#if the quality is shitty that's because i don't know what I'm doing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arlertwhore · 1 month

Text

pairing: paige bueckers x fem! reader

warning(s): nsfw/18+, fighting (verbal/physical), toxic relationship stuff, fingering, thigh riding, pussy eating, squirting,

synopsis: the bitchy, possessive, and temperamental gf who paige thinks she can handle proves her right!

word count: 2.4k

Author Note: got my first lil hate comment the other day 😜 i feel like an actual writer now lmao! here goes draft #6, comin’ in lit 🔥

Fuck knows what you're complaining about this time. She's straight from practice — from a rigorous, exhausting, and intense practice, frustrated with her own performance, only to find you waiting at the door, already irritated about something entirely. Perhaps it was how she didn’t answer you at all today—or how you saw her looking too close for comfort to another 'fan' as she claimed, though you never trusted it—or maybe she even fucking sighed at you the wrong way upon entering through the door because the littlest of things ticked you off—you—her bitchy, demanding, and infuriatingly sexy girlfriend, whom Paige has to constantly remind herself she willingly got involved with, knowing full well she was signing up for the being the figurative property of the brattiest, bossiest, most high-maintenance girl on campus.

"Are you even listening to me?!" you fume as Paige storms past you, stripping a trail of her clothes all the way to the bathroom, letting her hair fall loose from its low bun as she saunters away from your chaos, massaging her temples.

"Seriously, Y/N, now's not the time, I gotta-" - "I don't give a fuck!" you explode, chasing after her and grabbing her arm to spin her back around. "I don't care about your shitty day or your shitty excuses. Why the fuck didn't you text me back, hm?" Paige sighs, avoiding your eyes with an air of exasperation, her gaze shifting to the ceiling in an attempt to not roll them. At her silence, you feel your anger boil over, frustration evident in the clenched fist at your sides and the tense set of your jaw. "You're the fucking worst, Paige!" you snap, "You think just because I'm understanding that means you can take pictures with all these other bitches, post all on your Instagram, but then NOT text me back!"

Paige knew she was the man, the kind of person who could handle any challenge, which is why she thought dating someone like you—a real piece of work—would be a good match. She believed you could keep her on her toes, pushing her to become mentally stronger, more confident, and dominant—qualities she hoped would shine on the court, but on days like this, when you demanded drama and chaos, she wondered if she was truly cut out for it. Her honest, no-bullshitting, no-pretense attitude of: My girlfriend is so sexy opinion? Nah. And she promptly proved that stance when she spat out, “Alright, I’m sorry, baby… Is that what you want me to say? That I’m sorry I have things to do and you act like a bitch about it?” her voice venomous and defensive, stunning you. “Man, get the fuck out of my way right now. I don’t feel like fighting with you, for real,” she demanded, trying to brush past you. You couldn’t believe she actually spoke to you like that—she was usually so considerate of your feelings. In a fit of rage, you squared up to her and pushed her back by her shoulders with a strength you didn’t know you had over the 6ft wall of strength she was. Growling, you commanded, “You’re gonna stand here until WE’RE done talking!”

Paige stands with her hands on her hips, clenching at her sides with such restraint that her basketball shorts ride up, revealing her boxers underneath. She warns, "Stop playin' with me, yo. Step aside." and as she advances again, trying to get to the bathroom door behind you, you block her path, arms crossed and eyes flashing. Sneering, you challenge defiantly, "No. What are you gonna do if I don’t step aside, P? Hm? You gonna hit me?"

She takes a deep breath, drops her head, and shakes it exasperatedly before a light chuckle escapes her, broad shoulders bouncing. “Whatever, ma,” she mutters, turning around and picking up the clothes she’d left scattered on the floor. “I’m gonna go shower at Mikayla’s — forget this.”

You don’t have enough time to be angry about her saying she’s visiting Mikayla’s house—the slut you’d warned her to stay away from. Instead, you sprint to the front door, grab her keys off the rack, and hide them behind your back. Coldly, you say, “You’re mine, Paige. Turn around and get your ass in bed, NOW! You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Paige knows you and your past well enough to recognize that you aren’t joking about this possessiveness. However, she’s far from intimidated at the moment. Instead of backing down or appeasing you like she usually does for her princess, she glares at you with a fiery defiance. Her voice is firm as she refutes, “Give me my keys, Y/N.”

You gaze at her, a smirk forming on your face as you watch her façade of nonchalance crumble. Her face turns a subtle red, veins bulging in her hands as she holds them open, waiting for the keys, her lips curled inward and cheeks hollowed. She stands there expectantly, like a statue, until you bristle as she seizes your wrist, slamming it against the door while reaching for the keys with her other hand. Instinctively, you counter with your free hand, pushing her away. She’s lost her calm and collected demeanor. It’s scarier how she doesn’t run but still chases you with the relentlessness of a predator. Her eyes blaze with determination as she follows your running with a steady, purposeful stride. You taunt, “Come and get it, doggy! Yeah, you little bitch!” luring her toward the bathroom, the only room in the house with a lock, and Paige knows exactly what you’re up doing. Just before you can slam the door in her face, Paige lunges for it and forces it open, stepping inside and backing you against the door. This time, she tries a different approach to get the keys—she clasps your waist, holding you in place with her knees pressed against your smaller legs, effectively immobilizing you. As she tussles with you for the keys, you keep a tight grip on them. The struggle is fierce, and you're both panting in each other’s faces, exchanging only ragged breaths. You finally manage to break free from the bathroom and run for the bedroom with Paige hot on your heels. As you glance over your shoulder to see where she’s at, you realize too late that she’s no longer focused on reclaiming her keys. With a swift tackle, she takes you down onto the bed, pinning you there and forcing you into submission. The keys fall out of your hand, but Paige remains on top of you, her anger unrepairable as she growls, “Wanna bitch at me like that when I’m tired?” Her big hands begin to untie your nightrobe. “Wanna piss me off when I’m trying to be nice about things?”

She moves with an almost animalistic quality, yanking you down the bed by your legs and sending your clothes flying off with the force of her pull, baring your body to her hungry blue eyes. She hisses against your neck, “Little bitch?” and you nod rebelliously, “Yeah..fuck,” you heave, “look at you, so pissed, hm?” Her words are unbearably sexy when she vows, “I’ll show you a little bitch.” Mere moments later, she’s seated on the edge of the bed, with you draped over her lap like a ragdoll. You’re writhing, still trying to resist, biting and clawing at her thighs, but Paige’s grip is unyielding. Under her strength, you’re completely powerless.

Her hands spread your ass open, giving her a clear view of your dripping pussy. She chuckles cockily, the smirk evident in her voice even though you're not looking at her when she drawls, “This is why you’re really bitchin’ out, huh, ma?”

You whine at her words, stuttering and squirming, “Let me go, Paige, f-fuck!”

She tuts dismissively. “Aw, but that’s not what you really want, baby... you just need this pussy fucked, don’t you? To get fucked back to your senses—make you my good girl again, my princess...” she purrs, her fingers sliding through your slick and teasing your asshole. Then you hear the dirtiest, most sinful suck of fingers in her mouth you’ve ever heard.

Hips arched high with her strong arm restraining you from running, pressed firmly into your lower back, punching pressure deep within and outside of you, all aligning on the inside, she works her fingers into your soaking wet cunt with precision. She curls and bruises against your walls, relentlessly hitting that spot that makes you squirm like a torture puppet and cry out, "Ah!" for your dear life.

Her smarmy, taunting response? “I know, baby, I know, fuck… too tight for it, I know,” she bellows, feeding off your whimpers and whines with a sadistic delight. That smirk on her face—the one you wish you hadn't turned back to see—tells you she's savoring this victory a little too much and has no intention of letting you go anytime soon, even if you've clearly accepted that you're the little bitch. “Please,” you plead, sinking your nails into her thigh, but it doesn’t seem to perturb her in the slightest—if anything, it only eggs her on, makes her devilishly speed up. “It won’t happen again—I-I won’t act like a bitch anymore, daddy, I’m sorry,” you submit, hoping for some mercy, but she’s unforgiving. She chuckles darkly, yanking you up by your hair so you’re forced to look her in the eye, even if hers aren’t fully focused on yours, watching how your tits bounce as she fucks you senseless. “One more time,” she stares at them, biting her bottom lip with a smirk before she refocuses and demands it sternly. Without hesitation, you repeat it louder before she even finishes her command: “I won’t act like a bitch anymore, daddy, I’m sorry!” She smirks, her grip tightening. "I know you won't. Not after I'm done with you." She releases your head, and you fall forward hard, your back arching under what feels like tons of weight as she drives into you overwhelmingly, making you cry out in shock. "Shit!" you gasp, involuntarily pushing back against her long fingers to soften the blow and the jam, so forcefully that your ass claps with each thrust as she fucks into you.

“Say my name, baby, who’s fucking you,” Paige demands. You groan, clenching around her thick, long fingers and spilling spurts of slick arousal as you pant, “You, Daddy!” Paige tilts her head, unsatisfied. “Nah.” Her hand, once forcing down your back, quickly wraps around your throat, clasping firmly as she whispers, “Tell me, Ma.” With the blonde holding you tightly, despite your attempts to escape, with no leverage, she easily grips you by the throat like a puppet, forcing you back onto her fingers with insane speed and force. She thrusts into you even faster, your clit now grinding against her thigh. You hike a leg up in a desperate attempt to run or crawl away, but she's got you firmly in place.

“Paige! Paige, Paige, Paige, you’re fucking me!” you cry out.

“And you like it, baby? Like how my fingers feel fucking that tight pussy?” she taunts, flexing her leg muscles and increasing the friction.

“Aww shit,” you moan strainedly, feeling the familiar coil in your stomach emerge. Your body still tries to crawl away, but your brain forces you to stay put, losing all the air inside you.

“Stop fucking running, ma, take it,” she commands. “Take it, baby, just cum for me, kay? Cum for me, give me your cum.”

You listen to the sound of your cunt, feel it pulsing and clenching around her fingers before you give up and stop fighting and allow all the pleasure crash over you, your body convulsing as your orgasm hits. You gasp and cry out, surrendering to the intense sensation as your cunt tightens rhythmically around her fingers, your clit throbbing against her thigh. She fucks you through your orgasm, continuing even after that, giving you no recovery time, no chance to catch your breath before she has you on your back, legs still spread and a wet mess beneath you. Leaning in, she murmurs, “Be good for me, be still, kay? Let me clean you up—jus' lemme taste you, baby.”

Your hand comes up to cover your face, crying out as you feel her tongue glide through your folds. Gripping onto her hair tightly, you sob—a genuine cry from the overstimulation. Through your tears, you manage to gasp, “Fuck, baby, it hurts so good, ugh!”

You shout and clamp your legs shut, burying her with a guttural scream once her fingers scissor your folds and hold them open, her tongue flicking exactly against your clit, making direct contact.

She pries your legs open inhumanly, like an uncaring monster, her voice resounding and vibrating in your cunt, "Hold your ankles in the air." a command.

You obey, and she’s even nice enough to help, her strong arms holding your legs apart as she laps and slurps up all your cum like she’s parched, her swallows audible and incredibly sexy.

You look down at her and watch her head shake around wildly, losing herself in the abyss, entranced. You try to push her away by bucking into her face, hands occupied, but you end up unintentionally pushing her closer instead. You whine out desperately, your toes, nipples, and cunt especially on fire. "Pl-PLEASE!" you gasp, "I c-can't, I’m gonna—" Her fingers replace her tongue on your clit, while her tongue dips inside you as she murmurs, "Mhm," You cover your face, and the last thing you hear before you pass out is the frantic noise of her tongue fighting to slip even deeper inside you. There’s the sound of a leak, then the subsequent opening of your eyes after what feels like days. You look down at your girlfriend to find her face glistening in a pool of arousal, juices smeared everywhere. Her first instinct? To lick around her mouth, trying to savor the taste as she smiles at you smugly, knowing she’s clearly gotten her point across to your fucked-out self.

Needless to say, Paige has proven herself to you as she knew she would always: she is NOT someone to be underestimated.

MASTERLIST

AUTHOR NOTE #2: uhh so i reread this and i just wanna know if anybody else reading this who writes, is it crazy i reread my own work and blush at it like a viewer 😅 am i a freak guys 😅😅😅 do you do that too?? ANYWAY GUYS PLS INTERACT WITH ME ILY ALL MWAH!

723 notes · View notes

ashleyisartsy · 5 months

Text

Problems (objective and personal) I'm not seeing discussed a lot w this new WatcherTV thing, in no particular order:

-Alienates people internationally who literally CANNOT GET the streaming service!

-Alienates casual fans who don't watch or want to watch all of their shows. Putting down 60 bucks a year to watch just one or two shows is kind of insane, at least for me.

-The volume of content Watcher has produced historically hasn't been enough to justify a separate streamer. I understand there's no way a small team could compete with something like Netflix, obviously, but that's what you're trying to do by putting yourself in the streamer market.

-Will this streamer be secure? What steps are in place to protect your viewers info? ESPECIALLY payment info.

