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pomegranatelifethis · 3 months ago

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In another universe again

Promise?

The Wayne Manor was a labyrinth of secrets, its towering walls steeped in history and whispers of the past. You’d grown up within those walls, a daughter of the Wayne legacy, twin to Damian, the son destined to inherit the mantle of Robin. But where Damian was sharp edges and fierce determination, you were a shadow, slipping through the cracks of a family that never seemed to notice you were there.

You were Y/N Wayne, the other half of a pair, but to the Batfamily, you were an afterthought. Bruce, your father, was a man consumed by his mission, his eyes always fixed on the horizon of Gotham’s endless night. Dick was the golden son, too busy charming the world to see you fading. Jason, with his jagged edges, spared you fleeting glances but never lingered. Tim was lost in his own mind, his coffee-fueled nights leaving no room for you. And Damian—your twin, your mirror—carried the weight of expectations you could never touch. He was the heir, the prodigy. You were just… you.

The neglect wasn’t loud. It was quiet, insidious, like a slow bleed. A missed birthday here, a forgotten promise there. Training sessions where you were left to spar with dummies while Damian was molded by Bruce’s hands. Family dinners where your seat was filled with silence, your voice drowned by their laughter. You tried to be seen, to be heard. You trained harder, studied longer, patched your own wounds after patrols. But the harder you tried, the more invisible you became.

Then came Lila.

She arrived like a burst of sunlight, a foster girl with wide eyes and a smile that disarmed even the coldest hearts. The Batfamily welcomed her with open arms. Dick ruffled her hair, Jason taught her to throw a punch, Tim helped her with homework, and Bruce—*Bruce*—smiled at her in a way you’d never seen directed at you. Even Damian, your stoic twin, softened around her, his rare laughter echoing through the manor.

Lila was everything you weren’t. She was wanted.

You watched from the sidelines as they showered her with affection, their voices bright with praise. “Lila’s a natural,” Dick would say. “She’s got heart,” Jason added. “She’s one of us,” Tim declared. And you? You were the ghost in the room, your presence barely acknowledged. The realization settled in your chest like a stone: you were worthless to them.

The doubt crept in slowly, then all at once. Why weren’t you enough? Were you too quiet, too weak, too *you*? You spent nights staring at the ceiling of your room, the weight of their indifference pressing down until you couldn’t breathe. You stopped joining them for meals, stopped waiting for them to notice you. They didn’t.

The kidnapping was almost a relief.

It happened on a rainy Gotham night, the kind where the city seemed to drown in its own despair. You and Lila were grabbed off the streets, thrown into a van before you could react. The world went dark, and when you woke, you were in a warehouse, wrists bound, the air thick with the scent of rust and fear. Lila was beside you, her face pale but defiant, her eyes darting to the cameras mounted on the walls.

The kidnappers were professionals, their faces hidden behind masks. They spoke in clipped tones, their words broadcast live to the city. “The Batfamily has one hour to choose,” their leader said, his voice cold as steel. “One girl lives. One dies. Make your choice, or we kill them both.”

You knew what would happen before it did. You saw it in the way Bruce’s voice crackled through the comms, calm but strained. You saw it in the way Dick hesitated, his eyes flickering to Lila. You saw it in the way Jason’s jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the girl who’d become their sister in all but blood.

“We’re coming for you,” Bruce said through the feed, his words meant for both of you but landing on Lila like a lifeline. “Hold on.”

The clock ticked down. The kidnappers paced, their guns glinting under the flickering lights. Lila whispered to you, her voice trembling. “They’ll save us, Y/N. They have to.”

You wanted to believe her, but the truth was a blade in your gut. You’d always been the one left behind.

When the Batfamily arrived, it was with the precision of a military strike. Batman led the charge, Nightwing and Red Hood flanking him, Red Robin and Robin covering the exits. They moved like shadows, neutralizing the kidnappers with ruthless efficiency. But when the moment came—when the leader grabbed you and Lila, a gun to each of your heads—they froze.

“Choose!” the leader roared, his finger twitching on the trigger. “Now!”

Bruce’s eyes met yours through the haze of smoke and chaos. For a moment, you thought he saw you—really saw you. But then his gaze shifted to Lila, and you knew.

“Save her,” he said, his voice steady, final.

The world slowed. Dick lunged for Lila, pulling her from the kidnapper’s grip. Jason tackled the man holding her, his fists a blur. Tim and Damian cleared the room, their focus on the girl who mattered. You were still there, the gun pressed to your temple, your heart a hollow drum.

They’d chosen her.

The cameras were still rolling, broadcasting every second to Gotham and beyond. You looked into the lens, your reflection staring back—a girl forgotten, a shadow no one would mourn. You thought of the manor, of the family that had never been yours. You thought of Damian, your twin, who hadn’t even glanced your way.

The kidnapper’s voice was a low growl in your ear. “Looks like you’re the one they don’t need.”

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t cry. You just stared into the camera, your lips parting to whisper one final word.

“Goodbye.”

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, a single, deafening crack. The world went black.

The echo of the gunshot hung in the air, a jagged wound in the silence of the warehouse. The cameras, cold and unyielding, captured every moment—the blood pooling beneath your motionless body, the kidnapper stepping back, the world watching as Y/N Wayne, the forgotten daughter, became a ghost before their eyes.

Bruce Wayne—Batman—stood frozen, his cape a heavy shroud around him. His mind, always calculating, always planning, had betrayed him. He’d made the call, the tactical choice: save Lila, neutralize the threat, then save you. It was supposed to be clean, precise. But the plan had unraveled, and now you were gone. His daughter, his *child*, lay dead because of him. The weight of it pressed against his chest, a suffocating force that no kevlar could shield. He stared at your body, the camera’s red light mocking him, broadcasting his failure to Gotham. He wanted to move, to cradle you, to scream, but Batman didn’t break. Bruce Wayne, though—he was shattering.

“No…” The word slipped from Dick Grayson’s lips, barely a whisper, as he stumbled forward. Nightwing, the heart of the family, was unraveling. He’d been the one to pull Lila to safety, his hands gentle but firm, his focus on the girl they’d all come to love. But now, as he looked at you, your eyes still open, staring into the void of the camera, guilt clawed at him. He’d promised to protect you, hadn’t he? All those years ago, when you and Damian came into their lives, he’d vowed to be the big brother you needed. Yet he’d let you fade, let you slip through the cracks. “Y/N, I’m sorry,” he choked, falling to his knees beside you, his gloved hands hovering over your still form, afraid to touch what he’d already lost.

Jason Todd’s rage was a living thing, coiled and ready to strike. Red Hood had taken down the kidnapper who held Lila, his fists a blur of vengeance. But when the shot rang out, when he saw you crumple, something inside him broke. He’d always seen you as the quiet one, the kid who patched her own wounds and never asked for anything. He’d meant to check on you, to pull you into his orbit, but there was always another mission, another fight. Now, he stood over your body, his helmet hiding the tears burning his eyes. “You bastards,” he snarled, his voice cracking as he rounded on Bruce. “You *chose* her over your own kid!” He wanted to hit something, to tear the world apart, but all he could do was stare at you, the sister he’d failed, and feel the weight of his own worthlessness.

Tim Drake’s mind was a storm of data, replaying every second, every decision, searching for the moment it all went wrong. Red Robin was supposed to be the strategist, the one who saw every angle. But he hadn’t seen you. Not really. You were always there, a quiet presence in the Batcave, working beside him in silence while he buried himself in cases. He’d noticed your absence at dinners, your retreat from the family, but he’d told himself you were fine. You were strong. You didn’t need him. Now, as he knelt beside Dick, his hands trembling as he scanned your vitals—knowing it was pointless—he felt the full force of his neglect. “I should’ve… I should’ve checked on you,” he murmured, his voice hollow. The cameras caught his failure, too, and he knew the world would judge him. He deserved it.

Damian Wayne, your twin, stood apart, his katana still in hand, blood dripping from its blade. Robin was trained to be unyielding, to prioritize the mission above all else. But you were his other half, the shadow to his light, the one who understood the weight of being Talia’s child in a world that didn’t want you. He’d pushed you away, told himself it was to protect you from his own darkness, but the truth was uglier: he’d been too proud, too focused on proving himself. Now, as he looked at your lifeless body, your blood staining the concrete, something inside him fractured. “Ukhti,” he whispered, the Arabic word for sister slipping out, a plea and a prayer. He didn’t move toward you. He couldn’t. If he did, he’d have to face the truth: he’d failed you, just like the rest of them.

Lila, the girl they’d chosen, stood trembling in Dick’s arms, her wide eyes fixed on your body. She didn’t speak, didn’t cry, but the guilt was there, etched into her face. She’d been the one they saved, the one they loved, and now your death was her shadow. The cameras caught her, too, the girl who’d taken your place, and Gotham would whisper her name with scorn.

Bruce finally moved, his steps heavy as he approached you. He knelt beside you, his gloved hand reaching out to close your eyes, a gesture too late to matter. “Y/N,” he said, his voice low, broken. “I thought… I thought there was time.” But there hadn’t been. He’d calculated wrong, prioritized wrong, and now his daughter was gone. The world watched, and he felt their judgment, but it was nothing compared to the war raging inside him. He was Batman, the protector of Gotham, but he couldn’t protect his own child.

The Batfamily stood in a fractured circle around you, each grappling with their own guilt, their own failure. The cameras kept rolling, the live feed searing your death into Gotham’s memory. The city would mourn you, the forgotten Wayne, but the family who’d lost you would carry the weight forever.

Dick’s hand rested on your cold cheek, tears streaming down his face. “We didn’t see you,” he whispered. “God, Y/N, we didn’t see you.”

Jason’s fists clenched, his voice a raw growl. “This isn’t over. Whoever set this up—they’re gonna pay.”

Tim’s head bowed, his mind still racing, still searching for a way to undo the impossible. “I’m sorry,” he said again, the words useless against the void.

Damian’s grip on his katana tightened, his voice barely audible. “You deserved better, ukhti.”

Bruce remained silent, his hand lingering on your face, the weight of his choice a noose around his neck. He’d failed you, just as he’d failed Jason, just as he’d failed Gotham too many times before. But this—this was different. This was his daughter, and he’d let you die.

The warehouse was silent now, save for the hum of the cameras and the distant wail of sirens. The Batfamily stood over your body, a family broken by their own hands. They’d chosen Lila, and in doing so, they’d lost you.

And Gotham watched, its heart as cold and unforgiving as the night

Bruce Wayne knelt beside you, his hand still resting on your closed eyes, as if he could will you back to life. His mind was a battlefield, replaying every second of the night—his choice, his hesitation, his failure. He’d chosen Lila because she was the civilian, the one they’d welcomed into their home, the one who’d seemed so fragile. But now, as he looked at your lifeless form, a gnawing doubt clawed at him. Something was wrong. The kidnappers’ precision, the cameras, the broadcast—it was too orchestrated, too perfect. His instincts, honed by years as Batman, screamed that this was no random crime.

“Bruce,” Tim’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent. He was crouched by one of the kidnappers, a tablet in hand, his fingers flying across the screen. “You need to see this.” His face was pale, his eyes wide with something that looked like fear. Bruce rose, his movements mechanical, and joined Tim. The screen displayed a series of encrypted messages, traced back to an unlisted server. The sender’s codename was innocuous—*Starling*—but the content was damning. Instructions for the kidnapping, coordinates for the warehouse, even the exact wording of the ultimatum: *Make the Batfamily choose.* And at the bottom, a single line that turned Bruce’s blood to ice: *Eliminate Y/N Wayne. Secure the family.*

Bruce’s gaze snapped to Lila, who was still clinging to Dick, her sobs perfectly timed. His heart, already fractured, began to splinter further. “Lila,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Step away from Nightwing.”

Dick frowned, his arms tightening protectively around her. “Bruce, what—”

“Now,” Bruce barked, his tone leaving no room for argument. Lila’s sobs faltered, and for a fraction of a second, her mask slipped—a flicker of calculation in her eyes before she buried her face in Dick’s chest again. But Bruce saw it. And so did Damian.

Damian Wayne, your twin, stood apart, his katana still dripping with the blood of the last kidnapper he’d dispatched. His green eyes, so like yours, were fixed on Lila, and the realization hit him like a blade to the chest. He’d always been wary of her, the girl who’d slipped so easily into their lives, but he’d dismissed it as jealousy, as his own struggle to share the family he’d fought to claim. Now, as he pieced together the puzzle—her sudden arrival, her effortless charm, the way she’d drawn their attention away from you—he felt a rage unlike any he’d known. It wasn’t the cold, controlled fury of the League of Assassins. This was personal, visceral, a brother’s wrath for the sister he’d failed.

“You,” Damian hissed, his voice a venomous whisper. He took a step toward Lila, his katana rising, but Jason grabbed his arm, holding him back. “She did this. She *planned* this.” His eyes burned with unshed tears, his voice breaking as he looked at your body. “Ukhti, I should’ve known. I should’ve protected you.”

Bruce’s mind raced, connecting the dots. Lila’s foster records had been clean—too clean. Her arrival had coincided with a lull in major threats, a perfect distraction. She’d played them all, weaving herself into their hearts while you faded into the background. And now, you were dead because of her. Because of *him*. The guilt was a noose, tightening with every breath. He’d failed you as a father, and now he’d failed you as Batman, blinded by a girl who’d weaponized their affection.

“Tim,” Bruce said, his voice steady despite the storm inside him. “Secure the evidence. Dick, restrain her.”

Dick hesitated, his eyes darting between Bruce and Lila. “Bruce, she’s just a kid—”

“She’s a traitor,” Damian snapped, wrenching free of Jason’s grip. He lunged for Lila, but Bruce stepped in front of him, his hand on Damian’s chest.

“Not yet,” Bruce said, his voice a low growl. “We need answers.”

Lila’s performance faltered as Dick gently but firmly pulled her away, his hands cuffs-ready. Her eyes widened, a flicker of panic breaking through her facade. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she cried, her voice trembling. But the cameras were still rolling, and Gotham was watching. The city would see her unmasked, just as the Batfamily had.

Damian sank to his knees beside you, his katana clattering to the ground. He reached for your hand, cold and still, and pressed it to his forehead, a gesture of grief and apology. “Ukhti,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I was supposed to be your shield. I let you down. I let her take you.” His shoulders shook, the weight of his failure crushing him. He’d been raised to be a warrior, not a brother, but you’d been the one constant in his life, the one who’d understood him without words. And now you were gone, stolen by a girl who’d played them all.

Bruce watched, his heart a bleeding wound. He wanted to comfort Damian, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but the words wouldn’t come. He was the father, the leader, and he’d let this happen. He’d chosen Lila, not because he loved her more, but because he’d underestimated you. He’d thought you were strong enough to wait, to endure. He’d been wrong.

The sirens grew louder, GCPD closing in. Tim was already uploading the evidence to the Batcomputer, ensuring Lila’s betrayal would be exposed. Jason stood guard, his gun trained on the remaining kidnappers, but his eyes kept drifting to you, his sister, the one he’d never truly known. Dick cuffed Lila, his face a mask of betrayal and guilt, while Tim worked in silence, his jaw tight with suppressed grief.

Bruce knelt beside Damian, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll make this right,” he said, though the words felt hollow. “For her.”

Damian didn’t look up. “There is no right,” he said, his voice barely audible. “She’s gone.”

Talia al Ghul stood in the heart of her fortress, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across her sharp features. The air was heavy with the scent of incense and steel, a reminder of the empire she’d built. Her spies had just delivered the news, their voices trembling as they recounted the events in Gotham. The live broadcast had reached even the remote peaks of Nanda Parbat, and Talia had watched, her heart a storm of ice and fire, as her daughter—*her* Y/N—was shot dead on camera.

She stood motionless, her emerald eyes fixed on the tablet displaying the frozen image of your body, your blood pooling beneath you. The world had seen it, but only Talia understood the true cost. You were her daughter, her legacy, the child she’d trained in secret, hoping to mold you into a weapon as deadly as Damian. But you’d chosen Gotham, chosen your father, and she’d let you go, believing Bruce would protect you. She’d been wrong.

Her fingers tightened around the hilt of her dagger, the blade glinting in the torchlight. “Lila,” she murmured, the name a curse on her lips. Her spies had uncovered the girl’s treachery, the messages linking her to a shadowy network that rivaled even the League. Lila had played the Batfamily like pawns, orchestrating your death to secure her place. Talia’s lips curled into a snarl. The girl would pay, but not before she suffered.

“Beloved,” Talia said, her voice soft but laced with venom, addressing the empty air as if Bruce could hear her. “You failed her. You let a viper into your home and called it family.” Her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed. She’d lost you, her daughter, her shadow, and the pain was a blade in her heart. But Talia al Ghul did not break. She planned.

She turned to her assassins, her voice a whip. “Find the girl. Bring her to me alive. She will learn the price of crossing the al Ghuls.” Her gaze returned to the tablet, to your still face, and her voice softened, a mother’s grief breaking through. “Rest, my daughter. Your blood will not be spilled in vain.”

Talia would burn Gotham to the ground if it meant avenging you. And when she was done, Lila would beg for the mercy you’d never been given.

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huntingcupid · 2 months ago

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WHAT IF? WITH MERET MANON BANNERMAN

NOW PLAYING : JOPAY BY MAYONNAISE

~ dadalhin kita sa aming bahay 'di tayo mag-aaway aalis tayo sa tunay na mundo sa tunay na mundo 'wag ka nang mawala ('wag ka nang mawala) 'wag ka nang mawala ('wag ka nang mawala) ngayon ....

⌗ MANON — fem!reader, angst, fluff, manon disappears, reader gaslights herself, swearing, mentions of hatred, etc...

⌗ SYPNOSIS — pano kung bumalik ang greatest what if mo?, will you say hi?, or just ignore her — but you can't

college was tolerable, it wasn't memorable whatsoever — all you wanted was to graduate, leave and possibly work a job you didn't like which in today's economy and world is the norm — your days filled with homework and essays with the shortest time to finish

yet it always felt less intimidating when manon helped you — manon's presence saved you from ever dropping out and pursuing your dreams, which was to build a smoothie shop and live by the shore — the ocean always spoke to you, it called your name even, you dreamt of it with her

manon would go over to your dorm and sleepover almost every night claiming her roommate was loud — you never complained since you loved it

you loved her, everything about manon was beautiful

“how about you?, what will you do in the future” manon mumbles as you two lay in your bed listening to laufey songs — for a moment you paused and looked at the woman who seemed so interested in what you will have to say

“i want a smoothie shop, like imagine fresh fruits turned into smoothie, especially when it's near the beach, that's just heaven” you replied, imagining it in your head — the vision was there and it looked amazing, “maybe even running the place with you” you tease smiling

“that sounds amazing — and yes i would love to run it with you” manon replies looking into your eyes, the air is charged with unspoken tension, as manon tilts her head immediately melting you on the spot, she looked so majestic and her eyes, god her eyes they were so doe and perfect

you two were stuck in the moment just admiring each other — enjoying the peaceful silence, manon looked like your future, she was your comfort and home

“it's getting late, we should sleep” you murmur, manon nods and closes the night lamp beside the bed and snuggles up at you, her head buried in your chest, you kiss the top of her head, “goodnight” you whisper — “night night” manon replies softly minutes later you hear her yawn and you knew the girl was down

the next week manon suddenly tells you she wants to stay at her dorm for the night — weird, she hasn't slept there for about 2 weeks now, yet you didn't press further knowing she had her reasons, instead you focused on studying for the meanwhile

you call manon on a friday night hoping she was free, and could stay over — you had planned a movie night and bought snacks you two loved, the phone rung, and rung — until maybe 5 minutes later the girl picks up

“sorry, I was busy — why y/n?” manon's voice was tired and obviously she was hiding some emotion that you couldn't pinpoint — “are you alright, manz?” you ask, a minute passes and you hear the girl shakily exhale from the other end of the line

“I'm okay — j-just tired” she stutter, you didn't want to pry on her anymore so you just humming "i bought snacks, wanna watch twilight?” you follow, smiling ear to ear excitedly

“ i-i- don't think i can come over right now y/n” manon breathes out, her voice cracked and it worried you — “are you sure you're okay?, manz I'm getting worried” you ask your brows furrowed, “yeah” — “you know i love you right?” manon suddenly says which caught you off guard

“i do, why? — i love you too” you replied still a bit worried for the girl, “nothing baby, just reminding you — talk to you tomorrow I'm buried in work” manon quickly reasons before hanging up

confused and somewhat upset you just place down your phone and stare at the snacks you had bought — your bed that you did extra comfy with your laptop ready — you sighed and just laid down, settling on watching some rom-com that miserably failed to make you happy

you open your phone yet again and scroll through social media, yawning you felt bored and most especially confused — you open manon's instagram account only to see it has been wiped — absolutely nothing was on her account besides her bio and profile picture

now you're really worried, what is she hiding? was she getting forced? — questions ran through your mind nonstop, time ticks and you decide to take your bike to manon's shared apartment — she lived closer to campus and so far from your dorm, you text manon telling her your on your way

[you] “bby?, are u still up? I'm on my way there”

[manz 🤍] “y/n, it's late go home”

[you] “too late I'm already here”

[manz🤍] “i love you okay?”

you stare at the message confused, you're gonna see her anyways? what's the point of sending it? — you shrug it off and knock on her door, you wait till you hear footsteps and the door opens — her roommate opens it

“oh hey dani, where's manon?” you ask smiling, daniela frowned biting her lip a bit — she looked behind her and you follow her gaze, the place was empty, only danielas clutter was around, “she left just a few minutes earlier” daniela murmurs

in denial you grab your phone and open your chats, desperately calling manon's number, dani could only look at you guiltily — your eyes formed tears as your call got sent to voicemail for the tenth maybe fifteen time

“manz, answer please..” you plead silently — “where are you?” you murmur, hours passes by and you kept calling and messaging, it was 2:30 am by the time you left daniela's place

you could barely think, where is she?, why did she leave?, why didn't she say anything? — did she plan this?, to leave you and start a new — or did she had to hide it

you coddle yourself in bed, still calling her line, you couldn't text her maybe she blocked you, you were worried and beyond weirded out, “manon please” you plead, the sun starts to rise as you stay restless in your bed the previously bought snacks forgotten

you take a cold shower, and got ready for class, you arrive in the classroom having a glimmer of hope that maybe manon might be there, but she wasn't — the class was eerily silent almost as if they knew

“so class, I'm sure you are all aware that manon has transferred out, we will no longer be seeing her for the rest of this semester” your professor says, everyone looks at you like on cue, you looked around — everyone knew?, is this a sick joke?

