#haven't read it-- maybe starting something new is the way to go instead?

[upsidedownknight]

all I want to do is reread mdzs or tgcf but the size of them was daunting enough the first time idk if I truly have it in me

[iceeericeee]

I wonder how many tags i can add on to this

[obeymeow]

being neurodivergent is all fun and games until you remember those hourly quote bots on twitter and think well maybe I can't make a bot anymore but I could schedule a few quotes a day, that shouldn't be hard. it sounds fun to have a bunch of quotes of my favorite character Thirteen from hit mobile game Obey Me! and its sequel Obey Me! Nightbringer. and then you think about how arduous collecting the quotes is going to be but she's only been in the games for maybe a year and a half with little screentime and you love collecting things so you start but then you remember that you love collecting things so naturally you have ALL of her screentime in the game and suddenly you have 45k characters of quotes and are several lessons into season 4 (which is truly a trial in and of itself) but not nearly close enough to the end but you refuse to just stop collecting the quotes and make the account with the EXCESS of what you have already because you literally only have season 4 to get through and if you don't do it just seeing the bot (because now you've been informed you can make tumblr bots instead) will haunt you with that knowledge even if nobody else would ever know. this is a general anecdote of a situation that could easily happen to anyone though and not in any way related to my life

[ms-demeanor]

Hello,Do you have any tips for recovering from internet brain rot? It's like my patience has dried up and if there's a huge amount of text (even about topics I'm very interested in) that I have to read, I get annoyed and just don't interact with the material at all.

I have multiple tips!

TL;DR (Because of course I generated a wall of text): Take a break from the internet, create a schedule for getting yourself used to reading longer texts, take breaks while reading, and perhaps reconsider how you interact with The Internet and the world in general.

Here are the basic "to reduce the brain rot just don't interact" tips:

Take a break. Give yourself time off from The Internet (for these purposes The Internet is the social media industrial complex; clickbait news, recommended videos, social media sites, etc. You don't have to totally check out of email or your local news site, just get away from the huge time sucks). I'd say to take at least one day a week where you're online for less than an hour a day, and to maybe work up to doing a week-long break from whatever the main agents of rot are.

Once you've identified the main agents of rot, give yourself a time limit or set up rules for yourself. I don't let myself look at social media in bed, for instance; no staying up late on my phone, no scrolling before I get up and start my day. I don't give myself a strict time limit anymore, but for a while there I was very firm about "you only get to go online 4 hours a day" with myself.

Don't comment (or at least only share the things you really want to share). If you feel the need to argue, or if you feel pressured into sharing something, don't. Step back, maybe even open the post in a new tab or send it to yourself, and come back later. If you've been thinking about it and have decided it IS something you care enough to talk about, share it. If you look at the tab and feel stressed out or still feel reactive, close the tab and walk away.

Go out and interact with the real world in a non-work capacity for a few hours a week; take walks or go shopping or go out and take pictures of insects. Touch grass so that The Internet is not the only thing you're doing with your downtime.

Here are the "work on reading longer texts specifically" tips:

Set a reading goal for yourself. Maybe you want to read one New Yorker article a week, maybe you want to read all the way through news articles, maybe you want to read novels like you used to in high school. Figure out what your actual goal is and articulate that goal to yourself.

Set up a practice schedule and gradually increase the amount of time you're reading. Don't go from short tumblr posts to a novella, go from short tumblr posts to slightly longer news articles, then to slightly longer essays, then to a novella. You can do this in literal paragraphs if you want to - maybe your goal for your first day is to read five paragraphs in a row, and the second day is seven, and the third day is ten, etc, until you are comfortably reading for longer amounts of time without counting paragraphs. (Try this with books from gutenberg.org; read a classic you haven't read a few paragraphs at a time and if you find yourself going over your paragraph count, let yourself run with it. If you finish a book, good for you, find another one and start again.)

Set up a maintenance schedule. If your goal is to read longer news pieces, try to read a longer piece every week and try to read to the end of every news article you open. If your goal is to read novels or longer nonfiction, try to read a book a month (maybe setting aside dedicated time each week to read, maybe Thursday evenings are book time now). If you find yourself falling back into old habits, take a break from The Internet and do some more rigorous practice for a while.

If you find yourself getting frustrated while you are reading you can also take a break! Read until you get frustrated and then *instead of switching to a different page or closing the article* close your eyes or look out the window or away from the screen for thirty seconds (count 'em! count out the time in your head) and then continue reading. You can also take a longer pause and sit and think about why you're getting frustrated. Is it the subject matter? Is it just looking at this text for longer than a couple minutes (if you are experiencing FOMO because you're reading for another few minutes instead of scrolling, the harder tips at the bottom are going to be important to you)? Are you comfortable? Are you reading this text to procrastinate from something and the procrastination is making you nervous? Are you trying to read to the bottom of your dash and reading a long post is taking up more time than you want while scrolling? Are you bored? Genuinely and very seriously: are your eyes straining and does your head hurt (if this is the case when is the last time you had your eyes checked or your glasses prescription updated)?

Here are the much harder "examine yourself and reassess your reactions to things" tips:

Work on re-training your attention span.

Identify something that you enjoy and find deeply engaging, and schedule some dedicated time for that thing. Set a literal timer (it can be a short amount of time at first) and sit down and do the thing without switching to a different website or opening up an app on your phone. This can be re-reading or watching a couple episodes of a show you like or listening to your favorite album while you sit down and draw. What's important is to spend a longer time focusing on doing something you DO like before attempting to spend a longer time focusing on something you DON'T like.

When you're starting on things you DON'T like, start with things you mildly don't like, or that feel tedious but aren't actually unpleasant. One way I do this is by transcribing poetry; I look up poems that I connect to and I transcribe them into a notebook that I have for that purpose. I enjoy having the finished product, but I don't enjoy the process, so it takes some effort to stick with it. Maybe there is a boring book you have been trying to get through, maybe you need to detail your car, maybe you've been trying to take up embroidery - these are good things to make yourself pay attention to (having music or a podcast on can help, but avoid watching videos or opening social apps)

When you're okay at that kind of thing (doing something not actively unpleasant) work on your attention span for things you ACTIVELY don't like. I don't think you should be a masochist about this, but you should work on being okay with doing unpleasant things for a sustained period of time. All of us have to do unpleasant stuff sometimes, and it's better to be able to pay attention to it for an hour at a time than it is to put it off forever.

This leads into the next Big Tip which is:

Work on being less reactive

Find something that you dislike; I'm going to use conservative talk radio as my example.

Expose yourself to the disliked thing for short periods of time (under ten minutes, maybe under five minutes).

Work on moderating your emotions during the time spent exposed to the disliked thing. If it makes you angry, work on intellectualizing the anger without becoming agitated by it. If it makes you sad, work on accepting that sadness without letting it drag down your mood. This isn't precisely about becoming numb to stimuli, but it is about being more in control of how your emotional reactions impact you.

Analyze the disliked thing. Why does it make you angry? Is that on purpose by the creator of the thing? Would it make someone else angry in the same way? How would you explain the anger to a neutral third party?

Consider responding instead of reacting. Let's say you're seeing a lot of very sad and upsetting things online and it's making you sad and upsetting you. You re-share these things because you don't feel like there's anything else you can do or you get angry when you see people sharing incorrect information, perhaps you argue with people about this. Now try looking at the upsetting things through the lens of point number four. This has upset you; how has it upset you? And once you've thought about how it upset you and have articulated that to yourself, find out what you can DO. I cannot make conservative talk radio go off the air, but I can support the groups harmed by conservative talk radio; thus there is no point in me getting upset and angry about conservative talk radio when I could be helping the people they target instead.

And that gets us to the last big tip which is:

Ask yourself if you are spending your time in a way that is enjoyable and edifying.

We all have limited time in our days and limited time in our lives. If you are finding yourself frequently frustrated online, it's a good time to consider whether you want to be spending so much time online.

If you feel like The Internet has become a rat race in which you can't read more than a few paragraphs without getting frustrated, there's a good chance that not only are you spending too much time on The Internet, but you're also spending it on doing things that you don't particularly like.

A realization like yours, Anon, that you are getting frustrated with any longer texts, can actually be really helpful because it provides a good opportunity to look at what you're engaging with and consider the questions:

Is this something I enjoy?

Do I feel good when I do this thing?

And that's a great way to figure out how to get rid of things that are leading to your background frustration. Maybe that looks like paring down the list of blogs you follow, maybe that looks like unsubscribing from some youtubers and podcasts, maybe that looks like uninstalling apps, maybe that looks like blocking a whole bunch of people and terms on your socials.

I don't think that everything we do has to help us grow as a person or expand our consciousness or anything like that, but I do think it's important to prioritize doing things that you like and doing things that you feel good about.

Like, I'm not doing something *wrong* if I spend an afternoon on Youtube watching drama channels every once in a while, but if I come out of a few afternoons of watching youtube drama channels feeling restless and anxious and like I wasted my time - even if I enjoyed myself while I was watching - it's probably a good idea for me to take a break from drama channels and see if there's something I can do instead that will make me feel better.

ALSO, A NOTE:

You are an animal that requires significant enrichment in your enclosure.

Think about tigers. Tigers in captivity are going to be excited to get high-value treats for any reason. They will eat and enjoy the treats. But if a tiger in captivity is only given the treats and never given any other form of activity to engage with, it is not going to be a happy tiger. If you start putting their treats in a pumpkin or a puzzle feeder or giving them toys to play with, that is going to be a much happier tiger.

Please give your brain things to play with that are more than just treats (though it does need some treats!). Make yourself a happy tiger. Your brain need a puzzle feeder, not a treat button.

[cupid-styles]

come on, disco queen*

Word count: 6,200+

70s!Harry and virgin fmc!! Enjoy disco bbs 🪩🍒💌🔮🫶🏼🩷

Smut CWs: dirty talk, talk of anal, fingering, squirting, fmc being a pillow princess hehe

—

Daisy's limbs are haphazardly thrown askew over the length of the couch when Harry walks into the apartment he shares with his sister, Willow.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at her appearance; her stature barely covered in a crocheted halter top and a hopelessly tiny pair of denim shorts. She's barefoot, eyes closed and buried in the crook of her elbow. He assumes he's sleeping as he kicks his sneakers off and moseys into the kitchenette, focusing on the all-consuming dryness coating his throat and mouth.

San Diego in the middle of summer was not for the faint of heart.

She lifts her head up when her ears perk up at the sound of someone shuffling through the kitchen. She expects to see Willow, but instead is met with Harry, and huffs, dramatically tossing her head back against the woven pillow.

"Don't you have a home?" Harry finally bites, breaking the silence between the two. The only other sound echoing through the area of the apartment is the large fan Harry managed to snag with some leftover cash from his paycheck earlier this summer. Even though it's not efficient enough to cool down the entire place, it's decent at breaking down the sticky humidity.

"It's too hot to move." Daisy mutters. He glances over, trying to ignore her uncovered midriff and the way her breasts are barely covered by the white stitches of her top. This time, he does roll his eyes — it's not that he doesn't like his sister's best friend, it's just that if she was going to hang around the apartment, especially without Willow, then maybe she could cover up just a little bit more.

"Better start pitching in for electric then," he utters between sips of lukewarm tap water. "Willow still at work?"

Daisy sits up now, her long brown hair mussed by what Harry can only assume is an afternoon of laying down on his couch. She nods, blinking her eyes slowly as they adjust to the warmth of the room. It was one of Harry's favorite parts of the apartment — the way the sun hit in the late afternoon, effectively making it glow.

"Yeah. I think she swapped shifts with the pregnant girl she works with so she went in later. Think she said something about being home around 10 tonight?"

Harry nods as he finishes his glass of water, giving it a quick rinse and placing it on the dish towel they used for drying.

"You sticking around then?" he asks, leaning his hip against the refrigerator and crossing his arms over his chest. Daisy shrugs and glances up at the clock, her eyebrows raising slightly when she reads the time.

"Was thinking about hitting the record store before they close. I wanted to grab that new Fleetwood Mac album. I haven't been able to get that one song out of my head since I heard it on the radio the other day — you can go your own way, or something?"

Harry nods knowingly. He'd been a fan of Fleetwood since they release their last album and had been first in line to snag their most recent.

"Rumours, yeah?" He asks, and Daisy lights up, her eyes wide, "I have it. There's this one incredible song — "Dreams" — and it's all Stevie. The lyrics are amazing."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Harry replies, "I'm surprised you didn't already snag it when it came out."

Daisy works at the local record store which, if Harry's being completely honest, is kind of his dream job. He thinks it's really cool that she gets to check out all the newest music and has first dibs on albums, even if their music taste differed sometimes — he tended to lean more towards Led Zeppelin, while Daisy favored Donna Summer.

"It's been sold out for ages," Daisy says with a shrug, "I swear, there was a week where it was the only record I sold."

Harry chuckles at that and opens the refrigerator, reaching in to grab a can of Miller.

"You want one? I moved the player into my room 'cos of that party Willow threw a few weeks ago, when that kid almost ralphed all over it," Harry rolls his eyes, "We can listen to it in there, if you want."

Admittedly, Daisy is taken aback just a tad. She's been hanging around Willow for the past few years — she's originally from the Pacific Northwest and moved out to San Diego shortly after graduating high school, chasing a pipe dream on the tail end of '60s-fueled free love, only to find a major culture change in the early '70s.

The war out in Vietnam had created a ton of tension and, on her second day here, she spent the morning at a diner, her green eyes widened and glued to the hazy television reporting on the latest death count. She rolled her eyes when an older man huffed past her, mumbling something under his breath about being a sensitive hippie — she wasn't, she just had a compassionate heart — but she felt slightly seen when one of the waitresses sat down in the booth next to her, coffee pot in her hand, her own face crawling with horror.

They sat there in silence as the local news anchor read off the names of American soldiers that had passed in combat.

"'s heartbreaking, isn't it?"

Daisy turned to look at the waitress, a tanned, fresh-faced girl with curly brown hair.

"Totally freaky," Daisy sighed out with a shake of her head.

"You know anyone out there?" The girl asked, nudging her chin the direction of the television. Daisy was fortunate; she'd known a few guys from high school that had been unlucky enough to get drafted shortly after their 17th birthday, but that was it.

"No, thankfully not. You?"

The waitress pursed her lips, "No. My brother would've gotten picked for sure if he was an American citizen. Lucky for us, we're still working on the whole immigration thing. Brits and whatever."

"That's a trip." Daisy breathed, and the girl nodded.

"Totally." She stood from the booth and reached over to refill Daisy's coffee cup. "Are you new to town?"

"What, the duffel give it away?" Daisy smirked, making the girl laugh out loudly.

"Far out. Do you have a place to stay? You seem nifty, my brother and I have some room if you need a couch to crash on."

The rest, she supposes, is history.

Daisy only stayed at Harry and Willow's place for a month or so before nabbing a job at Sam's Records. Thanks to their generosity, she was able to save up to snag a small loft in the neighborhood, but she was happy.

She was especially happy when she was around Harry, too.

He didn't express a huge interest in Daisy, and she soon found out it was because he was a casanova of sorts. He worked hard, enough to maintain the apartment and pay the bulk of the rent and bills, but he was constantly bringing girls back for quickies. Willow would roll her eyes and gag, Daisy would ignore the twinge of jealousy in her heart.

So that's why she's a little surprised when Harry makes an offer to actually hang out without Willow. They normally ignore each other or make small talk until Willow gets home from work or relieves them of their awkward conversation. They haven't really spent too much time together one-on-one in the five years Daisy's been in San Diego.

But she's not foolish enough to let this opportunity to waste — it'd be a lie if she said she wasn't just a little bit attracted to Harry. Besides, with the amount of people he hooked up with, she as undeniably curious about what he had to offer.

"Yeah, sounds groovy," Daisy replies, standing from the couch and stretching her achy limbs out. She swears she catches Harry's eyes linger a little too long on the swell of her breasts beneath her top, but quickly convinces herself otherwise as he digs in the fridge for another beer. She follows him into his bedroom, a space that Daisy could recall being in only twice before: Once, a few days into her initial stay here when she was high off a few bong hits and thought she was walking into Willow's room, only to be met with a strawberry blonde straddling Harry's lap, mid-makeout (she'd quickly stammered and shut the door closed before Harry's eyes could even flutter open), and another time, with Willow, when she was looking for her Elton John record.

Both times, Daisy hadn't taken much of his room into view, instead feeling equally awkward and uncomfortable that she was there without his actual invitation. So when Harry places the two beer cans on his nightstand and strides over to his record player to turn Rumours on, she peeks at the little details of his space — a myriad of Polaroid photographs, some of friends, some with friends, some of people she didn't recognize.  A stack of worn paperback books with swollen spines next to his bed, and Daisy feels her eyes widen when she notices Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique on top. She knew Harry was liberal and kind and all, but she never expected to find feminist theory literature in his room.

She's taking in the tacked up band posters covering the walls when the soundly crackle of vinyl fills the room. Harry turns with a cheeky smile on his lips as he places the record insert back in its sleeve, then nudges his chin in the direction of the sweaty, unopened cans of Miller.

"I heard they're supposed to play LA sometime this fall," Harry finally breaks the silence as Daisy hands him his can, the two of them cracking them open. She lifts hers to her lips and takes down greedy gulps, partially because of the heat but mainly because of Harry.

"Oh, right on," Daisy replies, shifting her stance from foot to foot. "I think I'm gonna try to hit that ABBA show next month in downtown SF."

Harry wrinkles his nose at her response as he sits on the edge of the bed, wordlessly encouraging Daisy to do the same. She does, albeit hesitantly, and with enough distance between them.

"That's a mighty drive for some disco," he teases, though there's a hint of seriousness to his commentary, "You going with someone decent?"

Daisy shrugs, "Willow was into it but she probably can't take off from work. I might ask that guy Warren I work with, he said he'd be down if he could get some good sales out of it."

Harry raises his eyebrows and quickly shakes his head between sips. "No way Jose, you're not making an eight hour drive to SF with a coke dealer."

Harry wasn't hugely into discos, but he was a frequent flyer when it came to tagging along with Willow and Daisy to ensure they were safe. As far as he knew, Daisy didn't dabble in coke all too much, even if it ran rampant in the nightclubs they attended.

"But if I don't go who knows when I'll be able to see them again—"

"I'll go with you," Harry blurts out before he can fathom the thought of a 16-hour drive, round trip, for a bubblegum group he doesn't even like. "Fuck Warren, he's good for nothing but drugs."

"Harry, you hate ABBA," Daisy rolls her eyes. "I'll be fine, really."

"Who says I hate ABBA?"

"You literally yell at us to turn it off every time we put Arrival on."

Harry shrugs his shoulders and leans back against the neat array of pillows, tucking his arms behind his head. "It's me or it's a no-go, disco queen."

She sighs and shakes her head before leaning back on her elbows, her palm pressed tightly against the condensation of the can. "Please, there's no way you would want to sit in a car with me for that long."

"Where'd you get that idea from?" Harry asks with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his lips into a thin line. Daisy's quiet for a moment, churning a reply in her head that doesn't offend him or make her sound dumb.

"You just... I'm your sister's friend, you know? I know you probably don't dig me too much, and that's fine, but you don't have to go out of your way for me just because I don't have anyone else to go with."

"What makes you think I don't dig you?" Harry pushes, making Daisy sigh.

"It's nothing, forget it," she mumbles, finishing off her beer, "Thanks for this, the album's righteous, I'll pick it up at my next shift."

Harry's scrambling to stop her as she walks out to the living room and shuffling her shoes on. Dreams sounds from his bedroom, the song he was most excited to show her, and it only drives his actions further, her words echoing and gnawing into his heart.

"Daisy, stop," he tries, grasping out to wrap his fingers around her wrist, "Stop— just, talk to me, will you? C'mon, I— I don't know where you got that from, I think you're really stellar, Dais."

Daisy looks up at him, momentarily glancing down to hand around her wrist before shifting her wide eyes back to his. "You don't have to be like this, I gotta head home anyway—"

"You don't," Harry shakes his head, stepping closer to her, invading her space as she backs against the front door. "You've been jiving here all day, you don't have to go home. Don't lie to me."

Daisy lets out a frustrated sigh at his pushy nature, but not before she's entirely too distracted by his musky scent and the way his palm is pushed against the wall, right next to her head, making his bicep flex just slightly. She watches as his tongue peeks out and he licks over his lips, waiting for her to break. If it had been anyone else in the world, she would've done everything she could to remove herself from the situation, go home, and soak in the bath while she beat herself up about being too awkward, not sociable enough.

But this is Harry. And Daisy can't, even if she desperately wants to, say no to him.

So she huffs and darts her eyes back to his bedroom, making an annoyed gesture with her hands that signaled what she really wanted to say: c'mon then, dipshit, let's go talk.

Harry's smirking as Daisy kicks her shoes back off, a triumphant puff to his chest. When they return, he closes the door just gently enough to where she wouldn't have noticed if she weren't hyper aware of his every action.

"Right, then," Harry says, sitting down across from Daisy on the bed, who now has her legs criss-cross-applesauce. He follows her lead and allows for her a decent distance between them. Daisy feels like she's having an awkward first kiss with someone via spin the bottle, but she quickly bats the thought of kissing Harry away. "Why don't you think I like you?"

"Because," Daisy sighs, reaching up to cover her warm face with her hands, "I'm just Willow's annoying friend, you know? Always in your way and at your place, drinking your beer and listening to your records."

"Where did you even get that idea?" Harry asks with furrowed brows, shaking his head. "I don't think you're annoying, and I don't care that you hang here, with or without Willow. You can drink all my fuckin' beer or listen to my records until they scratch."

Daisy blushes at that. He's never outwardly declared any type of fondness towards her, friendly or not.

"You just... always seem so peeved when you come out with us to the discos and stuff," Daisy admits, shrugging lightly, "I feel like you think you have to babysit me or something."

Harry chuckles with a shake of his head. "You're a trip, you know that?" His question is rhetorical, so she continues sitting there, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah, I wanna make sure you guys are being safe and no, I don't love disco or boogieing down the way you lot do. But I'm never peeved about hanging with you, Dais. I'm sorry if I did something to make you feel that way, but I promise, you're more to me than Willow's friend."

Daisy's eyes finally meet his. Harry notices the faint blush that blossoms over her cheeks, and he can't help the way his lips turn upward in the smallest tick, his heart expanding ever so slightly at the sight.

"That's nice of you," she eventually mumbles out, blinking slowly. He chuckles quietly and shrugs, murmuring out, "yeah, I guess."

Side A of Rumours is long over now; the only noise sounding through the room is the repeated spin of the vinyl, over and over again. Daisy glances over to the record player, her bottom lip dropping open.

"You should— you should stop that," she says, "It'll scratch the record."

Harry smirks. He watches as she cowers slightly and he notes her nervous energy, the way her anxiety radiates off of her in small waves.

"Would you get me a new one if I did?" he asks, his voice dropping to a raspy tone.

Daisy looks back at Harry, her eyes somehow seeming even wider now. "Y-yeah. If you needed it, yeah."

"Yeah?" he teases, "You're good that way, aren't you?"

"H-Harry—" Daisy's lips fold over the syllables of his name, as if she's broken herself from the spell she was under. "I... you don't have to do this. I get it, you don't think I'm annoying but... don't just try to sleep with me 'cause you feel bad for me."

Harry lets out a frustrated sigh as he backs out of her space, pressing his lips into a thin line.

"Why do you think you're some kind of charity case?" he asks with a shake of his head. "I don't feel bad for you, Daisy, and I would never take advantage of you in that way."

"You're just— you're you! And I'm me! And it doesn't make sense that you'd want anything to do with me outside of Willow! You've never acted this way before—"

"Yeah, exactly!" Harry exclaims, cutting off the words falling from Daisy's mouth. "You're my little sister's best friend, and I don't want to fuck things up between you two by doing anything stupid. I've been staying away from you for years because it's easier to do that than hurt you or her or get hurt myself if things didn't work out!"

Daisy's jaw drops open at Harry's admission, her cheeks immediately warming. She wants to cover her blush with her hands, but she can't find it in her to move, let alone tear her gaze away from his. His Adam's apple bobs in his throat as he awaits a response, so when she's at a loss for words, he huffs in frustration and shakes his head, standing from the bed.