-Will it be easily watchable on multiple devices? I watch YouTube videos on my phone at work 90% of the time, or at home on my TV thru my switch. Is this a browser only deal?

-What are the internet requirements for this? Believe it or not most streaming services won't run on my internet personally. I don't have any for that reason. I can watch YouTube on 360p, or on my 2-bar-reception phone data. Not everywhere has stable reliable internet.

-The suddenness and totality of the move was going to be jarring no matter what, if the idea had been introduced gradually or started as a hybrid model to test audience interest there wouldn't be nearly this amount of pushback.

-I understand the people saying "pay artists!!" Bc I am one, and I get that their quality is expensive and they have a whole company's worth of people to support. I do actually think their work is worth paying for! Everyone's is! But convincing anyone to pay for something they previously got for free is going to be a hard sell. They were still getting paid before, they're now just asking us to pay instead of the advertisers. Idk about you, but that's a way bigger hit to my pocketbook than a multimillion dollar company's bank account.

-I get that YouTube can be a really shitty place to be a creator sometimes, and that being beholden to advertisers is something they don't want to be. It's why they left Buzzfeed! They already have a patreon and merch and it's clearly not been enough for their ambitions. But shooting yourself in the foot because your running shoes are wearing out isn't going to make you a better marathon runner. They had to know that there was going to be a not small portion of their audience unwilling to make this move with them (and again, lots literally aren't able to!)

-If they had a free w/ ads option, or even did a hybrid model with whole shows behind the pay wall, or even just ran a fucking crowd funding campaign to help cover costs of new seasons of shows, any of those things could have worked. They don't even have YouTube memberships turned on, which I've personally seen many many channels do even when they already have a patreon. It really doesn't seem like they've exhausted other options, at least from an outside perspective, which is all we have as viewers!

-I get that this has been in the works for a long time, and that there probably isn't a way for them to back out now. But I hope they can find a way to make this more accessible if they want it to work at all. I truly am not wishing for their downfall, but the whole situation is an awful mess.

Idk, rant over. As a lot of you are I'm feeling very disappointed and upset with this one, and I'm not paying for it either. Hope the boys can salvage this one for their and their crew's sake. Would really hate for this to be the end.

#watcher #ryan bergara #shane madej #steven lim #the youtube landscape is a hell hole #just :(

615 notes · View notes

stinkyturd · 1 month

Text

Your Fragrance

Pairing: Romeo Lucci/Reader

Comments: It's Romeo, so it's gonna be a little possessive and weird. If that makes you uncomfortable, this probably isn't your cup of tea. Also, I absolutely hate naming throwaway characters, but I did here to avoid confusion, haha. So, if for some reason you're second guessing if you're misremembering a canon side character, you're not. 🙂‍↕️

Working for Romeo could be exhausting.

The Sinostra vice-captain always had something for you. Be it helping out with casino security, sending out reminders for outstanding loans, or doing menial errands like fetching him various products he may need to keep his skin hydrated or his hair in mint condition. Sometimes he'd even message you at ungodly hours when you were tucked away, seconds from slumbering at your cathedral.

Overall, you didn't mind. It's not like you HAD to do it. Darkwick hadn't been quite as needy with sending you out on inspector related errands, so you had the time, and you didn't mind Romeo's company. Sure, his personality is completely abrasive and an acquired taste, but underneath it all he had some redeeming qualities. And for some reason he chose you to hire as an assistant. You didn't get paid much. In fact, it was lower than minimum wage. You're pretty sure you could get a part-time job around the campus that would be far more fruitful with less work.

And now that you were on consistent speaking terms, it was a lot easier to find ways to get under his skin. It was kind of fun pushing him to that level of irritation just before it all boils over. Oddly enough, a scrunched up scowl really highlighted his devastatingly pretty features. You're not sure you've seen anything quite like it on anyone else before.

Right now, you are sitting next to him on the massive sectional sofa in the VIP room, listening to him rant about trivial anecdotes while you check his email for him.

"I don't want to deal with these degenerates speaking to me any longer!" Romeo huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You need to establish a precedent in this place that no one should talk to me without pre-approved incentive!"

Your eyes remain locked on the laptop in front of you as you attempt to read over a document sent to you by one of the vice-captain's subordinates, while still acknowledging Romeo's ramblings. "I can give it a shot. What happened this time?"

"A fool from Frostheim came in this morning. That USP told me that the new cashmere divan I purchased for the lobby is tacky! What the fuck does he know about quality luxury...?! That buffoon probably washes his face with hand soap, if he does at all!"

You smirk a little at that, clumsily scrolling the page in front of you with just a trackpad. "Is he a regular?"

"Yes, it's that idiot that always sits at the table by the high limit slots! The one with those shitty, thick-framed, square glasses!" Romeo leans back into the sofa, folding his arms across his chest.

"Oh...?" Your lips tug into a mischievous smirk. "I think I remember that guy. Dark hair, super clear skin? Has good taste in cologne?" The student he's referring to does actually have dark hair. You remember because it's not the first time Romeo has complained about him. The rest of the description you gave is entirely fabricated.

You catch a glimpse of the vice-captain's reaction in your peripheral vision. If looks could kill.

Romeo narrows his fuchsia eyes at you. "Have you lost your mind?! Clear skin?" The vice-captain leans in close, jabbing a gloved finger to his face. "This! This is clear skin!"

"Oh, for real?" You don't look up as you suppress a shit-eating grin, tapping away at the keyboard in front of you.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you, nitwit! I can't have my BB of an assistant prancing around thinking that some Frostheim pig's face even compares to mine!" Romeo removes the laptop from your lap, setting it on the low-profile table in front of you.

You flick your gaze over to his face that's less than a foot from yours. Placing a hand on your chin, you pretend to examine his skin. "Hmm... really? I don't see the difference."

You did. No one's skin glows as much as the man in front of you.

Romeo clenches his jaw so tightly you're almost concerned he's going to grind down his perfect teeth. "You don't see the difference...?! Perhaps we should get your eyes checked! And you're supposed to be the one surveying the EITS?!"

"But you agree his cologne is pretty solid?" Your lips twitch as the vice-captain's face comically becomes more animated with each snarky comment you make.

"That fool may as well be rolling around with a wet dog! Whatever bootleg fragrance he wears does not match his pH! How far away were you from that imbecile to draw that conclusion?!" Romeo shouts indignantly.

You're no longer able to keep up the act, your lips peeling into a full on grin as a giggle escapes you.

This only seems to irritate Romeo further. "And what's so funny?!"

"I was only teasing you. I've never been close enough to smell him. Definitely not close enough to see his pores."

"Y-You...!" Romeo's face flushes in a mixture of frustration and embarrassment. "For what purpose, fool?!"

"You look cute when you're all mad," You say like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Sorry, Boss. You make it too easy."

"Do you know how much my collagen cream costs? If you expedite the rate in which I obtain wrinkles, you will be my servant until the day you die to pay me back!" Romeo growls.

"How scary," You tease, tearing your gaze from the man shouting at such close proximity. If he stays like that any longer while you face him, you may actually start blushing. Reaching forward, you set the portable computer back in your lap.

"Fucking right, it's scary! I'll make sure your income is so low that you'll be taking residence in my private office," Romeo huffs, finally sitting back as he was before.

You snort. "Are you going to make me stay in my underwear too, like you did with Kaito?"

"You'll be lucky if you are even granted that amount of decency," Romeo spats.

Heat crawls up your neck at the implication.

"...Wow. Pervert." You're barely able to say it without your voice nervously cracking.

"Tch...! Don't flatter yourself," Romeo counters. A vibration, followed by a ringing sound emanates from his dress pants. The vice-captain stands, pulling his cell phone out. Before he answers it, he shoots you a glare. "You're in need of some serious TLC in order for that to be any concern of yours."

"Oh? That's okay, you're not my type anyway," You lie, as you return your attention to the email in front of you.

"Excuse me...?!" Romeo flits his furious gaze from you then back to the phone. "This conversation isn't over! Just you wait…!" The Sinostra vice-captain drags a finger across his phone's screen, then brings it to his ear. As if the caller on the other end is physically present, Romeo relaxes his face with his tone before replying. "Hello...? Right, when…?"

The vice-captain paces around the room mumbling vague replies to the mystery receiver. After a minute or so, he hangs up and stalks back in your direction.

You pretend you don't notice him as you continue working, anticipating verbal outlash. Instead, you feel a weight sit alarmingly close to your side. Your hand stills on the track pad in front of you when Romeo wraps an arm around your backside.

"(Y/N)~" The vice-captain speaks so close to your ear that involuntary chills run up your spine.

You weren't that startled by the gesture. Romeo did this occasionally when he wanted something. Trying to act all sultry to fluster you to the point of accepting his request. That was further confirmed by the rare use of your actual name rather than an acronym disguising an insult.

Usually, you would do whatever he wanted anyway as long as it wasn't too out of your comfort zone. Any time that you'd decline he'd have a fit about it and ignore you for a while after.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to ask me to do something ridiculous?" You ask with a sigh.

"Oh, it's nothing too crazy. But do you think you could get a permit and make a delivery for me outside campus, pretty girl? I know you have enough rapport with the Chancellor to do it by now," Romeo drawls, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

"What are you trying to get me to deliver? And where?" You ask, flicking your gaze to his suspiciously.

"It's not important, I will give you the address. All you have to do is drop it off in a mailbox. It's not too far from the station," Romeo explains coolly, his minty breath tickling your nose.

"Hmm..." You hum contemplatively, turning your head back to the laptop. "I dunno... sounds kinda sus. I don't want to lose my honor student privileges, you know?"

"...There is nothing sus about it! And you won't. Just say you want to make a delivery to a friend." The demanding impatience in Romeo's tone is already starting to rear its head as you continue to question him.

"I dunno. What's in it for me?" You persist nonchalantly.

"Continued employment and my approval, obviously! What more could you want?" Romeo argues.

You weren't stupid. He was probably fully intending on sending you off with illegal substances. It would be easy to do it and not get caught, but it's not like you were gung-ho about making runs like that. And it's not like Romeo could do it himself with Sinostra's suspension. What could you request in return that he would be deterred from ever asking you again?

"I might consider it if you do something for me," You reply as another impish grin threatens to peel back.

Romeo clicks his tongue impatiently. "Asking me for favors now? What could you possibly want?"

"Kiss me," You request, making a point to sound as deadpan as possible.

The room becomes uncannily still for several moments once the words fall from your mouth.

You smirk, taking your time before you look back at Romeo to assess the damage. The Sinostra vice-captain is boring a hole through you with his eyebrows furrowed. You watch his smooth lips part marginally, as if something is just on the tip of his tongue.

It's almost hilarious. The way that he just came onto you with the intention of coaxing you to do his bidding, but when the tables are turned he's at a loss for words. You let out a short laugh, deeming this to be your victory as you refocus your attention on the laptop in front of you yet again. "Looks like my hands are tied, Vice-Captain. Maybe you can blackmail Kaito into doing it."

Romeo clicks his tongue in annoyance. "Imbecile, did I say no?"

Well, you can't say you were expecting that.

You laugh awkwardly, looking at him like he just lost his mind. "What, you're going to agree just like that?"

Romeo nods. "If you wash your face and do a proper skin care routine beforehand. And make sure your mouth is entirely scrubbed clean, if I taste anything foul on your lips, so help me god...!"

"Woah, woah, woah...! I didn't say anything about the lips," You reply, your voice slightly panicked. "Also, you gotta kiss my face as is. It's part of the stipulation. And I haven't washed it in, like, five days. I probably got blackheads galore. You seriously wanna go through with that?"

You had washed your face and put on products previously recommended to you by Romeo this morning. The more affordable ones, anyway. Not that he needed to know that.

Romeo squints his eyes as he closes in on you, stopping just inches from your face. "You're lying. Why? I don't have time for these games."

How did he immediately call on your bluff?

When you struggle to formulate an excuse, Romeo leans forward, cupping his gloved hand on your chin. You don't have time to react before he presses his plush lips against your cheek. The vice-captain stays that way for a second too long, the kiss past the point of being chaste. When Romeo pulls back, he's quirking a perfectly groomed eyebrow at you.

"I'd recognize that scent anywhere. Did you put on Tatcha cream this morning?"

You can feel heat gather at the apples of your cheeks as you gawk at him wordlessly.

"I suppose you're not entirely hopeless after all." Romeo smirks approvingly as he gives you the backhanded compliment.

"Shit," You mutter, sighing in defeat.

"Looks like you will be my delivery girl. Don't fuck it up, BB," Romeo says derisively, before getting to his feet and walking off to retrieve the parcel.

Days pass after you begrudgingly follow through with the delivery without anything particularly eventful happening. Currently, you're seated at a bench in the courtyard just outside of campus helping Kaito prepare for an upcoming test in a class you both had. Your phone has been vibrating in your pocket for a hot minute, but you're so determined with focusing on helping Kaito, you ignore it for the time being.

"Jesus effing Christ! I don't get this shit at all, I'm totally gonna bomb this," Kaito whines. The Frostheim student has his fingers wound in his hair as if he's ready to yank it out in clumps.