“can i go to the restroom please?” you mutter silently your prof only nods seemingly aware of your emotional state — “i'll go with you” lara replies and you nod softly

you two walk to the restroom and you lock the door, letting lara do her thing — “y/n, manon told me that you didn't know, about her leaving” lara starts, she breathes then continues, “she said she loved you, but needed to leave” your heart breaks feeling it fall apart again, your eyes water for the hundredth time just this morning — “w-why? — am i not worth staying for?” you stutter, lara enters the cubicle and hugs you tightly shushing you and comforting you

“trust me y/n, manon did it for the best” lara murmurs, you only nod not knowing why — not understanding, it felt like the world turned on you and everyone was just fine with it

when you got home you melted into your bed, just laying in silence — hugging the teddy manon bought you during your first date — it smelled like her, vanilla and cinnamon, it felt like she was there again hugging you to sleep or laying her head on your chest murmuring her love for you

that week you tried to track her, or possibly find anything about manon — nothing everything led back to her now cleared account, you tried calling everyone, anyone, yet all they told you was manon told them to stay silent

your life barely moved from there, you were stuck, thinking where you went wrong, why she left you without a word — you call her number one last time, it was 2 am, you were sleep deprived and obviously sick

the line rings then clicks, “manon? — my love is that you?” you sob, “please come back, please let me fix what i did, whatever it is” you murmur, manon breathes heavily on the other end of the line — you finally heard her voice for the first time in weeks, “y/n, you have to stop, i-i-” manon hesitates “i found someone new here, you need to move on” she mutters before the line went dead

“new?” you utter to yourself, tears streaming across your face as you try to think, try to make sense of things, you sniffle and drown in your own sorrow

bedrotting and barely going to class to the point that even your classmates got worried you looked sick like truly sick — pale and malnourished, with deep bags under your eyes

“y/n, are you okay?” megan asks — “fine, just you know tired” you respond, you finally chose to focus on school tired of chasing someone who clearly didn't want you anymore

the next months you worked on yourself and focused on studies till you finished your course in business — you work as a business manager for a few years before finally saving enough to move near the shore

you dreams were slowly getting built yet someone was missing, the shop was open, you were comfortable in life — you had everything yet in the late late nights you'd open a familiar box with things manon left and just hug them for hours, letting the idea of her presence wash over you

you manage the shop and hire employees and quickly it grew, selling so much each day, you used your money to adopt animals and buy ex-classmates gifts, yet inside you it felt blank, empty like a void

you'd drown yourself in work but it didn't change the fact that you were alone — you sit in your at home office staring at stocks you had to approve and buy — your coffee long gone cold, “i need to stretch” you hum standing up and wearing a robe, you walk to your terrace, watching as the stars reflect on the sea, the waves providing a calming sound, “hmh” you hum — you take a look around just thinking to yourself, this is your dream right?, enjoy it, why are you busy thinking about her? — live your life a little, but maybe she'd-

“okay enough, i'm going to bed” you cut yourself off walking back inside to your room, laying in your bed as you hug a familiar teddy — snoring softly

the next morning you woke up to the soft chirping of birds as the waves made a soothing music — you stretch away your drowsiness and yawn, “morning” you murmur, you stand up meeting the cold floor which you hiss at, taking a quick shower and wearing something for the beach you walk to your smoothie store — opening it

you check the stocks and if the place was clean like you wanted it to be — your first employee comes in, ezrela she basically did everything and was such a kind soul — “mornin!” ezrela greets, “morning, have you checked if we still have mangoes?” you replied, ezrela checks her phone and furrows her brows, “yup, we have enough till maybe thursday” ezrela estimates you nod, “thanks ezzie, I'll take a quick dip, you get ready here” you replied, ezrela smiles and waves you off

you walk to the shore and dip your feet in the water, the cold water a contrast to the warm sun, you were wearing a white floral maxi dress that you had to hold up careful to not get it wet, “oh it's beautiful today” you murmur to yourself, smiling ear to ear

shortly after you came back to the store seeing the line pile up, you took care of the cashier helping out while ezrela and her co worker made the smoothies — slowly the line was finished and only a few more people to serve, “our tissues are running low” you mutter to the girl behind you, “on it” she replies

“i can take who's next!” you smiled, “really?” you hear an all too familiar voice say, you look up and see her, manon — she looked mature and aged but not in a she looked so old but in a way that she aged like wine

“manon?” you ask, looking up the girl, she smiles softly and for a moment you felt like your heart was about to jump out of your chest, “yes, y/n — I'd like a four seasons smoothie” manon replied pulling out her wallet, you blink dumbfounded but put in her order, “that'll be 4$” you replied shortly biting your tongue as you tried not to look at her — “here” she hands the paper bill, your hands brush and a flicker of something tenses up the air

for a moment you two stayed in silence, afraid that one wrong move will set the other off — “i got the tissues miss?” ezrela breaks the contact and you blink just smiling awkwardly, “thanks ezzie” you respond shortly giving manon her change and watching as she sit at the side table

you serve the last few people before serving manons smoothie, “heres, your drink, enjoy your day-” you tried to walk away but manon grips your hands pulling you in a bit “wait, can we talk?” she looked hopefully at you, “yeah, I'm off in a few minutes” you respond despite not wanting to

the clock ticks and just like that you were off, you remove your apron and sat beside manon, she smiled yet again, the same smile you missed and melted for

“I'm sorry” manon starts off, and you already knew it was gonna be bad, just by the look and the sound of her voice — “pfft! it's in the past manz, i don't care anymore” you replied, you're lying, obviously she hurted you more than anyone yet you still loved her more than everyone

“sure?, i didn't mean to leave abruptly, you know” she says, it intruiged you and mildy also upsetted you, so against your better judgement you replied a snarky but soft reply(?), “yeah, you didn't mean to but everyone knew except me, right?” you chuckle, manons eyes draw back sensing your inner turmoil, “it's not like that y/n-” you cut her off yet again

“who's the new girlfriend manz?” you ask, which caugh her off guard, rather than responding directly manon had seemed to short circuit, saying the randomest things ever, “okay….” you awkwardly follow

“where are you staying here?” you ask, “oh I'm actually here to write a article about business near the beaches, im staying at a airbnb near st, dove” she responds casually her hands tapping the table a gesture that you associated with nervousness, you still knew her mannerism woah

“st, dove? — my house is there too!, say wanna have a tour?” you smiled, manon smiles back and nods happily, you two walk out of the store walking back to your street, manon almost tripped with the way she was staring at you like she was memorizing your face

“you look so different, pretty but more youthful” manon compliments, you felt like butterflies roamed your stomach with how happy you were, “thank you ms.meret — here we are” you sigh showing the house manon looked impressed to say the least

you two enter manon dropping her bag at your couch, she looked around often times stopping infront of framed pictures — “this is nice y/n — you really went through with that dream” she hums

you sit at the sofa shortly after her, and nod bringing a glass of water, you take a sip then respond, “worked hard, i got everything i dreamed of, i guess” you murmur — “what about you?, wheres ms.”i found someone new”?” you qoute your last call with manon which tensed the atmosphere yet again — manons shoulder went stiff as she looked at you remorseful

“i-i- lied so you wouldn't wait on me anymore — it hurt hearing you beg every night” manon says, instantly you felt like your gut was wrenched and everything you knew was a lie, manons hands wrap around yours rubbing her thumb across your palm — “but you still didnt tell me anything huh?, i thought i did something” you bite your tongue feeling betrayed yet again, somehow the pain doubled knowing that all she told you was also a lie

manon tears start to form as she frowned knowing her actions made you feel the worst, she felt guilt not telling you anything — “I'm sorry, i was accepted into my dream university and i just had to leave” manon replied explaining where she had gone all that time — “why didn't you just tell me?” you ask looking into her eyes as you tear up too — it felt bitter so bitter, “i couldn't, i had my reasons y/n, but I'm here now, please let me make it up to you” manon replied as she choked over her words, you wanted to scream at her, tell her how much she didn't deserve you anymore yet your body reluctantly hugged her tightly missing her scent, her warmth, and her embrace

manon tightens her arms around you just stringing out apology after apology, as you tried your best to shush her humming a soft tune as she buried her head in your neck

did you forgive her?, no! — she still had to make it up to you and make it up she did

every morning the ghanian would wake you up with flowers and fruits, chocolates and stupidly big teddy bears — visiting you in work everyday just to drop pick up lines that you thought were cheesy

but your favorite was her walking you back home after work — manon would have her hands around your waist and talk about how her life went while she was gone and ask you the randomest of questions

“how did you recover, while i was uhm gone” manon asks as she held your hand warming yours as she felt how cold yours was — “well, i don't know — i just remember finally like locking in, focusing and then i worked loads of part time jobs to somehow get this started” you replied gazing out

“you didn't deserve that — you never did” manon suddenly says, you look at her concerned and saw how she was already biting her lip trying to stop herself from crying out of guilt, “i know manz, but you blaming yourself again won't make me feel better” you murmur, stoping in your tracks to wipe away the womans tears, her eyes were trained on your face as she sniffled

manon looked beautiful, smiling softly as her eyes were shining with tears yet behind that beauty was a fragile girl who still loved you no matter what happened

“i know.. i just can't help it y'know” she chuckles, her hands now on top of yours making your hands stay on her cheeks, and for a moment you two stare at each other, without a second thought you pull in the girl

kissing her softly, her lipgloss now smeared on your lips as you tip-toe to her height, she was sweet and felt so soft, manon grunts and pulls away after a few minutes, her chest heaving as she looked at you adoringly

“let's take this inside yeah?” manon giggles lightly tugging your arm as you two make it inside your home — safe to say it was a long, long night

wc: 3.3k words

a/n: im back with the fourth angst in a row, fluff will be out shortly :)

#katseye #wlw #fem!reader #katseye x reader #kpop #gg fics #manon katseye #katseye manon #meret manon #meret manon bannerman #manon

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cherripoof · 4 months ago

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FILO!🇵🇭Caleb headcanons

→ LOLL COULDN'T HELP MYSELF. Saw a tiktok post and somebody said to make a fanfic so here I am making one bcs I also need some Filo!Caleb yk snjxbsjdhs ewan ko pre nadedelulu ako HAHDGAHSHHAHA ANYWAYS HOPE U GUYS ENJOY!! [can't believe this is my tumblr debut www]

Caleb Lawrence G. Santos

• WHAHSHAHAH THIS IS HIS FULL NAME IN MY HEAD I THOUGHT REALLY HARD ABOUT IT.

• You two have been together for who knows how long, you're practically used to each other's presence. You also have been going to the same school for years now, how lucky!

• He likes messing with you all the time. It's one of his favorite hobbies lol. The type to tap you on your shoulder and pretending he didn't when you turn to look at him.

• whenever he get you something cold to drink he'd hold it against her cheek, laughing at your reaction.

"Ah! Tangina naman, Caleb!!"

"You're so dramatic~"

• Calls you "OA" and all that. He receives a slap on his shoulder from you as he starts laughing and pain.

• sometimes you ignore him because of the shit he pulls or on purpose just to get under his skin. He tries to make it up to you by buying more snacks, pleading for you to look at him.

"Huy.." He'd pout, poking on your arm.

• You turn away, still not paying him any attention, much to his dismay. But when he really wants you to look at him he'd start poking at your sides resorting to tickling. You soon yield, finally looking at him, so he starts teasing you again.

"You're so mean! Ignoring me on purpose."

"Fuck you!! Nakakairita ka!"

• you say in between laughs from his tickling.

• Between the two of you, you're more prone to cursing than he is, not even bothering to go easy on him when you guys banter. You call him all sorts of names from "Tanga" to "Gago" and etc. While his names for you usually range from "Pipsqueak" and "Pandak" or whatever pisses you off.

"Gago ka ba?"

"Sorry na."

• He's not sorry at all lol

The rest of this is pretty just more hcs and word vomit hehehehehe

• The type to keep hair bands on his wrist in case you need to tie your hair.

• When you were kids, sinusundo ka lagi sa bahay nyo pag trip nya maglaro sa labas.

• "Best in science" ahh awardee lol, helps you in your homework, LOVES to help you with your homework actually cause he gets to spend time with you. Especially when you're the type to not immediately get things right when learning about new stuff. He acts like an asshole telling you this is the "7th time" he's explained you what the lesson is, oh but how he loves the way you furrow your eyebrows in frustration when you still don't get it. Kasi tang ina ang cute mo!!

• HONESTLY I JUST SAW THIS IN THAT TIKTOK'S COMMENT SECTION TOO BUT I CAN SEE YOU TEASING HIM CALLING HIM "Kuya Caloy" LMFAOOO

• In highschool, he teases you sometimes, asking why you don't call him "Kuya" anymore when you were so adamant about calling him that your whole childhood. You try to make him drop it but he just keeps going on and on about it. He's such an ass!!

• Whenever you do want him to quit being such an annoying prick you'd threaten to tell his grandmother about how he's mistreating you. It's an overstatement but he knows Gran would believe you 100% so he sighs in defeat allowing you to win. You totally use that tactic in 70% of your arguments.

• Doesn't like playing basketball competitively, but the moment you urge him to try, he'd sign up immediately.

• Definitely worth seeing you with a banner, cheering him on as you went full on fangirl everytime he scores. Fuck it just makes him want to fangirl at you.

• Asks you for a prize since pinanalo nya school nyo and you ask him to lean down and close his eyes. He does so, his heart beating fast. Were you gonna kiss him? Gagi, weh?? Kukunin na ba sya ni lord?? He could explode!!

• You press a cold drink against his cheek making him flinch as his eyes shot wide at you.

"Inom well~" You tease, grinning at him.

• He swore he saw heaven when you pulled that shit on him.

THATS ALL SO FARRR AAAAAAA. Maybe I'll make a part 2 when inspiration strikes me again!!

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creepycranberry · 2 months ago

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Crying during sex (3)

Bob Reynolds x reader

Plot: Bucky gives you a job working for the team and you’re faced with an old friend who would give anything to prove himself to again

Warnings: drugs, abuse, references to SA, alcohol, cussing, mental health issues, parental issues, sex, soft smut (in this chapter), references to neuropsychiatric issues, angst, not proofread. Brief Depiction of SA, please take care of yourself. Do not read if you have a hard time with such topics.

Pt 1 Pt 2

A/N: last part of this, thank you for reading <3

“Something overwhelming, something everlasting.”

————————————————————————————————————

Bucky came back by your room hours later to find Bob sitting at the end of the bed, watching you paint.

Bob hadn’t seen you paint much, you used to draw a lot in class and when he would sit with you while you did your homework and there’d be little doodles in the margins. But you were really very good at painting. Your eyebrows creased when you were concentrating, and your hands moved with purpose, like you’d practiced which ways to move to make your lines come out clean.

“How’re you doing, kid?” Bucky asks and you look up, a smile breaking on your face once you see him.

“I’m okay, look!” You held up the canvas to show him what you were doing. The painting was half done, half just drawn reference. It was a rendering of one of the magazine covers of the team.

“That looks great kid,” Bucky had seen your art before, he knew you were good but every time he saw something else you did he was slightly taken aback, “maybe when you’re done with it we can put it in the living room or something.”

“Okay.” You smile.

“Bob? You okay?” Bucky asks, noticing the faraway look on bobs face.

“I’m fine. She ate all of her breakfast, then took a nap, then ate a sandwich. She’s had like two water bottles.” Bob informs him, his eyes not leaving her hands as he tracked their movement.

“That’s great, are you feeling okay?”

“I'm alright. If she’s alright, I’m alright.” Bob smiles, looking at you in a way Bucky can only describe as complete adoration. Bucky wasn’t sure what it meant when you told him that you and Bob had a past but he has a feeling his instincts were right.

Because just looking at the two of you, he can see the pure love radiating from the both of you.

———

Bucky and the others left for another mission days ago and you were going stir crazy. No team meant no one needing help and no one needing help meant that you had absolutely nothing to do.

Bob was watching you pace in the living room, his eyes following you like you were the ball in a game of ping pong.

“Why can’t you just enjoy your days off, again?” He asks, resting his face in his hand.

“I’ve enjoyed like four off days and now I need something to do.” You pout, falling next to him on the couch.

He moves your hair out of your face, smiling at you amusedly.

“This isn’t funny.” You insist and Bob laughs, shaking his head.

“Oh, I know. It’s very serious.”

You stare up at him with feigned offense and a reluctant smile you can’t quite hide, “I’ve been cooped up in this tower forever.”

“Do you want to go somewhere?” Bob asks, leaning his head back against the couch cushions.

“Where is there to go?” You remark, reaching up to fix Bob's hoodie strings.

While the two of you had silently agreed to take things slow with your friendship, you both couldn’t help but return to your original close physicality. Bob didn’t try to claim your time the same way he used to, he slept in his own bed but made it known to you that you were welcome to come get him if you needed him. You didn’t pry into Bobs mind and life the way you used to but you supplemented your usual questions with affectionate actions and long amused stares when he gave long winded explanations to the plots of his books.

You enjoyed being able to lean on him again, no matter how hesitant you were to believe that he would stay with you in the long run.

“You’re in New York, there are plenty of places to go.” Bob reasons, tracing the lines of your collarbones with the tip of his finger.

“Yeah? Like where?”

“There’s a good book store a couple blocks away.” He suggests and you sit up.

“Can we walk?” You ask.

“We’re in New York and neither of us have a car.” Bob retorts.

“Hey, at least I have my license.”

Bob doesn’t seem to have a come back, instead he just sticks his tongue out at you earning him a bubbly laugh.

The sidewalk is crowded, you keep getting pushed to the side. everything.

Bob leads the way, his finger hooked into a belt loop on your jeans.

Once the both of you get to the book store you follow him down the aisles as he looks, he finds a book and sits there by the shelf to read the first chapter or so.

The lack of conversation happening doesn’t feel forced, it feels natural. You sit next to Bob, reading the book over his shoulder. It’s some kind of book on psychology. The first few pages touch on memory and how the brain stores information.