"Forget it— just forget I fuckin' said anything," he mutters, rounding the bed to open his bedroom door, his denim bell bottoms swishing with his steps. "Go home if you need to, stick around if you want— just pretend this never happened, alright?"

"I— Harry, stop," Daisy finally musters, shaking her head as she attempts to process, "I'm not... I don't want to forget what you just said. I'm just trying to understand it."

"What else is there to understand?" He bites.

"Am I... am I wrong in assuming that you like me? Is that what you're trying to say?"

Please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong, please don't be wrong—

"Yeah. That's what I'm saying, Daisy."

The world slows just a bit — not just for Daisy, but for Harry, too. He'd never really envisioned a time where he admitted to having feelings for his little sister's best friend, but it seemed that they'd brewed and simmered for so long that they had no choice but to boil over. Daisy was just as surprised, though. She'd spent the past few years assuming that he hated her and looked at her like a naïve nuisance always taking up space.

"Can you say something?" Harry finally grumbles, and Daisy isn't aware of how long it's been since he made his confession.

"I..." her eyebrows are furrowed, confusion apparent on her face as she looks up. "Why me?" This time, he returns the same expression.

"Are you serious?" Harry echoes, "You're... you're beautiful and smart and so sweet to everyone you meet. I've seen you trip-sit more kids in this apartment than I care to count, and you didn't even know 'em all. You have good taste in music, even if it includes ABBA... you're amazing to my sister, and every time we stop into the record store and you're just sitting there, reading your books... Dais, I swear to god, you look like a goddamn angel."

A furious blush flowers over Daisy's neck and face. She'd watched Harry hookup with a constant rotation of people, all of who she felt were more attractive than her. It felt unreal to hear that he thought she was pretty and kind.

"Can I— can I kiss you?" Daisy blurts, raising to her knees, the plushy bedding of Harry's mattress digging into her legs.

"Yes. Please, Dais, kiss me."

She nods and leans forward, slow and hesitant. Their lips brush against one another and Harry reaches up to carefully caress her cheek, gently pulling her closer until finally, they make contact.

It feels as though years of tension are being translated through their kiss. Harry's quick to meld his mouth against hers, moving his lips in a careful pace. She meets him halfway with similar touches; quiet smacks of their lips moving together. With a hand on his thigh, Harry's tongue enters Daisy's mouth and he's licking at her, more eagerly now that he's gotten a taste. Daisy parts from him momentarily, but only to move over his lap and straddle his legs, her heels pressed into her bum as she wraps her arms around his neck to pull him back in for another kiss.

She feels floaty and loses herself in the warm comfort of Harry's mouth, especially when his large hands find the backs of her thighs, sliding up to her ass. She swears she's never felt so good before, until the hardness of Harry's length makes itself known, poking at her core between layers of fabric. It's just enough to rip her out of her dreamy state, and she parts with a small gasp when he involuntarily bucks his hips up, searching for some sort of friction-filled release.

"Fuck— I'm sorry," Harry mutters out through spit-slicked lips. They're a muted cherry hue now, the same color they get when he's had a few too many glasses of red wine, or when he's saying goodbye to his one night stand in the hallway.

"It's okay," Daisy mumbles. She knows it's just human biology, that it's obviously natural for guys to get hard during heated makeout sessions. It's not like she's never felt a dick before, but it's also just that — she's never actually felt a dick before. "Um, I just— can we slow down?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. You just— I'm just like... really excited, I guess, and my body... knows that."

"It's fine, Harry," Daisy peeps out, smiling softly at the blush covering his cheeks, "But, uh... I've never... been with anyone before."

"What do you mean?"

She resists the urge to roll her eyes. She had hoped that he would've caught on, but clearly she was wrong.

"I've never been with anyone."

"But I've seen you makeout with people at the disco and shit."

"Yeah, but I've never taken them home."

It takes a moment for it to click, but when it does, Harry's eyes widen and his mouth forms around an oh. Daisy feels an all-encompassing embarrassment take up her entire form — she'd disclosed this information to people in the past, and they normally scampered off because the responsibility of taking her virginity was simply too much. She understood that, truly, but it got tiring after awhile. And, let's face it — this was Harry, and she really, really didn't want to feel stupid in front of him.

"I'm... I didn't know that."

Daisy shrugs, "It's not exactly like I go around parading it."

"Well, I would hope not."

This time, Daisy does roll her eyes, and Harry smirks as she gently pushes at his shoulder. The awkwardness melts just slightly and Daisy's body relaxes.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to— I get that it can be a big deal for some chicks," Harry says, moving his palm to gently squeeze her hip, "But I do really like you, Daisy. And this doesn't change that."

Her heart swells in her chest and warmth envelops her belly. He has a dopey, lovesick smile on his lips — the same one he gets when he, Daisy, and Willow share a joint at the end of a night out, she notices — and she knows her face looks just as silly, if not more so.

"I like you too," she murmurs, reaching out to run her fingertips along the length of his jaw. She traces over his slightly scruffy beard, which she knows is a day or two overgrown. She trails up to the mustache covering his upper lip, the one Willow always complains about and says makes him look like a homeless hippie, but Daisy secretly adores. She ends at his lips, gently pulling at his bottom one to form a puppy's pout. Playfully, he nips at her fingertip and she giggles.

She doesn't retract her finger and instead presses her thumb between his swollen lips. He allows her to it, readily and openly, the digit laying flat against his tongue before he wraps his lips around it, sucking down softly.

"Oh," she breathes, feeling his tongue lazily swirl around her thickest finger. Daisy's core flutters at the image; the way his cheeks are hallowed out ever so slightly, a perfect picture of submission beneath her.

"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Harry whispers. She doesn't know how long she's been in his bed on top of his lap, but she assumes it's been awhile with the way golden hour is soaking every inch of his bedroom. She's slow in her movements, with the way she removes her finger from his mouth and, instead of climbing off like he'd expected her to, trails her hand below her crocheted top, brushing her spit-covered thumb over her nipple.

"Oh, fuck."

Daisy's head lulls to the side as she plays with herself, her nipple slowly hardening between her fingertips. Harry can barely see anything through the white crocheted vest, just peaks of flesh and the warm-toned hues of her nipples, and his jaw has still managed to go slack as he watches her with parted lips. She's a real life wet dream, he's sure of it.

"Dais..." Harry sighs as she lifts her hand to her mouth, wetting her fingers only to travel back down to give her other nipple the same treatment, "Lemme see? Please, baby, I'm desperate."

Daisy hums at his admission. It's hard to ignore the electricity that zips through her belly at the word baby, but she tries to keep her cool, even if she has no idea what she's doing. Slowly, she lifts her arms and ditches her torso of the netted material, allowing the breeze coming from the fan to only harden her nipples even further.

"Can I touch?" He asks, his eyes flickering up to hers for consent, "You can dictate the pace, lemme know what you're comfortable with but— 'm gonna die if I can't touch your pretty tits, Dais."

Daisy nods, her words stuck in her throat from Harry's boldness. He's quick to duck beneath her form as a surprised yelp tumbles from her lips, but it's quickly replaced with a whimper as he attaches his mouth to her nipple. He's sucking and licking, going back and forth between each one, his large hands gripping harshly at her hips. She's struggling to keep still but it's especially difficult when he nips at the sensitive buds, his teeth supplying the most delicious and quick licks of pain.

"Harry, I—"

His head snaps at up the second his name leaves her throat, immediately removing his lulling tongue from the patches of skin he'd been obsessing over.

"What's wrong?" Harry asks, panicked. She shakes her head and breathes out tensely as she pathetically tries to roll her hips against his; an attempt to showcase her communication better, but he's reluctant in accepting it.

"Words, bub," he instructs, reaching up to cradle her jaw in his palm, "Are you okay?"

"Good," Daisy bobs her head, "Feels good. I— more, please?"

Her words are a jumbled mess as they float from her brain to her mouth. She knows she must sound borderline high but Harry doesn't tease, instead sliding his hand down to the waistband of her denim shorts, his palm flush against her tummy.

"What do you want?"

She swallows. She's hooked up with people before, gotten fingered and given a few blowies, but she's never been asked to verbalize her needs. It makes her flush with embarrassment as her jaw opens and closes dumbly, unsure of what she's even requesting of Harry.

"I don't know," she finally breathes, hitching her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry. No one's ever asked me what I want before, I don't have as much experience as you—"

"Shush," Harry's quick to shut her up with a shake of his head. "I don't want you to feel bad about that. I just want to make sure I'm not pushing you too far. You get to decide, this is your body."

Daisy leans into Harry's grasp, pressing her cheek against his hand.

"Here, why don't you tell me where I can touch you?" he suggests, moving his other palm back up to her breasts, "Are you still alright here?"

She nods, gasping as he pinches her nipple between his fingers. His hands travel down to the swell of her ass, cupping her cheeks firmly.

"And what about here?"

"Mhm." her eyes flutter when he squeezes, a moan bubbling in her throat.

He keeps one hand on her bum as he uses the other to trail featherlight touches along the inside of her thigh, up to her core. She can feel her hole squeezing around nothing, a steady thumping buzzing through her clit, and she whimpers when he cups her pussy through her shorts.

"Is this okay, baby?"

Daisy nods, her breath quickening at the sensation. "You— you can take them off," she says in a moment of courage, "Want you to touch me there."

"Ah," Harry smirks as he unbuttons the denim, dragging the zipper down. "You want me to touch your little pussy, is that it?"

She whines as he budges her up just far enough to shimmy the material down her legs. She's not wearing the sexiest of underwear — just a plain cotton pair in a light blue — but Harry still licks his lips at the sight of the damp patch flowering over her hole, where he's desperate to feel.

"Has anyone ever touched you down here?"

"Yes," she mumbles, bucking her hips against his hand. His thumb is drawing light circles into her clit, not enough to satiate her need for him, instead providing a semblance of sensation.

"Do you ever do it?" he questions, moving his finger down to her hole. She's clenching with need as he gently pushes a finger in through the fabric. He's not fingering her, not even close; just making her whimper with need at the thought of what she could have if she answers him.

"Sometimes, yes," Daisy nods.

"What do you do?"

"I, um," she licks over her swollen lips, attempting to focus on his question as he dips in again. "I rub my clit... sometimes I put a finger in."

"Is that all it takes to make you cum?" his tone is teasing now, making her feel embarrassed.

"Usually."

"Usually?" he raises a brow, "What else do you do to make this pretty pussy cum?"

Daisy swallows loudly. "Sometimes... if I'm really turned on, I'll touch myself... lower."

"Lower?" Harry repeats, unsure if he's understanding her correctly. "Like...?"

"Yeah."

A devilish smirks takes over his face as he moves one of his hands to cup her ass again, this time squeezing even tighter.

"Is that why you moan so loud when I grab you here?"

She nods, ducking her head back in pleasure. Just the feeling of being slightly stimulated in both places is nearly enough to get here there, not to mention it's Harry doing the touching.

"And who taught you that?" he asks as he pushes the material of her underwear down her thighs.

"Um, a guy I hooked up with once," Daisy murmurs, sitting up slightly. She's naked now, still on top of him, while he remains in his work clothes from earlier today. Her pussy is bare to his wandering eye and he can't help the way he takes in her most intimate parts.

"And you liked it when he toyed with your cute bum?" Harry continues his relentless teasing much to Daisy's dismay, who is all but squirming with need. He relieves some of the consuming pressure in her stomach by taking his fingers between her pussy lips, spreading them to expose her clit. He lightly runs his fingertip over the sensitive nub and she shivers, nodding her head.

"He just... licked me there while he was going down on me," Daisy explains with fluttered eyes, "And the next time I played with myself I put a finger in... made me feel dirty but so good."

"Jesus, you really are a dirty little girl, hm?"

Apparently, Harry feels that she's answered enough of his questions and deserves a reward. She lets out a hearty moan when he applies more pressure to her clit, starting in tight, small circles. She's glistening for him and making a mess between her thighs, making Harry's mouth water just at the sight.

"You're a drippy mess," he mutters as he squeezes her bum. He lowers his hand downward to where she's aching the most, circling twice and dipping in to spread her wetness around. He uses his other hand to continue rubbing at her pearly clit as he pushes his finger in, his jaw dropping at the sight of Daisy arching her back and whimpering on top of him. "Fuckin' gorgeous girl."

Harry starts off at a tantalizing pace but when he sees how responsive she is to every little touch — well, he's only human, and he can't help but want to get her to her breaking point as quickly as possible. He's not sure if anyone she's hooked up with has ever cared to make her cum before, but with the way she's grinding down against his hand and palming at her own breasts, he thinks anyone that had a chance to see her like this and didn't is an absolute fool.

"Are you gonna cum for me, sweetheart?" Harry asks. He can feel her tightening around the finger that's currently deep inside of her, poking and prodding at that special spot with each thrust. She's so wet that he's positive there's a wet spot on his work pants but he couldn't care less.

"Y-yes," Daisy nods helplessly, bouncing up and down as he pushes a second finger into her opening. It's a slight stretch, but nothing she can't take, that much is clear.

"Such a good girl, Daisy," he mutters mainly to himself, "Can't believe I went this long without feeling you squeeze my fingers like this... be my good girl and cum for me, baby, let me see you."

The squelching sound of his fingers rapidly moving against her are a telltale sign that she's at her end, but it's the slight gush around his hand and her throaty moans that stick with him. He watches in awe as she squirts on his fingers, helping her through her orgasm, her muscles contracting quickly.

"Fuck," Harry utters, "You're absolutely filthy. Been hiding this from me for years, hm?"

Daisy's eyes have long since fluttered closed as she comes down from her peak, so Harry does the only thing he can think of. Gently removing his fingers from her, he hooks an arm around her to keep her steady before lifting his hand to his mouth and finally having a taste of her arousal.

"Harry," Daisy breathes when she sees him, her eyes slightly widened at the visual beneath her.

"You taste incredible, Dais."

Without thinking, she leans forward and messily melds their lips together, her tongue prodding into his mouth. He welcomes it and groans at her eagerness. They part a minute or so later, both with spit swollen lips.

"I think I'm addicted to you, Daisy Walker."

Part two | Part three | Series masterlist

[its-avalon-08]

could you do a schumacher!daughter reader fic pretty please😇 somethin g soft and sweet

anon you read my mind <3

little schumi (ms7!daughter)

(p.s. i showed by father this gif and he has tears in his eyes, side note: my dad loves michael schumacher)

The familiar scent of burnt rubber and ozone hung heavy in the air as Y/N Schumacher navigated the bustling Formula One paddock. Unlike her brother Mick, who was gearing up for qualifying, Y/N never felt the pull of the racetrack. Instead, she gravitated towards the human stories that unfolded around it.

A gruff but gentle hand landed on her shoulder. "There you are, little Schumi," boomed a voice that could only belong to Kimi Raikkonen. Y/N grinned, returning the signature Kimi side-eye. "Kimi! Did you see Valtteri's new helmet design? It's outrageous!"

Kimi snorted. "Looks like a flock of angry parrots attacked it." They shared a laugh, their easy camaraderie a testament to the years Y/N had spent soaking up the paddock atmosphere. Every driver, engineer, and mechanic knew her, a familiar smile in a world of high-octane adrenaline.

Fernando Alonso, a close friend of her father's, spotted them and sauntered over. "How's my favorite Schumi doing today?" he asked, ruffling her hair. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't you have a qualifying session to win, Fernando?"

"Practice makes perfect, but spending time with you is always a priority, pequena," he winked. Y/N knew the playful banter was a way to deflect from the unspoken. Her father's condition was a shadow that loomed over the entire F1 family.

Just then, a young reporter, all bright eyes and eager questions, approached Y/N. "Ms. Schumacher, a few words for Sky Sports? Can you share your thoughts on your father's health?"

Y/N's smile faltered. Everyone knew this was a touchy subject. Sebastian Vettel, who was just passing by, overheard and stepped in. "Let's leave Y/N out of this, shall we?" he said, his voice firm but kind. "She doesn't owe you a public statement."

The reporter looked flustered. "But sir, it's a question everyone wants answered." Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "And everyone will have to understand that some things are private, especially when it comes to family." He offered Y/N a reassuring smile. "Come on, Y/N, let's grab some coffee before the chaos starts."

Grateful, Y/N linked arms with Sebastian. The paddock might be a competitive arena, but the drivers, the ones who understood pressure and risk, formed their own kind of family. They understood her silence, her need for normalcy in a world obsessed with speed.

As they walked, Y/N overheard snippets of conversations. "Poor Y/N," someone murmured. "She must be going through hell." Another voice added, "Leave her alone, haven't they been through enough?" Y/N offered a small, sad smile. It hurt, but it also warmed her heart. Her father, with his quiet strength and unwavering determination, had built a legacy that transcended wins and podium finishes. He had inspired loyalty, respect, and a fierce protectiveness that extended to his daughter, even in this fast-paced, unforgiving world.

Reaching the small coffee shop tucked away in the paddock, Y/N settled into a booth with Sebastian. "Thanks, Seb," she said, her voice soft.

Sebastian squeezed her shoulder. "Anytime, Y/N. You know, your dad would be proud of you. The way you handle yourself, your kindness… it's something special."

Y/N smiled, tears pricking her eyes. Maybe she wouldn't be on the racetrack, but here, in the heart of the paddock, amongst the roar of engines and the smell of racing fuel, she felt a part of her father's legacy.

time skip

The post-race debrief was abuzz with post-adrenaline chatter. Y/N, perched on the edge of Lando Norris' chair, listened with a half-ear as he recounted his epic battle with Daniel Ricciardo on the final lap. They may be from different teams, but their young love story was a paddock favorite.

"…and then I went for the undercut, and bam! Second place!" Lando finished, a triumphant grin splitting his face. Y/N leaned in and planted a kiss on his cheek. "Amazing job, my champion," she whispered, earning a playful swat on the arm.

Suddenly, Charles Leclerc burst through the door, his phone held aloft. "Did you guys see this?!" he exclaimed, brandishing a news article. Max Verstappen, who was sprawled on the couch next to Lewis Hamilton, snatched the phone. "What is it, Charles?"

Max's eyes narrowed as he scrolled through the article. "Seriously?" he growled, throwing the phone onto the coffee table. Y/N's heart lurched. It couldn't be good.

Lewis picked it up and read aloud, his voice heavy with disapproval. "'Mick Schumacher: A shadow of his father's talent?' This is ridiculous!"

Y/N's blood boiled. How dare they criticize her brother, especially so harshly? She felt tears prickling her eyes, her fists clenching. Before she could react further, Lando was by her side, his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders.

"Hey, hey," he soothed, his voice a low rumble. "Don't let them get to you. Mick's a phenomenal driver, everyone knows that."

Carlos Sainz, ever the comedian, piped up from across the room. "Besides, who needs talent when you have good looks like Mick, right?" he winked, earning a playful shove from Charles.

Y/N forced a smile, her anger slowly simmering down. She knew they were trying to lighten the mood, and she appreciated their support. "Thanks, guys," she sniffled. "It just… it's frustrating."

Lewis, his calm demeanor ever-present, spoke up. "Let the results speak for themselves, Y/N. Mick's still young, and he's already proving himself. This kind of trash talk doesn't deserve your attention."

Max, still fuming, grabbed the phone again and typed furiously. "There," he declared, showing the screen to the rest of them. "I just tweeted my support for Mick. Let's see how those journalists like that."

Y/N let out a laugh, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. These weren't just her teammates, they were her family, her chosen tribe. They understood the pressure, the scrutiny, and the unwavering loyalty that bound them together. They wouldn't let some random article bring her down.

Lando nudged her, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Besides, you know who the real untalented one is," he whispered, leaning in close.

Y/N playfully swatted his arm. "Oh yeah? And who's that?"

Lando winked. "The one who keeps losing to me on the simulator, obviously."

Their playful banter erupted into laughter, the tension completely forgotten. Surrounded by her closest friends, Y/N knew that no matter what the headlines said, she had her own championship team, one that valued love, support, and a good dose of healthy teasing.

time skip

The air crackled with a bittersweet energy as the F1 paddock celebrated Michael Schumacher's birthday. Banners emblazoned with his iconic number 7 adorned the pit lanes, and mechanics sported specially designed caps. Yet, beneath the celebratory facade, a current of unspoken grief hummed.

Mick and Y/N Schumacher stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a united front against the tide of emotions. Their gazes were fixed on a freshly painted mural across the track. It depicted Michael, mid-race, a determined glint in his eyes, the car a blur of red. The artwork was a poignant reminder of the man they missed terribly.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Y/N said, her voice barely a whisper.

Mick nodded, his jaw clenched tight. "They captured him perfectly." A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Mick spoke, his voice gruff. "It hurts, doesn't it? Seeing him… but not really."

Y/N reached out and squeezed his hand. "It's the worst kind of absence, Mick. We know he's there, but…" she trailed off, tears welling up in her eyes.

Mick pulled her into a side hug, his protective aura a familiar comfort. "I know, Y/N. I know. But you're not alone. We have each other, and we have Mom. We'll get through this, together."

Y/N leaned into her brother's embrace, finding solace in his strength. "I know," she murmured. "It's just… I miss him telling me bad jokes after qualifying."

A choked laugh escaped Mick. "Yeah, those were the worst." He paused, then added, "But he still loved them, didn't he?"

Y/N chuckled, a tear rolling down her cheek. "He did. He loved seeing us laugh."

They stood in comfortable silence for a while, the paddock noises a distant hum. Y/N looked up at the mural, a flicker of determination replacing the sadness in her eyes. "We'll make him proud, Mick. Both of us."

Mick met her gaze, his blue eyes mirroring her resolve. "We will. We owe him that."

A hand landed on Mick's shoulder. Sebastian Vettel stood beside them, his expression solemn. "He is proud of you both," he said softly. "Every single day."

Y/N and Mick exchanged a grateful smile. In that moment, surrounded by the people who knew their father best, they felt a surge of strength. Michael Schumacher's absence might leave an aching void, but his legacy, his love, and the unwavering support of their F1 family would forever keep his spirit alive.

[libraryofgage]

Steddie PJO AU Part One

One (1) person asked for this, and it was only after I told them I'd had an idea, so, like, fuck it we ball.

The parents of the various kids will be revealed as the series goes on, but I'll look forward to your guesses along the way!

Also, I haven't read the books in a hot fucking minute, but the trailer has had me in a chokehold. This is written more for fun than anything else, so just shut off your brain and enjoy the ride without thinking about accuracy. You'll love it, I promise!

As always, if you see any typos no you didn't ;)

---

With a low, frustrated growl, Eddie tears a page out of his notebook, crumples it into a ball, and throws it on the floor of his tent. All he gets for his troubles is another page of lyrics underneath the first that fail to actually do what he wants. "Fucking shit prophecy," he mutters, tearing that page out, too.

It hits the ground right as Chrissy pokes her head into the tent. She watches it bounce once before settling on the ground. "How's the songwriting?" she jokes, letting the tent's flap fall shut behind her.

"Bad," Eddie says, dropping the notebook and standing. He glares at the paper balls and kicks one away. "Just as bad as the prophecy itself."

"Aww, it's not that bad," Chrissy says, walking a little closer and playfully punching Eddie's arm. Her smile is bright enough to make Eddie feel like he needs sunglasses, and that isn't even because Chrissy's father is Apollo. That's just all her. "At least your prophecy doesn't promise, you know, horrible death."

Eddie scoffs, turning to look at Chrissy as he gestures at his Def Leppard shirt and torn jeans and chunky rings and general metalhead vibe. "Do I look like someone who should be getting that prophecy?" he asks.

He doesn't wait for her to answer before scrunching his face and reciting in a high, mocking voice, "You shall witness an unfair fight between land and sky where feathers with great reluctance fly. And as the sun is shining bright, you shall be swaying in the moon's sweet light."

By the time he's done, he's clasped his hands and held them up to his face with an exaggerated doe-eyed expression. Eddie drops it the moment he finishes, his nose scrunching in disgust as he rolls his eyes. "I have a reputation to uphold, Chrissy."

She doesn't take his complaints seriously. Instead, Chrissy rolls her eyes and sits on the edge of Eddie's cot. "Sure, sure, you're too cool for anything good to happen to you. Still, you might be better off if you didn't try turning that prophecy into something angry."