"If you hold that attitude the entire time, you just might. A lot of this test is going to be memorization. If anything, I can whip up some flash cards really quick for you," You offer, shooting him a sympathetic glance.

"Hah... y-you'd really do that? You're seriously an angel." Kaito's voice cracks and he dramatically begins to sprout tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Pffft, it's nothing. If anything, I still owe you for helping me out so much when I first got here." You pull out a stack of blank index cards from your messenger bag and peer over at the highlighted material in the notepad settled in Kaito's lap.

Picking up a pen, you begin scribbling the most important bits on the cards that you presume will be on the test. It takes you around ten minutes, but when you finish you hand the stack over to the Frostheim student.

"Just study it before bed for at least twenty minutes every night until the exam. That's what I always do when I don't retain enough," You remark with a reassuring smile. "Easy peasy."

"T-Thanks so much, (Y/N)." Kaito looks at you with a melting expression, his lower lip puckered into a pout. "I'll get a permit and take you out to my favorite ramen place if I pass this thing, for real."

"Oh? I'll hold you to that," You quip, smirking at him.

Kaito holds out his pinky, nodding fervently. "Pinky swear! It'll be super fun."

You latch your own finger with his. "I bet. I've been craving those marinated eggs lately. It's like you read my mind. Maybe we could bring Lucas, too?"

"Uh... m-maybe. Or it could be..." Kaito giggles nervously, scratching his blonde mop. "Like a d-d-date...?"

"A date...?" You tilt your head, eyeing your friend curiously.

Before Kaito can present his case, a black gloved hand swats his out of yours in the blink of an eye.

"A date?! Don't make me laugh, leech! If you don't pay EPB you will be lucky to be still breathing come the day of your exams!"

"GYAAAAH...!" Kaito stumbles back from his seat, landing butt first on the stone ground. "W-What the hell are y-you doing here...?! And how long were you listening?!"

Romeo places a hand on his lip, glowering at Kaito with disdain. "Long enough." The vice-captain briskly snaps his head in your direction. "And just how long did you think you would continue getting away with ignoring me, BB? While fraternizing with this fool who owes me money? You want to take permanent residence in my private office that badly?"

You blink at Romeo owlishly. "Huh? Ignoring you? Since when?" Then it dawns on you. Your phone was vibrating in your pocket like crazy earlier.

"Don't play dumb! I know your phone is on you!" Romeo yells, jabbing an accusing finger in your direction.

You snort at that. "How do you know that? Maybe I left it at my dorm."

"Are you so daft that you think I'd let my assistant frolic around OTG?"

You avert your gaze upwards, pondering what the acronym could possibly mean. "...Alright, you lost me. OTG?"

"Off. The. Grid...!" Romeo retorts, enunciating each word with biting emphasis.

You stare at his sour face blankly for a few seconds as you belatedly digest the implication. Scratching your cheek, you quirk an eyebrow at him. "Don't tell me you're tracking me, Boss?"

"Of course I am!" Romeo admits shamelessly. "And don't even think about finding the application and removing it! I made sure that your access is restricted from such tampering!"

You sigh, not particularly perturbed or surprised by the revelation. "You're a real weirdo, you know that? If this were a legitimate job with human resources I could totally report you if I wanted."

"S-Since when did you start working for this nut job?!" Kaito asks, now scrambling to his feet. "Jesus Christ, just work at the campus!"

Romeo glares daggers at the blonde. "Unless you'd like to spend the night being hung up by your toes, I suggest you make yourself scarce! And I expect a money order by 12pm sharp tomorrow, or I will be making an appearance at your dormitory."

"Urk...! F-Fine...!" Kaito hastily grabs his messenger bag from the bench. "I'll see you later (Y/N)! Text me...!" The blonde flicks a wary glance in Romeo's direction before scampering off.

"Now that the fool has left, you are coming with me, BB! I have a job for you. And turn your audio notifications on for my number, FFS!" Romeo orders.

You roll your eyes before getting to your feet. "Fine, fine, I hear ya."

After announcing that Romeo had your location tracked, you swore that you had begun to notice that he was making more frequent appearances where you didn't usually see him. When you went to eat at the weird diner Ren works at with Lucas, Romeo showed up in the middle of your meal, requesting you return to Sinostra as soon as possible. A day later you saw him on the main campus in the second year wing of the building to fetch you after class. Another day, you went to help Alan with some paperwork and the Sinostra vice-captain was there, too. Romeo had claimed that he was just there to speak with Leo, but then insisted that you come with him once you had finished up, anyway.

It's not like you had a set schedule to work. Sometimes you wouldn't help him for a day or two in the event that Darkwick needed something that took priority. Who knows? Maybe it really was all a coincidence.

You sat in the VIP room again, a few of Romeo's goons were talking amongst themselves across the room, while you were waiting for whatever task the vice-captain had planned for you that evening. Romeo had texted you earlier in the day, and he had made it seem as if it were something urgent.

Eventually, the double doors burst open and Romeo made a beeline for you.

You lift your eyes to meet the Sinostra vice-captain's as he approaches, stopping to a halt right in front of you. “Heya, Boss,” You smirk up at him. “What's good?”

“(Y/N),” Romeo starts, his voice as sweet as molasses. The vice-captain is looking down at you with a jovial smile. ”Just In time~”

“Ugh…” Your expression falters to a tired one in an instant. Standing up, you make an attempt to slide out from in front of him. “Just realized, Cornelius asked me to do some stuff at Frostheim, so if you'll excuse me–”

Romeo holds your waist firmly in place, narrowing his eyes sharply at you. “The Chancellor sent you no such notification. I should know.”

“C'mon now you're hacking into my phone to read my messages?” You ask in disbelief, irritation rising in your voice. “I'm starting to think you're in love with me.”

“Idiot! Now you're just blowing smoke up your ass! I have my reasons,” Romeo counters vaguely. The vice-captain is close enough that you can smell every fragrant product he had on today.

You click your tongue, sitting back down with your arms folded over your chest. Debating with Romeo was like talking to a brick wall, so you weren't about to waste your breath. “Fine, what do you need?”

Romeo turns his head to the group of his lackeys behind him. “Fools! You better have that box with you.”

“Sorry, right here, Boss!” One of the students hurried over to Romeo's side, handing said box over to him.

Romeo takes it, then tosses it in your lap. It's not that heavy and it has a white lid. “Here! This will be my gift to you, should you do what I ask.”

You eye him skeptically, to which he nods. Despite the usage of the word gift, knowing him, there was a pretty big catch. Hesitantly, you reach out and lift the lid in front of you.

The scarlet fabric immediately catches your eye. Silk?

You lift the item out of its box, extending the piece of clothing enough to where you can really judge what you're looking at. It looks to be some type of halter neck evening gown. Formal, yet not too formal. The way the fabric feels against your fingertips tells you that this is worth several months' pay at least. Just beneath the dress is a set of accenting jewelry at the bottom of the box. You don't know enough about that kind of thing to even begin to guess it's worth.

“...What the hell is this?” You ask, completely bewildered.

“A dress, obviously. Do you have eyes?” Romeo snaps.

“Okay, but why?”

Romeo exhales, steeling himself like he's about to make a sales pitch. “...Tonight I have a guest. A former colleague of mine, for lack of a better word. I have a list of tables I need you to lead him to and goad him into playing. The fool likes to bid high.”

“And I gotta wear this to do it?” You prod, creasing your eyebrows.

“That GFNS has a type and if I work my magic, you will fit that,” Romeo explains, placing a hand on his hip.

“You can't seriously expect me to flirt with some rando. And what, are you gonna cheat him out of money? I thought you were against that!” You argue.

Romeo clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You don't need to seduce him, just act as you normally do. Pretend you recognize him. The idiot has a meager amount of fame in the outside world, so it won't be odd. As for cheating him– the piece of shit deserves it. He did the same to me and still believes I am unaware. It's a wonder I haven't killed him already.”

You pause, taking a moment to process everything. “How the hell am I supposed to convince him to follow me around?”

“Start by offering him a drink, and tell him you're my cousin. I will provide you with a list of what to do from there. The majority of men are simple meatheads,” Romeo states matter-of-factly. “Throw a pretty woman in front of them and they will fold like a deck of cards.”

You roll your eyes. “So now I'm pretty? What happened to ‘basic bitch’?”

“...You're not repulsive,” Romeo admits, averting his gaze.

“Such a charmer,” You say sarcastically.

“So, will you do it?”

It didn't sound like the most fun task in the world, but if you weren't pressured into behaving a certain way, it really wouldn't be so bad. Plus, you kind of want to have Romeo doll you up. The vice-captain has referenced it enough in passing, but had yet to follow through.

“I really don't have to hit on him?” You reiterate.

“Be friendly, that's it,” Romeo insists.

“Do I get another kiss for this?” You joke, wiggling your eyebrows.

Romeo's flicks his gaze over you fully, as if he's genuinely considering your question. “...Ask me again when you clean up.”

You nearly choke on air at his nonchalant reply.

“Joke! That was a joke!” You insist with a nervous laugh, waving your hands wildly in protest. “My next kiss, face or otherwise, will be reserved for my future partner!”

Romeo's lips pull slightly downward and his expression wavers like he has more commentary to throw back at you. Instead, the vice-captain pushes out an exasperated sigh as he turns on his heel and waves you off dismissively. “Go and put that on. Don't keep me waiting.”

“Okie dokie. You got it, Boss.”

When Romeo handed you a mirror after he applied makeup on you and styled your hair, you almost didn't recognize yourself. It's not as if you hadn't dressed up before, but it never came out quite this well. As it turns out, the vice-captain wasn't all talk with his stylistic choices.

You were thoroughly impressed. Romeo had also brought shoes to you before he had gotten started on your makeup, that matched the dress and accessories. Everything fit perfectly, too. Which, you did wonder how that was possible without Romeo somehow invading your privacy again. You didn't bother touching on that subject.

“Woah, you really know your stuff,” You compliment Romeo, as you admire the rouge lip color he had applied to your face. It complimented the dress perfectly.

“I am offended that you ever doubted me,” Romeo retorts. He's sitting on a stool in front of you and the couch in the VIP lounge. “I have a feeling this will go according to plan. Just look over your notes beforehand, got it?”

You nod, lowering the mirror onto the table in front of you. “By the way, is this guy really going to make up what it cost to get me this stuff? This looks crazy expensive.”

“Of course,” Romeo insists, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. “You think I intend to support a charity case? As long as you do what I say, this will be a miniscule dent in the return.”

“That's good at least. I almost started to feel bad.” You stand up, with the intention of getting the ball rolling.

“Hold on,” Romeo stands with you, pulling a golden vial out of the pouch of makeup that rests on the table. The vice-captain opens it, a strong, but inviting fragrance permeates your immediate surroundings. Leaning in close, Romeo dabs some of the liquid from the wand that's attached to the lid onto your neck.

“Oh, that smells nice…” You murmur, pretending like the close proximity of your gorgeous tyrant of a boss isn't making your heart beat rapidly.

“As it should. It's of high quality.” Romeo brings a pale hand to your neck, spreading the oil-like perfume across the expanse of your neck gently with his fingertips.

The Sinostra vice-captain's expression is completely unreadable at the moment. And for reasons unbeknownst to you– you struggle to take your eyes off of him. Maybe it's because he looks more peaceful than usual? If you had to guess, this kind of thing might be fun for him.

“Thank you,” You say impulsively, beaming at him.

Romeo removes his fingers from your neck, flitting his gaze to meet yours. His eyebrows are furrowed in confusion. “What are you thanking me for?”

“I dunno, this is kind of fun. I think it's better than you making me go on a drug deal,” You tease.

“I never admitted to making you do anything of the sort,” Romeo counters.

“Never admitted,” You emphasize with a coy smirk. “Even if you're doing this for your own agenda, I still appreciate your creative efforts. So, thanks.”

Romeo stares at you with an indiscernible expression for a few beats, his face alarmingly close to yours. It feels strange. Since when was he so comfortable being this close without reason? Especially when he's not visibly pissed about something.

“...Thank me by doing your job correctly,” He finally says.

Romeo increases the distance between the two of you, placing the now closed vial of perfume back where he got it. “Now scram. I have things to do.”

It feels like you can finally breathe. What is this strange feeling?

“Yeah, sure thing…”

The guest Romeo had told you to tag along with was turning out to be a seemingly decent guy. He had dark hair and was handsome enough, but compared to the ghouls at Darkwick, he didn't particularly stand out. Based on the information Romeo wrote down for you, he is well known on social media for creating and promoting a pretty successful clothing line. His actual name was lost on you, but Romeo just told you to refer to him as Zomo. You weren't sure if it was a public nickname for him, or one given to him by the vice-captain himself.

Everything Romeo had told you to do had seemingly worked. The influencer initially had been confused by you approaching him, until you labeled yourself as Romeo's close cousin. From there it was relatively easy to converse with him. You showed him around and you didn't have to try very hard to get him to participate at the table games. The first table the list told you to take him to was a game of roulette. And you couldn't help but notice a familiar red-headed captain seated at the gaming table.