Bob seems to decide against it and puts the book back and heads to a different shelf, you trailing behind him. He goes to the fiction section and grabs another book, sitting on the floor again and you sat with him.

He finds another book and does the same thing. Sitting to read on the floor and you sit next to him again, leaning over his shoulder to read along with him.

He does that two more times before he finds a book he wants to read and turns to you. He follows you aimlessly. Trusting you to lead him to the ends of the earth if necessary.

You go to the memoirs section, combing through various shelves and finding something to sit down with. Bob reads over your shoulder, his chin lightly resting on you.

You stand up after a minute, looking around more, smiling and then holding up Just Kids for him to see.

“You could finally get your own copy.” You tease but instead of smiling and brushing it off he goes a little still.

“I have my own copy.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “you do?”

“Yeah. I got it like a year or three after you left.” He’s suddenly very interested in his hands, averting his gaze so he doesn’t have to meet your eyes, “I did meth and wandered around… somewhere, Dallas maybe? And um- I thought I saw you and so I followed you for blocks and blocks for like an hour and you disappeared into a big half price books. I did laps around it for like two hours before I realized you weren’t actually there. So I asked that guy at the desk if they had the book. Apparently I was lucky because they just got it in and normally they go really fast.”

You stare at him for a long time, “Bob-“

He’s like a faucet. It’s like once he let go of the one piece of information, now he has to give you all of it, “I came back for you after that, I tried to find you. I even got your moms address but I was- I was doing bad and I was worse off than ever. And I knew that even if I found you, you might not forgive me. And if I got better and committed to being sober and you didn’t forgive me than I- than I forfeited having you the way I did. I couldn’t sit with you under a bridge somewhere in any city in the world and fall asleep feeling like you were there if I ruined how I saw us.”

It’s not a grand confession of love but it feels like it. It feels like he’s laying everything on the line to tell you this, to tell you that he loved you and he has forever.

You think about where you were mentally at that time. You were in your first year of college after taking a gap year, you were having still spells multiple times a week, you were exhausted and bitter and a mess. You were a mess he made of you.

You probably would have broken his heart quicker than you could think about it.

“I’m glad you didn’t come to see me. I hadn’t softened yet. I wouldn’t have let myself see you how I do now. Though I wish you didn’t have to turn further into drugs just for me. You deserved more than I was at that point, Robert. You deserved patience, docility.” Your voice is so soft that it feels like pressure on all of him. It feels like you’re pulling something out of him slowly.

“You deserved more than I was too,” his voice is so sensitive, like it feels all of it, all of you, “even before I left, you deserved someone who was better than I was. You deserved someone who didn’t overindulge themselves because they couldn’t feel happy apart from you.”

Neither of you speak anymore. You trace your fingers over the spine of the book.

“I love you.” Bob says tentatively, like he’s checking to make sure he hasn’t fucked anything up with his transparency.

“I love you too, Robert.”

——————

Sleep was starting to come easier. Dreams didn’t feel as much like a threat as before, you weren’t afraid of the still spells. You've had pleasant dreams lately.

Dreams where you’re sitting with your mother or Bucky or Bob, and you’re just talking to them. You have dreams where you’re laying on your childhood bedroom floor, a record playing softly in the background as you stare up at the ceiling.

And you wake up peacefully, your eyes open and you breathe and it’s easy.

Which is why you’re so confused now. It had been weeks. You were okay, you were doing better. You thought you were doing better.

‘You’re doing so good.’

You’re stuck staring at the ceiling of an unfamiliar room, waiting for the pressure of his hands to stop, to go. You don’t know yet that this is wrong, you’re young, and sweet. You shouldn’t have to know that this is wrong.

Panic grips your tiny limbs but you don’t move, you stay as still as possible, holding your breath so you don’t have to smell it. The dampness of the room and the smell of his breath as it fans over you.

You don’t yell, or struggle, or cry. You just sit and wait for it to be done.

And then the door opens. And there’s yelling, the sound of a kind of impact and a grunt of pain, and you think you’re done, you breathe again.

And your eyes open and you’re in the tower, staring at the ceiling. And you’re breathing, you’re in your bed, the city lights glow through the windows. The world around you is still alive, you’re still alive.

So you close your eyes again, thinking sleep will be safe now.

But it’s not. You’re stuck there again.

And the scene plays out again but this time someone lifts you, someone saves you.

“You’re okay, it’s okay, we’re going home.” Your fathers voice says in your ear, his hands rubbing your back, “dads got you, you’re safe.”

And then you cry. You let it all out, your breathing is erratic and you’re hiccuping sobs, your body shaking from the force of all the emotions that hit you at once.

When you wake up you’re crying, you want your dad. You want to be held and safe.

The sun is rising, bearing witness to the wracking sobs that overtake you. You try to self soothe but it doesn’t work, you can’t stop.

“I want my dad.” You sob to yourself, “I need-“

You hiccup loudly, the air knocked out of you with force as you wheeze. You’re sat up in your bed, your knees to your chest as you try and remember how to breathe.

There are footsteps in the hallway, a light turns on and your bedroom door opens.

Buckys standing there, his hair mussed from sleep or a workout but his eyes are honest and solely focused on you, “hey kid, what’s going on? What’s happening?”

Bucky sits with you, pulling you into his shoulder, shushing you rhythmically like you’re a child. He rocks back and forth, telling you to breathe.

“You’re safe. You’re okay.” Bucky mutters into your hair, “nothing can hurt you here, I promise.”

Your breathing slows but you can’t stop crying. You turn your face into bucky's shoulder so he can’t see your face.

——

Bob stood in the doorway. He’d been the one to get Bucky. He had woken up and couldn’t sleep anymore so he went to make himself some tea, maybe sit in the living room and read until everyone woke up.

But then he heard you. He couldn’t tell you were crying at first but he heard you ask for your dad, so he went and got Bucky, who was already awake and in the gym.

And now he sat and watched as Bucky calmed you down, waiting until you were okay to go and sit at the end of your bed.

“Bob.” You gasp, reaching for him like a lifeline.

He doesn’t understand what’s going on, he can’t tell why you’re crying but given how pensive and tense Bucky is, he feels like Bucky probably has an idea, like this has happened before.

“You hungry?” Bucky asks you, smoothing strands of your hair down your back, you shake your head, your forehead resting against bobs chest, “I’m gonna go get you some water. Are you okay here?”

“I’m okay.” You croak, your voice thick.

Bob sits with you in silence, listening to your breath shake as you inhale and exhale slowly.

“What happened?” Bob asks quietly.

“Just-just a bad dream. A really bad dream.”

Bob ends up staying with you the whole morning, you don’t talk much. Bucky brings you water and you sip on it, staring out of the windows.

Your mom calls you an hour later, probably because Bucky called her.

He’s started doing that when he feels like he’s out of his depth. Sometimes it makes you feel a little pathetic because you’re well into your twenties.

You don’t stay on the phone with her for long. She makes sure you’re okay, Bob hears her apologize about three times, he thinks he can hear her crying.

When the afternoon rolls around none of the team come to bother you or ask for help. Bob just stays in your room, sitting by the windows and reading a book.

“I’m sorry about that, I don’t mean to freak out like that.” You say later, Bob looks up from his book.

“You don’t have to apologize. It happens to all of us. Even Alexei, even Walker.” Bob assures you, “what happened in your dream?”

You don’t answer for a minute and Bob prepares to take the question back, “when I was younger, a kid, my mom had this relative who was always at her moms house for some reason. We were over there for some holiday and I needed a nap so my mom put me down to nap in the guest room.” You exhale shakily, trying to thin out the odd feeling in your throat, “and that relative came in while I was sleeping and- and my dad came in to check on me and caught him.” The air leaves bobs lungs, he feels a pressure on his chest, “I didn’t remember it, my brain blocked it and my dad didn’t like talking about it so I didn’t know until I was seventeen. When we-“

“Oh. Oh my god.” Bob feels remorseful and angry and horrible, “holy fuck, I’m- I’m sorry, I- fuck.”

“That tends to be the normal reaction.” You shrug, “I’ve been to therapy, I’ve worked through it and all of that bullshit but sometimes it catches me off guard.”

“Wow. Shit. That’s- does Bucky know?” Bob asks, his book long forgotten, sitting in the floor next to him.

“Yeah. My mom told him when she was drunk once. After it happened my moms mental issues got worse, she couldn’t be present, my dad couldn’t deal with the both of us and he had to prioritize me so they divorced, she moved in with her brother in Louisiana, my dad got full custody.”

“Then why was your dad so distant? That doesn’t make any sense? You needed him.”

“He had a hard time talking about it. I think he blamed himself, and I didn’t remember so he just couldn’t bring himself to tell me.”

“Holy shit.” Bob curses. He keeps cursing, at a certain point you think he’s just putting it on but really he has no idea what else to say.

It’s only when you start laughing that he starts being dramatic, getting creative and more outrageous if only to make you laugh more.

“You don’t think I’m like totally pathetic or like damaged goods now right?” You ask after a minute.

Bob stands up and sits in bed with you, moving the hair out of your eyes with a satisfied smile on his face, “I still think you're an angel. I think you are way too good to have anything to do with me. I don’t think anyone could ever think of you as damaged goods.”

You smile, your cheeks flushed red and your nose scrunching at his sincerity, “you’re such a schmuck.”

“Only with you.” Bob pokes your side and you instinctively jump away from him like he just electrocuted you.

“You suck.” You laugh.

“No. You love me.” Bob teases.

“I mean, yeah. But you still suck.”

“You’re cute.” Bob blurts, he looks like he didn’t mean to say it.

“You too.” You say nonchalantly.

Bob leans back against your headboard, his fingered running lines up and down your arm. His eyes are intent on you, you try to avoid his gaze but you can’t help it, you’ve spent your whole life searching for the feeling you get when your eyes meet his.

You lean forward, letting your fingers trace the arch of his eyebrows, and the cupid's bow of his lips. His eyes close instinctively, enjoying the feeling of your touch.

He doesn’t realize you’re leaning forward until your breath fans over his face, his eyes flutter open, immediately finding purchase on your lips.

“Are you sure?” He mutters to you and you nod.

“I miss you.” You reply back to him.

“You have me.” His hand is on one of your hips, pulling you closer to him until your lips move over one another.

He hums into you, pulling you closer to him, one hand cupping the back of your neck to keep you pressed to him. You make a sort of high breathy noise that has him reeling immediately.

His hands move down your shoulders, to your waist, arms fully wrapping around you to pull you into his lap. When the both of you come up for air he holds you to his chest, your forehead rests on his shoulder.

After a moment he seems to find his voice, “is it weird that we did that after how this conversation started?”

“How did this conversation st- oh. I- honestly I forgot what we were talking about the second you called me an angel.” You confess, pulling back to look at him, clear eyed and smiley.

“You like that?”

“I’ve always liked it when you called me that. Did you not know?”

“I never really thought about it. It just came naturally.” Bob tells you, kissing your forehead.

——————

Valentina had you running around like a headless chicken, getting booze from her supplier, picking up yours and the teams outfits for the night, dealing with caterers, etc.

Val was throwing a party at the tower, a sort of mixer to encourage certain a list clientele to become more familiar and personal with the team. Mel was dealing with the guest list and rsvps, along with making sure Val was on her best behavior.

By the time it’s time for you to get ready you’re bone tired, you just want to lay in bed forever but just when you’re contemplating faking a fatal illness Bob walks in, an untied bow tie in his hands.

“Can you help me figure this out?” He asks, holding the tie out to you like it personally offended him.

“C’mere.” You mumble, taking the tie from him. He stands still while you work it for him, stepping back to make sure it’s not too lopsided.

“Can you also help me with my hair? I’ve never had to look nice like this before.” You smile up at him, nodding.

He follows you into the bathroom, sitting on the toilet lid while you got out gel and a comb.

“Have You not started getting ready yet?” He asks you.

“I really don’t want to go. I’ve done so much today already.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Bob doesn’t sound too convincing, “I mean it probably won’t but I need someone to suffer with.”

“You can suffer with Bucky.” You assure him, combing his hair back.

“Please?” His blue eyes are hopeful and lovely and entirely too convincing.

“Fine.” You concede and he smiles, “stop moving, Robert.”

“Sorry.” He mumbles, watching your concentrated face.

“Go see if you like it, I’m going to go change.” You sigh, leaving the bathroom to slip into your closet where the garment bag sits.

The dress was black, with a sweetheart neckline and thin straps. It fell to your feet. You looked around your closet, finding a simple pair of black pumps. You step out of the closet to sit on your bed so you could put the shoes on easier. When you look to the bed you’re met with Bob, whose gaze is tracing the lines of your silhouette.

“You look- wow. Really.”

“Thank you, Robert.” You grin, sitting next to him on the bed to put on your shoes. You get up to fix your hair, bobs eyes follow you around your room. You start fixing your makeup and he gets up finally, standing behind you in the mirror, innocently resting his head on your shoulder.

He watches you carefully, like he might implode if he lets his eyes drift.

“You’re beautiful.” He mumbles to you, his breath tickling your ear.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You put on your earrings and his hands begin trailing down your silhouette, starting at the top of your ribcage and slipping down until his hands sit firmly on your hips.

——————

The beginning of the party was rough, trying to explain to Val that you weren’t her assistant took effort, especially when you were doing it at the same time as caterers are carrying trays of food in the stagger throughout the room every half hour.

Once the party was in full swing things got easier. The team was all accounted for, the party guests seemed charmed by Alexei, they were familiar with Bucky to some extent, they avoided Yelena who wasn’t putting in the least amount of effort to seem approachable and every time someone approached Ava she dissipated.

Bob had taken to following you around, watching you do your job and avoiding being approached by anyone. You did one more round to check on everyone before you snuck away to the balcony where it was quieter.

Naturally Bob followed you, not talking, just staying with you where he felt safe.

You appraise him, taking in his appearance. Him in a suit almost felt like a death sentence. His waist was eventuated and his hands looked almost edible as he fiddled with his cufflinks.

“Have I told you yet how handsome you look?”

Bob turns bright pink, his tongue peaking through his lips to wet them before he speaks.

“More or less.” He shrugs. You grin wide, holding your hand out for his. He takes it and pulls you in close, his fingers nervously tapping at your sides. You rest your hands on his shoulders, beginning to sway, “are you trying to dance with me?”

“Maybe.” You play coy and Bob smiles an easy, relaxed smile.

He grabs one of your hands and the both of you sway like that for a while.

Bob dips you unexpectedly and you hold onto him but you trust him not to drop you. He leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips. He grins against your mouth, hand splayed wide against your back while your leg is hooked into his other hand. You’re relishing in him, in the taste of him and the privilege it is to have him here. Strong and sturdy and holding you.

Let this be sweet. You pleaded, seemingly with god. That god you’d never believed in now something real in your mind, taking shape in the form of him and your calls and his responses.

————

Tag list: @my-name-is-baby @chimchoom

#bob reynolds #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds angst #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader

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statistichomeowrkhelperblogs · 2 years ago

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5 Reasons to Hire SAS Homework Help Service

In the fast-paced world of academia, juggling multiple assignments and coursework can be overwhelming, especially when it comes to intricate subjects like SAS (Statistical Analysis System). Many students find themselves grappling with the complexities of SAS assignments, seeking assistance to ensure not only timely submission but also a deep understanding of the subject matter. This is where SAS homework help services come to the rescue. In this blog post, we'll explore the top five reasons why hiring a SAS homework help service, such as the one offered by Statistics Homework Helper, can be a game-changer for students.

Expert Assistance for Complex SAS Concepts

Navigating the intricate world of SAS involves mastering various statistical techniques, programming languages, and data analysis methodologies. A reliable SAS homework help service provides students with access to a team of experts well-versed in SAS programming, ensuring that assignments are not just completed but comprehensively understood. This level of expertise can make a significant difference in the quality of your submissions and, consequently, your academic performance.

Timely Delivery for Stress-Free Submission

One of the primary concerns students face is meeting assignment deadlines. With multiple subjects demanding attention, it's not uncommon for deadlines to sneak up unexpectedly. SAS homework help services are equipped to handle tight schedules, delivering completed assignments promptly. This ensures that you not only submit your work on time but also have the opportunity to review it before turning it in, reducing last-minute stress and ensuring better grades.

Customized Solutions Catered to Your Needs

Every student is unique, and so are their learning styles. SAS homework help services recognize the importance of personalized assistance. By opting for such services, you gain access to tailor-made solutions that cater specifically to your understanding of SAS concepts. Whether you are a beginner seeking foundational support or an advanced learner tackling complex topics, a good SAS homework help service adapts to your needs.

24/7 Support for Uninterrupted Learning

Learning doesn't always happen between 9 am and 5 pm. Students may encounter challenges or have queries at any hour. SAS homework help services often provide round-the-clock support, ensuring that assistance is available whenever you need it. This level of accessibility facilitates uninterrupted learning, allowing you to seek guidance and clarification whenever you're stuck, regardless of the time.

Plagiarism-Free Solutions for Academic Integrity

Maintaining academic integrity is crucial in any educational setting. SAS homework help services emphasize originality in their solutions, providing students with plagiarism-free assignments. This not only ensures that your work is ethically sound but also helps you develop a deeper understanding of SAS concepts, as the solutions are crafted to reflect your unique thought process.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the decision to hire a SAS homework help service is a strategic one for students navigating the challenges of SAS assignments. From accessing expert guidance to receiving timely, personalized assistance, the benefits are manifold. As you embark on your SAS learning journey, consider enlisting the support of a reputable SAS homework help service to enhance your understanding, boost your grades, and reduce the stress associated with academic demands. Remember, investing in your education today sets the foundation for success tomorrow.

#SAS Homework Help #Help with SAS Homework #SAS Help #Statistics Homework Help #StatisticsHomeworkHelper

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tutor-helpdesk · 11 months ago

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Learn the 5-step approach to successfully complete your SAS coding assignments. Engage with sas assignment help to get tips and tricks to optimize your codes.

#sas assignment help #sas homework helper

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little-mari-on-a-roof · 5 months ago

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Frenglish differences in Miraculous - Episode 7

Lady WiFi

Miss Bustier

En: I'm very pleased with how you all did on your last assignment. Some of you have really stepped up and I do appreciate it. Now it's time to move onto our next assignment.

Fr: "On eût dit un coquillage ; / Dos rose et taché de noir. / Les fauvettes pour nous voir / Se penchaient dans le feuillage. / Sa bouche fraîche était là ; / Je me courbai sur la belle, / Et je pris la coccinelle ; / Mais le baiser s'envola." Alya ! Vous êtes toujours avec nous ?

"It seemed like a seashell; / Its back pink and spotted with black. / The warblers, to see us, / Leaned forward in the foliage. / Her cool mouth was there; / I bent towards the beauty, / And I took the ladybug; / But the kiss flew away." Alya! Are you still with us?

Miss Bustier is here reading a poem called "La Coccinelle" (The Ladybug), written by Victor Hugo.

Nino

En: But I guess you gotta be sly when Mr. Control-Freak is your Daddy-o.

Fr: Mais bon, faut dire aussi que son paternel lui laisse pas beaucoup de temps libre.

But yeah, to be fair, his father doesn't let him have a lot of free time.

Nino's English line gave me psychic damage lol. In French, it's notable that Nino uses the word "paternel", which means "paternal", but can sometimes be used as a noun to mean "father". This use of the word is however quite rare (I've never heard anyone use it that way) and sets Nino's speech apart.

Tikki - Marinette

En: Whoever is behind all of this sure is keeping us on our toes. - But you don't have any toes.

Fr: Le Papillon ne nous laissera donc jamais le temps de faire nos devoirs tranquillement. - Mais toi t'as pas de devoirs.

Hawkmoth sure will never leave us time to do our homework peacefully. - But you don't have any homework.

The meaning of the original quote gets lost in the translation but I can't even be mad because "you don't have any toes" is really funny somehow.

Nino to Alya when she tells her Chloé might be Ladybug

En: You need to have your head examined. If she's a superhero, then I'm the wizard of Oz.

Fr: Ça tient pas debout ton truc, Alya. Si c'est une super héroïne, moi je suis le méchant Papillon.

Your thing doesn't add up, Alya. If she's a superheroine then I'm the wicked Hawkmoth.