Eddie huffs, kicks another paper ball, and drops to a crouch next to the cot. After a few seconds, he begrudgingly admits, "Yeah, maybe."

Chrissy sympathetically pats his head, her touch warm and light, and smiles at him. "In other news, we've got another retrieval request for you," she says.

"Oh, boy, work."

"C'mon, you enjoy them," Chrissy says, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. "A cyclops sighted some demigod kids running around with, well, she wasn't sure if he was also a demigod or not. But they won't be safe long when they're clustered together like that, so, go bring 'em back."

She passes Eddie the piece of paper and watches as he unfolds it and frowns at the two words written there: "Athens, Tennessee."

"Are you kidding me? That's so cliche," Eddie says.

"Yeah, but at least it's not California or something."

"Thank fuck for small miracles," Eddie mutters, folding up the paper again and shoving it into his pocket.

Looks like he's got packing to do.

The sun is shining, birds are tweeting, and a cool wind is blowing across the park. Steve lets out a slow breath, his shoulders starting to relax as he leans against a tree and watches Will and Lucas lay out a few blankets, Mike and Dustin get into an argument about the scale proportions of the Parthenon, and Max, Erica, and El throw a frisbee between them.

It's been a long month, one that seemed to be filled with more running and near-death experiences than they're used to. And they're used to a lot of running and near-death experiences.

So, taking a day to just relax in the park sounded great when El suggested it, but Steve had still hesitated. Who knows what could find them if they linger in a park too long. When he voiced these concerns, the kids just banded together to convince Steve, and he relented when they compromised on him bringing the nail bat along.

"Steve, do you wanna lay down?" Lucas asks, gesturing to the blankets. Will is already there, stretched out and smiling up at a rainbow stretching across the sky.

Steve joins them, pulls a Bluetooth speaker out of one of the backpacks holding the blankets down, and connects his phone. Music starts playing, and he sprawls across a blanket, pillowing his head on his arms and taking in the sunshine. "You know, this is nice," he says.

"Yeah. We should do this more often," Will whispers, nearly drowned out by the grass rustling in the breeze.

Between the breeze and the music, Steve starts to drift off, his breathing evening out as his mind wanders. He's half asleep when he hears Dustin shout, "It's a fucking one-to-one asshole!"

His words are quickly followed by Mike shouting back, "Who gives a shit?!"

Steve sighs and adds his own voice to the mix. "Stop fighting!"

"Yeah, guys, stop fighting," Max says, and Steve can imagine her tongue sticking out at them as he hears Erica snort.

"Oh, fuck you," Dustin shoots back.

"That's it!" Steve announces, sitting up and glaring at the kids. "Get over here."

His voice leaves no room for argument, and he'd feel bad at how the kids deflate if he didn't already know they're all menaces. Once he's got all seven kids on the blankets, he sighs and says, "Look, guys, let's not fight. How about we all just sit here for a bit, enjoy the breeze, and then we'll go get lunch."

The kids glance at each other, a silent conversation that Steve barely follows passing between them before Mike nods. "Yeah, sure, I guess."

"Great, now, just re--"

"Oh, how cute!"

The sudden, saccharine voice sets Steve's entire body on edge. He slowly looks over his shoulder, staring at the middle-aged woman smiling down at them. Something about her is familiarly off, but he tries to give her the benefit of the doubt. So, Steve flashes a charming smile and asks, "Hi, can I help you with something?"

The woman's smile turns a little sharp, and she shakes her head. "Oh, no, I just had to commend you on your ability to round up these kids like that," she explains.

Steve hums and pushes himself up, keeping a hold on his bat so he can rest the end on the ground and lean on it. He feels more than sees the kids start to shift until they're behind him. "Well, thanks. Did you want advice or something on caring for your own kids?" he asks.

She laughs, short and grating on Steve's ears, and then tilts her head not unlike a bird. "No, no. It's just impressive that you've managed to keep them alive for so long," she says, her voice distorting and becoming shriller as she speaks.

Yep. There it is.

"Wow, that's even faster than usual," Lucas says.

He's right, which just makes Steve even more upset. Can he not get more than fifteen minutes of peace? Can he not just lay back and enjoy the sunshine without worrying about some monster coming after his kids? Can he not fucking relax for once?

Steve feels the frustration build and build in his chest, crackling through him until he's ready to burst, and he stands up straighter. "I'll give you one warning," he says, his voice low as he watches feathers sprout from the woman's skin. "You walk away right now, and I won't beat the shit out of you."

The woman, who seems to be mostly bird by now and is probably a harpy, just laughs again, like Steve's told her the funniest joke she's ever heard. "You? Defeat me?" she asks, her eyes roaming over Steve before she laughs again. "I am worse than your nightmares. I have eaten more demigods than you can count. I have feasted on their screams and crunched their bones between my teeth, and I look forward to doing the same with these children. What could a lone son of some lesser god possibly do to stop me?"

From behind him, Steve hears a few of the kids inhale sharply, an almost sympathetic sound. "Well, she's done it now," Erica says.

"Yes. Steve is going to kill her," El agrees, her voice soft and brushing against Steve's ears like a tiny snake.

And yeah, they're right. Maybe Steve would have just beaten her unconscious and then gotten the hell out of dodge, but now she's threatened his kids. She's lost any chance at mercy from him.

With a twirl of his bat and a vicious grin, Steve rolls his shoulders back and says, "Wanna find out, overgrown chicken?" he asks.

He doesn't even bother waiting for an answer before swinging his bat, the nails dragging across the harpy's chest and ripping a shriek from her. Now that Steve is thinking about it, violence is also a great way to relieve stress, and he's certainly not going to look a gift harpy in the mouth.

----

If you'd like to be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

[depravitycentral]

Partnership

Yandere! Uvogin x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, theft, threats of violence, implied non-con, if your name is Stacy pretend it isn't, Stockholm Syndrome, brief mention of vomiting, Nobunaga is featured a bit in this but don't worry he doesn't want you, fem reader, MDNI

This is dedicated to @ramwrites, who is amazing and wonderful and offered to write me a welcome back gift, and I couldn't not give something back in return! Thanks for letting me write this for you; your writing is so good and makes me all giggly and inspired. For those interested, please check out her Shalnark piece - I haven't read it yet, but I'm sure it's just as good as everything else Ram produces.

WC: 10K

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

“So you went and got yourself kidnapped, huh?” Uvogin asks, cocking a brow at you.

               You, who’s tied to a metal chair, gagged and blindfolded, very clearly having no fucking clue what is going on.

               You squirm, sitting up straight at the sound of a new, unfamiliar voice. Your cute little sleeping shorts had ridden up a bit, exposing more of your thigh than you were probably comfortable with, and Uvo notices with a distant sense of enjoyment that the thin nightshirt you’re sporting is doing very little to hide the way the cold air is affecting your chest.

               You’re weak, really; a pathetic little thing that has him scoffing and crossing his arms.

               “Listen up, I’m only gonna tell you this once. A friend of yours – Stacy, was it? Anyway, this friend of yours got herself noticed by the wrong type of guy.” He starts, plopping down and sitting in his own identical metal chair, just without the restraints.

               You stop struggling when he mentions her name, and he takes this as a sign to continue.

               “See, Nobuanga’s not a bad guy. He’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but any guy who isn’t is hardly worth knowing.” He chuckles at his own assessment of his closest friend, though you don’t seem to share the sentiment. “Stacy works at that shitty little restaurant he loves – the one with the sticky, greasy booths and the fries that come drenched with salt and are so limp they literally drip oil.”

               He shivers at the mere memory, the hamburger he’d ordered barely worth eating.

               “Don’t know what she did, exactly, but somehow he’s smitten – she’s got him all fucked up, ranting and raving about how beautiful she is and how she smiles at him all the time and flirts with him on the clock. Real annoying, if you ask me.” He sighs heavily, letting his thumb sit at his chin as he loses himself in the story of his best friend falling in love – with your best friend, no less.

               “And then she quit her job, I’m sure you know. Started working up at that movie theater – more shitty, oily food, just popcorn instead of fries this time.” He laughs again. “Nobunaga went crazy over that, you know, thinking that maybe she wanted to work in a more intimate setting like that so that he could sneak her off into some abandoned theater and get some one-on-one quality time, if you know what I mean.”

               You grimace, at both the implications of his last statement and the mention of Stacy quitting. You know exactly why she’d quit – it was the whole reason you’d been staying at her place, really. She was convinced she had a stalker, that there was this crazy man who used to bother her at the diner and follow her home. It’d scared her, obviously, and she’d requested – with a guilty look and fiddling thumbs – if you’d be willing to spend the next few nights are her place with her, because maybe if there was more than one person home he wouldn’t get gutsy and break in. Of course you’d agreed, believing her fully and not wanting to leave her alone to deal with this crazed freak.

               Although now, you’re starting to regret that decision just a bit.

               “As I’m sure you know, it didn’t change much. Pretty stupid, to be honest – if a stalker’s that dedicated, how the hell is a change of occupation going to change anything? Chick’s pretty dumb, if you ask me.” He shrugs, and although you can’t see it through your blindfold, you’re sure his face is awfully apathetic about the whole situation. “She was ignoring him, refusing to serve him at the theater, reporting him to her manager, even calling the police and getting a description of him circulating. She was going to get a restraining order against him, even – again, like that’d do shit.”

               He snorts, and you bite into the gag harder.

               Sighing, he looks up at the ceiling. “See, that’s the thing about Nobunaga. He might seem a little lazy sometimes, but he’s got a heart of gold when it comes to the ones he cares about. He’d do anything for that woman – steal for her, kill for her, anything at all. He’s a sap, totally obsessed with the chick, but it’s kind of sweet in a way, I guess. Means he really cares about her. Isn’t that funny? Her stalker really is in love with her.”

               You don’t find it particularly funny, but you can’t say much.

               “Anyways, the police finally got a sighting of him last night. Went through the system pretty fast – I’m a little impressed, to be honest. Normally takes those bastards much longer to process things. Regardless, a few too many sirens were going last night, even a few cars parked outside the apartment he’s been squatting in, yelling his name in those big, gaudy megaphones of theirs. Caused a real stir, and sent the guy into a panic.”

               He takes a moment to breath, tapping his foot lightly on the ground. “So what does he do? He calls me, in the middle of the night, talking so fast that I can’t even understand the guy. All I’m hearing is Stacy this, Stacy that, police and blah blah blah recognized. I had to force the words out of him before it made any sense, the idiot.” That same laugh rattles in your ears.

               “Eventually I got him to be coherent, and he told me that he had to ‘make his move’, whatever the hell that meant. Said he couldn’t wait anymore, that he had to take Stacy and run – the police were coming, and even though it’s not hard to take out a couple of poorly trained guys, it’s still a pain in the ass and Shizuku’s not here to clean up his mess.

               “Anyways, he starts begging me – literally, actually pleading with me, imagine that – to come and help him out. He told me there’s this other chick at her place – some girl she’s been keeping around for some unknown reason, and he needs someone to take care of the body.” Your blood goes cold, fear suddenly creeping back up your throat.

               Was he going to kill you? Why was he bothering to tell you all this if he was just planning on slicing open your neck? Did he find some sick pleasure in prolonging your death?

               He notices your discomfort, it seems, because soon he’s rolling his eyes, scoffing at you. “Calm down. You’re such a bad actor – can’t even see your face, really, and I know you’re scared shitless now. I’m not going to kill you, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

               You calm slightly, but not much.

               “As I was saying, there’s this girl he needs me to take care of – a quick death, nothing too flashy, which makes me immediately ask why the hell he’d request me of all people, when every time I kill it’s messy. It’s kind of my trademark, you know?”

               You didn’t, and you hoped it’d stay that way.

               He sighs again. “Anyways, I head on over to Stacy’s apartment, meeting Nobunaga outside and listening to him run down the plan. He’s going to run inside and knock her out, pulling her out of bed and running off to God knows where he’s got all set up for the two of them. And while he’s busy doing that, I’m supposed to head in and eliminate the friend. Seemed easy enough, if not a bit tedious, so I agree and we head inside, keeping mind of the sirens still in the distance.

               “Everything’s going smoothly, except once we get the front door open, it becomes very clear that Nobunaga was stupid and panicked and didn’t bother to doublecheck if Stacy was actually asleep.” He pauses to sigh dramatically, like it’s some big annoyance. “She’s fully awake, standing about ten feet away from the door, and then she starts fucking screaming.”

               You remember that bit – the screaming, that is, because it had woken you up from your slumber on Stacy’s couch. Everything is still blurry after that, disorientation fogging your brain from being so abruptly woken up.

               “She’s yelling and screeching, and if Nobunaga hadn’t been there I probably would’ve killed her myself just to get her to shut the fuck up. She’s got one of those high, shrill, shrieky voices, you know? The kind that really drive me up the wall - it’s damn annoying.” He pauses, looking at you skeptically. “Hope you haven’t got one of those, things’ll get messy real quick if you do.”

               You hope you don’t, either.

               “He rushes forward and tries to grab her, but she swats at him and, get this, manages to punch him in the dick.” He laughs aloud at that, slapping his knee and throwing his head back. “This weak-ass girl manages to get him on the ground flat, stupid ass’s hands clutching at his dick, and what does she do in the meantime? She runs over to the couch, grabbing this girl and staring back at me like I’m some monster.”

               You make a noise through the gag, but Uvogin ignores it.

               “I’ve gotta hand it to Stacy, though, she’s got guts. She starts yellin’ at us about how she won’t let us kill the girl, how she’ll kill herself before she lets us get our hands on her, and immediately Nobunaga crumbles. I don’t know why the idiot didn’t think of the possibility earlier, but he totally freezes up when she threatens that, just gaping like a fish. It was pretty awkward for me, to be honest, because watching him get so thoroughly rejected was giving me serious second hand embarrassment. I mean, the chick literally said she’d rather kill herself than let Nobuanga take her – pretty harsh if you ask me.”

               He looks back at your covered face, letting his gaze linger on the edges of the blindfold. “So he panics and gives into her demand, telling her he won’t kill her friend – says that he’ll just take her too, so that way everyone’s happy.”

               He frowns a bit at you, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, everyone except you, probably. And except Stacy, too, probably. And except me. So really, Nobunaga’s the only happy one.”

               Your face would sour if it was able to.

               “Anyways, it wasn’t hard to knock them both out and bring ‘em to their respective holding places. I’ve got no clue where the hell Nobunaga’s keeping his chick, but I’m sure you’ve figured out that you’re Stacy’s little friend.”

               You nod, slowly, the movement limited by your restraints. Your wrists have gone numb and your ankles feel bruised and sore, the ropes keeping them pinned the legs of the chair making blood flow difficult.

               “So, what to do with you now.” His voice is wistful, like he’s actually contemplating, and that same familiar fear washes over you again.

               He groans, the chair skidding out behind him as he stands to his full height. “Would you quit it with the fear? I already told you I’m not killing you, are you even listening to me?”

               You nod again, faster this time.

               Uvogin sighs, shuffling forward towards you. You can hear him approaching, and although your shoulders stiffen up, you try not to look as terrified as you feel. It doesn’t seem to work all that well, but he spares you another comment about it.

               Soon the blindfold is ripped off your head, leaving your hair messy and out of place, your eyes squinting and blinking rapidly to adjust to the rather bright white light hanging over you and what you can now see is an absolute behemoth of a man.

               He’s fucking huge – towering over you in every sense of the word, muscles practically bulging out of his body with how defined and massive they are. Black hairs cover every inch of his body you can see, even his arms and especially the bits of chest peeking out of his white top. Ragged, unruly hair sweeps down to his shoulders, making the muscles of his neck look even firmer, and you gulp. Any chance of escaping has basically left you now – there’s no way in hell you could ever beat that, especially if he’d already managed to kidnap you once.

               He clears his throat and your gaze is brought up to his face, a small, strange wave of embarrassment flooding through you as you realize you’ve been caught staring. He’s smirking, though, and you take in the sharp line of his jaw, the thick, dark eyebrows that frame equally dark eyes. He’s attractive, in a strange, rugged sort of way, and you immediately feel sick at the thought.

               “You like what you’re seein’?” He teases, and you immediately look away, still unable to reply with the gag covering your mouth.

               He laughs, and sets his hands on his lips. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with me. Before you freak out, I can’t kill you because that damn Stacy really seems to care about you, and she’s told Nobunaga she’ll kill herself if she doesn’t get regular proof that you’re still alive.”

               A flame of hope ignites in your chest, and internally you thank Stacy, even if this whole situation is less than ideal.

               He seems to sense your sudden upturn in mood, chuckling with a condescending lilt. “Oh no, princess, that doesn’t mean I’m letting you go. No, you’ve gotta stay put, because now that you know what I look like, you’ll go to the cops and report me as fast as those little legs of yours can manage.”

               You shake your head at that, eyes glistening with tears as he shuts down your last hope of escaping. Please, you internally beg him, hoping he’ll somehow be able to sense this too. I won’t, I promise!

               His gaze narrows at you, before that same smirk is back. “I’m sure if you could talk you’d be telling me how you’ll never tell a soul, but you and I both know that’s bullshit. So I’ll save us both some time and keep you here, so that I don’t have to track you down again and lock you back up once you’ve just gotten free.”

               You visibly deflate, and if Uvogin had been a kinder man, he would’ve almost felt bad for you. But instead, he just hums, crouching down in front of you. Even squatting he’s still taller than you, and it does nothing to make you feel less scared.

               “Now listen up, here are the rules. I’m a pretty nice guy, all things considered, so don’t break my rules and I won’t break your bones.”

               Your eyes get wide, but you nod along. He smiles, patting your knee.

               “That’s good, see? You’re already doing better than that Stacy girl, at least you’re not fighting me every step of the way.” Something about his statement makes guilt eat away at your chest – are you supposed to be fighting more? There doesn’t really seem to be a point – this man is massive, and you’re all bound and unable to move. You’re doing the best you can, right?

               “First,” He holds up a finger, “don’t even bother trying to escape. I’m bigger than you, faster than you, stronger than you, and smarter than you. There’s nothing you can try that I won’t see through, and you’ll end up regretting it more than you can imagine.

               “Second, no trying to hurt yourself. Nobunaga will kill me if I let you die, and it’d be a pain to deal with him.” He fixes you a stern look, and you nod.

               “Third, don’t go digging through my shit. I’m doing my buddy a favor by keeping you here, and if I find you snooping around… He didn’t say anything about roughing you up a bit, and it might be good for Stacy to see you with some bruises or a cast or two.” His threat doesn’t go unheard, and you nod again, throat bobbing as you swallow.

               He stares at you for a moment more, gaze calculating and judging whether you’ve really accepted his conditions, before strong fingers come up to untie the knot keeping your gag in place.

               “Don’t you scream, I’ll have to shut you up if you do.” He warns, before pulling the fabric away. Immediately you’re flexing your jaw, the muscle aching as you move it, and he watches with a neutral expression. You’re still tied up, unable to move really, and Uvogin gets a fleeting thought of how pitiful you look.

               “Um,” You start, your voice a bit hoarse from being so dry and unused for the last few hours. “What’s your name?”

               He blinks, before laughing a bit. “Of all the questions you could’ve asked, all the things you could’ve said and done as soon as you woke up from learning you’ve been kidnapped, and that’s what you chose? Shit, you wouldn’t survive in the wild, would you?”

               Shame creeps up your neck at his belittlement, but before you can defend yourself he’s answering. “It’s Uvogin.”

               You nod, not willing to look at him. It’s silent for a few moments, before he sighs again and reaches forward to untie the rope shackling your ankles and wrists. As soon as you’re free, you try to stretch out your limbs, keeping a weary eye on the man – Uvogin.

               What a stupid name.

               “Well, the fact that you’re not screaming your head off is a promising sign. Get up, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” He orders, already taking off towards the door in the corner of the small room. You try to follow him, but your legs aren’t moving right, and it takes you a while to make your way over there. He looks irritated at your lack of speed, but says nothing, only holding open the door until you make your way through.

               You’re led down into a rather sparse apartment, only furnished with a single gray couch against one wall (with a few stains on it that make you wince a bit), a TV and some cabinets, a wooden table and two chairs, and a beat-up fridge in the adjoining kitchen. Everything’s clean, but the space lacks any sort of personality, and it makes you uncomfortable.

               “That’s your bed, extra blankets are in the closet. If you need anything tell me, and I might snag it for you next time I’m out on a job.” Something about the way he says ‘snag’ makes you nervous, so you just mutter a small affirmation.

               He gives you one last glance over, his eyes once again lingering on your chest, before stepping through the doorway.

               “Wait, Uvogin!” Your voice, a bit wobbly and unsure, makes him turn back, his brow cocked and curiosity dancing on his features. (And a bit of surprise, too, because he hadn’t expected you to say anything to him, or even use his name. Maybe you weren’t as skittish and weak as you seemed – though, he doubted that.)

               “Um, is it possible for me to see Stacy soon?” You asked, voice growing smaller with every word. He blinks, before standing up a bit straighter.

               “Actually, you’re in luck. Nobunaga called me about an hour ago and let me know we’re meeting up in a few days – he said it would be good for Stacy to have a ‘playdate’ with you. Whatever the fuck that means.” Uvogin shrugs, looking entirely uninterested, and you bristle at Nobunaga’s choice of words. Poor Stacy.

               Excitement brews in your chest; at least you’ll have a familiar face, and hopefully the stranger hasn’t done anything too terrible to your friend. Nodding, you glance back to the floor, wishing the hulking man staring at you would just leave. He does, a few moments later, and only then do you allow yourself to slump onto the bed he’s assigned you. The bedroom is bare like the rest of the home, with a twin bed set in the corner and a small set of drawers sitting nearby. It makes you laugh humorlessly – were you supposed to fill that chest? With what? You hadn’t brought anything with you, and you seriously doubted Uvogin would let you return home to grab some of your clothes.

               Sighing, you sat onto the bed, the mattress firm under you. Distantly, some part of you was pleased – at least the bed would be comfortable enough.

               Time passes slowly as you sit on the bed – not your bed, not yet. You stare at the wall ahead of you, the fear slowly seeping out of your system until only exhaustion remains. Sleep eventually takes over, and although you try to fight it, you’re slipping into a dreamless slumber before long.

               Uvogin’s tolerable, you’ve found. He’s certainly not nice, nor is he an especially great person to be around, but he could be much worse, you suppose. He’s fed you twice daily for however long you’ve been stuck here (it feels like a week, so you’re assuming it is, if only to stave off any self-doubt that’s creeping into the corners of your mind), and the food’s not terrible. It’s clearly takeout, the packaging sometimes even having Chinese characters on it or restaurant logos, and you’ve been mostly satisfied with his choices so far. He’ll sometimes ask you what you want, and while you were too scared to answer the first few times (which only makes him scowl and roll his eyes, muttering a small damn, Nobunaga owes me one), eventually you’d felt safe enough to be honest.

               He hasn’t hurt you, either. At least, not yet. You’re aware he could, if he wanted to – those muscles make it hard to forget, and you’d seen him crush his phone in his hand like a bug when a phone call with someone named Franklinwent poorly.

               He’s scary, still, but you’ve reached the point now where you aren’t practically hyperventilating every time he enters the room. You still keep him in your field of vision, weary for any sudden changes in his behavior, but every day that passes has you growing more complacent with your position. The constant threat of Stacy potentially facing consequences for your actions doesn’t deter you from being on your best behavior, either.

               Besides, sometimes he’s even a little bit funny – not that you’d ever laugh at his jokes, but he has this weird sense of humor that you think you’d like, if the situation had been different. If you’d met him on the street you definitely would’ve tried to cross to the other side, but you would’ve found him oddly charming, his snide remarks and cocky air a bit entertaining.

               You try not to think about that, though, because the mere presence of these thoughts means the Stockholm Syndrome is starting to kick in. And while you aren’t the most resilient person on the planet, even you have to admit it’s a bit early for that.

               Sighing, you take another bite of the curry he’d brought you, pleasantly surprised that the spice level was perfect. Uvogin didn’t have many rules, it was true, but he did have a few unspoken ones – one of which being that meals, particularly take-out meals, were to be eaten at the small, rickety table. Together, which wasn’t ideal.