You knew basic casino etiquette, courtesy of Romeo. Since you didn't intend on playing, you observed from behind Zomo's chair.

“Say… don't I know ya from somewhere, Kitty?”

You glance over at Taiga. He's leaning on the table in a languid posture, his head resting on his fist. The Sinostra Captain is smirking at you impishly.

“Yeah. Don't you remember? It's me, John Titor,” You joke, though you intentionally keep your expression serious for the bit.

“...That what it was?” The smile never leaves Taiga's face as he stares at you, likely trying to figure out if it's actually the truth. After a long pause, he starts laughing. “...Gyahaha! Ya don't seem like a John. Feel like ya gotta have a beard for that one!”

Romeo's guest looks between the two of you skeptically. You wonder if he knows Taiga already. If not, you could only imagine the confusion, especially considering you introduced yourself with your real name.

“I'll just call ya Johnny for now, how ‘bout it?” Taiga holds a fist out to you, like he intends to hand you something. Curious, you reach your palm out to him.

Without warning, Taiga slaps several orange chips directly into your hand. A familiar tingling sensation lingers on your palm at the contact. You blink, meeting Taiga's gaze dubiously.

Was it part of Romeo's plan for Taiga to use his stigma, then? Guess it only makes sense if they're trying to screw this guy.

Taiga grins at you wolfishly for a moment before pulling back and leaning onto the table again. “Get me a drink will ya? Think I'm in the mood for an Old Fashioned.”

“...Sure,” You say. Looking down at the Zomo guy, you speak up again. “Want anything?”

“Same thing, thanks,” He replies.

Hours went by of spectating as Romeo's guest fails each and every one of the games he participates in. A constant throughout the evening was Taiga making an appearance at every table that you influenced Zomo to play at. If you had any doubt that Romeo and the Sinostra Captain had collaborated in the scheme together, that was long gone.

Throughout it all, Zomo continued requesting drinks, and you retrieved them every time he asked. He was either so trashed that he didn't realize how much money he lost, or he just didn't care. By the time you reached the finale of the last game on your list, Zomo was completely out of chips.

“Damn… lost again, eh? That's embarrassing.” Romeo's guest lethargically scratches his head at the Baccarat table. The rest of the players had already made themselves scarce, leaving the two of you alone for the moment. Aside from the dealer who was busying himself in idle chatter with another casino employee.

“Oof, damn!” You say, doing your best to feign shock for the umpteenth time. “That sucks, buddy. Maybe next time?”

“Buddy…?” Zomo repeats, his brow creased. You hear him curse under his breath. And only seconds after that, you feel a hand grip your wrist and yank you forward.

“Woah…!” You trip over your feet and nearly butt heads with the man seated at the table. Zomo stretches a hand out, stilling your shoulder in time with his free hand.

“Here I thought you were gonna cozy up with me for the night. Turns out you're just a fuckin’ tease, eh?”

Oops, looks like you made the wrong dialogue choice. Creeper alert!

You attempt to yank your hand back, but the man's grip is firm. Zomo's face is just inches from yours, and his breath reeks of brown liquor. Taking a deep breath, you narrow your eyes at him. “Let me go, fuck face.”

“Don't think I'm gonna do that,” He says, his voice slurring over his words.

“Dude, seriously!” You growl, moving your other hand forward to attempt to peel the man's fingers off.

The sound of a gun bolt sliding back and locking into place sounds from your right.

You glance up. The Sinostra vice-captain is training a rifle less than a foot from the man's head. Your breath catches in your throat as you watch his finger linger dangerously close to the trigger. “W-Wait Romeo, don't–”

“Get the fuck out,” Romeo seethes, his words come out far more venomous than you ever thought possible. “Unless you'd like me to contact Darkwick's medical facility to relay details for your death certificate.”

“W-Woah, chill man…! I w-wasn't gonna do anything,” Zomo sputters out as he releases your wrist to hold his hands up in surrender.

“Not only are you a thieving weasel, you're lying through your teeth,” Romeo balances the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, using his free hand to wave over a member of security. “Escort this BFL out.”

The security member quickly makes his way over to grab Zomo's shoulder and carries out Romeo's orders. The vice-captain's old acquaintance doesn't make a fuss as he's led towards the door. If he did, you may actually think he's insane. You wouldn't put it past Romeo to actually pull the trigger. The Sinostra vice-captain had shot at Ritsu before, after all.

Romeo lowers his gun once Zomo's out of sight, and turns his head to look at you, his gaze cold. “VIP room, now.”

“Uh, sure.”

You follow Romeo back to the room you can never seem to stay out of nowadays. The vice-captain says nothing the entire walk there. It was a little unsettling not hearing him rant angrily about one thing or another. You weren't sure what to expect when you watched Romeo close the massive double doors behind the two of you. A distinct clicking noise makes you double take in his direction.

Did he just lock the door?

A brief surveillance of the room tells you that you're the only two people inside.

“Sit,” Romeo demands, waving in the general direction of the sofa. The vice-captain doesn't wait for you to reply before he stalks off towards the back of the room with his rifle, presumably to stow it away.

You make your way over to the sofa, plopping down. Deciding it's been weirdly awkward for long enough, you speak up. “You're being quiet. Are you mad?”

You hear something click shut from behind you, and a few moments later Romeo walks back into view. The vice-captain makes his way over to you, taking a seat relatively close to you. He looks at you with a hard gaze.

“Would it kill you to take my word and just follow the script I gave you, moron?” Romeo finally reprimands. Though, he sounds almost nice compared to how he usually berates.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that ‘buddy’ would set that weirdo off?” You argue. “You really know some odd people.”

“...You should be grateful I was using the EITS to watch over you,” Romeo spats, his arms folded over his chest.

“It's okay, I would have karate chopped him,” You insist, holding your arms out in a playful representation of what you imagine a proper karate pose would look like.

“Don't make me laugh,” Romeo starts, though the agitation in his tone tells you he's not actually in a laughing kind of mood. “You couldn't even peel that pig's fingers off of you!”

You pivot your body to face him, leaning your cheek on the back of the couch. “You worried about little old me?”

“Worried…?” Romeo repeats, his intense gaze burning a hole through you. “The only one who should be worried is that weasel. So long as you are in my LOS, no one will touch you.”

You feel your cheeks burn at Romeo's words. “Uhm… line of sight?”

“Obviously.”

“Geez. Can’t tell if you sound delusional, or romantic,” You mutter, averting your gaze to a random spot on the couch.

Romeo scoffs. “I said it exactly as I meant it. Attributing further sentiment is a waste of time.”

You laugh a bit, in spite of yourself. “Yeah, don't I know it. I'm getting ahead of myself, sorry Boss.”

“You should be. Now make up for it by canceling your extracurricular plans this week to work for me.” Romeo's lips peel into a devilish grin as he makes the absurd request.

“That hardly seems like a fair shake,” You say with a snort. “What are you gonna do when I'm not around one day?”

Romeo's expression slips into a puzzled one. “What do you mean?”

“Well, one day I'm gonna return home if I break my curse. I doubt Darwick intends on giving me permanent residence here. I'll have to help you find someone to replace me when that happens,” You explain, flashing him a bittersweet smile. “You forget?”

Romeo frowns, eyeing you dubiously. “I don't plan on forking my assistant over so easily.”

“I didn't realize that you had any real say in it,” You tease. “Are you going to convince Hyde that I will be a valuable asset for the foreseeable future?”

“If that's what it comes to. That DOF owes me anyhow, always nagging at the most inconvenient of times!” Romeo pauses, holding your gaze. “...Don't tell me you actually have been looking forward to going back to your mundane life?”

Did you?

Maybe in some ways. Though, Darkwick and the people in it have become your second home. Initially it wasn't a choice, but for the moment you wouldn't trade it away. Not yet.

“...There are things I miss. People,” You admit, doing your best not to sound like a sad sack.

“Like who?” Romeo persists, the frustrated look on his face not budging.

“Family and friends,” You reply vaguely. “I miss the normalcy sometimes. The routine, being able to put time into things that aren't important, and going out when I want with whoever.”

Romeo clicks his tongue irritably. “...What a stupid sentiment. You can basically have all that here. Why not just stay here and visit there?”

You snicker at his persistence. This might be the most interest that the Sinostra vice-captain ever showed in how you feel. Though, the bar is still low considering he's using that information to try and manipulate your actions.

“Why not just visit me if I can't stay here?” You counter.

“I have far more important things to do.”

You sigh, feigning a wistful expression. “Well, that's alright. I guess I'll just invite Kaito over.”

“What…?” Romeo sits forward, his fuchsia eyes glaring daggers at you. “You intend to let that blubbering fool into your home alone?!”

“Sure, why not?” You ask, your lips curling into a coy smirk.

“That leech still owes me money! If he's around you with that much freedom the hormonal fool will spend my cash impulsively,” Romeo explains.

“Oh, right…” You mumble, wearing a pensive expression. “...Then I guess Alan could visit.”

“That behemoth will cause a mess bumbling around in your dinky home,” Romeo argues.

“Hm… Towa, surely.”

“Have you lost your mind? Do you have flood insurance?!”

“Okay, Boss. Tell me– who is suitable for me to invite into my home?” You ask, stifling a laugh.

“No one,” Romeo answers with conviction. “So stop considering it, BB.”

You sigh. “You know this ongoing territorial Boss bit is totally gonna scare away any potential love interests for me in the future.”

“Good,” Romeo remarks impassively, narrowing his eyes at you. “Let there be no other distractions.”

“That's totally not fair. Unless you're planning on doing the charity work of being my boyfriend, I think I'll pass,” You retort, puffing your cheeks. “As a hopeless romantic, there's some things I won't sacrifice.”

“I will do it,” Romeo declares pointedly.

Your eyes widen and you lift your head from the back cushion of the couch, gawking in disbelief. “...What?”

The vice-captain's expression is serious. Romeo's words are not to be taken lightly.

“I said I'll do it, idiot,” Romeo insists. “But I will write up a list of guidelines you must follow consistently in regards to hygiene and skin care routines. And for outings together you will not give me any push back when I select your outfits, or how I choose to style your hair. And you must be prompt when I invite you out, no excuses.”

You gape at him in shock. “...You're serious?”

“Does it seem like I'm joking, nitwit?” Romeo snaps.

“Okay… what about, uh…” Your cheeks turn bright red, you can just feel it. “Intimacy? Physical touch? Is that really something you'd be open to…?”

“So long as you're not filthy, I will accomodate,” Romeo answers, like it's the simplest question in the world.

“Er… But is that something you want or just something you'd be willing to do just to keep me here?” You prod, brows tented.

Romeo gives you a prickly stare. “Obviously, my intention is to keep you here.”

Ouch.

There's a couple ways you could interpret that, if you think hard enough about it. But since it wasn't the answer you were looking for, it was difficult to not take personal. You weren't particularly interested in trading intimacy with someone who just wanted you around for business purposes. Even if it seemed like it could be fun, it would inevitably be a disaster in the long run. But it was Romeo, what did you expect?

Shifting your gaze off to the side, you speak in a near whisper “...I'm sorry, that's not really something I'm interested in. I'm gonna have to pass on this one. I like you and all, but I think this is seriously gonna blow if I get attached to you romantically, ya know?”

Romeo stares at you pensively. Even as you shoot up from your seat seconds later.

“I'm gonna head home now!” You announce, somehow managing to keep your voice steady. “You can call me whenever you need me in the morning though, since there's no classes tomorrow.”

Just as you wave Romeo off and turn heel, an arm snakes around your waist, pulling you backwards.

“W-Woah…!”

In the blink of an eye, you're sitting back on the couch, with your thighs overlapping Romeo's. The Sinostra vice-captain is gripping one of your wrists and his left arm is looped around your backside.

You stare up at him in surprise, and he's glaring daggers back at you. His pretty lips pressed into a thin line.

“I cannot believe you have the audacity to reject me,” Romeo says, his jaw clenched as if he's struggling to maintain his composure.

“Hey, reject?” You echo, your eyes wide like saucers. “T-That's not my intention.”

The vice-captain's eye twitches in vexation. “Not your intention? How else could I possibly interpret that?! Do you have any idea how lucky you should feel that the thought even crossed my mind, THD?”

“I do feel lucky,” You argue, your brow creasing. “I-I just don't think the way we feel about each other is the same.”

“If that's the case or not, what difference does it make? There is no one better suited for you, I can assure you that,” Romeo asserts.

Heat rises to your cheeks at the bold statement. You open your mouth, but find yourself grappling with your brain and heart to the point where nothing slips out.

“Is there someone else? Is that what this is about? One of the fools you rattled off earlier? Do tell me their name,” Romeo rants. Despite the vice-captain's voice not being as elevated as it usually is, his expression isn't any less venomous. “If you try to weasel your way out of it, I will find out eventually.”

“No…!” You nearly shout in disbelief. “C'mon, you're being completely unreasonable! How would there be? I'm with you during most of my free time!”