Chloé

En: Uh, up too late DJ'ing, Nino? Obviously, you didn't get your beauty sleep.

Fr: Euh, t'as pris quoi au p'tit déj Nino ? Franchement, vas y mollo sur le jus d'orange.

Uh, what did you have for breakfast Nino? Honestly, go easy on the orange juice.

Alya about Chloé

En: She's no superhero. She's super psycho.

Fr: Tu parles d'une super héroïne, c'est plutôt super menteuse, oui.

Talk about a superheroine, it's rather super-liar.

Ladybug talking to Chat Noir about Chloé

En: And besides, who would believe that she's the original Ladybug? She's obviously just a die-hard fan. A copycat.

Fr: Franchement, qui serait assez bête pour croire que cette fille est Ladybug ? C'est sûrement juste une admiratrice. Un peu comme toi quoi.

Honestly, who would be stupid enough to believe that this girl is Ladybug? She's probably just an admirer. *Turning to chat:* A bit like you ;)).

She doesn't actually blink but it's as if.

Lady WiFi after catching Chloé wearing a Ladybug costume

En: Well, well. So, my hunch was correctomundo.

Fr: Voyez-vous ça. On dirait bien que j'ai appelé le bon numéro.

Look at that. It seems like I called the right number.

Adrien to Plagg while looking for his ring

En: I could use a little help!

Fr: Je serais pas contre un petit coup de patte.

I wouldn't be against you giving me a paw (instead of "giving me a hand").

A cat pun that got lost in translation once again.

Lady WiFi to Ladybug

En: If you don't get him out fast, your crush will soon be slush. *She frees her.* Good luck with your cat-popsicle. I have other news to cover.

Fr: Si tu ne libères pas rapidement ton copain il va finir en chat glacé. Bonne chance avec ton amoureux transi, j'ai d'autres chats à fouetter.

If you don't free your (boy)friend fast he's gonna end up as an iced cat. *She frees her.* Good luck with your bashful lover, I've got other fish to fry (lit. "other cats to beat").

It's just a saying, French people don't actually beat cats on a regular basis (I swear!!!), but it makes for a nice cat pun.

Tikki - Marinette

En: Is that true? You're gonna tell him? Is that what your heart's saying? - Sometimes your heart tells you one thing, but a great superhero always listens to her head.

Fr: Je sais que c'est difficile de cacher des choses à sa meilleure amie. Mais personne ne doit savoir que tu es Ladybug. - Tu as raison Tikki, tous ceux que j'aime seront à l'abri tant que mon secret restera caché là dedans.

I know it's not easy to hide things from your best friend (Alya). But no one can know you're Ladybug. - You're right Tikki, everyone I love will be safe as long as my secret stays hidden in here *She points to her head*.

I'm so sorry to everyone who used that scene to show the Adrien thinks with his heart and Marinette with her head thing but it's not as explicit in the original French dub haha. Also, they did a major change by switching from her being sad about hiding things to Alya to instead wanting to tell Chat Noir her identity in the translation.

Marinette - Alya (after the latter said Adrien kind of looks like Chat Noir)

En: He's tons more legit that Cat Noir. - Hey! I happen to think that Cat Noir is pretty slick.

Fr: Il a quand même plus de classe que ce Chat Noir. - Hey ! Je te signale que je le trouve plutôt mignon, moi, Chat Noir.

He is more class than that Chat Noir. - Hey! I'll have you know that I do find Chat Noir pretty cute.

Chat Noir is a slut trying to steal Nino's girl caught in 4k.

#ml dubs #frenglish differences in miraculous #ml lady wifi #miraculous ladybug #ml s1 #don't mind the last one i was influenced by Rocketear when writing that haha

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statisticshelpdesk2024 · 1 year ago

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A student’s Guide to Supercharge Data Analysis with SAS Machine Learning Tool

Machine learning is a field of artificial intelligence that uses statistical techniques to build models and algorithms that allow computers to analyse data and make predictions or classifications. Contrary to explicitly programming an algorithm to accomplish a task, ML models utilize statistical methods to learn patterns and then establish decision rules from data to better predict future outcomes. The popularity of ML in the field of data analysis stems from the necessity to process and elaborate enormous and often heterogeneous volumes of data with maximal accuracy and minimum time consumption. ML proves to be essential in specific uses, including the forecasting of consumer behaviour, identifying fraud, boosting healthcare diagnosis, and strengthening the targeting of marketing communications.

SAS is a point and click tool used by many statistics students and has powerful ML capabilities that can work in parallel with traditional statistics procedures. The SAS platform has tools for ML operations for different functions, including data preparation, training, and validation of models. It has a simple and intuitive user interface and good documentation for its users at different levels. It is especially critical for students who seek to pursue careers in data science and analytics where knowledge of ML is becoming invaluable. The detailed knowledge of ML business cases and real insights into building and interpreting ML models will make candidates highly desirable for employment in companies from the financial and medical services spheres to IT and retail. Enhancing their ML proficiency with the help of tools such as SAS can therefore mean a significant boost in the candidates’ employability.

Why SAS for Machine Learning?

SAS is a typical ML platform because it is fast, reliable, and capable of processing big data. Its power for handling and analyzing enormous amounts of data effectively makes it suitable for business-level solutions where data quantity and complexity are so high. These features make SAS reliable enough to meet the heavy workload of data processing in industrial applications and deliver accurate results.

SAS also provides support for a diverse set of ML algorithms and methods, ranging from classical statistical procedures to more sophisticated neural networks. Since this toolkit offers a variety of different methods, the ML practitioner can choose the one that best fits the analytical requirements of his project. Furthermore, SAS has easy-to-use analytic interface like SAS Enterprise Miner and SAS Visual Data Mining and Machine Learning. These interfaces are used to provide an easier way to create, train, and deploy ML models, making the use of advanced analytic accessible to both professional and non-professional users.

It can be supplemented with other SAS tools that would add to its application capabilities. SAS is an entire platform for data analysis, machine learning, and business intelligence which incorporates both tools for data preparation and visualization as well as a programming language for data analysis and machine learning modelling. This allows for the organization of all the tasks within the scope of the data analysis process so that all the work involved in the analytical process can be coordinated in one platform for efficiency and coherence.

The fact that SAS is named the industry’s top vendor for high-demand skills is the powerful evidence of its usefulness in the professional environment. SAS commands and syntaxes are highly adopted in many organizations especially in finance, health and government sectors which significantly increase the demand for SAS expertise. In today’s world, the SAS language and its ML solutions are crucial for this field and are the necessary knowledge for students and professionals willing to move their careers forward in this sphere, which correlates with the high quality and standards of the industries’ leading companies.

Key Machine Learning Concepts for Students

The following machine learning concepts are core knowledge for students undertaking data science/analytics beginners’ courses for their SAS Assignment Help. Here is a concise overview of some key concepts:

Supervised vs. Unsupervised Learning:

Supervised Learning: Supervised learning is the type of machine learning in which the model derives from data examples in which each observation or instance is associated with a known outcome or response. The aim is to determine the relationship between the given features and the target variable to later predict the target variable on unseen observations.

Unsupervised Learning: Unsupervised learning is a type of machine learning in which the model does not learn from labelled data. Instead, the model tries to identify data patterns or structures in the provided data. There is no target variable for clustering and the model has to find appropriate patterns or clusters using only predictive attributes.

Classification vs. Regression Tasks:

Classification: Classification is a supervised learning task in which the prediction output is a category or class. Examples include spam detection, image recognition, and sentiment analysis.

Regression: Regression problems deal with real-valued or continuous outcomes. Examples include forecasting house prices, stock prices, or sales revenue.

Training, Validation, and Testing Datasets:

Training Dataset: ML model is trained by providing input features and their corresponding target labels from the training dataset.

Validation Dataset: Hyperparameters are adjusted and the model performance evaluated on the validation dataset during training to prevent overfitting.

Testing Dataset: The testing dataset is employed to assess the final performance of the trained model on the test data which is held out and has not been used for training the model to avoid bias in the generalization ability of the model.

Model Evaluation Metrics:

Accuracy: The number of samples in the test data successfully classified by the model out of the total.

Precision: The ratio of correct predictions of positive instances out of the number of positive instances predicted by the model.

Recall: The ratio between correct positive class predictions and all actual positive class cases.

F1 Score: An average of precision and recall, which plays a balancing role between the two elements.

Overfitting and Underfitting:

Overfitting: Overfitting refers to the learning of models which captures artifacts of the training data with errors or random fluctuations rather than actual co-relations.

Underfitting: Model under fitting happens when a model is inadequate to identify the patterns in data that is being modelled on.

Exploring SAS's Machine Learning Algorithms

All the algorithms of SAS machine learning covered in this paper offer complex algorithms for various data analysis needs. SAS also provides decision trees, random forests, and other gradient boosting methods for classification and regression predictive modelling techniques. Decision trees partition the information space whereas random forests and GBM generate a bunch of decision trees to decrease the error. SVM is another key algorithm of SAS particularly for regression classification with complex decision surface data.

Also, SAS applies deep learning through neural networks to provide the customers with a platform that enables them to develop intricate models for generating complex patterns from the data. Clustering models in unsupervised learning are k-means and hierarchical clustering: they work to define groups of features for data segmentation and similarity search in the large dataset. In general, the collection of algorithms that SAS uses in the domain of machine learning is oriented on the variability of the analytical tasks from predictive to exploratory.

Tips and Resources for Students

Students should follow the appropriate principles in using SAS for ML tasks and tap various sources to make effective use of this tool for SAS Homework help. Here are some key tips to enhance your ML projects using SAS:

Start with a Clear Problem Definition and Data Understanding:

First set out to accurately articulate the issue that you want to address. Ascertain whether there are any business factors and/or objectives to be analysed. Profiling involves performing rigorous and in-depth data exploration and preparing data for further analysis to assess its structure, quality, and anomalies. When processing a dataset, use data management tools in SAS for data preparation and cleansing.

Experiment with Different Algorithms and Evaluate Their Performance:

Among the well-known algorithms provided by SAS for ML are decision trees, random forests, gradient boosting, SVM, and neural networks. Test out these different algorithms to ensure that your problems will work well with these algorithms. To validate the models cross-validation and performance metrics accuracy, precision, recall and F1 should be used.

Avoid Overfitting and Ensure Your Model Generalizes Well to New Data:

One of the most detrimental outcomes that can occur with applied machine learning is overfitting. A decision tree provides ways of avoiding overfitting e. g. by using cross-validation, regularization, and pruning. Calculate and apply validation metrics; tweak hyperparameters, etc.

Use SAS's Visualization Tools to Interpret Model Results:

In conclusion model’s interpretation is critical for simulation and communication. The SAS has advanced visualization packages of its own such as SAS Visual Analytics and SAS Enterprise Miner to facilitate creation of easy to interpret graphics for the users. Embrace these tools to analyse distribution of data, generate model performance, and look for trends or outliers. Graphics can also be used in trying to communicate the findings to the stakeholders in a more understandable manner.

Frequently Asked Questions in Exams:

What are some popular machine learning algorithms available in SAS?

Ans: Some common machine learning algorithms implemented in SAS include decision trees, random forests, gradient boosting, support vector machines (SVM), neural networks, k-means clustering, and association rules.

Write a SAS code snippet to partition a dataset into training and validation sets using a 70/30 split.

Ans: proc partition data=mydata out=partitioned_data sampsize=0.7 seed=1234;run;

Write a SAS macro that takes a dataset name as input and calculates the mean and standard deviation of all numeric variables in the dataset.

Ans: %macro stats(data); proc means data=&data mean std; run; %mend stats; %stats(mydata);/* Example usage */

You have a dataset with multiple variables named var1, var2, var3, ..., var10. Write a SAS data step to calculate the sum of all these variables for each observation.

Ans: data new_data; set old_data; array vars var1-var10; sum = 0; do i = 1 to dim(vars); sum = sum + vars[i]; end; run;

#SAS Homework Help #SAS Assignment Help #SAS

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vanilladollette · 6 months ago

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Your obsession with books frustrates them

Since all you do is read during class, Yeon-jin and the others feel neglected.

Even when they try to get your attention, your nose is buried in a novel, making them seethe.

Yeon-jin has snatched your books before, only to be met with your annoyed glare. She hated that look—you were supposed to adore her.

They don’t get a chance to interact with you—because of Dong-eun

Outside of class, they still struggle to get close.

Not with Dong-eun around. She’s always there, silently taking up your time.

She sits next to you in class, walks with you in the hallways, and even waits for you at lunch.

Yeon-jin tries to force herself between you two, but Dong-eun subtly outmaneuvers her every time.

Jae-joon attempts to charm you, but Dong-eun conveniently reminds you about a book discussion, pulling you away before he can even finish a sentence.

Hye-jeong thinks she can be your go-to gossip partner, but Dong-eun keeps you too busy to care about social drama.

You spend all of your time with Dong-eun

Before school, she’s the one you’re talking to.

During some classes, she passes you notes with book recommendations.

At lunch, you sit with her, much to the others’ irritation.

After school, she walks you home under the guise of discussing literature, but really, she just doesn’t want to leave your side.

On weekends, she suggests studying together, but you both know it’s just another excuse to monopolize your time.

The others hate this

Yeon-jin’s patience wears thin. She starts throwing snide comments at Dong-eun, only to receive cool, calculated responses in return.

Jae-joon buys you rare, limited-edition books, but you just accept them with a polite smile and return to spending time with Dong-eun.

Myeong-oh offers to carry your books, help with your homework—anything to make himself useful. But you don’t need him.

Sa-ra becomes whiny, complaining that she “never gets enough time with you.”

Dong-eun knows exactly what she’s doing

She plays the long game, carefully keeping you close without making it obvious.

Whenever the others get too aggressive, she subtly makes you uncomfortable around them—pointing out Yeon-jin’s cruel behavior, Sa-ra’s questionable habits, or Jae-joon’s arrogance.

She will guilt trip you if she has to, using her mother as an excuse for you to comfort her.

She isolates you so gently that you don’t even notice.

You think you’re just spending time with a friend, but in reality, she’s the only one who has unrestricted access to you.

And she has no intention of letting anyone else take that place.

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fan-a-saurus-rex · 10 days ago

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Hi!! Could you write something for Rhett to the song "Must Be Doing Something Right" by Billy Currington? I saw an amazing edit of him to this song and can't get it out of my head!

(sorry for not getting specific, i'm terrible at writing storylines out unlike the amazing writers, including you 😁, on here)

That song is so nostalgic to me! My mom used to listen to it when I was a kid! Don’t worry, I have the cutest idea for this! Hope you enjoy 😊

Doing Something Right

Plot: Rhett has never felt like he deserved you. Not as a fellow classmate in school, who helped you with history homework. Not as your best friend. And certainly not now that he was your boyfriend. But you’re about to prove him wrong and show him that he deserves every ounce of love you give him.

Pairing: Rhett Abbott x Reader

Requested: Yes! My requests are always open! 🖤

Warnings: None, just Rhett being the lover boy we all know he is deep inside!

Masterlist

Rhett Abbott was exactly everybody’s favorite in town. He mostly kept to himself, unless provoked by assholes at the bar.

He had been told his whole life that he was a disappointment and never meant to succeed in anything except slaving away on the ranch for his father.

But you knew a different side of him, one that he rarely showed anyone else. You’d known that side of him since childhood.

Your family had been close friend’s with the Abbott’s for as long as you could remember. You had grown up causing chaos with Rhett on the vast expanses of the ranch. You two even shared the same birthday. At school you sat next to each other in classes and had a very small circle of friends. You were there for his first rodeo and had been to every single one since then. On your 21st birthday, the two of you got blistered and had to be driven by a very annoyed Perry who kept telling the two of you that “you better not puke in my damn truck!” The whole way back to the ranch. While everyone else had left town the minute they graduated high school, you and Rhett had stayed. You didn’t have any other options. He had to help out with the ranch. You had to help your dad out on your own farm. It wasn’t ideal, but it was your life.

Nobody knew Rhett the way you did, and nobody knew you as well as him.

The two of you had fallen for each other somewhere down the line and finally confessed your feelings one evening while drinking on the porch.

You’d been dating for 2 years now.

It definitely hadn’t been easy, but worth it.

Rhett had definitely struggled with his self worth and thinking you’d be better off dating someone else.

You’d always ask him “what part of you doesn’t deserve me? The guy who ‘screwed up his life’ or the one who tries his best everyday?”

He’d always reply with “both, I’m a piece of shit and we both know it”

That always ended in the two of you having to go to separate rooms to avoid an argument or an emotional breakdown, mostly on Rhett’s end. You were never angry at him, you just wanted him to believe he was deserving of you, but he was angry with himself and that always hurt you.

At the end of the night he’d always end up back in bed with you, apologizing in any way that he could, either holding you till the sun came up or really messy make-up sex.

This continued through the first few months of your relationship. It was never toxic between the two of you, just hard.

By now, Rhett had come to terms with the idea that you loved him unconditionally no matter what. But he still had his moments.

Tonight was a pretty good example.

You were at the bar with Rhett, Perry, and a few friends. It was super casual. You were playing darts and having a few snacks and drinks. Things were going great until some guy, who seemed like he was from out of town, bought you a drink and had it sent to the table you were all sitting at.

“Hey, that gentleman over there wanted to buy ‘the pretty young thing in the pink dress’ a drink. Brought you over another beer” the bartender said.

“Oh…thanks” you said, not acknowledging the guy on the other side of the room.

You could feel the tension practically oozing off of Rhett, which only got worse when the guy came sauntering over to the table.

“Hope you don’t mind” he said. He didn’t have that typical Wyoming accent, and his boots were practically in mint condition without a speck of dirt in them. Definitely some punk from the city who wanted to play cowboy for the night. “Saw you play darts and thought you were gorgeous. I’m Gregg, would you like to dance?”

“I’m not interested, thanks for the drink though” you said, looping your arm into Rhett’s in an attempt to both comfort him and shoe this guy that you already had a man.

“Oh I get it, playing hard to get?” He asked

“Not playing. I’m taken” you said, holding Rhett’s bicep.

“Whatever honey. When you’re done fooling around with this dusty cowboy and want a real man, just come find me” he said with a wink as he walked off. Most likely to find some other girl who’d be more easily persuaded.

You looked over at Rhett who looked jealous and defeated all at the same time. Like he wanted to punch the guy in the face, but also knew that if he did you might not want to be with him anymore because of his temper. He just felt so pathetic and you could tell.

“Come on Cowboy, let’s go dance” you said, kissing his cheek.

He caved in immediately. He couldn’t resist you.

One of your favorite songs came on and he pulled you in close to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you swayed to the music.

“I love you” you whispered softly

“I love you too” he said “I don’t deserve you though”

“Yes you do, you deserve everything I have to give you”

“I’m just such a…..fucking loser. Why would you even wanna be with me still?”

“I’ve always wanted to be with you” you said softly “I certainly don’t wanna be with a cocky city boy like Mr. Buys-Drinks-For-All-The-Pretty-Young-Things. I prefer guys who pick me wildflowers on the side of the road and tell me I’m pretty even when I’m dirty, sunburnt, and sweating my ass off from working in the fields all day”

“I just think you could do better sometimes” he said, pulling you closer.

“I don’t want better, I want you” you whispered.

His eyes went soft and he smiled at you. The kind of smile that made you melt into him every time. “God I fucking love you” he said.

He took one hand off your hip to take off his hat and place it on your head. Around here, everyone knew exactly what that meant “you’re mine, for as long as you’ll have me” he whispered into your ear.

“Hoping that’s forever” you said before kissing him softly, not caring if people were watching.

You felt your feet being lifted off the floor as he picked you up and spun you around slowly. You giggled against his lips.

“Come on Darlin’, let’s go home so I can have you all to myself” he said smiling at you.

You nodded and he set you back down on the floor. You led him back to the table to say goodbye to your friends before going out to Rhett’s truck.

Before he opened your door for you he pressed your back against it and kissed you again “can’t wait to get you home” he whispered.

You giggled and kissed him quickly one last time “come on lover boy, take me home” you said, gently shoving him off you.

The drive home was quiet, besides the sound of the radio. Rhett had his hand on your thigh the whole ride home, not in a sexual way, just wanting to be close to you.