               “I’ve gotta make sure you don’t try to starve yourself or choke.” He’d told you the first time, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you into the seat across from his, the noodles sitting in front of you still packaged neatly in their container. At first you’d been nervous he would try to poison you, but eventually hunger got the best of you and you were slurping the noodles down, still keeping a nervous eye on the hulking man in front of you.

               “So, big news.” He starts, taking a bite out of his chicken. He always took big bites, you’d noticed, but he ordered enough food that even if his pace was twice as fast as yours, he never finished before you.

               You glance up at him, trying not to let toomuch curiosity show on your face, but he seems to realize anyway.

               “I know you haven’t been up to much, but don’t make your excitement so obvious. Hurts my feelings to know you think I’m so boring.” He’s joking, you think, and to sate him you attempt to smile.

               “Nobunaga called me again this morning; today’s the day.”

               You practically choke on your food, eyes blowing wide and your hands beginning to shake. Finally, finally you’d be able to see Stacy – you’d been worried sick about her the last week or so, terrified that her transition to the life of being a captive hadn’t gone as smoothly as your own. (You snorted bitterly at that – smooth probably wasn’t the best word for how you’d been feeling, but at least you hadn’t been hit yet, or assaulted or any number of things. Hopefully Nobunaga wasn’t any worse of a person than your own captor.)

               Uvogin is watching you, you realize, with a strange look in his eye. As soon as you glance up at him you look away again, clearing your throat and trying to keep your voice even as you ask, “That’s good, it’ll be nice to see her again.”

               It’s silent for a moment, before his booming laugh makes you wince a bit. “Yeah, I’m sure you are. Finish up, I don’t like wasting food. Once you’re done we’ll head out - try to not to choke.”

               He says that right as you start shoveling the food into your mouth, hoping that eating quicker will mean you can see Stacy quicker. He chuckles at you, but you follow his orders and slow down a bit. He throws you one more glance, that cocky smile on his lips, before digging into his own food again.

               He’s eating a bit faster than normal, too, you notice.

               He apologizes with an insincere tone as he ties the blindfold back on you (he’d told you that you can’t know where you are just in case you decide to get rebellious and run away), and soon you’re stuffed into a car. Everything’s hard to keep track of when you can’t see, but Uvogin’s talking (like normal), so you try to tune into the sound of his voice to help the time pass.

               “Now listen, you might not wanna touch her too much, Nobunaga’s a bit…” He trails off, and you can hear his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “Possessive. You’re her friend and all, and I’m sure he won’t hurt you, especially not in front of her, but be careful.”

               You nod, absentmindedly.

               “Also, don’t be too surprised if she doesn’t look the way she used to. He was always going on about how she was dressed too inappropriately in her day-to-day life, so she might be a little underdressed.”

               He’d hesitated to say underdressed, and you tried not to think about what that could mean.

               It’s quiet for a few moments, and you shift in the car seat. He’d let you sit in the front, an unexpected luxury, but you didn’t like that he could see you while you couldn’t see him. He wouldn’t hurt you, you were mostly confident of that now, but who knew what he had planned.

               “We’re almost there. If things go badly, I’ll get you out of there. You’re pretty damn weak, a broken bone would probably take a few weeks for you to heal. I don’t want to deal with you being injured, and I’m sure you don’t, either.”

               Your lips must’ve given away your fear, because a moment later he’s sighing. “Did you know that you practically reek your emotions? I feel like I can smell ‘em, even when I can’t even see half your damn face.”

               You don’t have anything to say to that, but you force yourself to speak anyway, not wanting to dignify his last comment. “Do you think – well, do you think Nobunaga will want to hurt me?”

               Uvogin ponders your question for a moment, surprised that you’d spoken up. You hadn’t done much talking in the time he’d had you – he was sure it was because you were scared, but it was nice to hear you talking to him like you weren’t scared shitless of him. Even if you had every reason to be so terrified.

               “Honestly, probably. Especially if you touch her.”

               You suck in a breath, and Uvogin hums. “But it’s not going to happen.”

               “What do you mean?”

               You could practically hear his toothy grin.

               “It’s my job to protect you, right? So I will. Even if the one you need protecting from is the same guy who wants you to be protected.”

               Something in his tone gives you the impression he means those words more than he’s letting on, and you shiver as you imagine just who this Nobunaga guy could possibly be.

               “Oh my god, oh my god – you’re alive! Thank god!” Stacy sobs, arms wrapping around you like a vice before you can even respond. You clutch her back just as tightly, burying your face into her brown curls, a few tears pricking at your eyes. You’d been nervous that Nobunaga would’ve hurt her, with the way Uvogin was describing him, but after a thorough look-over, you find no bruises or marks marring her olive skin.

               Eventually she pulls back, but keeps her hands firmly grasping your shoulders. Her eyes are red with tears, and her lower lip is wobbling. She’s not hurt, but she looks bad – there’s heavy bags under eyes and her hair is frazzled, her lips look swollen and she’s clutching onto you hard. Really hard.

               “Stacy, are you hurt?” You ask, letting your hands cup her cheeks. You see Nobunaga – who Uvogin had pointed out with a small that’s the guy when you’d walked in – stiffen up at that, and Uvogin’s warning flashes through your mind. You might not want to touch her. Right.

               Stacy glances over at her captor, and you follow her gaze, only to see Uvogin give you a small nod and drag his friend out the door by the collar of his purple kimono, calling over his shoulder that they’ll be back in exactly five minutes, and that they’ll know if you try to escape.

               As soon as the door closes, Stacy pulls you in for another hug, the words flying out of her mouth so quickly you can barely understand her. “He’s – Nobunaga, he’s horrible. He never leaves me alone, and he treats me like I’m some incompetent little baby, and he’s always touching me and I just – I can’t –“

               You cut her off by pressing her face into your neck again, rubbing the back of her head and letting her cry. You’re crying too, now, but your tears fall silently compared to her sobbing.

               You don’t say much, because what can you say? It would be a lie to tell her that everything’s going to be okay, and every other reassurance that dances on the tip of your tongue just feels wrong, like you’d be pointedly lying to her. Instead, you let her get it out, her grip on you never loosening. You’d known Nobunaga had been the root of all her anxieties the last few months, long before he’d gotten the gall to kidnap her. And while you were happy that she wasn’t hurt, it still pained you to see her like this.

               Eventually she’d calmed down, and you feel her pull back and wipe at her sniffling nose. “I’m so sorry.” She whispers to you, looking like she’s on the verge of crying again. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this mess, I should’ve just gone quietly and left you alone. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay with me for a few weeks, now you’re really stuck with that monster.”

               You don’t tell her that it’s okay, because it’s not. Some part of you is still bitter and resentful towards her for involving you, because she’s right. You could be still living your life if she hadn’t requested you to help deter her stalker from making a move. But despite your anger, you can’t find it in yourself to hate her. Not when she’s like this – not when she’s probably experiencing something even worse than you.

               “It doesn’t matter now, all that matters is that we’re both alive, and we’re both okay. Or, at least, okay as we can be, given the situation.” You tell her, smiling softly. She blinks at you, eyes wide and vulnerable, before nodding and swallowing.

               “Yeah, I was worried that you wouldn’t be, with the way Nobunaga was talking about Uvogin.” Her voice was hoarse still, and you laughed humorlessly at that.

               “Yeah, well, he hasn’t hurt me yet, so I think I’ll be okay. He mostly just ignores me, honestly, so I guess I’m lucky.” Your attempt at optimism doesn’t make Stacy smile like you’d hoped. Rather, her lips pull into a frown and her eyebrows furrow.

               “He ignores you? That doesn’t make sense.”

               You expression mirrors hers. “What? I mean, the only reason I got kidnapped too was insurance so that you wouldn’t kill yourself –“

               Stacy’s face morphs into one of horror, and her grip on your shoulders goes slack.

               Quickly you’re backpedaling, worried the mention of her self-imposed death might’ve triggered something you wanted to avoid. “I’m not saying it’s your fault, I totally understand why you –“

               “Alright, time’s up.” Nobunaga’s voice interrupts, and knuckly hands are suddenly on your shoulders, pushing you aside so that Nobunaga can stand in front of Stacy. You stumble back, falling backwards against Uvogin’s hard chest, immediately standing up straight.

               Nobunaga’s cupping Stacy’s chin, and you can see from this angle the way he smiles, a slight pink color flooding his cheeks. It makes you sick, and the pained look on Stacy’s face only makes your gut sink more. She’s looking at you still, and something about the way her brows are cocked inward that makes you feel like she’s almost pitying you.  

               “Did you miss me, baby?” Nobunaga’s cooing down at her, and it makes your skin crawl. Uvogin sighs from behind you and grabs your wrist, dragging you out of the room. His grip is surprisingly gentle, and as you watch Stacy slowly fade from your view, you can’t help but be slightly grateful that at least your captor isn’t leaning down for a kiss like hers.

               The car ride home is mostly quiet, and it’s not until you’re nearing the end of your time in the vehicle that Uvogin breaks the silence.

               “So, what did you talk about while we were gone? Girly shit?” You think he’s attempting a joke, but you can’t even pretend to laugh at it.

               “She’s not happy.” You comment, voice slightly flat, and Uvogin snorts at your words.

               “Of course she’s not happy, she’s just been kidnapped. And by her stalker, no less – would anyone be happy? Hell, are you happy?” He asks you, and you blanch at his question. Somehow, though, it feels like some sort of trap, so you stay quiet.

               He doesn’t say anything more until he’s pulling you out of the car, your footsteps hesitant and clumsy because he’d put that damn blindfold on you again. He guides you up to the apartment, and soon you’re standing in the living room area, the fabric falling from your eyes.

               “I’ve got some errands to run today, so I’ll be gone for a while. Do you want anything while I’m out?” He asks, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. You’re a bit touched that he’s offering to get you something, but you try not to focus on it. Of course you’re feeling grateful for him – he may be holding you captive, yes, but at least he hasn’t tried to kiss you or touch you. Poor Stacy didn’t share your luck.

               “Um, maybe some chips? I don’t care what flavor, just something crunchy…” You trail off, looking at him nervously. You’d never requested anything before, and some part of you is convinced he’d only asked you the question to laugh in your face and deny you.

               He cracks a smile and nods, hand already on the doorknob. “Okay. Okay, but you’d better be prepared to share, because I happen to be a big chip fan myself. So don’t get greedy, yeah?”

               You half-smile, rubbing at your arm. “Yeah, I won’t be.”

               He steps out the door, and once again the apartment is silent, his presence gone and all movement within the room gone, too.

               The TV won’t work for you, you know that, but you’re still trying to get it to behave. Uvogin had to type in some password every time he turned it on, and it was too long and encoded for you to ever be able to decipher it. Still, you were clicking the power button of the remote over and over, hoping against hope that it would somehow short circuit and bypass that password screen. When it didn’t, you only sighed, rising to your feet and wandering towards the monitor.

               Uvogin, you’d learned, was surprisingly meticulous – surprisingly organized, really. Meaning there was a chance he’d written down the password to the TV and had it stored somewhere. He’d only been gone for about a half hour, if the clock was any indication, and you had a lot of time to kill before he returned home. Not that he was your only source of entertainment – though, you’d read the single book he owned three times already.

               Your knees crack as you kneel down in front of the cupboard the TV was sitting on, the wooden doors creaking as they open. The shelves are mostly empty – a few older remotes, and a cable channel guide.

               Frustrated, you huff and let your shoulders slump, trying to decide what to do next. The TV obviously wasn’t planning on cooperating, though there was a cupboard right next to the one you’re searching through that could potentially hold the answer.

               Uvogin’s rules distantly float through your mind, his gruff voice replaying in perfect clarity. Third, don’t go digging through my shit. Glancing back up the clock, you bite your lip. You had time, because while he was massive and huge and scary, there was no way he could get all his errands done in just thirty minutes.

               With a deep breath, you move over to the other cabinet, letting your fingers curl around the knob. The doors don’t creak when they open, and immediately you’re scanning the shelves. These ones are full – with boxes, each labeled with a date on them. Cocking a brow, you examine the dates. January 4th – January 25th, April 29th – May 7th, and so on.

               Intrigued, you slowly slide out one of the boxes, noticing not a single bit of dust is sitting on the cover. He must use this cabinet much more often than the one you’d been searching through previously, as a thick layer of dust had sprung up in your face the moment you opened the cabinet door.

               The box itself is light, but you still set it down in front of you, your fingers delicate and careful, too worried that you’ll break something if you press too hard. And then Uvogin would know, surely, especially if he truly used this cabinet that often.

               Slowly, you take off the box’s cover, and immediately your brows are scrunching together. What the hell?

               When you’d imagined the kind of ‘shit’ Uvogin didn’t want you to snoop through, you hadn’t pegged it to be this. Whatever this was, that is.

               It looked like a box full of receipts – tons of pieces of paper, all in weird sizes or shapes that looked like they were ripped out of some sort of notebook. The handwriting is messy, the letters all crammed together and difficult to decipher. You pick the paper on top up, turning it this way and that, trying to read the text.

               Her: Sorry, I know it’s late, but I need to ask you a quick question.

               Them: Yeah? What’s up?

               Her: Do you think he’s alright? Chris, I mean – he hasn’t called me back for a few days, and I’m worried about him.

               Them: You know Chris, it always takes him a while to respond. I wouldn’t worry, he’s just unpredictable.

               Her: Yeah, I guess…

               [6 second pause]

               Them: Go to sleep, it’s late. You’ve got work in the morning, right?

               Her: Yeah, I do. Okay, okay, I’m getting into bed now. Goodnight.

               Them: Goodnight, call me when you hear back from him.

               Her: Okay.

               What was this? The ambiguity of it all confused you – who was her? Them? Chris?

               You furrowed your brows, confusion sitting in your gut alongside a strange feeling. The hairs at the back of your neck prickled up, and a small pang of unease bolted through you.

               Setting the piece of paper back into the bin, you picked up another one. This one was shorter, more to the point.

               Her: Are we still on for Friday night?

               Them: Yeah! Freddy’s, nine o’clock sharp. I’m buying, remember.

               Her: You always say that, and you always get too shit faced to pay. Liar!

               Them: Hey, I just know how to have fun! You could learn how to do that, you know.

               Her: Yeah yeah, okay, I’ll see you later.

               Your fingers are shaking as you finish reading the small, triangular slip of paper. Your lips are slightly parted, brows still crunched together. Something about the interaction between Her and Them felt oddly familiar – like something you’d heard before.

               And the mention of Freddy’s. That’d been the name of a bar you frequented often with your friends, back before everything had gone to shit with Stacy.

               Unnerved, you set the piece of paper back in the box and slide the box into its place on the shelf, running your eyes back over the listed date. August 28th – September 16th. One of your best friend’s birthdays was in that range.

               Wiping your palms on your thighs, you try to calm the pounding of your heart. Something feels off, wrong in a way you can’t quite place. Surely, Freddy’s is a common enough name; it doesn’t necessarily mean your favorite bar. Plus, even if it does mean that particular bar, who knew who these people were. You surely don’t - who the hell is Chris?

               Wanting to put some distance between you and the cabinet, you get to your feet again and close it, wandering away into the little hallway connecting the living space, bathroom and two bedrooms. Cupping some water in your hands from the bathroom sink, you splash your face, letting the cold wash over your skin. Closing your eyes, you try to calm down. It doesn’t mean anything – how could it? You’re probably just all shaken up after seeing Stacy and her freaky captor. Nobunaga disturbed you, you can’t deny it.

               Sighing, you open your eyes, wiping your face with your towel. (Uvogin had been kind enough to give you one designated as your own, saving you from the horrible fate of having you dry your body with a towel that he’d already used.) Though you notice with a small start that the towel is wet, despite you not having showered recently. Odd.

               As you turn to leave the room, you notice a shirt sitting piled up in the corner. It was black, and surely not your own – holding it up, it looked big enough to dwarf you. Must be Uvogin’s, then.

               His bedroom is across from your own, and while you haven’t been inside it yet, it feels wrong to just leave his shirt on the floor, where it could get dirty and maybe even moldy. Besides, doing a little cleaning would keep you occupied – both from boredom, and from contemplating those weird slips of paper further.

               You slowly open the door, immediately getting hit with a wave of musk. Uvogin normally smelled decent, but the scent in here is strong enough to make you wince a bit, the overwhelming stench of sweat, mint, and male making you a bit nauseous. To your surprise, the room is spotless – a very, very large bed sits floated in the middle, a navy and black flannel comforter covering the top while a few large, puffy pillows sit at attention at the head. A few pairs of boots are lined up in the corner, and a single picture looks to be taped up on the wall above them. Curiously, you step forward, moving towards the photo.

               Uvogin had told you very little about himself – only that he worked as a contractor, of sorts, and that he didn’t have too many friends, so you wouldn’t have to worry about visitors. But now that you’re looking at the photo, you’re wondering if maybe that last statement hadn’t been so true – the photo is of a dozen or so people, all posing for the camera with various degrees of a smile on their face. Uvogin’s in the back, on the left side, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a shorter blond man, his blue eyes in a wink and holding up his thumb. Uvogin’s smiling, and as you scan the photo, you stop when you hit Nobunaga, who’s seated in the front row next to a woman with big glasses and a modified cross necklace. Everyone looks happy, and briefly you wonder whether Uvogin considers these people friends. He must, if Nobunaga’s present – an odd sort of satisfaction worms its way into your chest at the thought. You don’t like Uvogin, surely not – but still, everyone needs friends, right? Even kidnappers.

               God, you really are starting to develop Stockholm Syndrome.

               Shaking your head to try and clear the thoughts, you approach his closet and snag a hanger, trying to hang up the shirt you’re holding in your arms. The thing is tall, and as you try to get the hanger’s hook to wrap over the metal bar, your eyes fall to the side, noticing something out of the corner of your vision.

               It’s a soft pink, and you cock a brow. Uvogin? Owning something pink?

               Eventually, and with a soft grunt, you get the hanger to successfully sit onto the bar, and immediately you’re investigating the pink thing. This goes directly against his rules, you know – you’re quite literally snooping, but hopefully he’d still be out for longer. Besides, even if he comes back, you could just tell him you’re putting away his shirt, and maybe he wouldn’t call you on your half-lie.

               Whatever the thing is, it’s wedged pretty far back in the closet – you’d only managed to catch a brief glimpse of it, and for good reason. There’s a storage container in the back of the closet, an organizer of sorts with some compartments that all seem to be stuffed full. It’s hard to see, the overhead light dim to begin with and not penetrating too deeply into the dark closet, but you’re able to fish out the pink fabric soon enough.

               It's lace, you realize, your curiosity only doubling. That same pin-prickly feeling is back, and as you slowly flatten out the cloth, your breath catches.

               It’s a thong. Pink and lacy, with a bow decorating the back, right over the tailbone.

               But more than that, the thong looks familiar. There’s a thread pulled on the front right side, and a stain on the fabric at the very bottom, looking awfully similar to the color your own discharge makes once it’s been washed.

               Your fingers are shaking again, and you stumble back a bit, the back of your knees catching onto the bed so that you fall back and land on your ass, too busy staring at the cloth in your hands to bother trying to situate yourself.

               These panties are yours.

               You’re sure of it – you know because Stacy bought them for you a few months ago. She’d cheekily handed them to you with a big, gaudy bow on top, a wink sent your way and a demure because I know you’ve got a date tonight, and I also know you haven’t gotten laid in way too long. That was the night you’d been set up on a blind date with a friend’s coworker. He’d been nice, though you hadn’t slept with him, and you hadn’t gone out again after that. He didn’t seem all that interested in you as a romantic pursuit, but he was funny, and you’d hoped you could become friends, at least.

               And his name was Chris. And he’d gone missing a few days after.

               You drop the panties, a hand coming up to cover your mouth.

               You don’t want to, and you know you shouldn’t, but before you can stop yourself you’re rushing forward to the closet, digging back to that storage compartment and rooting around for anything else you can find. It must be a coincidence; it has to be a coincidence. These can’t be your panties, you must be mistaken – why would Uvogin have these? How could he have these? You’d lost them in the laundry a while back.

               At least, that’s what you’d assumed.

               Pulling your hand back, you see you’ve grabbed a few items. They’re smaller, not clothing, but nonetheless incriminating. There’s a chapstick container, with a strange flavor on it that you’ve only seen once, back when you won it in some weird fundraising fair you’d been at for your job. Kiwi banana grape, it said in curling black lettering, and when you pop open the top, you notice it’s almost completely empty.

               There’s also a button; it’s black with a strange shape, one you recognize as being from your favorite jacket. It’d fallen off one day, but you’d been too busy walking around the city to have realized. It was a real bummer, because it’d rendered the jacket unwearable because too big a draft would sneak through it.

               And lastly, there’s a bandaid – it’s old, you can tell, with a kiddy pattern of some fairies and a dinosaur on it that the nurse had apologized for having to use, telling you it was all they had available at the time. You remembered it – it’d made you laugh that you’d gotten your flu shot and she’d patched it up with a bandaid designed for six year olds, even going so far as to snap a photo and send it in the group chat you kept with your friends.

               You feel sick.

               Throwing the small items back into the compartment, you rush to the bathroom, barely making it before you’re heaving, all the curry you’d forced down your throat earlier coming right back up.

               What the fuck?

               Who was Uvogin? Why did he have all of this? How did he have all of this? What did it mean? Your head’s rushing, too many thoughts and implications swimming through your oversaturated mind, and you have just barely enough strength to flush the toilet and stand up, staring at yourself in the mirror.

               Stacy’s words rush back to you as you examine your face, seeing your wide eyes and the way your chest is rising and falling with each harsh breath slipping through your lips. He ignores you? That doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense – none of it at all. Why would your by-association captor have any of your personal items? Especially personal items you’d lost or thrown away literal months ago, long before you’d ever started staying over at Stacy’s?

               You know why, you just don’t want to admit it, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you try to come up with any other possible explanation. No. It can’t be. Stacy’s the one with the creepy stalker, not me.

               Suddenly, the sound of the front door’s lock clicking open makes you snap up, adrenaline suddenly coursing through your veins. Uvogin’s home.

               Immediately you’re running to your bed, jumping under the covers and shutting your eyes tightly, praying that Uvogin will think you’re asleep and won’t bother you. You need more time to figure this out – it’s all too much, and while it probably won’t be any easier the longer you wait, you need something.

               You can’t look at him yet. You won’t.

               “I got your chips! Didn’t know which flavor to choose, so I got three I think you might like. I’m serious, though, you have to share. I’m an animal, and I will steal your food.” He laughs at that, and you hear him set down the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Your eyes are still closed so tightly that it hurts, and you ball your fists up in the blankets as hard as you can. You’d curled up into a fetal position, and you force yourself to stay still as you hear his loud footsteps coming down the hall.

               He calls your name, peeking his head into every room he passes. Soon he sees you in your bed, and although you look a little stiff, his shoulders immediately lose their tension. A smile flits across his lips, and he slowly, quietly shuts the door, retreating back to his own room.

               You sigh, peeling open your eyes and trying to get your breathing under control. You’d been holding your breath, and now that he’s actually home in the apartment, it’s difficult to not let yourself panic.

               It becomes much, much more difficult when you hear a noise come from his bedroom, though. What the hell’s this?

               There’s a muffled curse, and your blood runs cold as quick, heavy footsteps lead right up to your door. He swings it open and your eyes fly shut, trying desperately in vain to appear like you’re still sleeping.

               “Wake the fuck up.” He says, and immediately you open your eyes, your fear too strong to ignore. He’s holding the pink panties in his hands, and you realize with a small burst of terror that in your haste to get to the bathroom, you’d left them on the floor. In his room. Right where he can see that they’ve been moved.

               Fuck fuck fuck.

               "I only have three rules. What are they?” He barks, and you’re trying to curl up even smaller, hoping his promise of not hurting you will still ring true. Though, he’s lied about pretty much everything else – how do you know if that part wasn’t all a lie, too?

               “No hurting myself, no escaping, and no – no snooping.” You whisper, and Uvogin bares his teeth.

               “I’ve been good to you – patient, something that takes a hell of a lot of effort for me. And what do you do in return? You go and do one of the very few things I’ve forbidden.” He looks impossibly tall right now, towering over you with those muscles, the panties looking downright tiny between his monstrous fingers. “Tell me why. Explain to me why the hell you were snooping through my closet.”