Romeo lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “On four separate occasions this week, you were spending time with other ghouls. And I've seen the way those Frostheim fools look at you!”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, Romeo it's not like that…!”

“Don't! Don't call me that…!” The vice-captain tears his gaze from yours, his eyes settling somewhere on your lap. “...Take some responsibility, BB! You're the one that started this shit with that idiotic kiss nonsense!”

Huh…?

“That's what this is about…?” You ask, your jaw slack as you stare at Romeo's conflicted expression.

As far as you could tell, the Sinostra vice-captain had been completely flippant about the interaction. Was that really the catalyst for his possessive behavior? Your attempt to mess with him?

“It infuriates me,” Romeo starts, his posture tense. “You had remnants of sweat on your face, and you looked as if you just rolled out of bed, putting no thought into your appearance whatsoever. Other than that moisturizer, there was no fragrance lingering on you.”

You give Romeo a tired look, wondering where he could possibly be going with this.

“...It infuriates me that I didn't hate it,” Romeo admits, his grip on your wrist tightening marginally as the confession leaves his mouth.

Oh…

“...You mean you like the way my natural skin smells?” You ask, eyeing the vice-captain curiously.

“Must I repeat myself in another language, fool?” Romeo snaps, his steely eyes darting up at you.

It wasn't that unusual to like the smell of someone's natural oils. But you suppose for someone as finicky about scents and hygiene as Romeo could be, it was probably pretty important to him.

A giggle slips past your lips involuntarily.

“And what about this is so funny…?!” Romeo snaps.

You smile at him, finding the beautiful ghoul in front of you particularly endearing right now. “That's just the best compliment I think I may ever receive from you. And it's super common. Science might say that it means you're attracted to my pheromones. You're so cute.”

“Cute?” Romeo repeats, looking at you like you've lost your mind. “I have been reduced to falling prey to primitive behavior that does nothing to serve me! There's nothing ‘cute’ about this, FFS!”

So, Romeo likes your smell so much that it's been making him act like a possessive basket case all week? That explanation didn't entirely track.

“Do you like me, Boss?” You ask, sporting a lopsided smile.

“Like? Who fucking knows,” Romeo grumbles, leaning back into the couch as his grip falls from your wrist.

“Well…” You look down at your legs that were still on top of his. “I gotta say, I don't think I would have ever thought you'd let me be on you like this. You want me to move?”

Romeo doesn't give you a verbal reply, but the arm around your waist stiffens.

“No, then?” You prod.

“You're not leaving. Not like that. Not now,” Romeo decides. The vice-captain looks at you like he's daring you to go against his orders.

“I won't go if you don't want me to,” You reassure.

Romeo must believe you because his arm relaxes slightly.

“...Hey,” You start. “If you're not sure how you feel, can I try something? Maybe it will help you determine your feelings. And then we can discuss the whole dating thing again.”

“...Try what?” Romeo asks, raising an eyebrow.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for a potential adverse reaction. “Okay, here me out. And feel free to throw me off for my brazen stupidity if you're against it…”

“Spit it out, idiot.”

“Okay, okay. Can I kiss you…?” You blurt out, wincing preemptively.

Romeo stares at you with an unreadable gaze, and your stomach flips with anticipation.

“...Fine.”

“Oh, for real?”

“Do it before I change my mind, BB,” Romeo demands.

“Oh, yes. Of course. So, uh… like before?” You meant the cheek kiss. Hopefully the vice-captain would catch on to save you the embarrassment of explaining.

Romeo clicks his tongue. “Do I have to hold your hand through everything? Just do it.”

Okay, cheek kiss to be safe. That shouldn't be too intimidating. You've kissed your friends and family members cheeks, nothing but a cinch!

You sit up and inch your face closer towards Romeo's. It doesn't help your nerves that he's staring at you expectantly. Has this guy ever been on the receiving end of a kiss before? Couldn't he at least close his staggeringly pretty eyes so your heart would stop pounding against your chest like a jackhammer?

Knowing how bothered Romeo would be if you chickened out now helps you regain your composure. You shut your eyes and close the distance, pressing your lips against his devastatingly plush cheek. After an appropriate length of time, you pull back and assess the damage.

Romeo shoots you an unimpressed look. “What? That's it?”

You twiddle your thumbs nervously, an awkward laugh spilling from your mouth. “Uh… what, you want me to do it again?”

“Yes! Would you like me to write it in crayon?” Romeo snaps, the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

“Okay, okay!” You impulsively reach for Romeo's gloved hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

The vice-captain shows no sign of protest at the gesture, so you proceed with the second kiss, this time landing your lips closer to his temple.

By the time you pull back, Romeo looks nothing short of impatient. “Are you so caught up in the role you played earlier that you forgot we aren't actually related? Is this supposed to entice me?”

You puff your cheeks, your face burning from his criticism. “You're such a turd! You really want me to kiss you for real?”

That's the only conclusion you could draw from the vice-captain's words. If your lips were even slightly chapped, or breath even a little off there would surely be hell to pay. You don't recall eating anything sinister.

You don't have time to make any further advances, nor does he grant you the courtesy of a verbal reply. The arm around your waist effortlessly draws you closer, to where you're sitting fully on the vice-captain's lap. Romeo pulls his hand from your grip, drawing it towards your shoulder.

You nearly gasp when you feel the wandering hand ghost over the expanse of your collar bone. “What are you–”

“Quiet,” Romeo interjects softly. His fuchsia eyes rake over you in admiration as his fingertips travel upwards towards your neck. You feel his thumb gently brush against the length of your throat, eventually tickling your jawline.

“Exactly as I pictured it,” Romeo murmurs vaguely. “...Don't wear this around anyone else.”

“...W-Well, to be fair I was already seen in this by countless people,” You argue, struggling to hold his gaze. If someone would have told you just hours before that the Sinostra vice-captain would be leering so suggestively at you right now, you'd surely laugh in their face.

Just what did you do to catch the attention of the most self-assured and vain man you'd ever met in your life?

“A severe lapse in judgment on my part. Don't anticipate it happening again,” Romeo retorts bitterly.

Without warning, the Sinostra vice-captain cups his hand against your neck and pulls you forward. Your eyes flutter shut unconsciously and the warmth of his lips reach yours.

In spite of the intense nervousness you felt just moments prior, the kiss has you melting on impact. Maybe it's the way his touch is so characteristically deliberate, yet delicate at the same time. You knew his lips were soft, it's obvious at just a glance. But it was clear to you now that having them pressed against your own is far more satisfying than you could have ever imagined.

You wrap your arms around Romeo's neck in your mindless search for a closer touch. A passing insecure thought that you're doing too much materializes, but is quickly quelled when you feel his lips part and reconnect with yours again. You feel a hand grip the side of your hip, his digits going in for a tight squeeze. Involuntarily, you whimper against Romeo's mouth.

The Sinostra vice-captain pulls back from the kiss, his face beautifully flushed. His right thumb strokes the contour of your jaw languidly as he surveys you with half-lidded eyes. “I've made up my mind.”

You feel completely malleable under his deceptively soft gaze. Drawing your arms back ever so slightly, you press him further. “...And?”

Romeo regards you voraciously, his lips curling into a smirk. “You're mine, (Y/N). It would be in your best interest to remember that.”

#tokyo debunker #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #romeo lucci/reader #fluff #romeo lucci #taiga hoshibami

206 notes · View notes

reachartwork · 2 months

Text

the process

a lot of people like to ask me about my process and how ai can be "creative" because they're under the impression that it's just kind of a big slot machine. you pull a lever and art uncontrollably comes out. well, let me show you my process

this is going to be a long thread tagged with #long post, blacklist that if you want to skip it.

so how it starts like most art is that i have an idea. in this case, earlier i made a post about witch-knights "surfing" on swords, so i'm going to try and make that - a witch-knight flying through the air atop one of her swords.

it starts with this picture.

i think this picture is dogshit so i discard basically all of it to try and find something closer to my original intent. there's a couple of uninteresting regenerations so it's clear i have to go back to the drawing board and teach the machine what it is i'm trying to do

let's start with a witch-knight on a broom. it's definitely not great but it gives us a better pose that i can work with.

i start by erasing the broom and replacing it with a skateboard - the machine understands skating better for what i need it to do.

there's a ton of small, subtle errors in this image and it overall looks like dogshit but the most important part right now is blocking and the overall pose structure - i need her "surfing" a large, lengthwise object, in the sky. i start by erasing pieces of the skateboard

now we have a sword, which is good. but the sword itself looks... bad. i'll spare you the abortive attempts at selective regeneration of the sword and just show you what happened when i rolled it back a couple of times from this pose and let it regen entirely.

again, tons of small little shitty errors, but this is something i can work with. i do another regen for a less shitty sword. her boob armor gets replaced with, like, generic scale mail.

this image has a great sword and decent pose but like... everything else is kind of futzy and i dont like it. instead of trying to pick and choose i just throw it back into the oven for a second. much better! but now she's going to cut herself on the sword, oh no!

again, i'll save you the agonizing thirty minutes of trying to get it to understand where the foot should go. unlike before i didn't really have a choice except to muscle through. there! now she's surfing safely :)

so it's done, right? well, i mean, i could post this. and it would probably do okay. but *i'm* not satisfied with it. there's stiffness. dozens of minor errors. the eyes look weird when you zoom in. let's start by fixing her hat, and then maybe her hands?

but she's missing fingers on her left hand so let's go ahead and fix that too. and i don't really like the tip of her sword and the ocean looks really flat and boring. so, VERY CAREFULLY, i have to etch out the parts of the sword and her body i have to keep, and also write an entirely new prompt to tell it "i want an ocean w/ rolling waves please :)"

this is better but not great. i try again - serendipitously, it makes this really cool variant with a shadow over the water, but i know working with that will take more wrangling so i'm considering it an evolutionary dead end and discarding it for now.

i proceed to spend 30 minutes trying to make the ocean look better but it's really not working imo. i'm gonna go back to the shadow version and see how that works

i'll spare you the other 8 minutes - i'm satisfied with the following picture. the sword isn't *perfectly* straight, her eyes aren't perfectly textured, the scale mail is... weird, in texture, but anything else would be greasing the wheel and i think beyond the machine's ability to do fine detail.

i've also attached the starting picture for comparison - it has better, "higher quality" clouds and ocean but i personally cared more about the pose and the sword surfing - the background is mostly tangential. could i get back ocean and clouds of that quality with another two hours of painstakingly cutting and re-generating bits of the background without destroying any of my existing work on the pose? probably. but i don't want to.

total time spent on this piece from start to finish was one hour and twenty one minutes. and now you know!

#art #ai art #long post

208 notes · View notes

scourgeofmyownbrain · 3 months

Text

Ladies and Gentlemen, Bitches and Bastards, Witches and Wizards, Mothers and Fuckers. Esteemed robot enjoyers, I present to you a semi-accurate height comparison of Bumblebee across the multiverse (as of July 2024). This really helps visualize the truly staggering differences between universes, at least height-wise. Also, three of these characters are Canonically the Same Guy; guess which ones.

I spent way too much time on the chart in the back it's not even funny. I will probably make more height charts for more TF characters and universes in the future. Don't expect it soon though, because when I make these, I am fueled by pure I-Got-Bored-At-Work-And-I-Have-Decided-To-Fool-Around-With-Robot-PNGs, and that fuel supply is inconsistent at best.

Hey Fun Fact, Did you know that Generation 1 Optimus Prime is around 19 Feet Tall? Bet some of you already knew that. I have no ulterior motives for bringing this fact up, what are you talking about.

My height explanations are below the cut, because you couldn't shut me up if you tried.

In an order:

Gen 1 - ~10 feet (the wiki says greater than 3 meters so I rounded up to the first whole number because round)

Netflix Cybertron Trilogy - ~10 feet (He looks identical to Gen 1 so... the reason his photo looks weird is because I couldn't find a good full body photo with him standing straight up facing the camera so I put two images together to make the worst looking photoshop job you have ever seen)

Earth Spark - 10 feet (There is no confirmed height yet but using a screen shot of him standing in front of a barn door I was able to make a reasonable guess.)

Animated - 12 feet (I have no genuine source for this, I think this info is just someone's guesstimate, but it seems reasonable. He's a tiny two door mini car, how big could he be)

New Live Action - 15 feet (The wiki hath declared. Also do we have a name for this universe because we need one I don't want to keep saying like 6 words to differentiate this one from bayverse)

Bayverse V1 - 16 feet (This is like the first 3 movies minimum, I don't remember when he hits his growth spurt. also wiki my love)

Cyberverse - 18 feet (I'm gonna be honest, the only info we have is from a really shitty screen shot of a magazine. SO if any one has a copy of this book from the video below, a high quality scan would be greatly appreciated and I will kiss the ground you walk upon. Yes I found the video where the screen shot comes from leave me alone)

Bayverse V2 - 18 feet (movie 4-5 I can't remember which one, I'm not re-looking this up. I fucking love the bayverse tho, this is the only universe with concrete and consistent this-character-is-this-height info)

Aligned Cont. WF/FOC - 20 feet (video game info screens you god send, kiss me sweetly)

Aligned Cont. TFP/RID15 - 21 feet (I do not know exactly where these numbers were found, but I fully fucking believe them. Just by looking at these characters on the show I can verify these numbers in my mind. They made specifically this universe to be full of freakishly tall robots for some fucking reason.)