When you finally arrived back at the ranch, Rhett got out quickly and opened your door for you. He picked you up out of the truck and carried you into the house. You couldn’t help but blush and giggle uncontrollably as he nuzzled your cheek with his nose while walking you upstairs to your room.

He shut the door with his foot and set you down on the bed, before tossing you your favorite pair of pajamas to change into. You changed quickly then cuddled down into bed with him.

You spent the rest of night in his arms reminding him how much you loved him and how much he deserved you. You didn’t want him to feel undeserving of your love ever again.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” he hummed as he kissed the top of your head.

“If I hadn’t forced you to dance with me tonight, would you have punched that guy?” You asked

“Yeah, wanted to knock his perfect teeth out” he admitted.

“It’s kinda hot when you’re jealous” you said smiling.

“You think?”

“Yeah, reminds me how much you love me”

“I love you more than anything” he said “even when I feel like I don’t deserve you”

“You deserve me” you whispered before kissing him softly with every ounce of passion you had for him. It was the kind of kiss you never wanted to end, the kind that said ‘you’re mine till the day one of us dies, and long after that’

When you finally pulled away to catch your breath he smiled and whispered “guess I must be doing something right, for once”

“You’re always doing something right when it comes to me”

#fanfiction #fanfic #blurb #rhett abbott #lewis pullman #outer range

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ltash · 1 year ago

Text

Pretty Little Teacher

Simon Ghost Riley x female reader

Warning: 18 plus, dubcon and noncon theme, dark themed, dark ghost, s*x and erotica, forced sex.

He loves me like a monster, all teeth and talk and hiding in the dark. That's my speciality, Men with strong bodies and fragile hearts, and if you hold them too tightly they will crumble beneath you like an avalanche that is waiting."

●●○~ Lindsey Hobart ~○●●

Ghost sat in his dimly lit room, the blue glow from the laptop screen casting sharp shadows across his masked features. Laswell's voice echoed in his ears, calm yet commanding.

"You have to go undercover to gather some intel," she instructed, her face a picture of seriousness on the screen. Ghost's fists clenched, his eyes narrowing as deep creases appeared at the corners. He remained silent, absorbing the gravity of the assignment.

"You'll be posing as a high school student. We have made all the arrangements. The principal and teachers are informed. We need important intel about a person working there. I'm sending you a report. Read it," Laswell said, her tone leaving no room for discussion. She hung up the video call before Ghost could utter a word.

"Fuck!" Ghost cursed, his frustration evident. "Now I have to become a fucking high schooler," he spat, the absurdity of the situation gnawing at him.

As a highly trained SAS soldier and an elite killing machine, Ghost was used to the most dangerous and covert missions. But this? This was entirely different. How the hell was he supposed to blend in as a high schooler with his massive height and muscular build? He would look like a fish out of water, a grown man playing dress-up.

He opened the report Laswell had sent, scanning through the details of his new identity and the target he needed to surveil. The mission was critical, he reminded himself. He had faced worse odds and more dangerous situations. But even as he reassured himself, the thought of navigating the social labyrinth of a high school filled him with a unique dread.

"Guess it's time to go back to school," he muttered under his breath, already strategizing how he would tackle this bizarre new mission.

Ghost scanned the report, eyes moving quickly over the lines of text. Someone from the office staff was involved in terrorist activity, and the school's security was compromised. The specifics were still murky, but the mission was clear: infiltrate, gather intel, and neutralize the threat.

As he read, his phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was Soap.

"Hey, high schooler! Need help picking out your backpack?" Soap's message read, followed by a string of laughing emojis.

Ghost growled in irritation. Soap had been making fun of him since he got the assignment. In truth, Ghost thought Soap was the one who was fit for this job. With his leaner build and younger appearance, Soap would blend in effortlessly. But orders were orders.

"You're just jealous you can't relive your glory days," Ghost shot back, though he knew Soap would get a kick out of his reply.

He closed the report and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. This mission was unlike any he had faced before. It required a different kind of camouflage, a different kind of patience. He was about to step into a world of teenage drama, cliques, and homework. But he would adapt, as he always did. He had no choice.

Monday morning arrived too quickly. Ghost stood in his small apartment, the usual grey hoodie and sweatpants hanging off his frame. Soap had helped him gather the essential school supplies: notebooks, pens, and a new backpack that didn't look out of place for a high schooler. He slung the backpack over his shoulder and slipped on his skull-printed balaclava. His identity had to be hidden at all costs.

He climbed into his Range Rover and drove to the school, parking a distance away to avoid drawing attention. With a deep sigh, he exited the vehicle and made his way to the school entrance.

The moment he stepped into the corridor, the contrast of his presence was stark. Teenagers milled about, chatting and laughing, but Ghost felt like a fish out of water. His height and build made him stand out like a sore thumb, despite the hoodie and balaclava doing their best to conceal his identity.

He pushed forward, reminding himself of the mission's importance. He needed to find his way to the office, get his bearings, and begin gathering intel. The corridor seemed endless, each step echoing with the sounds of lockers slamming and indistinct chatter.

"Fucking Hell," he muttered under his breath, trying to blend in as much as a heavily-built, masked adult could in a sea of high schoolers.

Ghost made his way to the last classroom on the K-12 hallway, assigned as a senior posing as an 18-year-old. Despite being 29 with a muscular build, he hoped to blend in with the 12th graders.

He opened the door and walked in, immediately feeling the curious eyes of his new classmates on him. Ignoring the stares, he scanned the room for any signs of the person he was here to investigate. The teacher, a middle-aged woman with a warm smile, looked up from her desk.

"You must be the new student," she said, motioning him to an empty seat near the back. "Welcome."

Ghost nodded and made his way to the seat, keeping his head down. He dropped his backpack on the floor and settled in, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible. The other students eventually lost interest, returning to their conversations and distractions.

As the teacher began the lesson, Ghost's mind raced. He knew he had to keep a low profile while also staying alert for any signs of suspicious activity. His eyes roved over the room, memorizing faces and noting behaviors. The target could be anyone-an unsuspecting office staff member, a seemingly innocent teacher, or even a fellow student.

The day had been a tedious blur for Ghost, each monotonous class blending into the next. Used to the adrenaline of combat and the precision of sniper shots, he found the slow pace of high school unbearable. But all that changed when you entered the room.

Your presence was electrifying, a stark contrast to the dull atmosphere. The click of your red Louboutin pumps echoed in the silent classroom as you made your way to the front. Your black dress pants, stylishly slit, and button-up shirt under a sleek black blazer highlighted your figure. Long, blonde hair cascaded down your back, framing your big blue eyes and perfectly pink lips.

Ghost felt a surge of desire course through him, his mind racing with thoughts he knew he shouldn't entertain. He imagined gripping your tiny waist, pulling you close, feeling your petite frame against his as he lost himself in you. The urge to take you, to dominate you, was almost overwhelming.

"Hey! Newbie, are you listening?" Your voice cut through his fantasies, pulling him back to reality.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, his husky British accent barely masking his distraction.

"Your name?" you asked, standing near his desk, your eyes meeting his.

"Simon," he answered, using his real name to avoid any potential mistakes.

"Well, Simon, try to pay attention," you said with a faint smile before returning to the front of the class.

As you began the lesson, Ghost forced himself to focus, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept drifting back to you, and the way your presence stirred something primal within him. He needed to remember his mission, but in that moment, all he could think about was how desperately he wanted you.

The period ended, and Ghost watched you leave the classroom, struggling to control his thoughts. You stood out among the middle-aged teachers, looking so young, no older than 25. How could someone like you be teaching 12th graders? The question burned in his mind, but it was more than just curiosity; he was captivated by you.

He barely remembered the rest of the day, his mind fixated on you. As soon as he could, he retreated to his apartment. The urge to release the tension was overwhelming. Stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower, the hot water cascading over his muscular frame. His cock was already hard, fueled by the image of your lips wrapped around him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hand wrapping around his shaft. He imagined you on your knees, your pink, plump lips taking the full length of his cock in, your big blue eyes looking up at him with a mix of innocence and desire. His strokes quickened, his other hand gripping the air as he fantasized about it tangled in your long, blonde hair.

His body tensed, muscles straining as he neared the edge. The thought of you sucking him off, your pretty little mouth taking him deeper, his cum all over your face pushed him over. He climaxed hard, a guttural groan escaping him as he came, the pearly liquid mixing with the warm water and flowing down his thick thighs.

Leaning against the shower wall, he panted heavily, trying to catch his breath. The intensity of his release did little to quell the longing he felt. As the water washed away the evidence of his fantasy, he knew he was in trouble. This mission was supposed to be about gathering intel, but his thoughts kept drifting back to you. He needed to stay focused, but the image of your gorgeous face and enticing body lingered in his mind, a distraction he couldn't afford yet couldn't resist.

The next day, Ghost found himself eagerly anticipating school, though for entirely different reasons than his usual missions. From the moment he had first seen you, you became his muse, eclipsing the seriousness of his undercover assignment. Dressed in blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a sleek black leather jacket that concealed his tattoo sleeve, he waited through all six periods just for a glimpse of you.

When you finally entered the classroom, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Students greeted you warmly, but Ghost's attention was solely on you. You wore high heels that accentuated your figure, a casual T-shirt, and form-fitting pencil jeans that emphasized your curves. It was undeniable-you were the most stunning woman he had ever encountered.

As you distributed MCQ papers among the students, you approached Ghost's desk. Your curiosity got the better of you as you inquired about his mask. "Why are you wearing a mask?" you asked, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

"I get sunburn," he replied smoothly, trying to maintain his cover.

You chuckled softly, the sound sending a thrill down Ghost's spine. "Weirdo," you whispered teasingly, but your words were loud enough for him to hear. The image of dominating you right there, bending you over the desk, fucking you from behind and hearing you begging to stop, flashed vividly in his mind, your body arched in his hands, pussy clenched around his length as he rails his full length till the hilt into you, ruin your pretty little cunt for everyone while you screaming out his name.

"Concentrate on your paper, weirdo," you mocked again as you moved away.

His jaw clenched with frustration, anger simmering beneath the surface. Despite the rush of desire coursing through him, he remained stoic and silent, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He knew indulging in these fantasies could compromise his mission, yet resisting the pull of attraction toward you seemed almost impossible. Ghost was torn between duty and desire, unsure how much longer he could keep his composure around you.

He had finished his paper along with the other students as the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. One by one, they handed their work to you, you seated at your desk. Ghost lingered, the last student to leave, quietly closing the door behind him. Remaining seated, he watched you intently.

Stealth was his forte, and he approached you silently. You were small compared to him, your back elegantly arched as you organized the papers into a neat pile. Standing right behind you, he suppressed the urge to touch you. Suddenly, you moved back, inadvertently brushing against the bulge in his pants. A squeak escaped your lips as you jumped, startled like a bunny, and turned around.

Leaning heavily against the table, you panted, eyeing the behemoth of a man standing before you at his full height for the first time. A shiver ran down your spine from the sensation of his arousal against you. He stood there with a menacing look in his eyes, extending his paper to you. With shaky hands, you took it, feeling a jolt as his gloved hand brushed against you.

Without a word, he turned and left the classroom.

Throughout the drive to his apartment, he couldn't shake the image of you, how your inadvertent touch had stirred a primal urge within him. How you bumped into his erect cock ready to sprung out. The urgency of his mission weighed heavily on his mind, but thoughts of you kept intruding.

Later that day, consumed by desire, he found himself jerking off imagining you once more. He couldn't help but picture your round ass, the sensation of you against him, his cock stretching your gummy walls as he fucks you doggy style, the fantasies growing more vivid with each passing moment. It was a distraction he couldn't afford, yet couldn't ignore.

The next day, he arrived at the school as usual, anticipation swirling within him. Your period had become his favorite, and he waited patiently until you appeared, as usual, with an air of cautious awareness. As the lesson progressed, you couldn't help but notice his chocolate brown eyes fixed on you through his balaclava.

He was no ordinary teenager - tall, dark, and undeniably handsome even with a balaclava on his face, with a presence that set him apart. You felt the weight of his gaze, the tilt of his head to the side like a predator sizing up its prey. Despite the distraction, you continued with your class routine, distributing checked papers to the students, your focus unwavering on your mission.

His gaze remained locked on you, unwavering, as if he had something more than mere curiosity driving his attention. You knew you couldn't afford to be distracted, not with what was at stake.

As you hurriedly left the classroom, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, you reached for your cellphone and stepped into the quiet solitude of the bathroom. With a hushed voice, you spoke into the receiver, "Yes! Tomorrow is the day. We will hunt another doe tomorrow."

Across the line, a voice crackled with excitement, "Perfect. After school, then?"

"Yes," you affirmed, nodding to yourself. "After school." With that, you hung up, slipping the phone back into your pocket.

Unbeknownst to you, Ghost known as Simon, the new student who had been quietly observing the dynamics of his new environment, had overheard your conversation.

From the first day of his undercover assignment, Ghost had sensed something amiss. How could a 25-year-old teacher be instructing seniors when others with more experience were available? It gnawed at him, a puzzle piece that refused to fit neatly into place. As he stood in the hallway, a vicious smirk spread across his face.

"So you are the one," he whispered to himself, the realization sinking in. "And now, there's nobody that can save you from me. Not even yourself." His mission had taken a dark turn. You are the one involved in human trafficking.

Tomorrow was the day Ghost knew he had to act swiftly. He slipped on his skull mask, adjusted his gear-blue jeans, black hoodie, and vest. His Beretta rested against his chest while his sniper rifle was ready on the passenger seat of his car.

He parked in the nearly deserted school lot, waiting patiently. It was nearly two hours past school hours when he spotted you approaching from the back of the building. You met with another person near a car.

"The girl is in the bathroom, I've hidden her there. Wait here, let me take her out," you said.

Without hesitation, Ghost aimed his sniper rifle at the man's head and took the shot. Skull fragments and brain matter scattered as the bullet found its mark. A scream tore from your lips as chaos erupted.

Ghost calmly placed the sniper rifle on the seat and stepped out of his car. You saw him approaching and instinctively ran. Darkness was descending, the winter chill settling in.

You ran for your life, heart pounding with fear, but Ghost closed the distance quickly. Desperation set in as you realized you had no weapon. You took out a pocket knife and attempted to attack, but Ghost deftly seized your wrist, disarming you.

You screamed and struggled, but he immobilized you, securing your wrists with a zip tie. With a forceful push, he slammed your back against a car, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Fear and confusion engulfed you as Ghost stood before you, his identity finally revealed, and his intentions chillingly clear.

"Let me go," you tried to scream as he pinned you against the car, looming over you. His 6'4" frame towered over you, casting a dark shadow. The edge of his knife pressed against your throat qnd his hand on your chest kept you pinned against the car.

"Just got you. Now I can't let you go, won't let you go," he whispered in your ear with his husky voice. "How can I waste this pretty little cunt of yours, princess?"

You whimpered and squirmed, fear coursing through your veins. His hand traveled to your neck, his grip so firm that you could barely breathe. You struggled to breath. Your vision blurred as darkness enveloped you, and you melted into his arms like putty.

You went limp in his arms like a rag doll, a pretty little thing for him to play with. He strapped you into the passenger in his car seat and drove off, his mind racing with twisted excitement.

He stroked your hairs with his fingers while he drove. He just had got his little plaything.

Upon reaching his apartment, he carried you inside, laying you gently on the soft sheets of his bed. Even in your unconscious state, you looked so beautiful and irresistible. His excitement grew, his cock twitched from the anticipation building as he stood over you, lost in the dark allure of the moment.

You whimpered as you slowly opened your eyes. Ghost was perched on a couch in front of you. Sitting up slowly, you noticed your hands were still tied in your lap. Your tiny body shivered at the sight of him as he rose to his full height. The room seemed small, his eyes behind the skull mask full of menace, looking straight through you. Your lips quivered with fear as he approached.

"Wakey, wakey, Princess," he taunted, stepping out of the shadows. His blue jeans were tight around his thick thighs, and his black hoodie strained to contain his muscular physique. The skull mask shone dimly in the light. The tattoo peeked through the space between his sleeve and his gloved hand.

You gulped, "Who are you?" you asked in a small voice.

"Ghost. Heard the name before?" He tilted his head to the side, and realization hit you hard-it was Simon.

"What do you want?" you barely whispered.

"You," was his only reply as he stepped closer.

A whimper escaped your lips as you pulled yourself to the other side of the bed and stood up.

"Don't make this hard for yourself, Princess."

Panting, you frantically ran towards the door, but his hands were around your waist in no time. He slammed you against the wall, the impact sending pain throbbing through your back.

His hand smacked the wall beside your head. The barrel of his gun made contact with your chin.

"Look at me!" he shouted, his voice an order. You squeaked in response, your eyes meeting his.

"Good girl," he praised, his hot breath fanning against your face. "I'm a lieutenant, not your average student, and you have to comply-or else." The barrel of his Beretta poked under your ribs. "Choices have consequences," he said softly this time.

"I've been thinking about your body since the day I saw you." He stroked the soft skin of your chest with his gun, trailing it down the valley between your breasts. Your skin quivered under the touch of the cold metal.

"So irresistible, Princess." His husky voice sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped as he snapped your ziptie with a strength so brute it took only a second to come off. Your buttoned blouse came next as he snapped it apart. All the buttons came crashing down on thefloor. Your pearly necklace was snatched from your neck. The pearls came rolling down on the floor.

You gasped as he snapped your bra from the front. Your perky breasts liberated from the confines of the lacy material.

He pulled his mask upto his nose and his lips grazed your neck as his thumb met your nipples squeezing your breasts so hard it was almost painful. A painful moan mixed with pleasure escaped through your lips.

He held you close by your waist and he chuckled as your small waist fitted so easily in both his hands all while kissing your neck while his hands played with the soft skin of your back.

"So soft like plush in my hands." He said as he rubbed your nipples with his rough thumb. A sexy hiss escaped your lips as you threw your head back biting your lips.

"You gave in so easily princess." He whispered. His sexy voice made you moan.

He tossed you over the bed, with a squeak you fell, soft sheets cushioning your back as you landed with a gasp.

His eyes, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own, locked onto yours. "Been waiting to bend you over that goddamn desk in that class and fuck your needy little cunt, princess," he confessed, his voice low and husky with desire.

As he removed his hoodie, revealing a canvas of scars that gleamed against his muscular frame, you couldn't help but gasp. Each scar told a story of battles fought and survived, adding to the allure of his rugged demeanor. His predatory approach, intensified by the skull mask he wore, sent a thrill through your veins. He moved closer with a confident stride, his presence filling the room with a primal intensity that both thrilled and unnerved you.

You gasped as he closed the distance. His hands reached for the strap of your jeans, deftly unbuttoning them with a deliberate touch. With a smooth motion, he slid the denim down your legs, revealing your bare skin in the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains.

"So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down your spine. You laid exposed before him, feeling both vulnerable and empowered by his gaze.

You knew you were powerless infront of him and he will have his way with you one way or another. Wetness had already pooled between your legs and you were trying hard to hide it by closing them.

He traced the barrel of his gun along the soft skin of your inner thighs. Shivers ran down your spine as you felt the cold metal against your sensitive skin.

"Open your legs Princess." He ordered slowly parting your thighs.

"So sensitive, aye?" he said with a mocking tone.

You hissed at the sensation. He slowly pressed the barrel against your clothed folds, eliciting a moan from your lips.

"Please! I beg you, don't do this," you pleaded, my voice trembling.

"Look at you! A wet, hot mess for me," he sneered.

He knelt before you, his hands reaching for your panties. With one tug, he tore the strap, leaving you completely exposed.

"You should thank me, princess, that I'm gentle with you. I'm not very gentle with women. They run from me after what I do to them," he laughed.

Your breath hitched in your throat. "Oh my god," you moaned.

He opened your legs slowly, his fingers parting your folds as he gently touched your swollen clit. Your body quivered with the sensation.

"So soft, so sensitive," he said, as he slid his rough fingers inside you.

A slow scream escaped your lips as your pussy clenched around his fingers. Your back arched, moans spilling from your mouth. He watched your face contort with pleasure as he leaned down, his tongue making circles around the buds of your nipples.

You clutched the sheets, your eyes shut tight as his fingers curled up, hitting just the right spot.

"You sound so pretty, love," he teased, his tongue continuing to play with your nipple. The sensation was heavenly, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

He adjusted himself between your thighs, kissing your entire body as he moved down toward your stomach and then your most sensitive part.

