
You step back. “Okay.”
He almost reaches for you.
Almost.
But almost doesn’t fix anything.
The resentment creeps in quietly—on both sides.
When you ask if he’s eaten, he sighs.
When you hug him, he stiffens.
When you try to make him laugh, he forces a smile.
Every little thing feels like proof that he’s slipping away.
One day, you show up after practice because you miss him. Because you’re desperate. Because you still think maybe he’ll choose you if you try hard enough.
He walks out of the building, sees you, stops.
Not happy.
Not relieved.
Just surprised.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming,” he says.
“Thought I’d surprise you.”
He exhales slowly. “I’m not… really in the mood for surprises.”
The words hit you straight in the chest.
“We can just walk together,” you say weakly. “I don’t need anything.”
Another sigh.
“Y/N,” he mutters, rubbing his temples, “I said I can’t do this right now.”
You blink. “Do me, you mean?”
He flinches.
And then he says nothing.
Which tells you everything.
You go home that night and cry into your pillow, biting the fabric so no one hears.
You feel stupid.
You feel small.
You feel like something important is slipping through your fingers.
And he’s letting it.
Two weeks pass.
He becomes perfectly polite again.
Too polite.
Too calm.
Too distant.
He texts “goodnight” again, but it’s one word.
He asks “did you eat?” but it sounds like courtesy.
He smiles at you, but it’s empty.
He treats you like someone he used to care about.
And you don’t know what’s worse—
his silence before, or his softness now.
One day in the dance room, the boys are loud and joking. Martin laughs with them, shoulders relaxing, eyes bright.
You’re sitting a few feet away.
Invisible.
Forgettable.
He doesn’t look at you once.
And that’s when it hits you.
He hasn’t stopped caring all at once—
he’s been fading out slowly.
Quietly.
Like a song you didn’t realize was ending until the room went silent.
You leave the room without telling anyone.
Minutes later, your phone buzzes.
Martin: "Did you leave?"
You stare at it, heart sinking.
You: "Yeah."
A pause.
Too long.
Too obvious.
Martin: "Oh. Okay."
And that’s when the truth settles:
He didn’t break your heart violently.
He did it softly.
Carefully.
Almost kindly.
The worst way possible.
You crawl into bed that night, phone against your chest.
He loved you once.
You know he did.
But now he loves you with past tense softness—
the kind that ruins you slowly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Pretty when you say my name like that
Feel your lips trace down my neck
☾ ₊ ⊹ ✰
Pretty when you looking up like that
Pray but heaven won't let you back
You're good on your knees
-ˋˏ [In Which a blonde got dared to make the coaches daughter fall in love with her.] ˎˊ
Or
-ˋˏ [In which Paige Bueckers was never supposed to fall for Natalia Auriemma— her coach’s daughter, the girl who showed up to practices with headphones on, cleats still muddy, and eyes that looked through people like she was always ten steps ahead. It was meant to be a joke. A dare. Flirt with the coach’s daughter. Make her blush. See if the icy soccer girl even could fall for a basketball star. But Natalia didn’t blush. She bit back. She challenged Paige in ways no one else ever had—never impressed, never fazed, always two seconds from walking away. And maybe that’s what did it. Now Paige is staying late after practice for a chance to run into her, catching herself scanning the bleachers mid-game, hearing Natalia’s voice in her head like a taunt she wants to obey. This wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But now Paige can’t stop picturing what it would feel like to have Natalia say her name like a prayer..] ˎˊ
𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁!
Intro | Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight | Nine | Ten | Eleven | Twelve | Thirteen | Fourteen | Fifteen |
Sono solo un'amica... un’amica nel momento del bisogno.
Mi dico che va bene così, che mi accontenterò di essere la persona su cui può contare nei momenti difficili, la presenza silenziosa che è sempre pronta a dare senza chiedere nulla in cambio. Ma la verità è che dentro di me un grido si fa largo. E quel grido è un'inquietante domanda che non trova risposta: Perché non mi vede?
Perché sembra che ogni volta io non sia mai più di un’ombra nella sua vita, un’ombra che esiste solo quando è necessario. Sono quella che è lì, sempre pronta ad ascoltare, a consolare, a sostenere. Ma ogni volta che mi guardo nello specchio, vedo una persona che sta perdendo se stessa in questo ruolo che mi sono costruita. Eppure, non posso fare a meno di sperare che un giorno cambi qualcosa. Mi chiedo, ogni volta che lo guardo negli occhi, se arriverà un momento in cui finalmente mi vedrà davvero. Se capirà che tutto ciò che desidero è che si accorga di me, non come amica, ma come qualcosa di più, qualcosa che ha bisogno di essere visto.
Posso davvero continuare a dargli solo amicizia quando dentro di me esplode una voglia irrefrenabile di essere qualcosa di più per lui? Posso continuare a rinunciare alla mia stessa felicità solo per stare vicino a lui, anche se so che ogni volta che lo faccio mi allontano un po' di più da quella che sono realmente?
E mi chiedo, lo farò mai? Mi vedrà mai? O continuerà a guardarmi come la ragazza che c'è sempre, ma che non può mai essere altro, una figura di contorno nella sua vita? Io voglio essere più di questo. Voglio che mi veda, che capisca. Voglio che, per un attimo, veda oltre l'amicizia, oltre quella facciata che abbiamo costruito. Voglio che si accorga di come i miei occhi cerchino i suoi, di come il mio cuore batta più forte ogni volta che mi parla, che mi sfiora con le sue parole.
Ti prego, guardami!
Non mi importa quanto tu possa essere distratto, quanto tu possa essere preso da te stesso, dalle tue cose.
Apri gli occhi, e guarda me!
Sono proprio qui, davanti a te. Non sono solo una spalla su cui appoggiarti. Non sono solo quella che ti ascolta. Sono una persona, con i suoi sogni, le sue emozioni, con una voglia che non riesco più a nascondere.
Sono qui. E ti prego, smettila di ignorarmi. Guarda quello che c'è oltre la mia maschera di amica. Guarda chi sono davvero. Perché non posso più fingere di essere solo un'amica… non quando il mio cuore ha bisogno di più.
"I hate you", You moaned out as Mattheo pounded his dick into you, "You love me", Before you can even speak, he speeds up, causing moans to spill out of your mouth.
He slides his hand to your throat, "I fucking hate you y/n, why do you make me feel this way", "W-what way", "You made me love you", He squeezed your neck harder cutting off your breath, you grip the sheets Cumming all over his dick, he didn't stop he kept going but faster, He let go of your neck, trying to catch your breath, you feel his thrust become sloppier, after a few more thrusts and he came in you, he pulled out putting his pants back on, He threw your clothes at you, you quickly got dressed, "Get out", "I can't walk", He grabbed your arm throwing you into the hallway, "You'll manage", "Fuck you Mattheo", "Fuck you y/n".
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
OUR LITTLE SECRET (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/story/369565292-our-little-secret?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_myworks&wp_uname=ashemogoth16 a boy names Correy Haze bullied this girl since the 7th grade and then over a summer he completely changes and wants to be friends with her but then he starts realizing that he likes her.
read it if u want to it would mean the world to me if u did tho