And for any one who doesn't know, the three tallest are the same guy. Like the 20 feet tall one and the 21 feet tall ones, same guy. The ones in three wildly different art styles and designs. Let that sink in...

I fucking hate the aligned continuity why is that one my favorite.

273 notes · View notes

junkissed · 6 months

Text

late night talking

member — minghao x f reader genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ? word count — 2.1k synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am. warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁

you're ugly when you're drunk.

“hao?”

your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.

he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.

he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.

“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.

“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words.

you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.

he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.

“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.

distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not.

he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times.

“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.

“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now.

you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.

you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being.

you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.

you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.

if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it.

of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself.

of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.

the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.

you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.

but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.

“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”

your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.

“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him.

“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.

“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.

he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”

“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”

“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”

“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.

“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”

“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”

he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”

“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”

“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.

you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.

“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.

he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.

“why are you like this to me?”

but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”

you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”

for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”

“i don't deserve it.”

he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”

“you don't deserve me.”

he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”

“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”

he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”

you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply.

“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.

your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.

he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest.

every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.

he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.

you're cute when you're drunk.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

taglist | @wonderfulshinee @noniestars @just-here-to-read-01 @wonuziex @enhacolor @yourfavoritefreakyhan @dkakapizzaboy @skzzooyaaa @zozojella @rainyjeno @jwnghyuns @uwuheeseungie @miriamxsworld @synthetickitsune @simeonswhore @junhour @foxdaisy @limesorbets @98-0603 @fairybinie @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @mingminghao @ifuckcheol @jeanjacketjesus @luvwonyy @tinkerbell460 @novalpha @ronnie97b @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @usari @hyneyedfiz @honestlydooetree @ktackore @k-drama-adict @valentxi @aaniag @aaasia111 @hyneyedfiz @saladgirl @crvs4vldtn @seungkw1 @georyanisvz @sashaaahh

strikethrough means your blog cannot be tagged, please check your visibility settings and make sure they are off so i can tag you properly!

if you want to be notified when i post a new fic, you can join my taglist here!

#kvanity #kflixnet #k-labels #caratlibrary #[📌] — june.writes #minghao angst #minghao fanfic #the8 fanfic #minghao x reader #minghao imagines #minghao scenarios #the8 imagines #the8 scenarios #the8 x reader #svt fanfic #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios

315 notes · View notes

hobiespick · 4 months

Text

Sam Winchester x reader headcanons

a/n: if you thought I only made shitty Sam headcanons, WRONG‼️ cuz I also made a shitty moodboard (i'm extra like that yeehaw)

- Takes notice of the books you read, that is if you don't give him recomendations bc if you do that boy has a whole ass notepad and is a fast writter so try him.

- "Y/n would like this" "Y/n would probably know" "Y/n was right"- Dean gets seriously tired and makes jokes about how often Sam talks about you

- you think he's joking untill Sam isn't glaring daggers at him- but instead he starts blushing and straching the back of his head like a damn schoolboy.

- reads your body language very well- "What's wrong?" Sam asks putting all of his attention onto you. "Nothing" You shrug it off (you're not slick at all). "Bull." Sam chides still looking at you hoping you'll tell him.

-literally the happiest when you sigh defeated and tell him what's wrong but shakes it off to actually listen to you.

- uses the soft tone he talks to victims with on you- not because he thinks you're weak or fragile

- you're a badass and he knows it

- you complimented him once on it (his voice) saying he is good at comforting and how no wonder people open up that easily when he talks like THAT to them.

- "Miss, when was your neighbour killed?" All puppy eyes furrowed eyebrows and soft tone almost sticking his chin to his chest + that fake ass FBI badge, You: "Yes-"

- Sam probably met Jess through the art courses he took I'm sobbing-

- I watched that episode and I had no idea (I'm so happy google exists) what he was talking about and I'm damn art student jesus christ

- "It's good for meeting girls." So good- SHHSAJGSS I'M FOAMING AT THE MOUTH SAM PLEASE

- Artsy Sam save me, Please Artsy Sam

- So touch starved, hug this man PLEASE

- If you're an artist yourself and draw, sketch, paint whatever, he'll want to see it

- even teach him some stuff, LAWD

- researches stuff abt you when he can't get you out of his head- for example : the meaning of your name, your zodiac sign, which celebrity you share your bday with, etc (he can't help it)

- reads banned literature (isn't he so dreamy? 💞)

- his favourite movie is the notebook or pride and prejudice (and book!) because I said so

- Unconciously mirros your movements or tics, for example if you rub your nose with your wrist, he starts doing it too (it's contagious)

- Dean points it out but Sam wasn't raised to be fair so he justifies himself by saying he had that tic first and YOU are the one who started mimmicking him

- it's an ongoing war for some time but beacuse the system's corrupt the bastard lawboy Sam wins

- you two share an interest? HE IS SO HAPPY

- oh no! His t shirt accidentally made it's way into your bag! How did that happen? (It's him officer, that is the loverboy take him away)

- Alexa/google play good old fashioned loverboy by queen

- really likes earthy smells (freshly cut grass, pine trees and so on)

- Dean when he says your instead of you're

- love language is definetly quality time and touch

a/n: it took alot of self encouragement to post this so feedback would be very much appreciated<3! And for every person who voted "YEAHHH" on the poll, I hope your pillow is cold tonight 💞🫶

#sam winchester x reader #spn #spnfandom #supernatural headcanons #supernatural fandom #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #jared padalecki #jensen ackles

268 notes · View notes

missmonsters2 · 1 year

Text

Your Touch is My Shelter

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: 6 months later, Natasha returns from the dead. It's a tightly kept secret as it's unknown how she returned, but everyone claws and fights about who will keep watch over her like savages. You're far down the list of people who should protect her, but you find yourself unable to leave her be.

Warnings/Tags: hurt/comfort. undisclosed trauma. physical and mental signs of trauma. angst. somber assisted bath time. sad hair braiding. emphasis on hurt AND comfort.

Note: This takes place after endgame :-) the dates might be inaccurate idk i did my best 🥲 ha-ha enjoy 👁️👁️

Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Count: 5.2k

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You heard the news through Bruce.

Well, it was through Bruce telling Pepper, and you just happened to be at the coffee machine getting shitty coffee. The quality drastically dropped since Tony was gone, and you've been putting off telling Pepper she needed to literally buy anything else.

You didn't really know how long was the appropriate time for someone to grieve before you could ask if they could buy another brand of coffee.

Tony was gone.

A part of you thinks you keep putting off telling Pepper because then you'd have to face—really face—he was gone.

Steve was gone.

What did it matter, really, in the grand scheme of things? Coffee was just coffee, and it'd probably taste fine if you just put a shitload of sugar and creamer in it.

Vision was gone.

Honestly, you only really noticed because it was the same brand as whatever was stocked up at the Avengers Compound.

Natasha was gone.

But perhaps the coffee always tasted bad at the Compound and it had nothing to do with Tony being gone. Natasha used to bring coffee into the office most days for people, and Clint filled in the other days.

Maybe Tony Stark just liked shitty coffee, and you were only now just noticing it.

Natasha was back.

Your hand faltered at the coffee machine, spilling a little of it on your hand, and the burn stung immediately.

"Are you okay?" Bruce asked as he noticed you inhale a sharp breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine." You smiled awkwardly at him before looking at Pepper. "Morgan's fine. She just has the flu and her fever's gone down. Make sure she gets plenty of rest and fluids. I'm going to set up a humidifier for her and help her settle into bed with a movie and wait for her to fall asleep before I head out."

Pepper let out a heavy breath, putting her hand over her chest in relief. "Oh, perfect. Thank you so much for coming suddenly. I just—Morgan doesn't really like going to the hospital, and suddenly she started throwing up and having a fever—"

"It's fine, Pepper," you waved off her ramblings after you wiped what you spilled on the counter. "You can always call me if you need me."

"Seriously, I think I might just employ you full-time as a live-in doctor if you say that," Pepper joked, and you laughed.

"I am already your live-in doctor, just for one of your research labs. instead."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You don't think about Natasha—at least, you try not to.

You heard things here and there about it through Pepper. Apparently, she's being held in a government facility similar to The Raft, detained like some criminal they needed to study instead of the war hero who sacrificed everything to save the world.

It made you sick to your stomach.

But you hear that Clint, Bruce, and Nick Fury have been fighting to get custody of her, so you don't think about it. There were people who knew Natasha far better than you did and were way closer to her than you were.

She was in good hands.

So, you continue on with your daily routine to pass your monotonous days, unaware you're waiting for some kind of update.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The next time you heard about Natasha Romanoff, it was Clint and Bruce cornering you at your lab.

"What?" You panicked, tensing up. "Why me?"

"You're the only person Natasha ever sought out to treat her," Clint answered, and you felt even more lost at the fact he knew. "Natasha allows medical professionals onsite to help her, but there were times she left to go see you. That has to mean something."

But, of course, he knew. He was Natasha's...best friend. And Clint was an incredibly nosy person, even if Natasha didn't tell him.

"I've only treated her a handful of times—literally only five times. I don't know her that well," you shook your head, trying to walk around them. "I didn't even know she had a sister until you told me."

"Please," Clint begged. "I'm fighting to get her out, and the doctors they have looking after her are shady and callous with her. I can only visit her with Nick's influence, but it's not enough to get her out of there."

"And what do you suppose I can do?"

"You're a renowned cellular biologist," Bruce cut in. "If they're holding her for research, we want someone on our side who will at least treat her like a human being. The faster we get answers, the faster we can get her out."

"Please," Clint begged again. "Natasha needs help. She's...different. And it's only going to get worse if she remains in there. She's not talking, and they won't let her go until they can find some answers."

It felt wrong.

You don't want to study Natasha Romanoff like an animal. Despite being a scientist with an inquisitive mind, you don't care about how she returned.

But it sounded like Natasha would be researched whether you liked it or not. And if that was the case, you do wonder how the other doctors may be treating her.

"Fine, we're going first thing in the morning," you gritted out, unable to block out the handful of memories of times you've treated her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2012

"Oo, that looks painful," you hissed in sympathy as a redhead with a busted lip and nasty gash on her temple entered the med bay.

There was a snort that sounded like a half-grunt. "It looks worse than it feels. I hope I'm not intruding, but Tony said I should see you to be treated."

"Natasha, right?" You asked slowly, gesturing to a seat for her to take as you grabbed some medical supplies.

"Yes," Natasha replied, equally slow with caution.

"Tony talks about you a lot," you tried to reassure her of whatever paranoia she might have. It probably didn't help that Natasha was still in her catsuit and probably would've preferred to be called by her alias.

"Well, don't believe everything he says," Natasha gives a light but somewhat tight smile.

"Oh, so you aren't a unique woman with high intellect, sneaky, and rightfully smug?" You teased, and it was flattering that you could make a superhero laugh.

You began treating Natasha's wound carefully.

"You're pretty good at this, doc," Natasha commented as you blew on her brow, even if it didn't sting. "You're pretty gentle. Must be why Tony says you're his personal doctor."

You chuckled. "I'm actually a cellular biologist. Tony is funding my research and pretty much my lifestyle. With the money he's paying me, he can come crying about his boo-boos anytime. Although, he doesn't really come to me for serious stuff. It's usually if he has something ridiculous like a papercut."

"But you can treat wounds and other medical things?"

"I was on my way to becoming a medical doctor before I decided to go into research instead."

"Huh," Natasha hummed, raising her brow at you. "Smart cookie."

"I'd like to think so," you finished cleaning Natasha's wound and putting a bandaid over it. "Feel free to come see me if you need any other basic medical aid. For a pretty redhead, it's free of charge."

"And if I come back blonde?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," you smiled, and Natasha smirked back at you.

"Smart and funny. Tony has it too good."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

April 2014

"This is the worst bandage job I've ever seen. Who did you go to see for this? A grocery clerk?"

Natasha grunted. "Hi, to you too, doc."

You looked at Natasha, noticing how different her hair is now. But it's been about two years since you have seen her. Despite your offer for her to come to you anytime she needed help, she never did. Or she rarely did, you supposed.

You could only deduce that Natasha was used to caring for her wounds on her own. That, or she didn't trust you.

"Alright, let's go to my office," you sighed.

"Am I interrupting?"

"Not really, kind of hit a brick wall."

"Oh, me too."

You looked over at Natasha, who had a straight face, but you noticed the bruise on her temple outside the obvious gun wound on her shoulder.

You pursed your lips. "Will you hate me if I laugh?"

"Not at all. On the contrary, I may like you less if you don't."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2015

"You know, when I told you that you could come for me for basic medical aid, I feel like you didn't understand the meaning of basic."

"Is this too complicated for you?"

"No."

"Then am I unwelcomed?"

You pursed your lips at the redhead, who stared at you with a tiny upward quirk on her lip. "No," you sighed. "Just not sure why you'd want to see me for such serious wounds. There are other more experienced doctors."