He gently kissed the inside of your thighs before his tongue met your folds. Screams of pleasure spilled from your pretty mouth as he nipped and sucked at your already swollen bud.

"Oh, fuck!" you moaned.

He kept teasing your folds with his tongue, sucking your wetness as he held your hips tightly in place.

He kept torturing you with his tongue until you couldn't take it anymore.

"I-I can't take it anymore," you begged.

"Ssh!" he whispered, placing a finger on your lips. "You're going to take it, just a little longer."

Your body trembled as he continued his relentless assault with his tongue, the pleasure overwhelming. He moved his finger from your lips to your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles while his tongue continued its work.

"Please," you whimpered, your voice cracking with desperation.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "Beg me," he commanded softly.

"Please, please, I need more," you cried out, your body aching for release.

A satisfied smirk played on his lips. "Good girl," he said, his voice low and husky. He increased the pressure of his tongue and finger, driving you closer to the edge. "Now, let go for me."

With his words, you felt the dam break, and waves of ecstasy crashed over you. Your back arched, and a guttural moan escaped your lips as you finally reached your climax. He continued his movements, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from your trembling body.

As you lay there, breathless and spent, he gently kissed your inner thighs before moving up to your face.

You were still high when he unzipped his pants.

"Been waiting for this ever since I laid my eyes on you," he said, taking his cock and positioning himself on top of you.

You looked at him with dazed eyes.

"Like what you see, princess?" he asked with a smirk.

"I-I can't do this," you pleaded.

"You can do this, and you will," he replied firmly.

He pressed his cock against your entrance, bending you down. Without warning, he pushed his entire length inside, pinning your wrists against the bed. You screamed as your walls wrapped around him, your body struggling to adjust to his size while he fucked you deeply, not giving you any time to acclimate.

You were completely at his mercy, a plaything for his desires.

"Fuck! Princess, you feel so tight around me," he growled, thrusting in deeply.

You were breathless, disoriented by the intensity of it all. He drove into you with unrelenting force, hitting inside you to the extreme. Your back arched under him as waves of pain and pleasure coursed through you. His cock was so big it made an impression inside your belly where it hit.

"How does it feel, me ruining your pretty pussy, love?" he growled, sitting back on his knees and gripping your waist tightly.

Your eyes rolled back as he railed into you with brute force, the sensations overwhelming and consuming.

Whimpers escaped your lips as his hips thrusted against your pelvis. Skin to skin, the intense connection between you sparked a fire that threatened to consume you both. You hid your face in the soft pillow, the tears mingling with your whimpers, your cries echoing in the room like a haunting melody.

He chuckled at the sight before him, the raw vulnerability and passion in your every movement only adding to the intoxicating air surrounding them. "Look at you, eh," he murmured, his voice a low growl filled with satisfaction. "Taking me so well."

With a sudden move, he lifted you up by your waist, your heart racing a mile a minute, your vision blurred with the overwhelming sensation of being completely lost in him. "Oh my god, I am gonna die," you whined, the words a mix of fear and ecstasy that only served to fuel the flames of desire burning between you both.

But he just chuckled, his hold on you firm and reassuring. "Not on my watch, luv," he whispered, his voice a comforting anchor in the whirlwind of emotions and pleasure that threatened to consume you.

He pulled out abruptly, spinning you around and delivering a stinging slap to your ass.

You clutched the sheets as he seized your hips, pulling you towards him and plunging deep inside once more. A primal groan escaped his lips as he grabbed your hair, tilting your head back and driving himself deeper with each thrust.

Your impassioned cries only fueled his intensity. With a firm grip on your waist, he pounded into you relentlessly, embodying the raw, primal desire of a man possessed. Your body arched and trembled on the bed as he pinned you down by your head, pressing your face into the bed.

"I can't do this anymore," you begged him.

He pulled you up onto your knees, his free hand gently gripping your neck while his other arm rested between the valley of your breasts. His hold on your neck was firm but not painful, asserting his control. With a strong grip on your waist, he thrust deep into you.

You leaned against his chest, your face turning towards him as you neared your release. He captured your lips in a hungry kiss, swallowing your moans.

His cock twitched and pulsed as he reached his climax. His movements grew erratic as he poured himself into you, filling you with his essence.

Exhausted, you collapsed onto the bed, eyes shutting tight as the waves of ecstasy washed over you.

He settled beside you, carefully tucking you under the sheets while you lay on your stomach, peacefully asleep.

"Sleep well, princess," he murmured, his fingers gently caressing your hair.

The next morning, you woke to find him already seated on the couch, wearing the same skull-printed balaclava, his eyes still filled with menace. Your whole body ached and marked with hickeys. Last nights encounter spiralled in your mind.

"Good morning, princess. I hope you're feeling well," he greeted you, tossing an oversized t-shirt in your direction.

Confusion and fear gripped you. "Who are you? Why did you do this to me? What were you even doing in my class?"

"I'm Lieutenant Simon Riley, also known as Ghost," he replied coolly. "I was in your class because we've been keeping an eye on you. Now, get dressed. You have visitors."

You rose silently and headed to the bathroom to change. As you finished, there came a knock at the door.

He opened it, and police officers entered the room.

"She's all yours," he stated with a smirk beneath his balaclava.

"You'll regret this! I'll make you pay for this!" you screamed as they cuffed you and led you away.

"Fuck you!" You screamed.

He chuckled darkly, watching as you were taken into custody.

"I just did." He winked as you were taken away.

137 notes · View notes

ceyanabbiolo · 2 months ago

Text

PHOTOGRAPH // M.S [02]

Summary: Daphne Denoire, a 21-year-old, returns to Boston to after 3 years—but working for her brother’s best friend, Matthew Sturniolo, wasn’t part of the plan. He’s a 26-year-old multimillionaire. She’s the girl he was never supposed to feel this way about. With secrets between them and boundaries set, how far will they go for a love they never saw coming? Warnings: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA & R@PE – not detailed. (The chapter can be skipped if you may get triggered.) wc: 1264

Chapter 2: When It Happened To Me

Four years ago...

The bass from the party downstairs pulsed faintly beneath my skin. My older brother had just graduated from university and was about to start at a prestigious law school.

I promised myself I’d stay in my room — the farthest corner of the house — safe and hidden. I didn’t know anyone downstairs; they were all adults, drinking and fooling around.

Noah had assured me no one would come upstairs, that this was my space. I believed him. Why wouldn’t I? It was my room — my sanctuary.

I’d finished all my homework. Noah might be a university graduate starting a new chapter, but I was still a high school junior, struggling through the second semester.

I had gotten into bed around 10 p.m. that night — showered, comfortable, and finally relaxed. Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep.

I barely registered the time as sleep pulled me under. The quiet darkness felt safe, like a shield wrapping around me. Then, just as I was drifting deeper, I felt the faintest shift — the door to my room creaked open.

At first, I thought maybe it was just the wind or someone passing by. My eyes fluttered open, blurry and heavy.

A shadow filled the doorway. My heart jumped, but I was still too tired to fully wake. I realized the party was still happening, hence the music was still present.

“Hello?” I mumbled, voice barely a whisper.

No answer.

I tried to sit up, but before I could, something rough pressed against my lips, muffling any sound.

I looked up at his face, it was blurry, all I could decipher was the black cap on his head, and a dragon tattoo covering his left arm.

Panic exploded in my chest. My whole body stiffened, cold and helpless. Strong hands held me down, steadying me against the bed.

Just as I was about to scream, he spoke. “Don’t scream.”

I didn’t. I didn’t scream.

However, I also knew very well what was going to happen.

His hands were rough, forcing me down and silencing me with words I couldn’t bring myself to resist. I should have kicked, I should have screamed — someone might have heard me and come to help, but I didn’t. My mind told me to obey this monster, convincing me that no one would hear anything over the loud music downstairs.

Every second stretched unbearably long, my body trembling with fear and helplessness. He held me down with an unforgiving grip, and I felt every ounce of strength drain from me. His voice was cold, telling me to be quiet, promising it would be over soon, but I knew better.

I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the weight of the house, the pounding music, and the silence of the night trapped me in a nightmare I couldn’t wake from.

At one point, all I could focus on were the sounds of his grunts, while I forced myself to endure the pain, numb and desperate to survive.

He was drunk, the alcohol was vivid in his breath.

My hands were pinned above my head, my legs too short to push away someone his size, and my mouth stuffed with my own underwear, silencing any sound I might have made.

It’ll be over.

I repeated that in my head over and over again — at least two hundred and thirty times. That’s about four minutes. Four minutes of pleasure for him, a lifetime of suffering for me.

I remember when he was done. The loud music faded into silence — all I could hear was the rustling of his belt and the harsh sound of me coughing, trying to breathe through the fabric in my mouth.

Tears streamed down my face. I was crying, sobbing uncontrollably.

“There’s no point,” he said, his voice cold and amused. “No one’s going to hear you.”

I couldn’t respond. I didn’t respond.

He came back toward me, and I felt my body freeze. He pulled at my legs again, staring down at me like I was something to toy with, and he smiled.

That smile—it made my stomach twist.

I’ll never forget it. It's forever tattooed in my brain.

I’d never felt more violated. More ashamed. More small.

“Go to sleep.”

He took a step back.

“Do me a favour and don’t tell your brother, okay?” he paused. “It’ll be our fun little secret.

With that, he left, and a part of me died.

Fun. That was what it was to him. Fun.

I didn’t move for what felt like hours. My body was sore, my skin felt foreign, and my chest tightened every time I tried to breathe. I stared at the ceiling, tears sliding silently across my cheeks and into my hair. The room that had always been mine didn’t feel safe anymore. It felt like it had betrayed me.

I wanted to scream. To wake up and find out it was a nightmare, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, because it wasn’t a nightmare. It was real.

I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just stared out my window, watching the sun come up. Not moving an inch.

When the sun did come out, I waited to hear shuffling outside my room, to get up.

The moment my legs hit the ground. I stilled.

Every inch of my body ached. My legs were stiff, sore—walking felt impossible without limping. I didn’t even try to get dressed. Just pulled on a hoodie and sweats, the loosest ones I could find.

When I opened my bedroom door, the hallway smelled like alcohol and cheap cologne. I made my way downstairs slowly, one hand braced against the wall. The living room was trashed—empty red cups, half-eaten pizza, someone’s jacket draped over the back of a chair.

I didn’t say anything. Just stood there, staring at the chaos.

Noah appeared from the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck and looking half-asleep. His eyes landed on me, and for a second, he looked surprised.

“Daph? Why aren’t you dressed for school yet?”

I didn’t answer. My throat was tight. I just stood there, shaking, my fingers curled into fists at my sides.

Noah’s brow furrowed. “You look—what’s wrong?”

I shook my head, but the tears came anyway.

He walked toward me, slower now. “Daph…what happened?”

That’s when I broke. My knees buckled and I collapsed into his arms, sobbing so hard I couldn’t get the words out right away.

It took everything in me to finally whisper, “Someone came into my room last night.”

His whole body went still. I didn’t have to tell him more. He guessed.

I still felt like I had to explain myself. As if I did something wrong, and I was trying to defend it.

“I told you I stayed in my room. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice cracked, and I repeated. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Noah didn’t let go. Not once. His arms wrapped around me like he was trying to keep me from falling apart.

“You didn’t,” he said quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I wanted to believe him. I really did.

I couldn’t stop the thoughts, though. The what-ifs. The shame that wrapped around my throat like a noose.

Why didn’t I stop him?

Why didn’t I yell?

Why didn’t I fight harder?

I hadn’t pushed him off. I hadn’t screamed loud enough, and because of that, some twisted part of me kept whispering that maybe it was my fault.

Maybe I was the one who let it happen.

READ ALL RELEASED CHAPTERS NOW!

A little message from me for anyone who may be able to relate:

If you’ve ever experienced sexual assault, please know this: you are not alone.

I know how heavy the silence can be. I know how loud the memories get. I know what it feels like to question yourself, to replay it over and over, wondering what you could’ve done differently. Please hear me when I say: your pain is valid, and your survival is proof of your strength.

What happened to you was not your fault. It doesn’t matter where you were, what you wore, what you said, or didn’t say. You did not deserve it. You are not to blame.

No matter who you are, every single one of you is beautiful and has something great waiting for you.

If this chapter stirred something in you, I hope you give yourself the grace to breathe, to cry, to feel whatever you need to feel. If you ever need help, reach out. Even me. Someone will listen. Even if you're struggling with anything else, don't be afraid to express.

Daphne may not be real, but these emotions are very much real.

— With all my heart, Ceyana

Tags: @oopsiedaisydeer @ribbonlovergirl @pip4444chris @mattsfrenchtoast @lm-a-mirrorball @cholejhunter @urlocallera @kingofeverythingmb @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @malox12 @sturnslux3 @carrielovesmatt @vanillakissesxx @sagesturns @enviedparty101 @kiarasmaybank @mattscore @fmg05 @ed1tssturnn @kenah-sturniolo @tropicfessed

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#ceyanabbiolo #sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #fanfic #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #brothers best friend

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ynasomniaur · 9 days ago

Text

please, xanny | sanzu h.

classification: confidential (dark content)

pairings: bonten! sanzu haruchiyo x PA/fem!reader

genre: psychological drama, romance, trauma fiction, angst, character study

status: ongoing

wc. 9.6k

warnings: 18+ only. Contains mature and triggering themes, explicit language, alcoholism, suicide attempt, drug consumption, mental & physical illnesses, self-harm, moral deterioration, graphic depiction of abuse (emotional, physical, domestic). Proceed with care and precaution.

— .• The circumstances weren't in your favor - but then again, when did it ever side with you? With Sanzu Haruchiyo back in your life — all over the place and crumbling – you wonder for the nth time if your DNA was somehow coded with misfortune for you to bear the crushing weight of this spiraling connection with him; festering, explosive, and marring. Why you even bother is the biggest mystery you're both yet to uncover.

tag/s: slow burn, corporate rot, co-dependence, moral ambiguity, SA attempt, drug use and addiction, graphic violence, abuse (emotional, physical), manipulation, criminal activity, graphic domestic violence, canon divergence, self-harm, suicide attempt, trauma bonding, sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, he falls first and falls so hard it turns into madness, angst, more angst, hurt/comfort (heavy on hurt), angst ending, dead dove: do not eat

author's note 𓍼ོ We're back with an update — and this one challenged me, deeply. Chapter 02 was originally three separate chapters when I wrote it last 2021, but since all the events took place in the past, I decided to compress it into one. We’ll return to the present timeline in next chapter.

This was incredibly triggering (and scary) to write but it helped me sit with the discomfort of how traumatic events shape someone’s perceptions, memory, and nervous system. I've updated the genre and the warning tags accordingly as well —please, take them seriously. Proceed with caution and do not romanticize them. If this chapter is too heavy for you, feel free to skip it and proceed to Fragment 03 instead.

One line in this story echoes a phrase I read years ago in a fic called “Flighty”. That single line stuck with me — it haunted me in the best way possible, and quietly stayed with me. This story is entirely my own, but I wanted to leave a small, grateful nod to that line/word.

── .✦ please, xanny masterlist ⟡ fragment 01 (prev) ⟡ playlist

There’s a failsafe in every human, right? There has to be something built-in — primal, instinctive. There should be. It would activate in the times you need it the most, for preservation. For safety purposes.

There’s a failsafe in every human and it wouldn’t just malfunction. At least that’s what you’re choosing to believe. Who else would you count on if this system fails? The thought of it was damning. It can’t fail. It just can’t. It shouldn’t.

A loud finger snap clicked in front of you, loud enough to temporarily pull you out of your suffocating musings.

“Are you listening?” Yuzuha asked, uncharacteristically serious. She was leaning on her propped-up elbow, lazily munching on her chip while watching you with perceptive, tired eyes.

You sighed. Lately, breathing became an afterthought — no longer somatic, no longer natural.

“Sorry. Just thinking about something,” you tried to pick up your utensils to resume eating the lunch you prepared earlier, but it felt too much of an effort you can’t exert. Eventually, you just closed it and looked up to meet Yuzuha’s confused eyes.

“So, what were you saying?”

She hesitated at first — her brows knitted, and her eyes squinted, as if she’s trying to make sense of your behavior — “I was just asking if you finished our calc homework, and if you know that guy over there,” she nodded at the direction she was pointing to.

Behind you, just a few tables away, you saw a somewhat familiar figure queueing in line for lunch: bleach-blonde shoulder length hair, pale blue zircon eyes. He wore a mask that covered the lower half of his face. Aloof, seemingly avoidant.

“What about him?” You turned to Yuzuha who’s staring at him curiously. You snorted, that’s the face you know she makes when she’s about to either instigate something or tell you some random bullshit no one would give a damn at all.

“Do you know him?”

“Not really. He’s in another class with Baji… I think. People call him Sanzu.”

She zeroed on you. “So you know him.”

“Knowing his name isn’t the same as knowing who he is.” You shrugged and tucked your lunchbox inside your bag and stretched your arms up.

The cafeteria bustled with students — some frantic, some resigned, most just laid back and eating with their own friends — the mundanity of this place calmed something within you. An emotion you couldn’t quite catch or name, but has always been there; gnawing, eating away your consciousness. It’s an image of distance. Being here with muffled chatters, inaudible gossips —

“I heard he’s in a gang,” Yuzuha prompted. Speaking of gossip, you stared at her, who has her chin on her propped-up arms, observing Sanzu with an evaluating eyes.

She still hasn’t dropped that topic.

You raised your eyebrow at her, teasingly you asked, “Why are you so keen on knowing him?”

Yuzuha looked at you and scoffed. “I just think he’s interesting. People say the reason why he wears a mask is because of the scars on both sides of his lips,” she shrugged and wiped the crisp crumbs on her side off the table nonchalantly.

You glanced back behind you again. No thoughts, just observing, what a reasoning, you briefly thought. When your gaze found his silhouette, he doesn’t even evoke anything. Not at all, as if he was just there.

Maybe a bit.

Okay maybe what Yuzuha said made him just a bit interesting. Quite charmingly mysterious if you squint your eyes or strain them enough with much effort — something you’re definitely not gonna do … or doing — doesn’t matter — he moved through the crowd quietly, not making any eye contact, maintaining a careful distance with everyone. He’s… evasive. And it shows. You can’t even recall if you two interacted in the past other than those distant borrow-and-return shenanigans your sections did during calc — lots of them forgot their own calculators — and during cleaning hours. Other than that? Zero. None.

Ah yes. The effect of rumors; you blaze people up so the smoke looks interesting to talk about.

“Staring already?” Yuzuha cheekily grinned at you as she snacked another chip.

── .✦

The heavy stupor of the classroom flattened every ounce of your weary muscles. Terminologies and definitions flew over your head like a throwaway, a badly aimed free throw landing outside the line. The faint scratching sounds of pen and paper hummed the first melody of the sluggish ambiance, the pages being turned, confused “ha?” from your classmates — it was all as if the environment was begging you to just fall asleep.

You tried noting it all down with great effort, how glucose is converted into ATP — adenosine tripho… tripho… what? Okay cross that. Maybe you can follow what comes next.

Cellular respiration has three steps: glycolysis, krabs, no, krebs cycle, and ETC, which means electron transport chain. It matters because cells need ATP to function — whatever the hell ATP was — for healing, muscle movement, and brain activity.

See? It’s easy. You can easily waddle away from your sleepiness. It’s that easy until your teacher dropped the balanced chemical equation of cellular respiration.

Respiration…you can’t even breathe.

For some great miracle bestowed upon the classroom, you managed not to fall asleep — all while contracting every muscle you have to stay awake — you could barely recall anything. You mentally noted to just review the lesson once the exam week looms over your shoulder by the end of this month.

As thankful as you are that the boring and mentally taxing biology class finally ended, a deep-rooted fear struck your body.

Going home shouldn’t feel this… dreadful, right? It’s not supposed to make you tense up and purposefully slow down your steps tracing the path towards your home and hoping it ends up somewhere else… right?

Going home shouldn’t feel like your throat’s closing in on you. But still, it does.

Maybe it’s just the hunger dawning in your system. You haven’t finished your lunch after all. Or maybe it’s the sleepiness seeping in on your consciousness. Maybe. God you hope it is what it is because of the reasons you listed, and nothing else.