               You shut your eyes again, too scared to look at him. “I was putting away a shirt you left in the bathroom. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did it, please don’t hurt me, please –“

               He interrupts you with a huff, and you tense up, waiting for some blow to land. It doesn’t, though, and after a good thirty seconds, you finally peel an eye open, almost too scared to see what he’s doing.

               You don’t expect the small smile that’s sitting on his lips, nor the hand on his hip. He locks his eyes with yours, then sighs. “Well, this is most definitely not the way I wanted you to find out. See, I had this whole plan – Nobunaga came up with it, one of the very few things he’s ever thought of that actually impressed me.”

               You’re confused again, but that sick feeling still hasn’t gone away. All you can seem to look at are your panties, wedged in his fist.

               “He told me that since you and Stacy were so close, we could cut a deal – kidnap you both at once, get more bang for our buck. There was no way to hide Nobunaga’s feelings for Stacy, sure, but you? Well, you haven’t noticed anyone following you, have you?” Uvogin asks, cocking his head at you and letting his smile get a bit wider.

               You quickly shake your head no.

               “I’m better at this stuff than he is. He always gets too excited to talk to her, wants to interact and have her lookin’ at him. I get it, I really do. Even now, even with you scared shitless and looking at me like I’m about to kill you, just you acknowledging me is getting me hard as a fucking rock.”

               Involuntarily, your eyes dart down to his navel, and with a small, strangled sound of fear, you notice the way there’s a prominent bulge forming in those shorts of his.

               He laughs at your change in focus, and steps forward. Hooking a finger under your chin, he smirks down at you. “I’m better at hiding myself, and I was willing to play the long game, content with watching you until the right time came to snatch you up. But when Nobunaga offered, telling me there was a way to get you all to myself and make sure you grew to want me organically? Well, I couldn’t resist, could I?”

               You want to tell him he absolutely could’ve, or that you wouldn’t have ‘wanted him organically’, whatever the hell that meant, but your tongue doesn’t seem to be working.

               He leans down, face coming closer and closer to yours. “You had no idea, did you? How do you think I knew what kind of mattress to get you? How do you think I knew exactly what to order for you for takeout, even when you were too scared to tell me? How do you think I know what shampoo and conditioner to buy you, or even what kind of fucking cologne you like? Believe me, I’m only wearing this shit for you.”

               You’re frozen, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare at him.

               “Do you get it now, princess? See, Nobunaga doesn’t give two shits about whether you live or die – he’ll get Stacy to do what he wants no matter what. But me? I give a shit.” He’s so close to you that you can smell his breath. It’s minty, like he’s just recently brushed his teeth. The cold smell only makes you shiver, fear still tingling up your spine.

               “Why?” You whisper, overwhelmed at his sudden confession.

               He pauses at that, smirk falling away as he genuinely considers your words. He’s quiet for a moment, before he smiles again, but this time it’s not as predatory – there’s something oddly soft about it, and it makes you feel worse.

               “Because you’re perfect. That’s all.” He answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and before you can say anything he’s clambering on the bed next to you. You want to fight him off, to jump up off the bed and run, but you can’t seem to find the energy to. Besides, you’re not delusional enough to think you could beat Uvogin in any sort of physical altercation or chase. And while he still seemed to be adhering to his promise of not hurting you, you didn’t feel like testing the waters.

               “So I guess the jig’s up. I was hoping you wouldn’t find out, but I can work with this, too. At least now I don’t have to act like I don’t know you. And now, I don’t have to do all that respectful distance shit – you’re mine now, babe, and now I don’t have to hide it.” He’s grinning again, his teeth looking too sharp, and before you can blink he’s above you, your wrists pinned above your head and his lips inches away from yours.

               “So why don’t I show you just how much your attention the last week’s been affecting me?” His voice is low, sultry, and makes you gulp. He presses his face into your neck, deeply inhaling and groaning. “I promise I can make you feel good… I’ll tell you my last rule, okay?”

               You’re frozen, but when he pulls back to glare at you, you shakily mutter out an ‘okay’.

               His grin is wolfish, predatory, scary. “Rule number four is no running away from me, even if that cute little body of yours can’t take anymore. Got it?”

               You nod.

[zgvlt]

sending your crush a survey form hcs first years (and idia shroud) x reader (separate) *ortho's is platonic, with reader having a crush on idia instead

author's note: insp. by that youtube trend! i haven't seen another writer do this for twst, but regardless this will be my own rendition and take on the trope! even though the gen concept is the same, each character has a different twist with theirs

general tags: gender neutral reader, fluff + attempt at humor, sfw, time skip after NRC graduation, not beta read, mix of text and images (for images, image desc/text version available for screen readers and those who prefer to read text over image)

wc: approx. 6k+ total (around 1k per character)

character: ACE TRAPPOLA premise/trope: sending the survey form to Ace, who's already your signfinicant other

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

The initial reaction is nothing out of the norm for Ace. Sure he doesn't seenzone or ghost you, but his quick replies consist of him typing variations of "LMAO" and "ARE YOU FRFR", as well as laugh reacting the message itself.

He also asks you if you're planning on becoming an influencer or streamer or something along those lines, why else would you want to make and send him a form like that?

After a few minutes, though, he'll start trying to call you, mentioning/pinging you to make sure you answer. If you're able to ignore his calls, he's going to make sure your phone is unusable with the amount of notifications he sends your way. Hey, maybe you'll even click on it and answer the call on accident!

Ace, as your significant other, probably knows your schedule so he's fairly confident that you have nothing else better to do than to answer him (he wouldn't be spamming you otherwise), so he's smug and not surprised that you eventually answer him. The first thing he tells you on call is,

"You're so lame, we're literally dating?! By the way... did you actually send this to other people?"

Makes fun of you if you say he's the only one but he also thinks it's sweet, and he says as much in a tone that sort of comes off as mocking at first, but it's clear after the first few seconds that he does think it's cute.

He's mature enough if you say you've sent it to other people. Rather than jealous, he's smug at the fact that he's the last crush, he's the end game.

Tells you to stay on the call as he answers the form. You'll notice that even as he's making fun of you with each question, the things he says versus the things he types differ from one another.

(And even if it didn't, you've become an expert at figuring out how to read Ace Trappola)

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

Q: did you know that i liked you (don't lie) A: wtf did you downgrade me?? did i go from L O V E to L I K E...? damn 💔💔

Q: if yes, how did you find out A: because you were ALWAYS clinging onto me in our NRC days 🙄 like come on could you not leave me alone for a little bit damn you really had to spend every minute with me and then after graduation ur still all over me tsk tsk also you were all heart eyes whenever you looked at me I'm not dense!

Q: okay so did you ever like ME A: the way i know you’re asking this so you can get some new material to make fun of me with. who did you get that bad attitude from huh 🤔 anyway unfortunately i did, and because i know you’re going to try to punt me for that i’m jOKING we’re literally together of course i did and do

Q: what do you like about me A: [ticks the boxes: everything, about, me, other] wowww maybe i do hype you up too much what is this behavior

Q: how did we meet A: you were in trouble and i saved your butt no this is not historical revisionism

Q: most memorable moment(s) w/ me A: to get the sap out, every moment with you is memorable awwww im so sweet, anyway now that i said that - everytime we got in trouble w/ trein or crewel bc we kept passing notes - group bonding activity by making fun with deuce (with love!) - the time we got caught sneaking out by riddle, trey, AND cater like triple kill?? - i guessss our first date (see point three) (theyve NEVER let me forget it bruh)

Q: is there something you dont like abt me A: well if were being serious there are just like there are things you find annoying about me but weve talked about it before and were working through it anyway serious talk over!! if there are other replies to this let me know if i have to fight someone lol (or you can do it yourself and i can watch) (or just prank them or smth i support your rights AND your wrongs)

Q: answer this only if ur my s/o: ily A: why are you being so cute today should i be worried? KIDDING i love you too

Q: ty for answering any last words? A: its been a while since weve gone out, we should go on a date again tonight

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

Once Ace submits the form, he tells you to read his answers already, almost as if he's expecting you to speedrun through them.

You're totally free to make fun of him back for the things he typed out—he can try to complain or whine, even retaliate whatever you say, but the banter and playful arguing makes things more fun for him. He likes any and all of your attention, you know it as well as he does.

If you sent the form to anyone else, he asks if he can read their answers as well. He won't budge if you'd rather keep it private because the knowledge of him being the final choice bloats his head just fine, but wouldn't it be more fun to laugh at those who, to quote, "fumbled the bag" when it came to you?

(And, well, you can listen to him agree with the nice things they wrote about you, because he knows first hand just how lovable you really are and how lucky he really is to be with you)

When you get to the last question, he's grinning to himself—even without the camera turned on, you can just hear him smiling, like he knows that you're rolling your eyes.

Whatever, you can both share your sweet nothings in person, when the both of you get somewhere more comfortable to be more vulnerable with each other.

"So, you up for a date some time tonight? My treat!"

character: DEUCE SPADE premise/trope: Deuce getting the form from someone he's highly admired for years

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

He doesn't answer you for a few minutes, even though it's considered rude to just view your message. You can see that he's viewed your message, for sevens' sake! Still, you send one final message telling him to take his time with answering—Deuce was probably panicking or overreacting behind the screens.

He was. He gets the message while he's at work, and he has to try very hard to swallow his shout—it would be bad if he alarmed his co-workers, after all!

Tries to answer—both your message and your form—during his break, but decides that he needs far more time than his work break would allow, so he tries to focus on his job until he can go home.

His hands hover over the keyboard, and he reads the things he types out over and over again just to make sure he doesn't have any typos. If he's made you wait this long, he'll at least try to have good spelling!

DEUCE : are you sure you sent this to the right person?

Deuce has a bit of a hard time grasping that you could even have a crush on him—he's harbored a huge crush on you for YEARS, an admiration turned romantic affection that he's been, unfortunately, made fun of for his whole NRC career.

(His friends made fun of him for being such a coward, but confessing seemed so out of the question years ago! He had to focus on becoming an honor student, and you were just so...???)

When you reassure him that, yes, you did mean to send it to him, he replies that he'll answer it A.S.A.P! The sudden vigor gives you whiplash, and out of fear of formality you have to tell him that he can be as honest as possible.

It takes Deuce an hour at least to send in his answers, but when you look them over later you'll find that although he's trying to be polite and is clearly holding back (it's alright, you can have a proper talk about this some other time), his answers are genuine and his sweetness shines through.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

Q: How do we know each other? A: We both went to NRC and we shared a few classes, then we became friends

Q: Before this, did you know I liked you? A: No?! Not at all?! I mean I knew you liked me as a friend, because we were friends, but like-like? Like as a crush? I mean Ace and a few other people teased me about you liking me back then but I always thought it was a joke because you know? You’re you???

Q: Did you ever like me back? A: I didn’t think I would say it this way but yes?! Of course? I would be blind not to!

Q: If yes, how long did the crush last? A: [ticks the boxes: 3+ years, other] Um am I supposed to answer 3+ if it's ongoing...?

Q: If you liked me, why didn't you tell me? A: There were two main reasons… first I never thought I could have a chance with you, I didn’t want to ruin anything, second is just that I wanted to grow first into a better student and person, so I didn’t think I was ready to date either.

Q: What do you like most about me? A: Do I say just one thing…? It’s kinda hard to choose, and this is super embarrassing, you know. I guess I like that you never look down on me for my past and the fact that I’m still… not very cool. Even though you tell me I am. I like that you try to help me in whatever way you can, and I like that you’re always one of the first people to defend me when a bunch of jerks feel like causing trouble. And when you ran into my mom that one time, you told her really nice things about me (she told me even though you told her not to, sorry!) and I ended up liking you even more… I just find you reliable and respectable and I’ve always wanted to catch up to you since you were (are?) so out of my league?

Q: Could you imagine yourself dating me? A: Absolutely

Q: Thank you for answering! Sorry if this is awkward. Anything else to add? A: Wait can you tell me how long you liked me for? And a few other things I kind of want an explanation :’) Should I send a form too or do I just DM you?

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

Aside from wanting some explanations (as much as you're willing to give), honestly, Deuce is a little distraught (okay, more than a little—the crush had never really disappeared even after graduation). He genuinely thinks he lost his chance with you. After all, the title was in the past tense!

No he didn't lose his chance, but he's gearing himself up to just accept that you saw something good in him to the point that you once liked him—that, in a way, gives him a sense of happiness.

Maybe you're a mind reader, or maybe you're just good at detecting Deuce's tone from his answers and later messages, because you let him know that you're very much still into him, and if he still is then maybe he's willing to give the both of you a shot...?

At that point Deuce is very much glad to be at home because he's grinning ear to ear, face flushed like the color of his alma mater dorm. He feels like those teenage girls from those movies he watched with his mom on occasion—the ones who got butterflies in their stomach.

It's the fastest he texts back yet, sending you a stream of messages that all form the answer of a resounding YES.

Yes, he does call his mom later that night and tells her that he has a date coming soon. His mom always did wonder if he'd ever find a significant other amidst his busy career.

(His mother teases him a bit, but as embarrassing as it is to be teased like he was still a high schooler, his happiness overthrows it)

DEUCE : HUH?? OF COURSE I WANT TO GO ON A DTEA WITH YOU?? DEUCE : *DATE sorry I got excited. obviously, duh.., wow i'm seriously still not very cool, huh DEUCE : so... no pressure but when are you free to meet up?

character: JACK HOWL premise/trope: two best friends with very obvious mutual pining but have never said a word about their feelings, and now they live far apart. you send the form to Jack for closure (or resolution)

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

He wants to ask if this is a joke (even though the form title said it was not a prank), but refrains from sending in what he initially typed out. If you were serious, and he thinks you are, then it wouldn't be right for him to doubt or question your feelings.

It's going to take him a while to actually fully process the form title and form description alone, but he lets you know that he's not ignoring you or anything, he just needs a hot minute

JACK : Don't worry, I'm not ignoring you, but I need a moment. By the way, do you really want me to answer the form? Or do you want to just... call.

For one reason or another, perhaps you wanting to gauge his own interest in you, or perhaps you needing some time before properly having that conversation with him, you request he answer the form first.

Jack doesn't exactly like it when people beat around the bush, but he knows it must have taken a lot of courage out of you to confess to him. Braver than him, really, who never had the strength to let you know what he felt for you, feelings that were apparently required all this time.

Later, Jack would laugh to himself (or with you) at how silly the both of you were, wallowing in angst over unrequited love that was never actually unrequited.

A part of Jack does wish he knew earlier, maybe the both of you could have been dating all this time, but perhaps this was the timing that was meant for him and you... not that Jack knew anything about destiny or fate.

His answers are serious, but not cold, not completely. Warmth lingers, mostly from you imagining him reading the words to you, imagining his expressions as he does so.

His answers are also quite honest, although you can picture him getting somewhat embarrassed over how vulnerable he's being. Maybe typing things out instead of immediately saying them verbally helps him be less shy and awkward about this, too.

And when you read them, you can easily identify his fondness and affection for you, the one he's always possessed. Really, it's a wonder that it took him spelling out his feelings for you to realize how much he adores you.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

Q: did u ever realize i more than liked you? A: There were a few times where I really thought you might have liked me back, mostly by watching your body language, or the things my seniors (Leona and Ruggie) pointed out, but the “signs” felt so natural that I just pushed it aside.

Q: did u ever have feelings for me too? A: Let me say something first: why are you immediately assuming that I don’t have the same feelings for you? Like you’re expecting me to reject you? Really, you’re so… anyway. For the record, it’s not “did”, it’s “do”, I do have feelings for you, since we were students in NRC. That hasn’t changed even after we left and went our separate ways. And I don’t want to assume, and since I checked the other questions and you didn’t ask… I’ve probably liked you for just as long. Look, I know I’m actually a lot more dense than I thought I would be, but I didn’t think you would be, too.

Q: did you ever want to date me? A: I did, and I still do.

Q: if i said i still have feelings for you, and that i miss you, how would you feel? A: I would say I’m the same, and that I wish we lived nearer each other so I could see you right now, and tell you these things in person instead of a form.

Q: jack when’s ur next vacation/free day :( A: No vacation until next month, but I can free up my Sat-Sun if you want?

Q: what things do you like about me A: Everything? Is that bad to say? Even though I tried to push you aw[a]y at first, you still tried to be my friend, and then we got closer and closer. You appreciate my space, but you also keep me company. I’m used to being alone, but I’m glad that I wasn’t because you were always around. I think it would be easier to say what I don’t like about you, it’ll take less time.

Q: umm ive been asking so much, do u have any questions for me? A: A few, though I can ask the rest later 1) Is there a certain type of place you would want to visit any time soon? 2) Is there anything you want from my hometown? 3) Just making sure, you’re still single, right? 4) Do you really want to stop liking me?

Q: jackkk i really miss you :((( huhuhu A: i miss you too, more than i let you know. im sorry i rarely tell you that

Q: sorry im a mess, do u wanna add smth A: please call me when you’re done reading this (or when you can)

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

It's difficult for Jack to proceed with the rest of his day, especially when you tell him you're going to read his response, when you haven't called him yet.

Thankfully you don't make him wait for too long, although Jack was willing to wait if you had other urgent matters to attend to, or if you just needed more time to compose your thoughts.

Once in call, Jack takes the initiative to steer the conversation to the topic at hand—your feelings for him, his feelings for you, and what that meant for your relationship going forward.

The both of you lived quite a ways apart, and while that wasn't necessarily ideal (Jack desperately wanted to see you and hold you in his arms right now), he was sure he had the ability to make it work with you, as long as you were willing to do the same.

Weekend trips to see each other, perhaps moving closer to each other and moving in together in the future, those weren't out of the question.

There were certain topics that could always be decided on later, and he lets you know as much; he just needed to call you now so he could tell you what he's always wanted to for years.

"Hey, don't get over me just yet, not when I've been wanting to see you again."

character: EPEL FELMIER premise/trope: you have been flirting with Epel for years, even though the two of you are merely (unfortunately for you AND him) best friends. you send the form for fun, and get the retaliation you very well deserve

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

Seconds after sending the form, you're immediately laughing it off, launching excuses and reasons as to why you sent one (and made a form to begin with). In fact, even before you sent the link, you were already building it up to be "just another one of your flirtations" instead of what it really is

Epel loves you, really (and wow did it take him a while... and a whole bunch of people pointing out his feelings to actually realize it wasn't just the friendly kind of love), but he's very tired of... whatever was going on with the both of you

It's cute when you flirt with him to be honest, even though it's embarrassing and downright flustering more than half the time (probably the thing stopping him from ever trying to do the same unto you), but it always felt... nice. Even if he did lose his shit one too many times.

It'd feel even better if the both of you were actually dating, though

He doesn't think you've been flirting with him as a joke or anything, he'd definitely would've put a stop to it otherwise, but he still wants his feelings to be taken more seriously, and for you to consider that he is very capable of liking you back, and for you to actually give him a say

Well, this form would be a good chance for that, right?

His voice message is enough to make you nervous, the incoherent keyboard smash you sent right after is proof of it

"Hehe, just give me a few minutes, I'mma answer it properly!"

Epel tries to be smooth but his answers have some awkwardness to them, clearly attempting to emulate you and how you enjoy talking to him, but the attempts at flirting are not lost on you.

Still, you can just tell that it isn't just payback—he's very serious about the things he's writing, even with the quips and joking responses to your questions here and there.

It's his sheer honesty though, the way he writes like he just spills his feelings for you all over the keyboard without regard for any proper form, that ends up the most romantic and impactful.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

Q: hypotheticallyyyy, would u like me back A: Why would you need hypotheticals when I DO like you back? (Also, didn't you say you "hypothetically" loved me? Why is it "like" now?)

Q: *shakes 8ball* would u date me if ever A: The following is ticked: - signs point to yes - it is decidedly so - without a doubt - yes - definitely - outlook good - most likely - other: My sources (my heart) says yes

Q: so, did u know ur the apple of my eye A: You're so silly why am I even into vou..? Right, it's because l'm apple-solutely a fool for you.

Q: epel why are u still here TT A: WellI, if you want me to answer this seriously, it's because I'm getting impatient. I like/love you, you feel the same, we kind of act like we're dating half the time… actually a lot of people already think we're meant to be, so why aren't we dating yet? it's driving me crazy honestly, sometimes i think i'll just kiss you to shut you up whenever you think up some lame pickup line or when you want to hold my hand

Q: when'd ya realize u LOVED me <3- delulu A: Vil pointed out that I didn't bite your head off when you called me cute

Q: whats ur favorite moment with me <3 A: When we went to my hometown w/ the rest of our schoolmates, and then we separated from our group so I could give you a personal tour of my home. You joked that you would get lost and that we were on a date so you needed me to hold your hand, maybe u did want to hold hands but I also knew your hands were cold be SOMEONE forgot their gloves. We held hands the whole tour, and be people recognize me everyone assumed we were dating… but you didn't care if people thought (realized) you loved me, as long I never found out.. and because I was dense, I didn't until I recalled that day again

Q: not to fish for compliments BUT i will. list EVERTHING you like about me <3 A: 1) everything ;) INCLUDING your flirting, believe it or not 2) the way you can tease me and poke fun at me w/o belittling me 3) when you call me "cute" it makes me feel the same as when u call me "cool" 4) the way u enable+join me in, as our friends would say, ; "being chaotic good"

Q: what do you hate about me hehehe A: i hate that ur single and not dating me yet

Q: why did you finish this form epel A: because i want to raise apple trees and make jam with you in the future

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

The both of you have always been the type to joke with one another. It's not that neither of you take to having serious conversations, but it's always been about things you wanted to vent about, or Epel's thoughts on his appearance and femininity, or a few other things the both of you felt like bringing up. Never a love life.

(You have asked him if he was in a relationship a few times since graduation, likely to see if you had to steer clear and fully give up on him. He's guilty to asking the same questions.)

For someone who flirted with him a lot, you never brought it up seriously before. Not since the incident with the ghost bride.

Of course, he knows he could have stepped up much earlier, that the both of you could have been dating even back in NRC, but perhaps he wanted to wait (until he eventually became impatient), or he needed reassurance or a sign.

Epel's not very sure, and he doesn't think there's one definite reason, but that's besides the point. He finally got to tell you his feelings, and even though you've more than hinted that you feel the same, he wants to hear it from you this time, without you taking it back or pushing it as a joke it never was.

He has his moments of insecurity, too many to count especially in the past, but when he rings you on the phone and you pick up immediately, he's full of confidence, grinning in anticipation of what's to come.

"So, if I said I loved you, too, what would'ya think about it?"

character: SEBEK ZIGVOLT premise/trope: pretending the form you're making him answer is a regular survey you need participants for

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

If asked, you pretended it was a requisite you desperately needed participants for because Sebek would definitely take some time off his ever busy schedule to help a friend out. He gets it, getting participants is difficult! And because he's such a good friend, obviously he'll take some time out of his day to answer your survey!

Asks if he should send the form to Malleus and Lilia too but you absolutely refuse. You cite that they've exceeded the maximum age range, an answer Sebek readily accepts. An age range, how diligent of you to put that into consideration!

You can expect him to answer your form as soon as he's able to, and he tells you as much!

SEBEK : What an odd research topic. I never knew this was one of your interests! Still, I applaud you for your dedication and for your interest in studying fae; I shall aid you in your study! And if you have anything more to ask, feel free to call me any time!

He is... more than confused when he goes over the questions. It's always important to read all the questions before answering a test, so he employs the same tactic when he looks at the survey. He's not sure if he regrets it, but his throat certainly hates him for it—choking on nothing but his own spit.

His instincts tell him to message you IMMEDIATELY, face flushed at the idea of you playing a joke, making a fool out of him, but then... he stops himself from doing so.

You're clearly teasing him, yes, but all the same he's curious about your motives, about how you would react to his answers, about the answers you want to get out of him... or anyone else. Did you send the form to anyone else? What if you were getting answers from other people?

Oddly enough, what motivates him to answer instead of interrogating you about the form is the idea of someone else sending in the form before him. He can't have that! He had to show that he was your most reliable friend, the one you could count on if you really needed help.