You lift Natasha's shirt up, looking at the long gash on the side of her stomach. "We're gonna need to stitch this up. I've been doing research with Dr. Cho, and we have a new machine that can help with cell tissue generation. It would be faster than me manually stitching—"

"It's fine," Natasha declined. "I'd prefer if you manually did it."

You frown lightly at the fact but relent to the redhead's wishes. Another year passes, and Natasha's hair has changed again.

You worked silently on cleaning Natasha's wound, and she also declined the anesthetic. You focus on stitching up the wound with precision and care.

"I like to go to you for some things because your touch is gentle," Natasha said quietly, but it felt so loud in the silent room. "It makes me feel human when I can feel your touch."

You looked over at her face briefly, but Natasha wasn't looking at you. You don't take any deeper meaning into it. She's someone who's probably felt dehumanized most of her life. The machines that can heal her twice as fast would be fine for life-threatening injuries, but it probably all feels clinical.

You looked back down at the stitch. "Well, as long as you're a redhead, it's free of charge."

"Don't kid yourself, I would look perfect blonde."

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

September 2016

"What are you doing here?" You hissed as you pulled Natasha in quickly, peering outside before shutting the door.

"Why? Am I unwelcomed now?" Natasha's tone sounded a little hurt, and you scan her body. She didn't seem to be bleeding anywhere that required immediate attention, but you did notice crusted blood at the edge of her nostrils.

"No, but you could get caught here," you shook your head at her. "They're looking for you and the rest of team cap everywhere."

Natasha shrugged. "I highly doubt Tony has your place under surveillance. We don't meet enough for anyone to consider looking for me through you."

You sighed, not sure what to feel about the statement. "I suppose. I don't work for Tony anymore, anyway."

Natasha's brows furrowed.

"Why?"

"I don't agree with what he's doing."

"So you're on Steve's side?"

"No, I think Steve was obstinate too. They're both stupid. Men are stupid."

Natasha laughed before wincing as she held her nose.

"What happened?" You brought her over to your couch before finding your first aid kit.

"I broke my nose," Natasha shrugged. "Can you believe breaking my nose saved millions of girls?"

"With you? Yes." You smirked as you tilted her head to look at the injury closer. "Lucky you. Looks like you don't need surgery. Do you always come here immediately after you save the world?"

"Yep."

"Couldn't even clean your nose before you did?"

"And deprive you of giving me care? I wouldn't dare."

You snorted, carefully cleaning the blood in and around her nose. It was silent again before Natasha spoke up.

"So, what happened with your research stuff now that Tony's not sponsoring your work?"

"Pepper is funding it, even though she knows I won't share anything with Stark Industries at the moment. She doesn't want me to sell my research or provide any data to other companies."

"Smart cookie."

"And a really hot blonde."

"This feels targeted. It's like you know I might dye my hair blonde soon."

"You're still a redhead; I have no idea what you mean. I like your hair, though. Braids look good on you."

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

June 2018

Natasha showed up at your front step, holding her rib. There's a look of genuine relief at seeing you.

"You're still here," her voice sounds empty and hollow. "You're still here."

You pulled her inside gently. You're still in shock yourself. You were on a walk when people started disappearing left and right. The sheer panic on the streets was chaos as you were dialing Pepper frantically, almost crying when she picked up the phone. Then there were actual tears when you called other people in your life, and half of them didn't pick up...and they weren't going to.

"I'm here," you swallowed. "What happened to your rib?"

"I don't know." Natasha looked so lost. There was the look of failure and self-blame all over her face.

"Does it hurt?"

"I don't know."

You grasp her wrist, carefully moving her hand away from her rib before gently putting your fingertips against them. Your fingers trail up, down, and around.

Suddenly, Natasha broke into tears.

"Does it hurt?" You asked, panicked.

"You're still here," was all Natasha choked through her tears.

You didn't know what to do other than treat her wounds more gently than ever before while reassuring her you hadn't disappeared. You were one of the many people on this planet still here. And when she was better, she'd get the rest of them back.

It was a long and exhausting night, and Natasha fell asleep in your bed, and you made sure she was comfortable before leaving to sleep on the couch.

Natasha's hair has changed again.

"You look good blonde."

That was the last time you saw her.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Natasha's hair has changed again. She's gone back to being a redhead with blonde tips. Her hair was a mess, barely brushed, and looked knotted.

The room was big and had padded walls, a singular bed in one corner, and a toilet and sink in another. There were lights in parts of the cell but also areas of darkness. It looked like a fucking prison cell.

You were looking through an unbreakable glass window, the middle holding up a microphone you assumed was linked to the speaker in the room.

Natasha stood in the middle of the room under the light in a hospital gown falling off her shoulder. Her hands were covered in scars, and her lips were so chapped, you were sure they'd split even if Natasha breathed the wrong way.

Natasha was only a few feet away from you, but it felt like she was a million miles away.

They let you see her alone under the guise of privacy as you saw her.

You felt you weren't supposed to see this—see her like this.

A sense of dread filled you at the blank expression on Natasha's face at what she'd gone through—what she was still going through.

She was a hero, and this was how they were treating her? This was someone who had fought wars repeatedly for this stupid country and the rest of the world, and they had her locked up like a mental ward patient from the 1600s.

You thought the government had gotten better. There were reforms and peace after people came back from the snap. This wasn't how they were supposed to treat someone who'd given up their life to ensure everyone got theirs.

It shouldn't matter that she came back; she had still given it up in the first place for them.

Natasha didn't even seem to recognize you through the glass as you stepped closer to the microphone. She looked past you as if she could tell the exit was somewhere behind you.

"Natasha?" You said into the mic, and it bellowed into the room.

Nothing.

"Nat?"

Natasha's eyes were listless. She was a broken, empty shell that seemed more like an animated corpse than actually being alive.

You swallowed, trying one more time. "You're still a redhead. Looks like it's still free of charge."

Natasha's eyes flickered this time, her head tilts towards you as she blinked with focus. It was just a spark, but it was something, and relief spreads through you.

"Not completely." You could barely hear her voice, but it was coarse. Cold.

There should've been a joke about some kind of discount, but Natasha didn't make it. You were speechless.

You didn't know what to say. Don't worry, you're trapped in here, but I'm going to help with the research, and hopefully, we'll get you out soon?

It was like prolonging a death sentence. You were horrified.

"Just—wait for me," the words flew out of your mouth so fast but you meant them with every ounce of your being. "You're gonna go home with me today."

Natasha's eyes sparked at the words but just as quick as you saw it, they died out, falling back into listlessness. She turned, stepping into a darkened corner away from your view and prying eyes of the cameras as she said, "No, I'm not."

You realized she's probably spent weeks watching Clint, Bruce, and Fury try to get her out unsuccessfully.

The resignation made something lurch in your throat and eyes sting with desperation and rage.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"So, we can send you a contract—"

"You're going to release her to my custody," you cut off some government official. He was old, wearing some kind of toupee that was slicked back to hide his balding head.

He looked at you in disbelief, almost laughing like you were some stupid, naive young girl.

He looks at Clint and Bruce, who are also just looking at you in shock.

"As I've told your friends and Nick Fury, this is out of their hands. The Accords are still intact as of right now, therefore—"

"I don't care about the Accords. You will release her into my care. I'm more than qualified and I have the resources to find the inane answers you're looking for while rehabilitating Agent Romanoff," you cut him off again, able to tell that it was irking him.

"That won't be necessary as you can see we have the resources here," the government official raised his brow at you.

"Your resources can't compete with Stark's resources."

It was no secret that Tony had left a very sizable fortune to you in his will, outside of everything he gave to Pepper and Morgan. And it was also no secret how close you were with the surviving Starks.

"Doctor," the government official sighed, obviously making it sound like you were a nuisance. "If you're not here to join our research team, I suggest you go on your way and remember the NDA you signed."

You glared at him even more. "I'm not leaving without Agent Romanoff. You will hand her over to me, or you will regret it."

"And exactly how will I regret it?" The government official looked smug, and you smirked back at him.

"I'm still in talks with the government regarding my research, and I will pull out and sell that information outside of this country as I'm free to do so. I know Dr. Cho is in talks between the US and South Korea about her nano-technology. One word from me, and America can fall behind on those advancements as well." You pulled out your cell phone in a threatening manner. "Pepper and I will pull out all of our money from the very same banks and company investments that you're supporting and make you watch as they collapse one after another."

"You'd ruin our entire economy—our country by doing so!" The official was red in the face. "You'd put your entire country into chaos?" He sneered at you.

"I will if you don't give me Agent Romanoff!" You sneered back at him. "It's not like you won't eventually get your research and answers if she's in my custody. It works in both our favor."

The official is staring at you, glaring and seething.

"I imagine your colleagues and superiors will pin the blame on you if this entire economy and country goes into ruin because if I have to do that, I will say that it's the government's fault. The NDA said I can't specifically talk about Natasha and this place, which I won't. But I'm sure some journalist will discover the truth and plaster all over the news what you're doing to a war hero," your voice was so vindictive; you're not sure if you've ever been so cold before.

"So," your voice was flat, devoid of emotion now. "What will it be?"

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It was agreed that Natasha would stay in a cabin that Pepper owned out in the countryside. You were to provide monthly updates on your research and rehabilitation progress. And while this was in headway, neither you nor Natasha was free to leave the country or this planet.

Clint initially wanted you and Natasha to stay with him and his family, but you declined. You pointed out that it would be hard for him and his family—his children, especially—to see Natasha like this.

Pepper had everything prepared while you gingerly collected Natasha.

"We're going home, Natasha," you said softly, shrugging off your jacket to wrap around her shoulders. But Natasha still didn't react, even if she let you take her hand and drag her out of the facility.

During the car ride, you mentally planned what you needed to do. Natasha needed to eat, take a bath, and rest.

"Have you eaten yet?" You asked the redhead, sitting stoically in the car, straight as a rod.

There was no answer. Natasha was peering out the windshield, her hands perfectly on both thighs. Clint looked worried as he looked at you.

"Natasha?" You gently placed her hand over hers. You could feel the bumps of the white scars over her hand. A part of you is too frightened to ask where she got these from.

Natasha looked down at your hand over hers before looking at you. Her eyes were so empty. Such a dull green like dying grass.

"Did you eat?"

Natasha nodded once before looking back outside the windshield.

You looked at Clint, trying to give him a reassuring smile, but deep down, you were afraid you had no idea what the fuck you were doing.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

"Pepper says you've been here before, but let me know if you need help finding anything," you brought her into the house where Natasha just stood, looking at nothing in particular.

"Um," you took a shaky breath. "How about a bath? I'm sure it'll be good to get the grime and stale air off of you."

Natasha didn't move on her own, so you began to lead her up the stairs to the bathroom.

It was a detached tub near the high window to get plenty of sunlight without anyone being able to peer in.

"I'll just get this started for you," you offered. Turning on the tap and pouring in a liquid that formed into bubbles. "Just make sure to check the temperature and adjust. Pepper says that sometimes that faucet can be a little finicky."

You turned to Natasha, who stood there, staring at the wall. She was unmoving, making no gesture if she was waiting for you to get out or to start undressing.

"Do you, um, need help?" You asked, but there was no answer.

Maybe it would wake her up a little once she was in the water.

"I'm—" you took a long breath in. "I'm gonna help you undress and get into the tub. If you get uncomfortable at any point, let me know and I can stop or do something else."

It wasn't like you've never seen a naked body before. You've seen plenty both in your sex life and field of work. You've even seen parts of Natasha's body when you've treated her. You just never thought you'd see Natasha fully naked.

You slid your jacket off her shoulders, letting out a puff of breath. You looked past her as you undid the string of her hospital gown. You looked up when you slid down her underwear before guiding her towards the tub. Your gentle guiding seemed to spark Natasha into mechanically climbing into it herself the rest of the way.

"Okay, cool. Um," you stuttered. "I'm sure you've been through a lot. Once you're done, we can get you into bed and if you're hungry later, I can make you something."

You were getting used to the lack of answers, but it didn't make your stomach drop any less. "Just let me know if you need anything."

You don't wait for a response this time, leaving without shutting the door fully. Down the hall, you leaned against the wall, swallowing harshly.

It feels like you brought a lifeless shell home. A part of you wonders if Natasha really did return or if this was just some lifeless doll.

You didn't want to think about it anymore, so you pushed yourself off the wall and into a bedroom with a suitcase and unzipped it open to grab some clothes.

When you were heading back, you heard the water still running and frowned.

"Natasha?" You called as you opened the door. The tub was overfilling, and you rushed to turn off the faucet, trying to not slip.

Natasha was sitting how you left her, staring ahead at the running water but not really looking at it.

You sighed, relieved that the bathroom floor was designed with wood and curved so that any water would naturally run towards a drain in the floor.

You go to check the temperature of the water and find that while it was initially fine when you turned it on, Natasha hadn't attempted to adjust it, and the finicky faucet ran nearly scalding water.