── .✦

What a fucking sight.

You should be used to this — after all this is your home. House.

Home.

The living room was a mess — crushed beer bottles, the evident sticky surface of the coffee table from spilled beer with crisp crumbs stuck on it like a spore, dirty clothes scattered on the floor; candy wrappers and greasy food containers were abandoned neglectfully on the already-stained sofa; everything reeked of smoke and ash, of mold and bitter rubber from the lingering smell of cheap whiskey. Lonesome and suffocating to your very being.

But hey, at least it’s quiet. You shrugged your bag off your shoulder and started picking up the mess as you called out to your mother.

No response.

Just a thick air of palpable silence.

Your body stiffened, and as if on cue — like your whole system was just waiting for a flimsy excuse to spiral — your mind went to the worst case scenarios, no — calm down. You shut your eyes tightly, wishing that the dread would leave your body. There’s no need to spiral. Maybe she’s just asleep.

“Ma?” A little louder this time. You dropped the trashbag you were holding, clenched your jaw to steady your panic-stricken body, strained your ears to hear better, anything at all, but your heart that was aggressively thumping against your ribcage was so loud you could barely hear anything else other than that — the air clogged in your throat.

A faint cough. In the kitchen.

You sighed shakily. You didn’t even notice the breath you were holding and that your body’s feeble quivering.

Another sigh; a breathing reminder rather than it being automatic. You picked the trashbag and collected the other garbage and headed to the kitchen — which was also a fucking disaster — and tried to help your mother that was struggling to scrub the sink and other piles of dirty plates and dishes. You swallowed the lump budding on your chest.

Your mother hadn’t looked up to you at all, until you gently took the crumbling and spent sponge away from her hand. Her troubled and clouded gaze softened as she realized you were already home. “I didn’t hear you come in, sweetheart,” she thanked you softly as you replaced her spot near the sink to continue the overloaded chore.

“Have you eaten?” you asked, worried that she might be overworking herself again.

“Yes, a bit before your father’s friends arrived here,” she smiled weakly, the creases on her eyes crinkled with her age and exhaustion. She wiped her hands on the hanging rag near the fridge.

You knew your mother by observing her passively; she never really told you anything about her and her gradual illness. Never was the one to communicate her needs nor wants, but she never failed to show you how much she cared for you.

The neatly ironed uniforms that hung on your wardrobe before your school. The lunchboxes she used to make for you, those with little and jagged carrot flowers she tried to perfect — it was adorable despite the crooked petal shapes. Organized and folded laundry that smelled faintly of lavender. The soft lullabies during the salt and grain of thunderstorms.

It wasn’t an outright declaration of love, but you grew to understand that maybe that was the only way she knew to show it.

By hiding the crumpled medical results beneath their bed.

Of course it was difficult to understand what any of it meant — the paper spoke in a language of numbers and jargon: eGFR, serum creatinine, labels with mg/dL; none of it made sense but the flags do. “Critical”. Elevated”. You didn’t need anything else to figure out it was bad, especially if the diagnosis was written in bold: Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD), Stage 5, End Stage Renal Disease (ESRD).

It was haunting.

Maybe she was trying to shield you from the pain of the truth. The loss.

The upcoming loss.

But it's not like she can shield you from any more pain that came alongside living under this house anymore. Of the booming voices every night, the heavy impact of blows on the skin, the thudding footsteps — you wished she’d reach out, argue better, so that maybe it’ll stop when the point gets across. Argue harder so maybe then, he’ll finally stop and listen.

Or better yet, just leave this house with you, and on your part, you wish you could speak more, do more, communicate better even if the only way you know was through shouting and gritting your teeth.

The cold water hit your skin with a jolt; the plastic plates were greasy and there wasn’t enough soap to work with.

“There’s still food left,” she started, voice soft and inviting. She was now sitting down near the dining table, watching you with tired and careful eyes. Despite the wan light of the bulb — you could still clearly see her sunken features: pale and dry skin, hollowed cheekbones, unfocused gaze, deep shadows beneath her eyes, thinning hair and swollen feet.

It was like watching her slowly fade away.

“Your father will be out until tomorrow, so why don’t you stay and have dinner with me. You don’t have work tonight, right?” she continued, her voice was warm. Too comforting — it lingered around the silence of this damp and dull kitchen.

You turned off the faucet once you were done rinsing the dishes and looked at her. “No, it's my day off.” You shook your head and smiled as you dried your hands on the rag near the fridge and walked towards her.

You were never raised in a vocal and communicative household where emotions were openly talked about. You knew she could feel the weight of everything you were holding back. The questions. The details of when and how. The harrowing question of why do you even stay. You knew — deep down — that she knows.

It’s not like you can keep a terminal illness away from someone you live with under the same roof.

She smiled at you; her smile never reached her eyes. Never once in your waking life could you remember her smiling with her eyes at all. “Great. I’ll reheat the food I cooked earlier. It’s your favorite, tonkatsu.”

She stood up and began busying herself around the kitchen. You could clearly see the strained effort in her movements; subtle staggering steps that she tried to hide. “Tell me about your day, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip. You wanted to ask her instead. Ask her how long she had been skipping her dialysis sessions, how long was she going to pretend everything’s just fine and okay, if she was even drinking her medicines —

“Biology’s fine,” you replied curtly that made you mentally curse yourself. That wasn’t even what you wanted to say — not even remotely close at all — but the words often disintegrate on the base of your throat before you could even spell them out.

Your body often betrays you.

“My classes are difficult but interesting," you added.

Fuck. See?

Another lie. You knew you had to stop but sometimes the lies that come out of your mouth are so much better to hear than the silence that often fills the gap between the two of you. The gap that was too harrowing to address or acknowledge. You stared at her with a heavy heart, unable to do anything else, but watch her and maybe try to help her with the chores.

“That’s great, have you considered what you want to pursue in college?” She asked, briefly glancing at you as she stirred the miso soup on the stove.

It was so natural that it broke your heart into more pieces. You could be an actress, you thought, because you’re both so good at pretending this playhouse is okay. You didn’t know what to feel.

“Not yet, but I think —“ your phone rang loudly in the living room.

Sometimes, you thought, timing matters. It matters because just when you’re trying to connect, mend, and share a moment of peace and silence with your mother; a moment of courage you’re trying to muster for clarification, something comes up.

Like work.

Like how your manager asked you to cover your co-worker’s shift since something came up on their end; an emergency.

Like how you promptly kissed your mother’s forehead goodbye — her warmth wavering, clammy and faintly shaking figure — and took off.

For some reason, running away has always been so easy.

── .✦

“Thank you, come again.” You’ve been doing this for hours now; greet, swipe, punch, take payment — repeat. In the dead of the night, it was always either of the two: your mouth dries up from the sparsity of customers or from saying the same lines over and over; greetings and pleasantries were learned habits, not feelings.

Phatic communication.

Where everything you say feels shallow and performative. Rehearsed. Done for the sake of sustaining a contact. To maintain a learned routine — at least that’s what you remember on that random informative reel you saw the other day while killing time on your shift.

Turns out, you were great at communication. Who would’ve guessed?

The quiet whir of the air conditioner, the calm drip of the leaking pipe just beside it, and the low buzz of the fluorescent lights — it was too bright, almost disorienting — gave you a space to just be.

To exist outside academics and the burden of your household — to just float away, aimless.

2:30 am. At this point these are just numbers. Checking the time doesn’t do much for you in this draining job.

“I’m really sorry for the trouble. Please, take this,” your co-worker handed you a paper bag full of snacks. He looked flushed, his bangs damp with sweat, chest rising and falling a little faster than usual. You gave him a faint smile — a muscle memory — and muttered thanks before you said goodbye.

After a few minutes, you were finally out of your uniform — the sleeves were a bit too itchy sometimes — and walked toward the deserted parking area without much thought. Just the idea of plopping down to your bed after a long day and shift was all you could think about.

Screw the homeworks for now. You‘d still have time before Biology later. Maybe you’d just copy off Yuzuha’s work and tweak some of it. You nodded to yourself proudly, like that was some solid plan. But as you reached your bike parked at the far corner of the parking lot, another disappointment crawled up on your chest.

Your bike’s tire was flat.

Good-fucking-god.

“Are you kidding me?” you exhaled sharply through your nose with teeth gritted in frustration.

You lost count how many times you sighed today — not that it mattered — but everything just felt like it was testing the crumbs of patience you had left in you.

It took you at least a minute — maybe two — to compose yourself. The urge to lash out, cry, kick the damn bike until it breaks for having a flat-fucking-tire pulsed aggressively throughout your body — the unadulterated frustration thumped against your ribcage and limbs.

You wanted nothing more than to just scream and curse everything. You were frustrated, but where, or better yet, at who, exactly? On your bike? Your boss and co-worker who could easily rope you into shouldering their shifts? Your mother? Father? Or ultimately, yourself? Fuck.

There was no point spiraling.

Eventually, you just walked home with profanities mumbled every now and then. You tried to look inside the store, and of course, there were no floor pumps nor any inflators inside. How useless, you thought.

Could this day get any more worse?

The walk home usually takes about 15 to 20 minutes, and exactly 10 minutes if you rode your bike.

Bike.

You groaned every time you’d remember your bike with a flat tire; you could’ve been home already, shoes kicked off on the other side of your room and already asleep — to hell with changing your clothes. You wanted to sleep.

The wintry breeze was scathingly sharp on your skin. It didn’t even matter no matter how thick your jacket was or how tightly you hugged yourself — you still shivered from beneath the layers of your clothing; the coldness permeated through it. Your teeth chattered as your body quivered and the smoke you exhaled was thick enough to briefly fog your sight.

It was too quiet. Too empty. Just flickering street lights and a few, distantly muffled barks of some dogs. The crunch of gravel and dirt on every step you took felt magnified and overly loud in the silence of the night.

There were only a few stars, and even the half moon glowed faintly against the pitch-black skies.

Just as you turned to a corner that leads to an alleyway, you heard men laughing in the distance.

Your mouth felt dry.

It’s okay. You’re fine. They’re just there, and all you had to do was mind your business and walk past them.

Simple as that.

Was it?

You swallowed your parchedness and it scraped your throat like sandpaper on a blackboard. The synthetic material of your leather bag squeaked faintly as you gripped it tighter.

There were two men near the grimy green dumpster — beer bottles and cans were toppled around their feet. One of them was squatting on the floor, a cigarette nestled between his fingers, while the other one was leaning recklessly on the sludgy pipe, a beer bottle in his hand. His posture was slouched and smug.

They were talking about something. Something you really don’t give a damn about. Or maybe you just can’t make sense of what they were saying, too inaudible and incoherent to process when their lingering and suffocating gaze instantly fell on you.

An eerie silence hung heavy in this dim back alley.

Your footsteps crunched the gravel beneath you, each step on the wet pavement with deep potholes and puddles felt magnified; each movement felt raw and overly loud. You knew this alleyway like the back of your hand but right now, it felt unfamiliar. Too spacious. Too winding. Too suffocating. Your house felt like a city away.

A sharp whistle sliced through the air.

“Hey lady,” one of them drawled.

Don’t look back.

Don’t stagger.

Don’t panic.

But you already were when you heard another set of hurried footsteps other than yours.

You picked your pace and started to half-run when one of them abruptly yanked your arm backwards, vice grip as they turned you to face them, holding you in place. You could feel your heart convulsing against your ribcage, clawing its way up to your throat.

“You from around here?” one of the two asked as he took a drag of his cigarette. He blew the smoke to your face — the smell of intoxication and smoke was too familiar to your system. He threw the spent stub on the ground before he zeroed on you.

The other one was still holding you in place, his grasp steady and firm. Unflinching compared to your shivering and fidgeting body; he shamelessly raked over your figure before he leaned closer to you, “what brings a girl like you strutting around like that way past midnight?”

You clenched your jaw. Everything felt hazy and nauseating; your body felt rigid and your breath kept getting lodged at your throat. Your stomach churned and your skin burned with the urge to run beneath the cold layers of your jacket.

The stench of their fermented sweat, laced with liquor and stale smoke violated your nostrils. Vile and prickling — you wanted to puke.

“How about you drink with us. You look old enough. Go on.” The invitation didn’t make room for an argument and you knew better than to push. It was a demand, not a request. You dared not to test what would happen if you rejected the offer.

With your jaw clenched so tight it felt like your teeth were about to shatter, you took the bottle. The other man loosened his grip and shamelessly ogled as you brought the bottle closer to your mouth.

God the fucking smell made you dizzy.

But there it goes.

The internal snapping of your veins..

You didn’t think much when you crashed the bottle on the head of the man in front of you. It was somatic, like a program your limbs were itching to do from the get go.

You tried so hard not to pay much attention to the heightened sensation of splattered beer that was sticky and freezing on your skin, or how sickeningly heavy the impact was when it cracked on his forehead, disgustingly loud that it made you wince.

It didn’t matter.

You didn’t bother to look back when you tried to bolt away as far as possible from them, how harrowing their voices were as they called out to you. You tried so hard not to pay that much attention to how your soles chafed beneath your feet, calloused and bleeding from running. Or how desperation and unadulterated fear scraped your ribcage raw, your lungs contracting for air.

It didn’t fucking matter.

You tried to scream for help as you ran but before you could even blink a sound, you were dragged backwards on your arm with such force you felt your muscle bruise beneath. Grimy hands clamped down on your mouth with such pressure, “You fucking bitch, let’s see you fight back now,” he gritted through his stained teeth before he manhandled and threw you on the ground, exactly landing on the deep puddle with a loud splash.

Nothing mattered.

Not when you felt the clammy hands gripping you from behind your nape that tried to pin you down, how his nails dug on your skin, or how the belt being unbuckled echoed utterly damning in this damp alleyway.

Nothing fucking mattered.

If only your bike didn’t have a flat tire. Or if the store had a floor pump, or maybe if you, yourself had a floor pump, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. You made a mental note to buy a floor pump next time; that is if there’s still next time. Maybe if your boss didn’t ask you to cover a shift, maybe if you just said no, if you just stayed home, none of this would’ve happened, — none of their sweaty hands would’ve roamed down your layered clothes.

With closed eyes, you laid down on the cold-hard pavement, waiting for the worst to happen, to be finished, and part of you begged to disappear after it. You squinted briefly and stared at the overhead lights, too orange, too bright. It buzzed with electricity.

The grip on your shoulder and nape was gone.

“Can you stand?”

That was new. What is it this time?

You tried to sit up with great effort, your muscles and bones doubling down on your body, the high of the adrenaline dissipating slowly leaving you hollow and… lifeless.

He repeated his question quietly. His voice was muffled beneath his mask. “Can you stand?”

He was crouched in front of you, eye level. He was wearing an all black outfit: jacket, shirt, jeans, and mask; only his hair contrasted his clothes. Striking bleach-blonde neatly tied up in a ponytail.

You were well aware of how long you were staring but it’s not like you cared anymore. It doesn’t seem like he does too, based on how he could easily hold your hollowed gaze. You tore away from it and looked at the passed out bodies around you.

When you glanced back on his pale blue eyes, you didn’t know what to make of it. What to make of him.

What to make of this day.

── .✦

There’s indeed a fail-safe in each human. Something built-in — primal, instinctive. It just so happens that yours is finding solace in the raw tenderness of your skin being ripped apart near your thumb as you continue to scratch on it, while burning holes on the ceiling of your decaying bedroom.

It’s been days…? Since what happened that night. You skipped classes and made up a bunch of excuses not just to your classroom teacher, not just to Yuzuha — who never stopped texting you every morning and afternoon telling you what lessons and projects you missed — but to your mother as well.

That was the hardest part, lying to her without piling up the hurt that she was already shouldering — which was impossible — even though at this point it was already a muscle memory to swallow down the bitter aftertaste of each lie you tell her.

You knew that she knew.

But none of you were just brave enough to hear it out loud.

You could barely recall anything that came after that night — not even how you managed to come home.

Ah.

Yes.

Sanzu.

You don’t know how long you two were sitting down on that damp and subdued alleyway, nor what time you arrived home. You don’t recall much except how he walked with you without saying a word despite not taking the hand he offered to you to stand up. He didn’t speak. He never asked you anything.

Just silence.

Despite the hollowness and haziness of that night, he still placed the jacket on you quietly even if it didn’t do anything — the coldness was already imprinted on your tendons and no amount of clothing could ever warm it all up.

No matter how hard you scrubbed your skin, how scalding the water felt on your body, how much soap and fabric conditioner you drowned the clothes you wore that night — it can’t seem to wash away your regrets and the stench that lingered uninvitedly on your nose.

Eating became an arduous challenge. Not only because you had no appetite, but because everything felt nauseating to consume. Even your favorite food that your mother cooked for you paled in comparison to the repulsion nestled on the base of your throat threatening to spill out every time you would try to eat something.

4:53 AM - Tuesday

You were sitting down — hugging your knees folded closely to your chest — lightly rocking back and forth on your bed.

Oh, by the way, did I mention that sleep became impossible after that night? It already proved to be grueling to fall asleep when all you could hear in this household was the endless nagging and shouting from your father, and the sound of the heavy blows that haunted your dreams whenever you’d fall asleep — but now?

It was just plain torture.

Of course you tried to take the melatonin supplement you kept on your bedside table, and you may or may not have taken more than three at once, with the utter desperation to just have one good sleep but only to end up waking up, thrashing and quivering; drenched with sweat.

Hence this.

You clenched your jaw as you kept rocking back and forth on your bed. Time collapsed into random numbers you could no longer keep track of.

Your boss blew up the notifications on your phone — some messages said you were fired written in all caps and the next ones were a bunch of missed calls followed by a text, “pls go 2 work.,”

It made you want to throw your phone across your room but you just couldn’t — too much effort of lifting your limbs was needed. Plus, Yuzuha sent you the materials and reviewers for your upcoming exam this Tuesday.

You were grateful but you also couldn’t bring to tell her that through chat. When you swiped your phone open to scroll through the images and files she sent, you noticed the date on the top left of your phone.

Today was Tuesday.

Exam day.

Well fuck.

You didn’t even study. For the love of god, you could barely remember anything. Not even the time and date — and now you’re supposed to cram a cluster of terminologies in different subjects in your already fried brain — shut up.

Screw it.

── .✦

You probably should’ve stayed home, dragged more lines on your thighs and watched the rivets of blood pile up on it.

Maybe you should’ve studied harder, read the notes Yuzuha sent you — because the whatever the fuck was written on a piece of paper in front of you right now did not even register as a regular language anymore.

“Which of the following is the correct balanced equation for cellular respiration?”

A. CO₂ + H₂O → C₆H₁₂O₆ + O₂

B. C₆H₁₂O₆ → Lactic Acid + Alcohol

C. O₂ + ATP → CO₂ + H₂O + Sugar

D. C₆H₁₂O₆ + O₂ → CO₂ + H₂O + ATP

Too many Os.

Letter E. as in you need to exit this damn classroom and just disappear. Wait there’s no letter E. Damn. Maybe letter D. as in you wanna die. You shut your eyes tightly.

Can you even hear yourself?

Everything felt too overwhelming — the pen scratches, the hushed murmurs and the clacking heels of your teacher made you want to slam your head on the table till it cracked open. Maybe it could solve all your problems, open a new knowledge that could make you miraculously pass all your exams.

“You look…” Yuzuha started, her face contorted into something you could only make out as shock and concern.

You scoffed.

“I think I could say the same thing.” You glanced at her busted lip, the faint and fading bruise on her cheeks and the horrid black eye.

She shrugged.

“Some shithole we live in.”

Despite her casual tone, you can’t help but feel bad for how absent you were for her. You were too latched and hollowed out that you didn’t think fear could even bubble up on your chest anymore. You watched her walk with confidence and stoicism towards the table you two often shared during lunch. During breaktimes.

You were afraid to lose her. As a friend. As someone who made your everyday life a little less exhausting.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice came out barely a whisper, immediately drowned out by the rampage of footsteps and laughter in the cafeteria hall.

You didn’t even know what exactly you were sorry for. For ghosting and becoming MIA on her? For not replying? For not asking how she had been doing? Or maybe, for disappearing right when she probably needed you the most, too?

She didn’t respond and for a moment, you thought, maybe she didn’t hear it — maybe she just chose not to.