Most of his answers are predictably... Sebek, loud even in text, honest in his confusion and feelings. Well, in the ones you allow him to type anyway. Probably your fault with your choice of questions. Still, it's enough to reassure you of his feelings, that you weren't just delusional and seeing things.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

Q: When you see a picture of me, what emotions are you likely to feel? A: The following is ticked: - Happy, Glad, Pleased - Shy, Nervous, Hesitant - Ecstatic, Excited, Motivated - Delighted, Charmed, Exhilarated - other: You don’t have a study at ALL, do you? How brave to fool me like this!

Q: What traits do you associate with me? A: The following is ticked: - charming - bewitching - endearing - lovable - good-looking - fascinating - other: If you’re going to list everything, why even give the option for other?

Q: With this vague scale, how would you rate your feelings for me? A: [Sebek selects the choice with the highest rank]

Q: How compatible do you think you are with me on a scale of… on a scale? A: [Sebek selects the choice with the highest rank]

Q: If I asked you on a date, how likely are you to say yes A: [Sebek selects the choice with the highest rank]

Q: How sure are you of the extent of your feelings for me A: [Sebek selects the choice with the highest rank]

[ SECTION BREAK / NOT A QUESTION ] Not a question but based on my pre-existing research, it seems our feelings are quite similar! Just sharing!

Q: Hi, I will finally allow you to rant away now :) Thanks for answering this! A: This was not only the most ridiculous test/survey I have taken in my LIFE, but also the most DIFFICULT. The way I’m not allowed to explain myself, well, expect that I will most CERTAINLY be explaining myself at a later date. It has to be on a later date because WHY DID YOU PUT A CHRACTER LIMIT ON THI

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

Are all humans so... odd and creative when it comes to expressing their feelings? Was this an expression of your feelings? Was this you wanting to court him, or perhaps asking him to court you?!

Sebek's thoughts are all over the place, but they bring out the feelings he thought had died down after graduation. Whatever charm you had placed on him had never worn off, remaining even when you weren't in his presence.

Before typing out his (very lengthy) paragraph of a text message, a paragraph more suited for an email, really, Sebek thinks of two things.

First, that Briar Valley needs better cell reception—a bunch of your text messages just came in, asking if he was answering the form, or if he was busy and got called on to do something, or if he was plain ignoring you.

(Well, by your texts, he at least knows he's the only one you've sent the form to. That gives him far too much pride than it should)

Second, that he wasn't in Briar Valley right now (the younger him never would have thought of thinking such a thing), or that you were in Briar Valley right now, so he could go up to see you and express his feelings most appropriately.

He supposes a text will do for now. A nicely worded text, if he can't send a letter (he could, but it would take too long). He can just... do something more romantic later.

SEBEK : DEAREST HUMAN! Even with our time apart, you are still as confounding and befuddling and CONFUSING as ever, you and your unusual ways of showing what I presume to be your affections for me, or at the very least signaling your interest, gathering information to analyze my own interest levels! Admittedly your attempt was, for the lack of a better way to phrase it, lacking good prose, unpoetic, and extremely weird, but nevertheless your feelings have reached me. Somehow, you have managed to render me speechless (for a few minutes), and you, in spite of your general lack of romanticism, continue to set my heart ablaze. With that said, even though I find your methods cowardly, I accept your advances, but I ask we hold off from pursuing anything until I can tell you in person. That is to say, I want for us to meet again.

[ BONUS ! ]

character: ORTHO SHROUD (& IDIA SHROUD) premise/trope: sending a form to your crush's younger brother, Ortho, mostly because you don't want to commit to confessing to Idia yet

HOW HE REACTS WHEN YOU SEND THE FORM LINK

He already knew you had feelings for his brother, but there's a different type of happiness in knowing you're willing to admit it (at least to him, if not yet Idia)

It's one thing to like his brother, and it's another thing to be able to say it. From his observations (of you, of others, and the games his brother played) and research (on online forums... and also the games his brother played), there was that probability that you would be ashamed of yourself for liking Idia, his wonderful but flawed brother. He's glad you don't seem to think that way.

That aside, he thinks you sending him the form is fun! He's more than willing to answer anything you want to know (whether it's just about him or if it's something to help you get closer to his brother)

Plus, he got called your BFF! :D

ORTHO : Your secret is safe with me! Don't worry q(≧▽≦q) My metaphorical lips are sealed!

When it comes to answering, he's straight to the point but cute, even when he says things that could come off as burns towards you or his brother. Most of all, it's very clear that he not only adores his brother, but that he cares for you, too.

HOW HE ANSWERS THE QUESTIONS

Q: hi ortho! first of all, i missed youuu 💙 A: I missed you too! I haven’t seen you since graduation ＞︿＜

Q: so since i’m sure you know i like idia, when/how did you realize? A: I was walking with you to class one day when your heart rate increased! I was really scared that something had happened to you ::>_<:: I ran a few tests out of concern, even though you were confused about why I wanted to do that. Everything was normal when I checked it, but when I suggested my brother help investigate the anomaly your heart rate rose again!

Q: just making sure, do you think idia has a clue that i like him A: Oh, absolutely! He… just kidding! Not at all! I never told him, even though I wanted to sometimes, but even if I did I don’t think he would belive me! My brother is not dense, he gets flustered by you a lot, but I think he’s too in denial that it’s possible you like him!

Q: do you think idia likes me too A: That’s a secret! Please confess to my brother first, or wait for him to confess!

Q: its okay with u if i dated him, right? A: I approve! I like you very much o(^.^)o Me and Idia always have fun with you!

Q: serious question do you think idia would open to dating right now? A: Hmmm I think it’s better that you talk to him about it! I know the both of you can come to an agreement that you’ll both be happy with ( ˇ v ˇ )

Q: aside from the fact that you love your brother and that you like me, why do you think we’re good for one another? A: I have prepared multiple answers for this question! [ 1 ] Because you like him! [ 2 ] Because you like me, too! ヾ(•ω•`)o [ 3 ] Because you understand and accept Idia without forcing him to change. [ 4 ] Because you know when Idia wants space and when he wants to hang out with you. [ 5 ] Because you smile brightly around him and he smiles brightly around you. Idia is happier seeing you than seeing Gakemo live, or getting an SSR!

Q: do u have any tips for meee A: Just be yourself! ヾ(≧ ▽ ≦)ゝ

Q: if i get rejected by idia, are you still down to be my little brother? hihi A: I don’t want to tell you the probabilities of anything, but you should have more faith in yourself! And of course! o((>ω< ))o

AFTER HE ANSWERS THE FORM

The chances are, either he gives you enough assurance to confess to Idia in the coming days/weeks, or he convinces you to wait it out when the time is right—dating sims usually had confession scenes at very specific and special locations, right? Maybe you had to wait for a sign.

Either way, it's hard not to believe you have a chance when Ortho tells you—not because of his godly skills (seriously, what kind of genius is Idia?) in analyzing data and making predictions based on probabilities, but because Ortho's the one who knows him best, who's always going to be there when he needs it.

How can you not trust him when he implies (implies, only so he won't take the chance from his brother to confess to you properly) that his brother might just have a crush on you, too?

After a while, the conversation divulges from Idia to simply catching up with Ortho, asking him how he's been doing, setting up a day where the both of you could play a few online games together (with and without Idia), but his sweet messages remain in your head all day.

ORTHO : Even though I want you to date my brother as soon as possible (please I promise the probability of him liking you back is much higher than you think!), I promise I won't interfere, so take your time! ORTHO : Even without dating him, I already see you as my other big sibling anyway \^o^/

masterlist | end notes

[ 1 ] made this in 2 days because i was just really tired from school and wanted a break, but wanted something a little less taxing brain power wise than a one-shot. i've had this idea in my head for a few months now so i thought i would finally write it out!

[ 2 ] figuring out how someone would type is a struggle, so i had to make guesses based on how they write the valentine letters + voice lines, then take some liberties based on their relationship dynamic with the reader + the tone of the premise

[ 3 ] epel: "because I want to raise apple trees and make jam with you in the future", referencing one his suitor suit (the groom outfit, i forgot what it's called in EN) voice lines

[ 4 ] speaking of epel, i asked for ideas basically on what dynamics people liked with him. unfortunately i couldn't employ EVERY idea, i mostly went with @ / syl-lithy 's with a dash of everyone elses. ig ill just have to use the other dynamics in some other work for epel 😌

[yanderenightmare]

something i havent seen you do is Bakugou with an equally famous or successful reader, like she's still quirkless but maybe an idol of sorts? i think it could be interesting

BNHA ! HEADCANONS + IMAGINE

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

TW: yandere, some slight nsfw, obsession, coercion, abuse of power

PROFESSIONAL

Your face is on the poster plastered right next to his, only you look like his stark opposite.

Flowers instead of explosions frames you and your dewy skin. Glittering with the spritz of perfume you’re commercializing instead of the droplets of sweat and grease he’s smeared with.

A catlike grin plays deceptively soft in the corner of your glossy lips, whereas his bear a crazed maniacal demonstration of canines like a rabid mongrel.

And your eyes, painted with a seductive blend of smokey colors similar to the smudge of his war paint, though refined to make you look oh-so-lush and divine, like a queen, and he, only a lowly sooty footsoldier in comparison.

He buys magazines you’re featuring in and reads them before bed.

Ending up with a hand bobbing beneath the cover.

Feeling lucky like none when the poster within is a large A3 foldout of you in something rather risqué. 

He reads your interviews from cover to cover or watches them on TV.

His heart pounding when the segment of your nameless childhood bully is brought up. Happy to see you haven't forgotten him.

He was a complete desperate mess when you did that extremely private lingerie commercial that had you showing off nearly all assets on a set of pillows and plushies.

Losing his mind looking through the mesh and chiffon right to where your nipples teased him with their perky strut. 

Not to mention your face and your expressions… 

You really know how to play to the camera. So much so it makes him jealous of the photographer. 

He’d like to be the one to tell you to pose and give him a pout. Pretending he is when slowly peeling each page over to view the following image. Throat tight and dry and palms sweaty, watching you crawl and give a rather intimidatingly large teddy bear a kiss on the cheek.

You’ve definitely become something different from your shared days in middle school.

Something confident and alluring.

Something he wants to play with in a wide new variety of ways than before.

It’s good that your industry often intertwines with his.

He knows exactly which model to request when his agency wants to shoot a new campaign poster starring Dynamight saving a Damsel in Distress.

No one but you fit the role so picture-perfectly, being both a beautiful idol and a quirkless citizen.

You’ve learned to refrain from asking your handler any questions, just doing what the strict woman tells you, be it what jobs to take, how to dress, or what to eat. It’s better that way. She’s a professional, and you owe your entire career to her wisdom. But once you get to the photo shoot and start recognizing the props of a certain hero decorating the stage, you get queasy with unease upon understanding exactly which pro hero you’re going to be shooting with. 

Swallowing thickly, you bar yourself in your dressing room for a minute. Your handler already shouting at your ear enough to make you wince with tears at the ready as you try to explain the sticky situation to her. Naturally, your cries fall upon deaf ears, and soon enough, you’re convinced you’re being silly. This is a huge opportunity, after all. Dynamight is on par with Deku, having shared the title of the number one hero ever since they graduated. It would be career suicide to decline a collab with him, especially now that you’re already under contract with his agency.

You splash your face with cold water to calm the swelling left by your tears and get dressed in the silky white summer dress provided to you. It’s a pretty article, you think without being overly happy about it. It’s a thin, nearly see-through, backless model with a rather deep dip reaching down between your breasts. And though it isn’t at all the first time you flaunt your body in a nearly nude state in front of the world, it certainly is the first time you do so in front of the guy who used to pick your appearance apart until you cried. You only hope he doesn’t recognize you and that the shoot will be over before he eventually can.

You’re glad your handler does what her job suggests and handles all handshakes and greetings on your behalf. But though all the formalities of the work fall upon her shoulders, the part of the actual modeling is something only you can do.

You’re able to remain professional for the most part, barely ever glancing in his direction, though picking up on his mass from the corner of your eye and through the veil of fake lashes where you keep your eyes glued to the floor as the photographer gives instructions for the new pose. But then comes the direction you were dreading, the one which has the two of you touching. And even though you knew it was inevitable, you still flinch when he puts his hands on you.

And though the assistants, handlers, managers, and photographers are all oblivious to your discomfort, he notices, smiling at your tiny shivers and how well you hide them.

He’s so much bigger than you remember, you think while you try steadying your breath and convincing yourself that it isn’t any different from all those other times you’ve gone out of your comfort zone for the sake of a good deal. The shoot you did for Playboy Magazine had practically been a porno, and that time you’d been surrounded by a great deal of big beefy men, much similar to the one touching you now. 

Still tough... you had a laugh that time around. You had fun.

This wasn’t fun.

“Funny this.” He spoke, and you feared he was speaking to none other than you.

Holding you in a scoop of a bridal carry, you felt the harsh metal of his costume dig into your skin, not more than the grip of his hands clawing at your flesh like a predator sinking its teeth into caught prey. The grime on his fingers dirtying the white of your dress.

“Or… ironic is a better word for it.” He adds, and you finally look up into that face that still sometimes haunts you in your dreams despite having been out of your life for years. “Oh- don’t say you don’t remember me, Quirkless?”

After the shoot, the photographer praises you on your ability to portray true distress, unbeknownst that the sentiments in your expressions were genuine, and you almost trip over the stage props while thanking him, wanting to leave the set as quickly as possible in favor of going home.

But obviously, shooting a campaign poster isn’t why you’re there.

“Have dinner with me.” He says, with his hand, seemingly made to break bones, wrapped tight around your twiggy wrist. Stopping you from running away.

And just as expected, your handler accepts before you can make the costly mistake of refusing.

tip-jar: Kofi

[cheegu3]

Hi, I loved your glory based enha fic so much! Please do a part 2 or sequel of it? I want to see why they bully and kiss the mc at same time. Maybe you can make it yandere since you mentioned that it was not?

Honestly I'm new to your blog but love your work so much!

I've gotten many requests like this, so I decided to make a mini series out of it, technically it's my first series to finish so lower ur expectations everyone lol. Thank you so much for reading and supporting my work, welcome & love u !! <3

dc list (all the ppl that requested a pt.2) - @ceeesxy-blog, @roses-and-blue-perennial-salvia, @/anons special thanks to @muminpopz, for giving me the idea to introduce a second character !!

to clarify - my last part was still yandere, that's why they wanted to kiss her, I think I wrote that in my last fic bc it wasn't really mentioned much.

note; I haven't planned the plot 100% so voting will probably be a big part of deciding what happens next, only the first ones to read (24hrs) get to vote but u can still leave your opinions in the comments <3

this is a bit long, I apologize in advance, I am determined to give this an ending now lol

wc; 4.4k

pairing; enha x f.m reader

featuring; yeonjun & soobin (txt)

tw / trigger warning; yandere themes, severe bullying, the glory inspired, scars, mentions of forced kissing, mentions of drinking and smoking, trauma, swearing

pt.1

Enhypen - the glory (PT.2)

The irritating fluorescent lights flickering above made you scrunch your nose and turn on your side. Those damn hospital lights reminded you of those moments you'd spent there a couple of years ago, when your mom needed treatment for her illness. They felt eerie, almost like a weakening heartbeat flickering back at you while you stared at them.

Now here you were, back at the hospital again. Your dad had accidentally spotted the burns, poking out from under your shirt as you raised your arms above your head to put something on a shelf. Wishing you'd been more careful was useless now as you looked at the sleeping form of your dad slumped over the dreary hospital bed.

Your bullies had no idea you were in the hospital, but surely they'd be notified soon enough. There was no way your dad would let this thing go after seeing how badly they left you. He had dried tears on his hollow cheeks that made your heart twist painfully in guilt.

Although it wasn't your fault at all, you didn't want to be a burden to him. He already worked more than his body could handle, constantly stressed with the increasing workload his company gave him.

'' Miss, y/n? ''

You sat up straight at the sound of a nurse. She approached your bed with a sympathetic smile on her face, and you felt bad for her too. She looked young, too young - had you scarred her as well with your injuries? They weren't very nice to look at after all.

'' Yes? '' you whispered, eyes fleeting briefly to your dad sleeping to let the nurse know not to wake him up.

'' We've administered some soothing cream and medicine in case the pain gets too unbearable. If you wish, you may go home now. ''

You nodded. '' Thank you. ''

You reached out your hand and gently pat your dad. He grunted and slowly got up, stretching his sore neck as he slowly started waking up. He looked at you questioningly instead of asking what was wrong.

'' They said I could go home. ''

He sighed, maybe a bit louder than he had intended to because a look of regret flashed across his face, hurriedly he assured you, '' I wasn't worried about the bills, honey. ''

You knew he was but you didn't say anything. The promise of your warm, comfortable bed waiting at home was enough for you to stay quiet, even during the whole ride home.

Hearing the additional quiet sighs of your exhausted dad behind you when you hurried to your bedroom, made another pang of guilt hit you. But this time you ignored it too - another more important thought was filling up your mind now.

What would happen at school tomorrow?

You slipped under the heated covers and as a result of the long day, you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

*******

You were one of the earliest students to arrive this time. Taking your designated spot at the back of the class, your head naturally fell into your arms as you yawned off the morning grogginess.

Before you left that morning, your dad had given you a smile and told you that, ' If those punks give you trouble again, call me '. But he had said so while balancing both his files and a cup of nearly spilled coffee, along with a laptop tucked under his arm. You'd seen him for maybe a few minutes before he disappeared off to work again.

You smiled a bit melancholically, knowing that if trouble did arise you wouldn't call him. Hopefully you wouldn't have a reason to do so anyway; maybe they'd be more gentle with you since they gave you such a harsh punishment last time.

The bell rang, startling you and making you raise your head. The class was pretty much full now. By instinct your eyes dart to where they always sat. Surprisingly, they were all in their seats but didn't seem to be paying you too much attention.

A few of them looked sleepy, slumped over their desks like you had been just a minute ago. The others had dark circles under their eyes and stared blankly towards the blackboard.

Rough night? They almost looked like they'd been out partying. You scoffed. It wouldn't shock you if they had; they sometimes smelled of smoke as they'd kiss you in the gym, so you wouldn't put it past them to drink during a school night too.

'' Good morning, class! '' the teacher's cheerful voice cut through the room.

The tired students responded back but in a much less bright tone.

'' We have a new student today. A transfer from Ansan. ''

The murmur from the usual chatty students stopped, and it became dead quiet. Just then the classroom door slid open and a tall, very good-looking guy crouched to get in.

'' This is Soobin, please introduce yourself. '' the teacher smiled.

'' Hi everyone, I'm Soobin. Nice to meet you. '' he said solemnly.

He sounded a bit shy and he didn't keep eye-contact with the students for long, eyes dashing anxiously from person to person while he clasped his hands together.

When his eyes landed on you, you smiled politely. Based on first impressions alone, it was clear as day to anyone that this guy didn't seem like a bully, so you wanted to be nice to him.

It's not easy being new, you knew that very well when you had to transfer during the second part of the first year. Back then, there weren't any people like you that would want to take care of the newcomer, like you wanted to take care of Soobin - and that's how you became their target. You couldn't let that happen to this guy.

'' You can take the seat next to y/n, that one in the back. '' you heard the teacher say.

You smiled again, that would certainly make things a bit easier as he would be sitting closer to you than your bullies. The part where you actually had to try to become friends was harder. You couldn't remember the last time you had a friend.

Soobin cautiously walked over to his seat, keeping his eyes down the whole time. He looked even taller up close, and he barely fit in his seat which made you snort quietly to yourself.

The teacher turned her back and started writing on the board as the murmur returned again. You fiddled nervously with your fingers before finally turning your head to him, determination shining in your eyes.

He must've seen you do so in his peripheral vision because he looked at you too, his bunny-like eyes growing twice its size.

'' Hi, I'm y/n. ''

'' Yeah, she...uh said so. '' he gestured to the teacher and then seemed to cringe at himself.

You let out a light laugh, maybe you were both equally awkward.

'' I guess she did. '' you gave him a genuine smile, one that reached your eyes. It had been a long time since you'd smiled in that way.

'' I'm Soobin. '' he seemed to relax when he saw your smile, a small one played on his own lips as he observed you timidly.

'' I know, she said that. '' you teased back.

He chuckled and you thought you saw him blush before he turned to pick up his notebooks from his backpack. You did the same, starting to copy the material from the board.

'' Hey, is it- okay if I eat lunch with you later? I know it's a weird thing to ask, but I don't really have anyone. '' he quickly rambled after you had been taking notes for some time.

'' I mean, you don't have to say yes if you already have someone you're eating with I just thought I'd ask. ''

A shy pout formed on his lips, seemingly indicating that he felt that he had embarrassed himself again. But you found it cute.

'' No, that sounds perfect. I don't really have any friends either. '' you admitted.

'' Oh. ''

'' It's okay. '' you laughed.

And then the two of you continued studying, while the sweet promise of having someone to finally eat lunch with was circling inside your mind.

*******

When the bell rang, you quickly packed up your things and waited for Soobin outside. You were slightly scared that if you were one of the last ones to leave, then your bullies would catch you red-handed and see your newfound friendship, prompting them to do something to the new student.

Soobin looked happy walking by your side, completely oblivious to all the stares and whispers that followed the two of you. He was even humming something, moving his head slightly all the way through the queue in the cafeteria to the walk to your table.

You chose one that was out of sight from the entrance, just in case they'd eat today. They often didn't - being from snobby rich families and all, they were grossed out by the cafeteria food and would usually drive home during lunch or go out to a restaurant together.

Someone must've told them about you and Soobin however, because you suddenly heard the table next to you gasp and gossip.

'' Why are they eating here today? ''

One of the girls glanced towards you, and when the others noticed, they all looked at you. Soobin looked confused, he stopped midway with his mouth open and his chopsticks carrying the food dropped it clumsily.

They giggled at him. But you couldn't even find humour in something like that when you had a bad feeling in your stomach. They were probably right when they looked at you as the answer to their question.

But why? Why would this make them angry? What would they do to Soobin now?

'' Hey, y/n. ''

You raised your head cautiously, dreading to see them. The fact that they seemed so out of it during the lesson shouldn't have made you feel so confident that it meant they'd avoid you all day.

Jake was the one who stood slightly in front of the group, the others gave threatening glares to students that looked like they wanted to intervene, making them hurriedly scurry away.

'' Yes? '' you couldn't hide the irritation in your voice.

'' What do you think you're doing? '' Jake cocked an eyebrow and then his attention was caught Soobin who was peacefully eating.

Your bullies seemed to assess him from head to toe which made the poor new student look very uncomfortable, causing him to squirm in his seat and clear his throat.

'' Eating lunch? '' you snarkily respond and then attempt to go back to eating while ignoring them.

You heard a scoff.

'' Did we say you could do that? '' Jay sneered, looking down at you.

Your cheeks started heating up and you turned your head as it started to show. The whole thing being done in front of Soobin made it feel ten times worse. Had you now lost a potential friend because they wanted to embarrass you like this on his first day?

You were about to respond but were interrupted by them all abruptly moving to squeeze in next to you and Soobin. The two of you exchanged confused looks.

'' We just wanted to join, can we not do that? '' Sunghoon winks to the flustered new student, who nods hesitantly.

But your lack of answer didn't satisfy them. Heeseung who sat closest to you, rested his hand on your exposed thigh as his eyes held a non-spoken warning in them.

'' Of course. '' you respond flatly, earning a satisfied grin from him.

It felt like you were holding your breath all throughout that excruciatingly long lunch. They'd never eaten with you before and it became clear quite quickly that the reason they did so today wasn't because of you - but, because of Soobin.

All throughout, their focus was on him and not you. It made you feel uneasy, like they had something up their sleeves. The new student was asked questions enthusiastically, which he answered happily as he slowly got out of his shell more and more. But you noticed the looks and the smirks they shared when he wasn't looking. Problem was that any time you'd try to warn Soobin, that hand would return back to your thigh. Heeseung didn't need to say anything, you knew not to test it. Still you hoped you'd have the chance to warn him later.

The reason why was because the way they treated Soobin on his first day made you get a horrible sense of deja-vu. In an instant you were transported back in time to your very own first day.

*******

You overheard girls talking in the halls while waiting for the teacher outside the classroom; about some guy they had hooked up with.