"Jesus, Natasha, you're going to hurt yourself," you yelped. You braced through it and stuck your hand in to drain the tub halfway.

You inwardly sighed, knowing you would have to help Natasha through the entire process. You began to refill the tub, monitoring the temperature and shut it off when it was filled adequately.

"I'm going to help wash you if that's okay," you muttered. "Just let me know if you prefer to do it yourself at any point."

You grabbed a nearby stool and sat on it before grabbing the loofa. You began with Natasha's shoulders and arms, trying to wash parts of her that were easy to access.

Natasha tensed as you washed her, so you tried to be more slow and careful.

"It's just me," you said softly, trying to reassure the redhead. "I've always taken care of you."

Natasha said nothing, but her shoulders relaxed slightly as you continued. There wasn't much dirt on her, but the stale air that was surrounding her began to fade away.

Her knees were propped up, folded to her chest, and you washed down her thighs and legs, trying to not think of anything too much as you did it. You tried not to think about the scars on her hands and feet.

Readjusting your stool, you went to sit behind her. You used a cup to wet Natasha's hair, trying to detangle some of it gently first. It was then you discovered a shaven spot in the back of her head, where there was a large scar. You realized that was where Natasha's head hit the ground when she—

You swallowed, trying to suppress the anger that they shaved her head to get a look at something so private.

You squeezed a considerable amount of shampoo in your hands and gently rubbed it into her scalp. Natasha tensed at first before your fingers massaging her scalp made her relax, her body leaning back against the tub and her head into your hands.

It was quiet as you did this. You shampooed her hair twice before slathering it up in conditioner and finally getting out the rest of the knots. You drained the tub, grabbing the shower head to rinse her down once more before you grabbed a towel and helped her out.

You helped put a bathrobe around her to help dry her as you didn't think you had the gall to fully dry every part of her by hand. Grabbing her clothes, you led her to her bedroom, setting her down on the bed.

Natasha sat silently as you towel-dried her hair with gentle hands. Her eyes fell closed as you began to blow dry it. Your soft fingers tousling her hair.

So delicate.

When it was dry, you set the blow dryer aside.

"Hm, your hair is pretty sensitive and might be for the next week. It might be better to braid it so it doesn't tangle and break when you're sleeping," you commented, mostly to yourself.

You took sections of her hair, delicately beginning to put her hair into a french braid.

"You've always had beautiful hair, red or blonde," you complimented Natasha as you finished. You moved to sit in front of her to check if you did okay from the front. There wasn't a response, but Natasha opened her eyes. They focused on you, looking at you as they traced over the features of your face. She was studying you apprehensively.

Natasha lifted a hand, slowly reaching up as her fingers brushed the side of your face. It felt bumpy from the scars, but it made the back of your throat burn.

"Am I really here?" Natasha mumbled as she then traced your cheek before your lips. "Am I really here with you?"

Your eyes were burning now. You couldn't even answer right away because you were afraid your lips would start trembling.

You lifted your hand, hesitating at first, before you held her hand against your face. "Yeah, you're really here."

The edges of Natasha's eyes began to brim with tears.

"When I jumped, I didn't die right away," Natasha whispered. "There was a feeling that something bad was going to happen. It didn't get me yet, but it was going to."

You couldn't help the tears that began to fall over the edge of your eyes when they overfilled.

"Something bad happened to me," Natasha's lip trembled. "It's still happening to me."

You gripped her hand tighter unintentionally, but it was like it grounded Natasha.

"I was scared," Natasha admitted. "I was scared that even if you came to me, it wouldn't go away."

Then, Natasha grabbed your hand and placed it against her cheek. It was still warm from the bath and blow dryer.

"But I can feel your touch," Natasha sighed like it was a relief. "It's gentle and I feel human. I'm scared I'm not really here."

"You are."

Your throat felt clogged with raw emotions, and you didn't know what to do with it. You've only seen Natasha a handful of times, and maybe it's because the more you do, the more emotionally charged you both feel.

"You're really here," you told Natasha, using your thumb to caress her cheek. You didn't know what else to say.

All you can do is offer her shelter under your touch.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #black widow x reader #black widow imagine #natasha romanov imagine #natasha romanov x reader #avengers imagine #natasha romanoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha x you #mm: my fics

2K notes · View notes

leonardcohenofficial · 1 year

Text

vinyl + turntable basic info / general tips

while i am by no means a real audiophile or vinyl expert here are some tips that have worked for me over my almost two decades of collecting!

turntables + speakers

do not buy suitcase players. i cannot overstate this enough. do not buy suitcase players. the all-in-one players are generally cheaper, but there isn't enough support from the platter because they are smaller than 12 inch LPs. this can lead to shitty sound quality, the needle can fall out of the groove, and you can actually break your records. save up and pay a little more and get a proper turntable

there is a lot of debate about belt vs. direct drive turntables (belt drive turntables use a belt to spin the turntable while direct drive turntables have the motor directly under the platter) and which is better. very generally speaking if you want better sound quality, belt drive is the way to go; if you want a player that's a little easier to use that's also a little more durable, direct drive is a better option (most DJ turntables are also direct drive, as a side note)

i currently have three turntables and they are all audio-technica, which is a well respected brand (especially for beginners)—i have an AT-LP60X ($149) which is a belt driven player, as well as two AT-LP120XUSB ($349 each) which i use for practicing DJing/selecting. i also have a stanton M.203 mixer (insane to me that it's listed for $350 on amazon, i paid eighty bucks for mine on ebay), audio-technica ATH-M20x headphones (they were a gift but are listed for $49 on amazon) and a set of edifier R1280DB bluetooth speakers ($149). the speakers are hooked up directly into my mixer, but because both the speakers and the AT-LP60X are bluetooth, i can also play records on that turntable too

change your needle! general rule of thumb is to replace your needle every thousand hours of listening; for the average person if you change it once a year you should be good, i'm on the cautious side and change them every six months

i really like my setup; it's on the cheaper side when it comes to "grownup" gear but true audiophiles would probably scoff at my basics. regardless of what you end up getting, a decent turntable that doesn't have the speakers built in that fits within your budget and a good set of speaker or headphones is all you need

buying records

any time that you can, i recommend buying vinyl directly from the artist! whether it's through bandcamp their website or at a show i think it's better to buy direct when you can (and often times it's cheaper than buying through a third party)

when you can, buy local. not only is it good to support independently owned shops, developing a relationship with local music people is great and if they're good they'll start to know you/your tastes. it also allows you to get good at crate digging, because you never know what you're going to find in a dollar section

utilize listening stations if the store has them! people can be pretty fast and loose with grading used records, so it's better to listen to it and see if the audio quality corresponds with the price (i don't always buy mint/nearly mint records and can tolerate a fair amount of noise but not if i'm being ripped off lmfao)

look things up on discogs to see if you're getting ripped off. not only is discogs great for keeping track of your collection (also you can friend me here!), the online marketplace is great for checking average sale prices for a given release. also handy for seeing how rare a release is!

buying records on discogs can be a crapshoot, ebay even more so. read seller's reviews; if there's feedback that they generally grade conservatively, that's a good thing

i have such a large collection that maintaining a record of what i have is really necessary; discogs is really fantastic for this. you can even scan barcodes on specific releases to find them through the discogs app! it's super handy for me as sometimes i forget that i have certain albums already and end up buying multiple copies and having to get rid of them (i need to get better at cataloguing immediately after i get new stuff, i currently have about forty five records i still need to add lmfao)

storing + maintaining records

keep your records clean! get a good cleaning kit and have microfiber cloths on hand to keep your vinyl as dust free as possible. also use those storage sleeves, it makes a different in keeping your records cleaner longer

a general rule of vinyl storage that i learned from the owner of the shop that i've been going to since i was nine years old is to store them in less than 70 degrees F environments with less than 70% humidity (funnily enough this is apparently the same rule for cigars)

i recommend those ikea square storage bookcases, as they're generally study, aren't too expensive, are pretty easy to put together, and hold a lot of records (do not store your records in milk crates long term)

actually listen to your records! there are very few releases i keep sealed for the sake of keeping them in mint condition. vinyl can be a very expensive habit (800+ records later i am living proof lol) but it's no fun to keep them sitting around. have fun collecting and play your music!

#vinyl #music #records #sorry this took a minute ben lmfao #also folks are welcome to share / please feel free to friend me on discogs!

509 notes · View notes

atalana · 15 days

Text

so i finally got the chance to read the book of bill! and man those journal 3 pages, i could write a million essays on those, but the principle one that i can't get out my head is the new insight on ford's whole fucked up paradigm of what love is

like, neither of the stan twins really know how to experience unconditional love, because they never really had it. their dad was constantly comparing the two of them and really just stamping down stanley's self worth at any given moment. and even for ford who was praised, he's not an idiot, he saw how stan got treated all the time, and their dad was very explicit as to why. ford's praise and attention hinged on him being the family genius who could make them all a lot of money, and he knew very well if he failed to live up to that, he would also lose his father's love

and you see this in stan in his desperate need for everyone to like him, but also how he doesn't really believe anyone ever truly could love him, so whenever he gets the chance with anyone he clings onto that relationship as tight as he can, terrified it's going to disappear at any second

ford, meanwhile. the more direct threat to him was the bullies and the people that made him feel lesser for being abnormal. and no kid likes feeling like that, we know it's a spike buried deep in his psyche, which gave him a reason for the dichotomy he ends up forming.

when he was a kid, people tended to fall into two categories - those who were really impressed with him and his potential, and those who saw him as a freak and wanted to drag him down for it. the love he got and the hate he got are directly related to both.

and as a result ford is constantly looking for people who will give him intellectual gratification (what he thinks love is), and he categorises everyone else as "unimportant obstacles in my way" (because that's how he thinks about those bullies, so their words won't hurt anymore)

stanley was the first category, until he sharply became the second

and splitting the world into those two categories makes him an absolutely horrible person! like, one hand yeah, you do have sympathy for ford bc that is straight up torture bill put him through and no one should have to experience it (and i do wanna make clear this is not a ford hate post, he does have good qualities im just interested in the bad rn)

on the other hand though, god, i'm always struck by just how hateful he is towards so many unimportant things (just one of many examples, christmas songs are fake and stupid bc rudolph didn't burn santa's workshop to the ground as revenge for ostracizing him like jesus christ dude)

or the bit where he sees one of stan's shitty product ads and considers calling him and pretending to be a cop just to scare him, because in ford's mind that's a punishment he deserves for daring to look so stupid while sharing ford's face

and it just drills in how much ford is not willing to see stan's side of this in any way, because what do you think would happen if you went through with that plan? don't you know stan's already scared enough? you saw him get kicked out, you saw the ultimatum that came with it, and hell thanks to the book of bill we know you were also scared to go home until you had something to show for it. he's trying his best, and you understood that once. but then stan throws your journal back in your face and you yell that you're giving him the chance to do the first worthwhile thing in his life.

everything he did to try and make something of himself, to try and prove himself worthy of literally any love at all, you didn't care about that. now he's in a position to help you, so of course he should just drop everything and obey your orders to the letter without question. that's the only way to redeem himself for getting in your way, why won't he take it?

by the time bill shows up ford felt fully justified in going "this isn't about me, and therefore it's stupid and unimportant and should be destroyed". and i know exactly why, it's because again you think intellectual gratification and love are the same thing and you're running low on both right now so you're trying to make up the difference by affirming how right you are in your goddamn diary, but right does not make you good or kind or wise

and that makes it kind of a self fulfilling prophecy, because loving you is hard, and the one person genuinely willing to do so unconditionally you're keeping at a very aggressive arms length. but you fall for bill so easily, because he understands how important you are, which must be love, and all of these other people worried about you just aren't smart enough to get it

and not even realising bill's lies could cure him of that one. hell, 30 years spent dimension hopping didn't cure it. when ford gets back he is still just as self righteous, and still willing to categorise dipper as "will give me intellectual gratification" and the rest of them as intrinsically less valuable

which is why dipper can't take the deal ford offered him. if he had, he would have turned out exactly like ford, stuck in his own echo chamber unable to tell the difference between love and praise

mabel says at one point in the comics that the reason the two grunkles are bad at looking after kids is because they still are kids, and that's a really accurate insight. that old wound cut so deep neither of them had the chance to actually move past their childhood, and discover what it was they were missing

stan never stopped wanting his brother back, but ford didn't realise that was what he needed too, until he saw mabel and dipper working as a team against bill. he's acknowledged his mistake in trusting bill before now, but "we used to be like that" is his first time acknowledging that his whole approach to people is wrong.

you've always had one source of unconditional love. you didn't need to be better than him to be worthy of it. and now you've got an entire new family, hopefully you'll realise that can come from multiple fronts

(and it's okay stan shall have his revenge for how you treated him by commiting just. so much tax fraud in your name)

#i am the tiredsleepy so i apologise if this is rambly but i have Thoughts #gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #stanley pines #stan pines #bill cipher #the book of bill

102 notes · View notes

depravitycentral · 1 year

Text

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.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere uvogin #_lee's fics #_lee writes for ramwrites #_uvogin #_hxh

970 notes · View notes