“Me too.” She whispered as she sat down on the bench. She looked weary yet understanding — that sick bitterness of understanding the situation you’re both in — when she met your gaze.

Your heart contracted.

You paused for a moment; unsure whether you could still sit down next to her after everything.

With a quiet sigh, you finally sat down next to her.

You then leaned on her shoulder without saying anything. The noises of the bustling cafeteria and hurried students — clang of trays, plates, and ringing laughter — around you were loud enough to fill the gaps where you two fell short.

Communication.

“I definitely flunked calculus.”

“I flunked everything.”

── .✦

They said that the derivative of a function is its rate of change. The slope of the curve at a single point. A reflection of motion. Of transition. How fast the output changed in response to its input.

Frankly, you never really paid any attention to the specifics — math was too mechanical and complicated to digest all at once. But the concept? That stuck. And that says a lot — especially if it mirrored the bullshits in your life.

Your ear was still ringing — high-pitched, disorienting white noise — as you grappled the grime on the floor beneath you. Your lips tasted of metal and iron as the blood settled on your tongue. Your hair fell on your face messily.

“What did I fucking tell you? Skipping classes? Skipping work?” your father gritted his teeth, his voice thundered — spit flying everywhere — over the delirious thumping of your heart against your ribcage.

It never really fully registered.

It never got easier.

Shouldn’t you be used to this by now?

How come it never felt any easier?

You stood, wiped the blood off your lips and met your father’s seething gaze.

The urge to curse everything, to let everything just burst up into flames crawled underneath your skin as he pointed a finger at you spitefully.

“After everything I’ve done for you, for this damn family? Who the hell is feeding you? Paying for your shit? Your fucking school —“

Crack.

The slap landed on your face with a brutal thwack, sound jarring and echoing; palms flat and searing on your swollen cheeks. It burned. God, it burned like your nerves were left open and raw in the cold, harsh air.

“Can’t even pull your damn weight in —“

“That’s enough —“

Thud.

Your heart doubled when his hand struck your mother — unforgiving. Incredibly dehumanizing. The mere impact sound made you dizzy, breathless.

Please.

“Stop fucking spoiling her, you already wasted enough money by not attending your sessions! Is this your way of getting back at me, huh? By leaving everything on my fucking hands when you —“

Maybe blacking out was the best option. Maybe dropping dead would be the greatest mercy you could ever taste, feel, and experience.

Not the persistent taste of metal and iron on your teeth.

Not the permanence of stinging on your skin.

Definitely not the fucking convulsion of your chest whenever this happened.

When you pushed him, it didn’t quite match whatever was unfolding in front you. You pushed him with the intention to disappear — but you didn’t know whether it was him or yourself that you wanted gone — with all your might. With everything within you that was still intact.

Is it possible to see black when you’re just watching everything in front of you happen, without any control with what you were saying or doing?

Without thinking, you grabbed your mother’s wrist and tried to run away with her, but then she stopped and tugged your arms back.

You looked back at her and noticed that she was silently crying. She had disheveled hair, pale and swollen face, and a busted lip.

She shook her head. Weakly. Softly.

What?

What the fuck does that mean?

You didn’t understand. You couldn’t — no, you were choosing not to.

She looked at you with that all-too-familiar expression, the ‘please, understand’ look, silent and breaking.

“Why?” you choked, vision blurring as tears fell uncontrollably, everything was too much, like your body was on fire. Not enough to hold the rage that bubbled from deep within your chest.

“Why the fuck would you choose to stay with him?” your voice felt raw on your hoarse throat. It was loud, resentful. You couldn’t recognize it even if you tried.

“Why?”

She looked at you with apologetic eyes as she silently accepted the rage you jabbed at her — like she already knew.

Like she knew that it was only a matter of time before you resent her too.

“Why do you keep choosing him over me?” you sobbed. It was childish, wanting to be chosen for once. Childish in a sense that you heard your younger self cry out to her mother when you first scraped your knee.

She carefully approached you, hands raised as if she was about to soothe you — not now.

No.

“Don’t,” you sniffled. “Just fucking don’t.”

When you turned, your feet moved on their own and just ran. You didn’t know what you were running away from — your father’s abuse? Your mother who can’t find the courage to run away with you? Or the voices in your head that aimed to cut the pulse of your heart?

Maybe you shouldn’t have done that. You didn’t know.

You didn’t know anything anymore.

── .✦

It was cold, bitterly numbing.

It felt like your feet were about to fall off your ligaments and bones. Like your skin had been peeled raw, leaving only exposed, tangled nerve endings behind.

The waves that crashed against your feet were relentless, dense, and biting. The footprints you left earlier were immediately washed away, replaced with the tide‘s undulations. No trace of your existence remained.

Everything hurt — excruciatingly painful and devastatingly numb, all at once.

You didn’t know how long you had been standing at the shore. It’s not like it mattered anymore.

When you finally walked closer to the deep waters, the crashing waves slammed on your thighs harder — so much harsher. Salt and numbness shrouded your senses and for a moment — you could finally feel your heart hammer against your chest again.

It’s funny.

Funny how alive you always felt when on the brink of death. Like it’s mocking to you. Taunting you.

You hated it. You hated everything.

You wanted it gone — the voices, the bruises, the stinging sensation of the cuts.

Everything.

Your body shivered as your clothes clung to your skin, drenched and uncomfortably heavy as you sunk deeper to the surf.

You wanted nothing else but to carve something out — your bones, skin, flesh, anything — just to separate yourself from the deafening and suffocating pain you couldn’t name anymore.

You wanted to scream it all out — to let every frustration that lacerated your skin be swallowed whole by the roaring ocean. To let yourself — made up of bruises and open wounds — finally disappear.

But just like always, your voice often died on your chest before it could even be breathed out.

You were gasping — gasping for air, despite being smothered by the salt-slick hissing of the wind.

Gasping for air, like your own lungs was trying to crawl out of your own body, to exist outside your skin, because for some reason it felt easier to be anything or anyone, than yourself.

“Practicing for the swimming class next PE?” a voice called out behind you.

Now why the hell would be here — now, out of all times?

Shut up.

You didn’t bother to look back. Instead, you continued to walk. Slower this time. You welcomed the freezing waves that slammed against your body, one after another.

Ignore him.

Ignore him the same way you ignored your trembling body, your chattering teeth, your damp and clumped hair that swayed with the violent zephyr.

Not now.

Not ever.

You hugged yourself tighter each step you took; you knew damn well he was still there. You could feel his presence; how he was still watching you.

“Go away!” You croaked.

Please.

Your eyes stung — from the salt, from wind, from crying too long. It burned more, as tears started to well up again. Just when you thought you have no tears left to cry out, here you are on the verge of spilling again in front of someone you barely know.

Humiliation.

That was all you could feel — stacked on top of everything your mind listed, like a debt you owe and couldn’t repay— long overdue.

Why in front of him? Why the hell would he be here?

For god’s sake, you didn’t need an audience to witness your breaking point. You didn’t care about anything at all anymore, but maybe because nobody actually, really, cared enough.

So you dampen it.

You’d beat them to it — you’d always break yourself first, before they could try to shatter you even further.

You didn’t turn. You just hoped he’d finally go away.

Or maybe don’t.

“Go the fuck away!” Vile. It was distasteful, incredibly pathetic, the way you shouted and how it broke mid-sentence. Your throat tightened as you choked on your sobs you tried to hard to swallow.

Were you telling that to him or to yourself?

You didn’t notice him walking closer, you just saw his faint shadow casted on the thrashing waves.

He didn’t say anything — but then again, he rarely does. He was just there, watching you crumble on every edge that you tried so hard to hide, only for it to spill out helplessly in the open.

Not in front of him. Especially not in front of him.

“Why won’t you go away?” You hiccuped, voice hoarse. When you looked at him — really looked — your tears fell again. Harder. You couldn’t stop them even if you tried, and honestly? You did.

He was still wearing his black mask as he stood just a few feet away from you. Drenched, silent, and … accepting.

“Make it go away.” you quietly pleaded.

Regrets hit your heart like a freight train — maybe you shouldn’t have lashed out on your mother. Maybe you should’ve stayed, be with her, maybe it’ll hurt less next time.

But … you somehow know it wouldn’t.

It never does.

Where do you put down whatever you’re feeling? Was it resentment? Hatred? Desperation?

To whom?

You thought about the people in your life. Yuzuha. Your mother. Your father — no, fuck him. You hate him so much sometimes you wish you were never born at all.

With every hit you endured, every cut you tended to, with every bruise you tried to cover up, most times, you felt more of an open wound than a human at all.

You scoffed internally — to think you just have three important people in your life, yet it felt like you were drowning trying to shoulder the weight of it all.

How? Why?

You don’t know. You don’t really know —

“It’s okay. Don’t hold back.” Sanzu spoke, slowly. Quietly.

You almost forgot he was there because of how loud the thoughts became.

But really…? Maybe that was all it took.

Just five words.

Five words as you finally broke down. To become so undone — sobs and screams that echoed with the roaring waves, easily lost in the vastness of the ocean that laid barren before you.

Hazy.

It was all so hazy — how you felt away and so present at the same time. How you just finally let yourself go — all your muscles contracted as you wailed, begging and praying for the rage or pain — maybe both, to just be gone. For it to run out before you do.

Externalize it. Make it go away.

You screamed and screamed, until your throat felt so raw and splintered; how you let yourself be swayed away by the tides that pulled you under.

He easily caught you before you finally collapsed — how his equally drenched hands wrapped around you carefully, but somehow warm — so warm against your uncontrollably trembling figure; from the freezing coldness of the water, the salty wind, and your own mind that tortured you.

── .✦

The sand clung sparsely to your feet even after you dried off. It coated your ankles like a thin sock before you brushed it away.

You sat on the shore — a good distance away from the clashing tide — your knees folded to your chest. It was a habit — one you formed somewhere along the way; you didn’t know when, but you knew it helped. Hugging your knees somehow always made it easier to breathe.

Sanzu’s jacket draped over your shoulders felt heavy — but oddly comforting. The smell of motor oil hit you at first — sharp and intrusive, but beneath it, something else lingered. Something gentler.

The faint scent of clean musk — then sandalwood. It was grounding.

You didn’t know where he went after putting his jacket on you. He just muttered a quick “wait” — almost impossible to hear because of his mask that seemed to flatten everything he said.

Everything about you — your body, your throat, your hair — was a mess. You were well aware of that.

You looked down on the sand and started tracing some small patterns. Stars. Circles.

It was quite comforting.

“Here.” Sanzu’s voice startled you, cutting through the long, shared minutes of silence with the heaving tides. He held out a white plastic bag.

With furrowed brows, you looked up to meet his unreadable expression.

He lifted his hand that was holding the plastic bag, urging you to take it. You stared at him a beat longer, trying to make sense of what he might be thinking. Eventually, you accepted it with reluctance and confusion.

Then he quietly sat down next to you.

Inside the bag: a pocari sweat, a squished egg sandwich with a few napkins, and two fun-sized chocolate bars. You knitted your brows at the contents, probably blinked once or twice, then back at him.

He opened his own plastic bag and unwrapped a twix bar. The foil wrapper crinkled as he folded it on the sides, filling the space between the two of.

Without a word, he removed his mask.

He removed his mask. And just ate in silence.

He stared at the expansive ocean that laid bare before the two of you. You knew how hard you were staring — like trying to piece together an answer to a problem you can’t solve.

His eyes were gray — clouded, with no trace of blue and zircon. Almost sentimentally unreadable. His hair swayed gently with the blowing wind, and most of all — you noticed his scar.

The scar most people talk about — almost a myth, a bet if it’s real. A concept. The defining mark.

“Why are you doing all… these?” you whispered.

You were uncertain. Unsure whether you wanted an answer at all. But you needed to know — what would it cost you if you let him.

“Do I need a reason to?” he answered.

Certainly not the answer you were looking for. But then again, you didn’t really know what answer you wanted. He met your searching gaze unflinchingly. Unapologetically.

Then he returned to his chocolate bar — uncaring whatever you might be thinking, like your question didn’t weigh anything at all.

At least to him, it didn’t seem like it did.

Absurd.

You found this whole ordeal so absurd but you still can’t help but feel so vulnerable as you stared at him. You noted the details about him — features, expressions — details you never really noticed with anyone else before.

You turned away from him when your chest began to ache — with dread. With warmth.

An oddly comfortable silence enveloped the two of you as you reached inside the plastic bag for the sandwich.

“Thank you.” you whispered.

Tears threatened to fall again when you said your gratitude out loud. Damn, really? You couldn’t believe that you were about to cry over a squished, lukewarm, convenience store sandwich.

From the corner of your eye, you caught how he paused mid-bite, and glanced your way after your quiet ‘thank you.’

You met his eyes.

And somehow, for some unexplainable reason, it was so easy to get so lost in them.

You averted your gaze away from his eyes before you mustered a faint smile. Before you could let the warmth within you spread further.

You unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. It really has been a while since you ate something without your body violently rejecting it.

It was bland and soggy, but god, does it taste so relieving after days of not eating anything. It dawned on you months later that it wasn’t the sandwich at all.

You chewed slowly, just quietly watching the tides roll in and out.

You didn’t move. Didn’t dare to look at him again after that.

It was quiet.

Not the maddening one.

Not the deafening one either.

But exactly the stillness that you needed after the chaos of everything.

── .✦

Pitter-patter.

There’s something unrenowned about the emptiness that creates a home within you, once the problems start to pile up on your feet. Gradually burying you.

Eventually erasing you.

Until you are no longer yourself — until you are what you are feeling.

Utterly consumed.

Splash.

How do you continue living while actively decaying? To keep going forward with no sense of direction? When every corner rounds you back to square one. Every arrow points inward, no steps forward, no space backward.

Stuck in a never-ending limbo of misdirections. Afraid to move at all — one move would sink you down further, crushing your windpipes.

The other? It shoots you sky-high just to crash your marrowbones on the way down.

Beep-beep.

So, where to begin?

Oh wait.

Yeah…

That night.

That night at the beach.

How long ago was it again? You forgot. You forget a lot of things lately. You never kept track of the date anymore, your studies, your work.

Your life.

Sanzu — like he always did — walked you back that night. Morning. Was it morning? Time was meaningless anyway.

He walked you back to Yuzuha's flat, not yours. You couldn’t go back there, after you hollowed your soul out to the oceans.

You wouldn’t be able to bear the smell of smoke, of liquor and sweat. The damp and moldy corner of the living room and the recurring metal taste in your mouth that never left, even after years had passed.

Yuzuha never asked anything either. She just opened the gate quietly as she rubbed her eyes that were groggy from sleep. You knew she knew. She always did.

Back there in her room, everything melded like the blood that pooled on your thigh. The gaping cut that gradually filled the space before it trickled down.

Your doubts made sense — that perhaps you were the problem all along.

Beep-beep.

You thought of your mother — did she drink her medicines? Had dinner? You hoped that she was able to open the gas stove that you always opened for her.

What about your father? You prayed that he was away. Away from her, from the two of you.

You thought of Yuzuha sleeping on the bed. Her back was facing you. What would she do in your place? Would she pathetically hold the blade like you did?

Knowing her, she wouldn’t.

But you… you just couldn’t.

It takes strength to face your scars, your bruises, your whole fractured being without flinching.

You always wondered how Sanzu managed to do that.

Ring.

You jolted out your skin.

“Move!” someone barked from behind.

You staggered to the pavement as a cyclist sped past you, spraying water against your already drenched jeans.

The pattering rain pelted your skin like dull bullets — soaking through your clothes.

Your boots were filled to the brim.

The police station looked drab and dismal under the looming thunderstorm. The flickering lights and the bustle of uncaring people didn’t help. Muddy footprints, annoyed guards, and the revving sounds of the vehicles that drove past you felt… undeniably real.

You clutched the ziplock bag tighter in your hand and clenched your jaw.

This has to be some sick fucking joke… right?

You watched your father shake hands with another guard, offering that brief smile as he fumbled with the umbrella stacked on the rack outside the station.

His smile immediately faded to a frown the brief moment you locked eyes. Those same eyes that taught you to close yours when his hand hits. To flinch before being touched.

He looked away almost immediately as he recklessly opened the umbrella he was holding.

He frowned at you before he walked away, grumbling curses under his breath. He disappeared in the corners of this suffocating street.

You looked down on the ziplock bag you were holding. Moist and fogged up, with the rivulets of the rain trickling down on it.

“Certificate of Death” was written in bold letters, striking.

Impossible to miss.

Your mother’s body was stiff — sunken eyes, blotches of blood on the skin; she was pale. Startingly cold to touch. You don’t remember much now. Most times you just see fragments of what happened.

In still frames.

Yuzuha called the paramedics as you kneeled before your mother’s body, frozen, unmoving. Lifeless.

Soon enough, the house was full of people that talked too much, too loud. Crowded with faces that blurred altogether. They spoke in the language of death. Technical, but you knew it was nothing good.

Something along the lines that livor mortis has been fully developed along the posterior part of the body; that the rigor mortis has settled in, and good god — what does that even mean?

You should’ve told her you loved her.

Even just once.

Maybe it would’ve been enough.

You wished you had enough courage for the two of you. Fought better, argued louder.

You should’ve worked harder. For her medication. For her treatment. You should’ve asked about it, maybe talked it out. Helped her more on the chores and in life.

Maybe she was just waiting for you to open up to her. You should’ve spent more time with her, hugged her more when her warmth was still there, when you could still feel her beating heart.

You wanted to beg for her forgiveness.

Did she resent you for leaving her alone that afternoon? Was she scared? Did she know? What were her last thoughts? Was it you? You sometimes hoped it was you and most times, you wished it wasn’t.

Guilt replaced your bones.

Because you knew it was you — after all you found her collapsed body inside your bedroom. Piles of your newly washed clothes were scattered on the floor. She was folding it. For you.

And for the longest time, were mad at her, for always being so fucking selfless. For never choosing you, for always sacrificing herself. You wished you hated her more, maybe it would hurt less.

It didn’t. You would’ve stayed if you knew this would happen.

You wished you could’ve done more.

Another splash.

As you stared at the ziplock bag in your hands, you realized that was the only remnant of the family you had. If you could ever call it ‘family’.

The conclusion.

Your mother’s death certificate. Your father’s warrant of arrest. The dismissal of charges. Temporary protective supervision. Your school determent certification.

You were finally free.

You should be happy right? No.

It never felt like freedom even after years had passed. Truth be told, it felt like a nail to your coffin.

Those documents were buried somewhere in the boxes that sat unopened in your apartment.

When you looked up, you saw Sanzu standing across the street, parallel to where you stood.

You wondered, why does he always appear before you in your lowest moments? Just watching.

Never flinching.

He was holding an umbrella in his right hand, the other was stuffed inside the pocket of his black jacket. You noticed his white knuckles as he gripped the umbrella.

You stared in his eyes until everything around you faded into white noise. Just a fragment. A bitter nightmare.

You still dreamt of those days.

Everything about the past, haunted you — past your dreams, past your waking life. It was a constant shadow that loomed over your shoulder. Waiting to take you with it.

Ten years never felt like anything. ── .✦ author's note 𓍼ོ Hello! So this chapter was written last 2021 with the hopes to build my OC’s backstory (Kasumi) — which is now the reader — and how Sanzu left an impact in her life; best believe that much has been revised since then.

As I mentioned, this was heavy and disturbing to write and if you’re going to ask me why I even bother, I do it to portray the horrors people are too afraid to discuss and take seriously. Mental health — CPTSD, complex and prolonged grief, how our nervous system grapples with what we have to survive — was never clean and linear. Let me know your thoughts with this one. I may or may not have overlooked some ungrammatical sentences, typos, or errors (just kindly auto-correct them in your mind mwehe >< )

Reblogs and hearts are highly appreciated, if u have reach this far, thank you sooo much for readingg !!! AAAAA

Tune in till the next fragment luvies!

xoxo, yna <3

do not repost, copy, translate, or redistribute on any platform without explicit permission. all credits to @inanisomnia / @ynasomniaur . this work is fiction and does not reflect the views or actions of real individuals.

#yna!writes #yna.confidential #please xanny #tokyo rev sanzu #tokyo rev oc #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #sanzu haruchiyo #sanzu x reader #sanzu x you #bonten sanzu #bonten #bonten tokyo revengers

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