'' Are you fucking stupid? '' one of the girls sudden aggressive outburst made you perk your ears up without meaning to.

You didn't exactly have anything else to occupy your bored mind with while waiting anyway, so you eavesdropped a little.

'' Lee Heeseung? You hooked up with the Lee Heeseung? ''

Shifting your weight and turning over while pressed against the wall, you tried to get a good look at the poor girl who seemed to have gotten taken advantage of.

'' He's a known fuckboy and player. '' the angry one continued.

The girl you assumed was the topic of conversation shrugged, but she had a slight sad frown on her face.

'' I thought that...maybe I could change him. ''

The two others girls erupted into shrill laughter. You couldn't help but feel some sympathy for her despite her bad decisions. The teacher interrupted just as you were about to ask them about the guy, so you could avoid him.

'' Y/n? Are you ready? ''

You grimaced and nodded, giving one last look at the girl before following the teacher into the classroom.

Immediately a small pang of panic hit you. It wasn't empty like you'd expected, in fact - pretty much every single chair was filled with a student.

'' Good morning, class! '' the teacher's cheerful voice brought you back to reality.

You just had to introduce yourself and then the danger was over. You could spend the rest of the day glued to your desk, not talking to anyone and when lunchtime would hit, the convenience store across the school was your best bet.

'' We have a new student today. A transfer from Seongnam. ''

'' This is y/n, please introduce yourself. ''

You looked at the teacher, slight panic evident in your eyes. Clearing your throat you stepped forward a few steps.

'' Hi everyone, I'm y/n. Nice to meet you. ''

Your anxiety slowly started dissapating when a few students answered back politely and you released a breath you didn't know you'd been holding in.

'' You can take the seat next to Heeseung, that one in the back. '' you heard the teacher say, she was gesturing towards the back right of the classroom where a bunch of guys were huddled over one table, too busy talking to register what the teacher had said.

You obediently walked over there and tried not to make a scene when you put your things on the chair that was closest to the table they were all gathered around.

To your dismay, the owner of the popular table had noticed you in the corner of his eye. He quickly waved everyone away and then focused his attention on you.

It was very hard to ignore.

'' Hey, sweetheart. ''

No matter how hard you fought back to not show any reaction, your face scowled at the sound of his nickname, earning an abrupt laugh from one of the boys.

You were sure this meant bad news for you, a guy like that wouldn't want to be humiliated in front of his whole friend-group, so you quickly gave him a sheepish smile.

'' Yes? ''

Your innocent tone made his eyes narrow as more of the boys laughed. The longer you kept eye-contact, the more you felt him openly glare with something you couldn't quite explain glinting in his brown gaze.

Before he could embarrass himself in front of his friends further, he stood up so suddenly that the chair underneath made a loud screeching noise. To you surprise, everyone minded their business which was very different from your last school where everyone was nosy and the sound would've immediately made people whip their heads around in curiosity.

He dragged the chair as close as he could to next to yours, so close that the material was slightly pushing into your bare thigh.

Your eyebrows knit together as you watched him sit down. It was way too close for your comfort; you could even smell his cologne and the fact that it was so obvious it was an expensive one made you immediately annoyed.

He leaned in now, being just a few inches above your ear and most likely shielding you from his friends.

'' Do you know who I am? ''

Your loud scoff for answer seemed to enrage him even more. His much larger hand found your wrist and easily trapped it in a painful grip.

'' No, sorry. '' you hurriedly answer, feeling a lot less brave now, your wrist was already starting to hurt.

'' I'm Heeseung, remember that. ''

In your scared state, your head seemed to move on its own, rapidly nodding obediently. A victorious smirk appeared on his face before he finally retreated, dragging the chair behind him back to the group.

You dreaded the sound of the bell ringing. Predicting that he'd be standing right outside the classroom waiting for you with his friends. It was a long shot, but you tried taking the other door.

'' Hee? ''

You gasped, bumping into a taller male's chest. When you backed away and looked up, you cursed under your breath - it was one of his friends.

It seemed that they had thought of the possibility of you attempting to flee. The thought made your cheeks turn red.

Heeseung joined his friends who'd been guarding the door you tried to escape out of. Looking down at you very arrogantly, as if he could read your face and your thoughts, knowing you were flustered.

'' Did you try to run away? '' he snickered, putting his hands in his pockets and tilting his head at you.

It had the effect you were sure he wanted, you felt mocked and avoided his eyes.

'' Sorry. ''

He hummed before you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist again.

'' Let's go. ''

You went with them without protesting. Although you feared where they were taking you, you feared speaking and potentially getting on their nerves because of it, way more.

They were quiet the whole way, which seemed to never end. You passed by many classrooms, the cafeteria and walked down the loneliest and darkest corridor; yet they only spoke when the ones in front of the group seemed to come to a halt in front of a double door.

'' Open it. '' you heard one of the ones behind you say.

The tallest of the group, who was in front, unlocked it instantly and the lock fell to the floor in a loud thump. He pushed it open all the way, revealing a very large gymnast hall.

'' Why did you take me here? ''

It had become quite clear very fast that these people weren't someone you should mess with, and they were pretty high up on the school's hierarchy judging by the way no one interfered; instead pretending like they didn't see you pass by.

You made a quick guess that whenever they needed something, like the perfect place to do something bad to someone without others hearing - they were given it in one way or another. Maybe some poor student had been forced to get the keys from the teacher just to satisfy them.

'' Go sit over there. ''

Your head follow the voice. It was a pretty tall guy who was undeniably very handsome, from his silver hair and defined eyebrows to his deep voice, everything about him was pretty attractive.

It made you wonder what he wanted with you.

You didn't ponder on that thought long however, moving in a haste again to make sure they didn't get angry. Jumping up on the plinth he had pointed at, you watched nervously as they all approached the stairs leading up to a stage that your back was facing.

Without them needing to tell you to, you automatically turned around just in time for them to form a half-mood around you. Trying to read their faces was very difficult as they all looked at Heeseung who was sitting straight across from you, staring right back.

'' Why did you take me here? '' you try to ask again.

'' Well...I- we like you '' he answered simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'' What? '' you say dumbfoundedly.

'' I was trying to hit on you earlier, I don't know if you noticed. '' Heeseung bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from smiling.

'' But being nice didn't really work on you, did it? ''

'' We realised that with you, we need to use more extreme methods. '' a new voice said, one of the ones that hadn't said a word to you yet, who had strawberry blond hair and a soft voice.

'' Wh-What do you mean by that? '' your eyebrows knit together as your eyes darted anxiously between the two closest to you, being prepared to run if you had to.

'' I'm Sunghoon. '' the silver haired-boy said, ignoring your question.

'' I'm Jake. '' said the guy next to him.

Your gaze naturally averted to him. He looked like an innocent puppy, you wondered why he was friends with people like Heeseung. But when your eyes locked, he winked at you and you got your answer, face quickly turning into a grimace of disgust.

'' I'm Ni-ki. '' the tallest one said.

'' I'm Sunoo. '' the gentle one said, catching you off-guard when he flashed a big friendly grin.

'' Jungwon. '' the one closest to you on the other side said grumpily, not even bothering to look at you while saying it.

His red hair that seemed to be fading, was a perfect match to his personality, the whole time he looked like he was in a sour mood.

'' I'm Jay. '' the one furthest from you said.

He looked like a pretty scary guy, dark hair that was cut in a way that framed his sharp features.

'' That's everyone. Don't forget their names, okay? '' Heeseung spoke up last, tilting his head while smiling slightly at you.

Your voice didn't seem to work, you felt frozen in your spot, like you were glued to the plinth underneath you.

'' Can you not speak? ''

You saw anger flash across his face which only made your panic worse, but you couldn't get a single word out despite it, only a string of stutters and incomprehensible words left your mouth.

'' Do you want me to help you? ''

Not even registering that he had gotten up from his seat, you were taken by surprise when his rough hands grabbed either side of your face as his lips devoured you.

You tried to scream or turn your head so he couldn't have access to your mouth, but it was to no avail. Eventually your hands fell limp. All you could do was pray that it would end quickly, while your whines of protest were muffled by his hungry lips.

When he pulled away, he had a cocky smile on his face.

'' Get used to this. '' were his last words you heard before they left, forever engrained in your mind.

And that was how it started. No matter how much it happened, which was pretty much every other day after school at this point - it still didn't get easier, your clothes always got stained with tears. Their voices didn't help calm you down when you'd see the obvious desire in their eyes. They were like a hungry pack of wolves, just waiting for their turn with the prey

*******

The school bell rang after about half an hour, instantly snapping you out of your daydream. Your bullies said their goodbyes and then left, with one last look at you. But you shrugged it off and immediately leaned over the table to talk to Soobin.

'' Don't trust them, please! They might be all nice and sound like they actually want to be your friend but they're horrible bullies and- '' you hesitated before pulling up your sleeve to reveal the marks they'd left on you. '' They did this to me! Trust me...they're not good people. ''

Soobin's eyed widened in horror and his hand slightly twitched, as if he was either holding back the urge to clench his fist in anger, or resisting the urge to reach out and gently touch your wounds.

'' I'm sorry. '' was all he said after some time of silence.

You smiled a bit apologetically, pulling down the sleeve again. He seemed sweet and you didn't want to cause him distress for no reason, it just felt a lot more impactful if you showed him to make him believe you.

'' It's okay, I'm sure you didn't know. They're quite charming at first, that's how they get you. ''

'' I'm a bit offended that you thought I fell for it though. '' Soobin snickered.

'' What? ''

'' You think I believed all that bullshit, right after they spoke to you very passive-aggressively and basically shot daggers my way? ''

'' Uh...well, yeah? ''

He laughed heartily and stood up, you following as he threw the trash off his tray away.

'' That actually makes me feel a bit better. '' you mumblingly confess.

The pair of you walked together to class and spent the next few lessons and breaks together as well, surprisingly unbothered by your bullies this time since you were with someone for the first time in a long time.

At the end of the day when the bell rang, Soobin asked to hang out. He said he wanted to introduce you to his older brother and said he had something to talk about. You reluctantly agreed, but were on guard the whole taxi ride to his house since he was still a stranger.

His house was pretty big, located close to where the richest families in the country lived. He however claimed he wasn't rich; that it was his step-father that was pretty well off, but they didn't have a good relationship so he didn't spoil him.

'' Who are you? ''

You stared at the older male leaning against his desk. His eyes narrowed as they bore into you. Then they shifted to his younger brother who immediately straightened up.

'' It's my new friend, y/n. ''

'' Okay? ''

'' Yeonjun, please be a bit nicer. She needs our help. '' Soobin begged.

A puzzled expression overtook your face as you tugged on his sleeve.

'' What do you mean? ''

'' I will help you take them down. '' he said, a smirk slowly creeping up on his lips. '' Every, single one of them. ''

-

[controlmyfeet]

i still feel everything when you are near - matty healy

matty healy x ex!reader

angst

warnings: exes, alcohol consumption, insecurities, jealousy (kinda?), pining, kissing, crying (lmk if there’s more i need to add!)

a/n: not sure about this. i think the last time i tried to write fanfiction i was 13, so feedback is appreciated but pls be nice lol. also, english is not my first language!

3570 words

it still hurts. 

i didn't think it would hurt as much after 6 months, but seeing him in the flesh makes me realize it does. i thought i was already used to it, thought i was actually doing a good job moving on, if we ignore my slump in the first 3 weeks after the breakup, where i would just leave the house for work and groceries (that i would overbuy because i forgot i'd just cook for myself), i think i was doing pretty okay.

i should've guessed he would be in the city. he can't stay in one place for too long; if he has a few days free in between shows, he's going to look for a studio to work in. usually in london, los angeles, or here. most of the time, he ends up here.

but i never know where he is anymore.

i deleted twitter from my phone after 2 months. maybe because of the questions, perhaps because i didn't care, or maybe i was tired of reading all the tabloids and fearing they were true. maybe i care too much. whatever, right? it just means i haven't seen him in a while, even in pictures.

i'm sitting by the dark wooden bar counter when i first spot him. he's standing with charli and george in the vip section near the dj booth, surrounded by people as always. my friends noticed that he's here too, but they haven't said anything, which i'm grateful for. i'd rather pretend it doesn't affect me.

he looks different, though. his arms are bigger, and his hair is longer; soft curls fall over big brown eyes that crinkle whenever george says something funny. he still has that boyish smile.

lulu and bea went dancing and i said i'd join them in a minute. we go to this club every time we're in the city, but tonight it is more crowded than usual. my secluded spot at the bar being the only place i won't be pushed around. still, i feel bad. it's my best friend's birthday, and we came to new york together to celebrate, but instead, i'm drowning my sorrows with cosmos. 

"you won't even say hi now?" i hear matty's voice from behind me and turn around, startled. he stands tall and confident as always, but his eyes no longer hold the same energy. here, up close, i can see that his eyebags look more prominent, and his stubble has grown slightly. he looks tired. i don't think i look any better.

"hi," i say, looking into his brown orbs, phlegmatic, as if the butterflies in my stomach aren't going batshit crazy right now "i didn't see you, sorry."

he grins cheekily, "it's alright, darling."

i don't really know what to say. he should hate me, honestly. it wouldn't be surprising considering how we left things, with all the yelling, name calling. with all the broken picture frames. it started with another rumor while he was on tour, another leaked picture. he was so dismissive and vague about it that i just couldn't find it in myself to trust him, and he could only complain about how childish all of it was.

i guess he doesn't, though. they have free drinks inside the vip section. i remember it from when we came here together. he doesn't need to come all the way to the bar for a drink.

"it-it's good to see you," i stutter, apprehensive now. fearing that maybe he really does hate me, and just walked over to tell me how much so. i mean, i would hate him, too, if i could. but no matter how hard i try, i can't. and believe me, i've tried.

matty is standing so close that the loud music sounds muffled now, and the warm, dim light of the bar reflecting on his silky skin makes me want to melt into his arms. so i try to keep my eyes focused on my feet.

he seems to notice that i'm struggling as i fidget with my empty glass.

"can i get you another one?" he asks amicably. my eyes shift from my feet to the glass in my hands and back to his eyes.

"sure," i reply shyly.

he asks a bartender polishing wine glasses next to us for another cosmopolitan. behind the man, shelves from the same material as the counter hold a collection of glass bottles of different colors with labels sporting french and italian names. matty sits on the barstool beside mine. "so…what are you doing here in new york? i thought you hated the city this time of the year." 

and it's true, i hate new york during the summer. the concrete buildings seem to make the temperature much higher, and tourists crowd every corner. it feels claustrophobic. the subway also smells extra bad during these months. but i loved being here with him, no matter the season. i loved being anywhere with him.

"well, yeah. but it's lulu's birthday, and she wanted to celebrate it here, so here we are. the three of us." 

"bea is here too?"

"she is, yeah."

him talking about my friends is familiar. many sunday evenings were spent on his couch sharing a bottle of red with my newest candle burning on the side. at the same time, i'd tell him about the most recent gossip in my friend group, and he would listen.

the barman places the new drink before me and takes the empty glass. i thank him and take a sip of the pink liquid. it's sweet and sour, and the vodka calms my nerves a little bit. he's staring at my lips. so i lick them clean.

he shifts, and suddenly, i feel his calloused fingertips brush against my elbow resting comfortably over the counter. much more tender than last time; my skin burns where he touches it.

"how's your writing going?" he asks, looking into my eyes now.

i tell him i'm still at the magazine, it's going alright. not a lot has changed since we broke up. but it's less exciting, more monotonous. i leave that part out. and he asks me about my own stuff, poems and essays hidden in my drafts.

it's just awkward small talk. so awkward. like we're just acquaintances. friends of friends being left alone, being civil to each other.

it's also a conversation we've had before. documents on my computer that weren't fitting enough for the editors or that i just wrote on a whim. he used to tell me to publish them either way, to leave the magazine and find people who actually appreciate my work, or to start my own thing. but it would be useless; they're not good enough.

"well, i don't know, it's been a while since i've written anything out of work." i take another sip, just to calm down a little. "haven't felt very inspired lately." 

oh my god, shut up– i can't say this to my ex. it's embarrassing, pitiful.

"it happens." he takes my hand and brushes his thumb over my knuckles. i still shiver "you're really talented, love. you should be proud of yourself. i am."

even his praise hurts now; i miss hearing it daily. it's a stab in my chest, salt on the wound. so i just bite my lip and nod. afraid that if i say something, a choked sob will come out. 

there's longing in his eyes, and he gets a look like he wants to say more. but his gaze flickers behind me for a moment, and he drops my hand and gives my left shoulder a squeeze, showing me a soft smile. 

"i'll leave you be, then. it was nice seeing you, love."

there's a voice in the back of my head begging me to make him stay, but i know i can't do that, not when i recall why it ended the way it did. still, i want to reach for his hand and pull him back to me, just for a few minutes at least. but someone grips my shoulders.

"there you are!" lulu says excitedly, already a few drinks ahead of me. her dark blonde hair messy and her skin glimmering with sweat from all the dancing. bea follows right behind her. "c'mon, let's do some shots, you need to power up for all the dancing you owe me."

"alright." i force a giggle and down my drink as bea asks the bartender for three tequila shots.

a few minutes and many shots later, the three of us are on the dance floor, swaying wildly to the loud, thumping bass of whatever music the dj's playing. just being around my girls makes me feel less anxious, and the flashing lights, plus all the alcohol already flowing through my body are making my mind a bit hazy, which helps me let loose a little. 

as i move, i can feel the beat of the music inside my chest, sweaty bodies pushing against me without a care. i even forget about matty for a minute. i don't think about how his hands used to feel on me when we danced together, not at all.

we dance for maybe 30 minutes. until lulu finds one of her many ex-flings, and, as they catch up, bea asks me to go to the bathroom with her. taking my hand, she leads me out of the crowded area and towards the door labeled "ladies' room". 

the contrast from the mostly dark club to the bathroom's white walls makes my eyes squint. it's colder in here, quieter. i can hear the stifled bass from the music and high heels clicking against the floor tiles.

as i wait for bea, i brace myself on the sink in front of me and look into the mirror. everything is happening too fast. talking to matty, downing shots, and being dragged to the dance floor immediately. my head is pounding. i didn't have the time to process what is going on tonight. 

my ears are ringing, and it feels like all the alcohol has suddenly lost all its effect. instantly sobering up, i grab a paper towel and dab it on my arms and face to try to get rid of the sweat. turning on the sink, i wet my hands and place them on the back of my neck to cool down and try to help with the dizziness. i hear the toilet flush, and bea comes out of the cubicle, running her hands through her wavy black hair. i reach into my purse and pull out my lipgloss, coating my lips evenly while looking at myself in the mirror.

"i'm going to the back for a bit," i tell bea as she approaches the sink next to me.

"you okay? do you need water?" she asks, concerned

"yea- yes, i just need to breathe a little."

"okay, text me if you need anything." i just nod and leave the bathroom. she knows me, knows i need to be alone.

pushing through crowded bodies, i head to the club's back door, leading to a narrow alleyway where the employees usually store extra liquor bottles. it also doubles as a smoking area, so i shouldn't be surprised when i see him as soon as i open the door. tattooed arms flexing as he lights a cigarette, probably not his first one of the night, and i turn back to try to leave before he sees me.

"leaving so soon?" i turn around again and already feel my cheeks heating up. embarrassed, like a kid caught eating dessert before dinner. "you can stay."

"it's okay, i'll go somewhere else," i wave him off mindlessly. he came here to enjoy his cig on his own, right? he doesn't need his ex-girlfriend plaguing his chill alone time "i don't want to bother you, i just need some air."

"please stay." it's not the first time he says this, but this time i do. 

with pink-tinged cheeks and heels clicking loudly, i slowly walk down the three small steps in front of the door and move to stand across him with my back resting against the club's brick wall. the warm summer air hits my skin, and i can hear the rustle of the traffic. "you could never bother me." i pretend i didn't hear him.

"i thought you were quitting," i motion to the burning cigarette between his fingers. the moonlight illuminated the alleyway, making the smoke around him look like some kind of silver aura. he smiles at me.

"i'm trying," he says, taking a drag and blowing it out by the side of his mouth, and i laugh.

"it sure looks like it," i reply, still smiling. i'm not as nervous as i expected i would be in this situation; maybe the alcohol hasn't worn off as much as i thought.

he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. "well, you know me".

my eyes follow his every movement, long, calloused fingers holding the rolled paper limply and bringing it up to his red, pouty lips. i start to fidget with the end of my skirt, trying to distract myself by looking at how my fingers twist the fabric. busying myself, so i don't remember how those same lips used to feel against my own or on the curve between my neck and shoulder. 

i look up again when i hear matty step on his cigarette– putting it out– and he starts to walk in my direction. my breath hitches. we are face to face now, noses almost touching. closer than we were at the bar. i can see every freckle on his face when he's this close. i can see the chapped corner of his mouth and the grey that's starting to show up on his now tousled hair.

"why did you leave?" he's straight to the point. his voice comes out low, almost a whisper. at our position, there's no need to be louder than that. there's no hatred in his tone; still, he's not smiling. a flash of hurt appears on his face for a moment. "didn't i make you happy?"

"of course you did, matty." i build the courage to look into his eyes, honey pouring out of them. "we've already talked about this."

he lifts his right hand to rest it on the wall beside my head while letting out a scoff. "but i don't get it," his tone is a little bit louder now. he's not aggressive, but he's not whispering anymore. "what happened?"

"it was for the best." i've stopped whispering too. i place my hands on my forehead. as if to avert the impending headache that will follow this conversation. i don't really know what happened either or when it started happening. i feel sweat droplets running down my hairline, not sure if it's from the summer heat, our closeness, or my disquietude. 

"for the best of who?" he questions, lifting an eyebrow, "i don't feel any better!"

"we were fighting all the time, you know this!" there's a lump in my throat, and i can already feel the pressure between my eyes, working hard so the tears don't fall. i lower my voice again. "it was only a matter of time until one of us left, i just left first."

his gaze softens– probably after seeing my flooding waterline– and it's a while before he talks again, as if he's gathering his thoughts. thinking before he speaks for once, "i could never leave you" it's a low, gravely whisper, and i probably wouldn't have heard it if we weren't this close. "i wish you'd stayed." 

it's a blow to my chest. like a gunshot, blood running down my ribcage. and for a second, i don't think i can breathe.

"i wish you'd done a lot of things, matty." my vision is blurry now, and i feel a single tear roll down my right cheek. i wish he would answer my calls when he stayed late at the studio. i wish he would listen to me when i said i felt neglected. i wish he would give me more security when i felt jealous of the girls partying with him and the boys while i was on the other side of the pond. i wish i stayed. when i can't sleep because i suddenly realize that my bed is too cold, too empty. when i wake up, and there are no kisses on my bare shoulder. when i have to climb over my kitchen counter to reach the can of pasta sauce on the top shelf. when i'm so anxious, and there's no one to hold me… "sometimes i wish i stayed too." 

slowly, his hands cup my jaw. long fingers run lightly across my skin and wipe the lonely tear on my face. the hairs on my neck straighten up, and my heart stirs, beating a little faster. he carefully traces his right thumb over my lower lip, giving me time to reject and push him away. and then, his soft lips lock on mine. no warning. i feel his stubble rub against my chin and let out a sigh. there's a flutter on my lower stomach, burning. i should have pushed him away. instead, my fingers trail up his neck, nails brushing against his skin, and finally into his hair as he coaxes his hot tongue into my mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, of course. i can also taste the rum and lime from the mojito he had earlier. one of his hands travels down and he pulls me by the waist, bodies touching fully now. matty groans into my liquored mouth and i preen; it's good to know i still have that effect on him. that i can still make him let out those pretty sounds with just a kiss. it might be selfish, but we both are. because i bet he's proud too, that every touch of his still sends shivers down my spine. i pull out for air first, lungs already starting to burn. my fingers are still buried in his curls as he rests his forehead on mine, both breathing heavily.

"i need you, love," he whispers against my kiss-swollen lips, voice cracking. there's a smudge of lipgloss on the side of his mouth. it was no use reapplying it.

"matty, i can't," my voice comes out weak, just like how i feel.

"why not? you got somebody?" matty frowns, starting to sound a bit agitated.

i shake my head lightly "i don't."

"what is it?"  

"i already told you" it's my turn to cup his face now, scuff prickling against my palms. "we already had this fight before, you get annoyed because i can't trust you, and i start yelling because you don't take me seriously!"

"of course i take you seriously!" he defends, already becoming increasingly exasperated. i just shake my head; there's no use going through this all over again. it hurt enough the first time. however, i still close my eyes, knowing that if i keep looking at him, the chances of me believing him are higher.

"i'm not built for this, matty," for being away from him, for time zones and phone calls, for pretty girls throwing themselves all over him "i'm not strong enough."

"look at me, baby." his hands moved from my waist up to cup my face again, thumb brushing lightly over my cheekbones. "please," i open my eyes.

"do you love me?" he asks. i realize his eyes are glossed over now "because i love you. so fucking much."

it will be easier if i say no, break his heart all at once. give him a reason to give up. it takes me a while, but i nod.

"yeah?" there's a glimmer of hope on his wet iris.

"i do, but-"

"then we'll figure it out" it's not that simple; just figuring it out is not enough. we hurt each other.

"we'll just end up in the same place, matty," i explain firmly. at this point, tears stream both of our faces. his chest heaves, and i try to contain another sob. he turns his face slightly to press his lips to my palm, just for a second. 

"stay with me, please." our noses touch, and i can no longer distinguish his tears from mine. "i'll do better, i swear."

"it's not going to work."

"just for tonight at least, please," it comes out ragged, and he grazes his lips on mine, leaving a gentle but salty peck. "just for a little bit."

this shouldn't be happening. it's a mess, all of it. no matter how hard or how many times we try, even if we start all over again, we'll just end up in the same place. i know how i am and how he is. our love is tainted, a ticking bomb. so no matter how much i love him, how much i want him, i know we'll just go back to those screaming matches and broken pictures.

but if we keep doing this again and again, maybe then we won't have to say goodbye. at least i won't have to spend an entire lifetime missing him. so maybe just one night won't hurt, right? i've done it a million times. staying for just a little bit won't hurt…i think.

okay, just for a little bit.

[cerastes]

Hey. It's been a while. I think it's right to update you on stuff so tl;dr I'm probably not going to be around for some time, and if I am, it'll be in a diminished capacity, but if you're interested, do check under the cut. I'll also immediately state that I am not in any dangerous situation, it's other stuff, but I'll immediately dispel that before the cut just in case you just wanted to know that in particular.

Let's talk for a bit.

Long story short, the economy here is in shambles. The idea was for me to already have a new job, but that's not gone according to plan. I've been eating into my savings for a while now, and the people that told me that I had a job lined up for me September or at the latest October, meaning, this month, have been ghosting me. It seems to not be an option anymore, and no explanation was ever given to me. A shame, because it came from a place of relative trust.

This has eaten away at my nerves somewhat, and though it is the month of my birthday, I can't help but notice that, between the economy being this bad here, how hard it's been to land another job, and the fact that I'm eating into my savings, well, it's got me more than a bit worried. I'm not in any immediate danger of losing the roof over my head, or starving, or anything like that, but after a few months of "well, my savings take yet another hit this month with no end in sight", it's been rather rough, you'll understand, and it's compounded a bit. For just a second, and not as a primary, secondary, or even tertiary plan, more like a twenty-eighth measure if anything, I did entertain the dark idea of maybe asking for a bit of help here, and the moment that thought came up, I realized, "Ok, this is truly and well affecting me, I never want to do that", because, again, it's not like I'm in any immediate danger of homelessness or anything that grave, but it's been weighting on me enough that, even as a distant glint in the horizon of an idea, I did consider it. I don't want to sound like I'm blowing my own horn here, but for over a decade that I've had this blog, and the community/following/whatever you want to call it that has grown around it, I've never once asked for something like monetary help, because I think that can be a slippery slope. I've seen people far bigger than me, and some smaller, too, get addicted to asking for donations or help, or simply start taking it for granted when they ask for such a thing. My friends will tell you I writhe in agony when I receive a gift such as a game or something over the mail. My logic is that I don't need it, not in a proud way, but rather, in a "I wish you would spend this money on yourself instead, or on someone that truly needed it". With this in mind, I realized that, for me to even slightly consider that as an option, for the first time in my life, it meant that it was biting away at me far, far more severely than I thought. It's translated to other parts of my life as of late; I've not been depressed or anything, but I've felt this itch, this remarkably implacable feeling of "my man, you don't deserve to be taking it easy right now, something has to change, progress needs to be made".

I went out to wander for a few days, then arrived at my cousin's farm. He and his wife live a humble, hard working life, he invited me to stay for a while, I accepted, it was real nice, we hanged out, went exploring creeks and mountainsides while knocking back a few beers, the whole shebang for two guys that grew up in the middle of nowhere. Anyhow, it's true that the whole exposition that was the previous paragraph is something at play, but I also just... Haven't really wanted to be online at all. I don't want to check anything, read anything, and I feel a deep sense of alienation that I've not really felt in a long time. I suppose this is one of those good ol' Bro Is Going Through It, if we're to summarize it in a few words. It's easy for me to dispel negative thoughts and bounce back normally, because I've done a great deal of personal building and homework on knowing myself inside out, but not even this black belt in Drimobrain has helped this time around, and well, it bothers me, obviously, bwahaha. It's the first time in a few years that I really sincerely do not understand what's up with me, and while it's not really something I would consider me being rock bottom or anywhere near those depths, I do think I'm still below surface level, which is something I don't admit to easily, but have no choice to. I would love to be able to give this malaise shape and firmness through written or spoken word, but right now, it's a work in progress.

What bothers me the most is the sense of alienation I spoke of before: It makes no sense for me to feel this way, I'm treated with love and kindness every day, no one's silencing me in any way, I don't deal with barbs or hostility. So why is it that that's how I feel? Or perhaps it's something that feels similar, but I've no clue what it is, so I'm compounding it with alienation?

Regardless, it's all compounded into me just... Not wanting to be online. In the words of a friend of mine, "Dreamer has a fetish for self-development and growth", and, well, yeah, she's got that right despite the wording, I like to feel as if I'm improving every day and becoming better every day, even if slightly, and right now I feel like I'm just degenerating. Is it because my mood has been sour overall? Maybe. It might as well just be the fact that I Just Don't Want To Be Online For A While, and capricious clown that I am, if I want to do something, I do it, and if I don't want to do something, I don't do it. I'm tied to nothing and no one except my desire and drive to do or not do things. I can't change that, nor do I want to change that. And in this case, my heart's said to me, "fuck going online, go out, do things, try to get a job".

I also almost got recruited into something fucking vile that I thankfully noticed in time to avoid, but that's a story for another time.

There you have it. Am I leaving the internet/blue website forever? No, of course not, I like it here. Are things hard right now? They are, to be honest. Are they the worst it could be? Not at all. Do I have complete clarity of what's up with this fog inside of my head? No, and that bother me quite a bit. Are things going to be alright? Yeah, I think they will be.

I do regret it's in October of all months that this is going on, because it's where my shitposting power is at its apex due to my birthday, but hey, things happen, not necessarily for a reason, but they can be handled in such a way that it gives them meaning. I'm a fervent believer in that. I'm sorry this isn't the update you may have been hoping for, full of Lucina cosplayer blowjobs and other such hijinks, but hey, they can't all be Rainbow Road, haha.

So in case we don't see each other for a while, I hope you're all doing fine and dandy. I'm alive, I'm trying to be well, and most importantly, most fundamentally, most quintessentially,

I stay silly.

[steddieas-shegoes]

"do you know any hobbits?"

This is a drabble based on a line I said in this. It's not technically necessary to read that before this, but it definitely is funnier.

🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻🧝🏻

Steve was quiet today.

Usually, when he sat with Eddie, especially if they were alone, he talked nonstop. Almost like he didn't get to talk to other adults often enough.

Which, now that Eddie thought about it, was probably true.

He'd talked a bit about his day at first. He took the kids to the school so they could all volunteer for a few hours, checked on El and Hop, and helped Jonathan with Joyce's car.

But it's been damn near 30 minutes of silence while Eddie pretends to read and Steve pretends to watch the tv in the room.

"I've got a question," Steve suddenly asked.

"Go ahead," Eddie set his book down, sort of grateful that the silence was broken.

"Do you know any hobbits? Like, in real life?"

He was so serious.

Eddie bit back a laugh when he realized that Steve was being so serious.

Oh boy.

"Nope. Um. I don't." Eddie was so proud of himself for not being a smartass.

"Do they only live in that, like, Middle Earth place? Where is that?"

Eddie was only human.

He laughed.

He felt so guilty about it after, but he had to laugh.

Steve's brows furrowed and his head tilted, like he was trying to understand why Eddie was laughing.

"Sorry. I just. Middle Earth isn't a real place and Hobbits aren't actually a type of people," Eddie schooled his features, but it was too late.

Steve's entire face turned a bright red. He looked away from Eddie then, focusing on the wall directly across from his chair instead.

"So this Token guy, he just made it all up?" Steve asked quietly.

"Yeah. Kinda crazy how he built this whole world on his own, right?" Eddie needed to turn this conversation around.

He couldn't handle the sad look in Steve's eyes, like he'd let himself down, like he was used to letting himself down.

"Yeah. Crazy."

"But really, you never know if there are Hobbits somewhere and they just haven't been found. I mean if government monsters can exist, why can't they?" Eddie continued, smiling when Steve's face turned to him.

"Hobbits aren't created by the government though," Steve said, face relaxing back into his casual conversation smirk.

"If they can hide the Upside Down, maybe they can also hide Middle Earth."

"You're ridiculous."

Eddie shrugged, picking up his book to continue reading.

Steve started talking again a few minutes later, seemingly back to normal.

Eddie smiled to himself as he complained about something Dustin did in his car on the way home from volunteering.

"Maybe Dustin's a Hobbit," Eddie said, which got Steve on a new tangent that Eddie was happy to listen to.

[tikus-library]

"Books to Bread"

Night Hunter AU

Characters: Walter Marshall x Reader

Posted: Feb 10th

WARNINGS: none?

A/N: Have a draft dump. I want to do more for this, but life is a bit chaotic rn. I haven't posted in a minute, so this is one of my many hidden drafts. I did attempt to edit but 🤷‍♀️

Like, Comments, & Reblogs are always appreciated and loved.

**Please Do Not Repost or 'Fix' My Work**

It was hard to miss the guy.

Definitely over six foot, dark unruly curls framing a serious face with a thick beard, thick dark brows drawn down as a scowl marred his lips. Nice lips, you thought, eyes raking over his tall muscular form. No better than a man, you scolded yourself with a smirk.

You shifted, careful not to draw attention to yourself as the other women in the book shop didn't even try to hide the way they ogled him.

In the town of Port Tenebris there weren't many that looked like him and plenty more women ready to welcome him. You had heard there had been a recent new body that had moved into town, ex-detective, if gossip was right…

“I've read that one.”

You jumped at the low smooth voice that came from beside you and looked over and then up… and up again till you met deep vibrant blue eyes. You swallowed as he reached out with one thick arm, fingers catching your elbow as he offered you a smile in apology.

“I didn't mean to surprise you…?”

The way he lifted an eyebrow meant he was asking for your name, instead you looked down at the book in your hands, “into romance?” You asked instead.

He held the smile, “not ashamed of it,” he answered, “and that one is actually more of a forensic thriller.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as he offered you a quick tilt of his head and a smile before going back to looking at the books in front of you. “It's a romance,” you stated.

He flipped through the book in his hands, it looked tiny, he shrugged without looking at you. He had of course seen you enter the bookstore, not that he had been following, no. He had most definitely not followed you from the tiny diner where you had verbally assaulted a jackass of a man that had been handsy with the young waitress there.

He simply wanted to get your name. Maybe your phone number… how did he do this again?

“It's a romance,” you said again. “I have every book by Billie Martinez, she writes romance.”

“I mean,” he shrugged again, suppressing the smirk that itched to fight its way to his lips, out the corner of his eye he saw you turn to him and scowl. This was something, ever since he'd stepped foot in this little Port every woman had given him the look, it had been amusing at first.

“Explain.”

He coughed to hide the short laugh that escaped him, “she hides it under the romance, but, when you read it you'll understand. You'll also want to slap the shit out of the male lead.”

You looked down at the book in your hands, he let his eyes wander to your curvy waist, “maybe… I shouldn't get it” you mused, thinking of the man at the Cafe you had laid into, “I think I've had my fair share of irritating men for the day.” He made a noise that had you looking up in time to catch his tongue flick out over his bottom lip, eyes jerking up to meet your gaze.

Had he…? No.

He cleared his throat, “fair,” it was all he could think of and watched as you started to put the book back, “but I could pay for it and then you'll not regret leaving it behind.”

You sighed, this conversation had already gone on longer than you had wanted. You had purposefully been attempting to avoid talking to him as conversations with others always seemed to go awry. In a weird way. You supposed it was your fault, no one else had that problem really.

“No, no need to buy me a book when you don't even know me.”

“Walter.”

You took a small step back, a little confused.

“Walter Marshall, Im… th-thats my name,” he smiled awkwardly, turning to you and shoving a hand into his pocket. “I started work in the Bakery in town? Owned by Kate and her husband? Uh, they offered me a job there… Now I'm not a stranger.”

You nodded, fingers tapping at the book's spine, before letting your arm drop to your side. “Nice to meet you Walter Marshall, who works in the bakery owned by Kate and her husband. I should be going.”

He had struck out yet again. Sighing heavily as you stepped away and made for the front of the store. He snatched the book up and hurried after you, eyes falling on your ass, before he rolled them scolding himself silently.

“Please, no name, let me buy you the book then. You collect her books and it'll be incomplete.”

You pulled away from him, studying him warily.

He knew that kind of look and took a step back. “I'll leave you alone,” he hummed, turning away, he shouldn't have pushed. Maybe you had moved here to hide yourself, he understood that.

“Alright,” he heard you sigh and turned around quickly. “But don't complain if I come down to find you at the bakery and yell at you there about the dumb male lead.”

Walter grinned, “you won't hear a complaint from me.” He watched you tilt your head to the side, enjoying how easily he could read your thoughts clear in your expression. “I'll even treat you to something I've baked.” Your eyes jumped back to his face, something he decided he wanted right then and there. To have your full and complete attention. “To apologize for dumb males that is.”

You snickered, eyes lighting up, “then I hope you are a baker of delicious sweets and golden bread!”

He almost forgot to breathe as your eyes scrunched up beautifully as you laughed. “You'll fall in love with my bread and butter,” Walter flashed you a toothy grin as he led you to pay for the book, “plus, this is essential to the series. You can't miss out on this book.”

“Oh, no! Then absolutely buy it.”

You followed along, noting the pairs of eyes tracking the two of you. There would be gossip and questions, a little inconvenient but nothing you couldn't handle. He thanked the cashier who nodded wordlessly and stepped towards the door where he paused, dragging a pen out of his pocket and scribbling on the receipt, tucking it into the cover of the book.

“In case the bakery is closed and you want to yell at me.”

You felt your neck heat, he wrote in all capitals, clear and neat. He crossed his sevens, huh. “No promises.”

*

Walter scowled at his phone, yet was quick to flick the screen and scan the words there blearily. It was past three am and he was due up in an hour to begin baking.. right. He was a baker now.

Unknown: I love thick slices of warm bread with butter that melts beautifully.

Unknown: He deserves to be run over…. Multiple times.

Unknown: what an idiot. He let her walk away?!

He sat up and smiled.

WM: I did warn you, suppose I owe you bread.

Unknown: Y/N

WM: ?? Uhh, which character?

Unknown: my name is Y/N

Walter woke up fully.

WM: nice to meet you Y/N.

Leave Kudos on Ao3

[fallingdownhell]

hello! i was wondering if i could request a poly cyno x reader x tighnari where the reader is going through a tough time and is kinda burnt out. maybe where she tries to brush it off, but the boys catch on pretty quickly and then they comfort her? anyways, i hope you have a good day/night!!

-🌹 anon

Hey! Of course you can!<3

I don't have anything against poly ships, I do in fact have a few of them myself. Have I ever written for one? No, but I sure want to. Hope it turned out okay.

Thank you so much for your request, 🌹 anon

Content: poly relationship; written with fem!reader in mind, but can also be read as gn!reader; mentions of mental illness; self doubt; burnout; much comfort from the bois

Word count: 1,8k

Hope you enjoy reading<3

You were tired.

Your days studying in the Academya left you more drained than anything else lately. Although you were a good student, diligent and often praised by your professors, that didn't change anything about the heavy workload you put on your shoulders.

The days seemed to last for an eternity, while the nights were over far too quickly. You never felt like you got any quality rest.

While one of your boyfriends, Cyno, kept a close eye on you and made sure you took care of yourself, the other suffered extremely from the lack of contact with you.

You haven't really seen Tighnari for a few weeks, except for his one day visits to Sumeru city when he was in need for new materials. He would make it a point to visit you, but you were still so focused on your research, that you didn't spend much time with him.

Same with Cyno. While he was often times with you in the city, he rarely got to see you anymore either. Well, that's wrong. He did see you, but was the time spend with him? No, it wasn't.

You kept telling youself and your boyfriends that this was only a temporary issue, that you would soon be done studying in the Academya. Then you could finally give them all the attention that you have deprived them off until now.

And yet, two months after your last conversation with your boyfriends about this issue, there were still no signs of it getting better anytime soon.

You were working yourself to the bone, day in and day out. So it was only a matter of time until the stress would get to your head, poisining your thoughts.

You began to think about all the times you neglected Cyno and Tighnari, how you didn't even keep in touch with Tighnari back at Gandharva Ville via letters. He probably only heard about you through Cyno, meaning he had to rely on his words.

You couldn't help but feel bad, ashamed and guilty.

Your head then began constructing this idea... this terrible idea of your boyfriends. About how they started to resent you. For neglecting them, for focusing on your studies instead of them.

Thoughts began to bloom within you. Hlw they probably hated the idea of seeing you again, hating you in general.

Your hand that had been writing on a paper until a few moments ago, began to shake as silent tears began rolling down your cheeks.

You wanted to believe that it wasn't true. That this was just the stress getting to you...

But how could you, when it all made perfect sense? Of course they would feel this way.

Now that you thought about it.. you haven't seen Cyno at all the last two days. He usually came by every day, even just to make sure that you were taking care of yourself.

But... nothing. He didn't show up at all.

And as you realised that, the thoughts only became louder and more convincing.

'They already started separating from you, silently..'

'They feel they're not important to you...'

'You are no good partner to them..'

Those thoughts began to flood your mind as you set down your pen, tears continuing to fall down your face. That night, you cried yourself to sleep, as these negative thoughts kept pestering your mind.

...

The next day, Cyno saw you walking within the walls of the Academya and immediatly noticed that something was wrong with you.

He saw your red, swollen eyes and knew that you must have cried yesterday. The reason for it he might nit know, but that didn't matter. It was obvious that you needed him right now.

So, he talked to the Matras, gave them their orders and then set out to find you again.

He found you in a quiet corner in the house of Daena, reading some kind of book related to your studies, while you occaisonally sniffled and rubbed your swollen eyes.

Cyno approached you quietly, sitting down on a chair across from yours, his eyes fixed on your exhausted form.

You jumped a little, not expecting any form of company to disturb you. Once you recognise Cyno, you relqx a bit, but quickly tense up again, remembering what had happened the day before.

Cyno, of course, noticed that shift in behaviour from you.

"What's going on?", he immediatly asked, not wasting time with chit chat.

"What... do you mean, exactly?", you answered, trying to deflect, making it seem like everything was fine. Which, you failed. Because even if Cyno wasn't the best with feelings, he was perceptive.

"You cried. I can see that with only one look at you. So.. what happened?"

At his words, you wished to just slap yourself as you realised that you forgot to put on makeup, so that you could hide the obvious bags under your eyes. But that would have been only one part of the problem, anyway.

"Oh.. nothing much. Just... stressed."

"Stress? That's all?"

You nodded, not being able to look your boyfriend in the eyes. You knew that if you did, he would immediatly figure you out. Little did you know that by avoiding his gaze, he worried even more.

"You're hiding something from me.", he concluded. You sighed, but didn't give him anything further to work with for a few minutes. Then..

"It's just.. the stress is getting to me. To my head, exactly. It's been... a lot.", you told him in a low voice, not wanting to say anything more.

To your surprise, the next thing Cyno did was to just silently, without another word, stand up from the table and walk away. You didn't see were he was heading, but that didn't matter to you.

All your head needed, was right there. Your boyfriend walking away from you when you would have needed him the most.

You could feel the tears welling up again in your eyes, but this time, you forced them to stay in, not wanting to cry in broad daylight in front of your fellow students. But going home wasn't an option in your head either, so you tried to swallow the hurt and continued your studies.

Little did you know though, that Cyno was walking straight to the Acting Grand Sages office, not bothering in the slightest that he had just interrupted a seemingly important conversation with some other sages.

Alhaitham looked at him with his usual stoic expression, while Cyno explained the situation to him, requesting for a two weeks vacation for you amd himself.

After a few seconds of considering, Alhaitham signed it off, handing the documents to Cyno, whishing him the best of luck. Having achieved what he came for, Cyno headed back down to were you were seated before, glad that you were still in the same spot.

He approached again, but this time, you noticed him. And he wore an even more determined expression than he usually did.

"Cyno? What are you-!"

You got interrupted as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of your seat and after him, waking his way towarsa the exit of the house of Daena.

"Hey, stop. Where are we going?", you asked, weakly struggling against his grip.

"Visiting Tighnari.", he said.

"Wha.. but I can't. I still have to-"

"You don't have to do anything. I requested some time off for the both of us, and Alhaitham approved of it. We are going on a vacation, because Archons know that you need that, (name)."

After he said that, you were in no place to argue against him anymore. Your resistance against him grew less and less, until you completely stopped. He, in return, loosened his grip on your wrist a bit, but still held you tightly to him.

He made a stop at his and your house, to gather some stuff, mostly clothing, before you made your way to Gandharva Ville together.

The walk was mostly quiet as you were trying to figure out what to make of it. You were sure that they must hate you at this point, yet Cyno's actions clearly indicated the total opposite.

As you arrived at the base of the forest watchers, Cyno spotted Tighnari in front of his hut, talking to some other forest rangers.

The fox immediatly picked up on the scent of his two lovers as soons as you two entered the village. But he also instantly knew that something was up. He could sense that you were upset about something amd Cyno was worried about you.

He made quick work of the matter with the forest ranger, and as they began to depart, Tighnari already spotted you and Cyno walking towards him, so he waited there for you to.

"Hey..", he said in a soft tone, immediatly pulling you in for a long and loving hug as soon as you were close enough.

"...", you didn't say anything as you hugged him back tightly, which confirmed his assumption that something was definitely not right.

He looked over at Cyno, who motioned for them to go inside, which Tighnari gently coaxed you to do so with them.

"Do you want to talk about it?", Tighnari asked as you all were inside. But you didn't feel ready for that just yet, so you just shook your head slightly, gaze fixed on the ground.

"All right then..", you heard from the fox and the next moment, you were suddenly in the air, as your lover had picked you up and walked over to the bed.

The next moment, you were placed on the soft mattress, ine of your boyfriends on each of your side. You were completely surrounded by them, and suddenly, you felt safe.

Like a heavy weight has finally been lifted from your shoulder, and you could feel a single tear run down your face again.

Tighnari, who you were facing, brought one hand up to your face, softly carressing your cheek. He slowly leaned in, kissing you on the forehead.

In the meantime, Cyno, who was laying behind you, slid on hand down your arm, intertwining his fingers with yours once he reached your hand, as he slowly started to place light kisses on your neck.

In this moment, you felt so loved and cared for by your two boyfriends, you had no idea how you could have ever doubted their love for you.

You couldn't controll your tears anymore and you just let everything out that you had been holding back.

For the next few hours, you three just laid there, cuddling with each other, while Cyno and Tighnari whispered sweet and loving words to you.

You may not be able to talk about your troubles quite yet, but you knew that with them by your side, everything would turn out okay in the end.

Because you had each other. And now there was no doubt in your mind anymore..

... they did love you with all their heart.