#it looks bad enough with everything else going on

[allbark-no-bite]

good boy.

art donaldson x reader (wc: 2.9k)

summary: as Art’s personal physical therapist, it’s your job to fix what Tashi has torn apart, by whatever means necessary. or in which Art just needs some TLC

warnings: 18+ smut, it could be worse tbh, mentions of disordered eating

author’s note: i’m back ig?? im out of uni for the summer and challengers has me in a chokehold. Art Donaldson the man that you are

————————————————————————

You're standing just within earshot of the doorway, passing a sanitary wipe over one of the tables in the athlete treatment room when you hear the door abruptly open. Tashi storms in with a purpose and Art trails meekly behind her. Even if you had been clueless to how the match had gone rather than on the sidelines beside Tashi not even twenty minutes ago, you could have guessed by the hard line of her mouth that Art was in for it. Not that her displeased scowl was much different from her usual scowl, but you'd been around long enough to know the difference.

She stops abruptly, and Art heels obediently as Tashi turns around to face him. "I need you to tell me when you're going to fucking get it together so that I can stop wasting my time."

Weary and sweat soaked, Art just stares at her with that pitiful look on his face and says nothing in reply. His blue eyes solemnly take in her harsh disappointment as though beyond used to it. At this point it's not all that foreign to you either.

"You may as well be fucking asleep out there," she snaps.

This time his mouth opens. "I- I'm just tired-" he begins, although there's hardly any argue to his voice at all.

"No, I'm tired, Art," Tashi interjects. "Do you have any idea how much fucking work I've put into getting you back onto the court this past year?! I've done everything! The least you could do go out there and try to act like I've done anything for you at all!"

Art swallows, the slight frown on his face deepening. "I am. I just- I don't-"

Before he can even finish his sentence. The open palm of Tashi's hand connects with his cheek as she pops the left side of his face. Art closes his mouth. You pretend to concentrate on wiping down the table. It's not the first time you've witnessed one of these conversations but it still feels private, like you shouldn't be here. You keep wiping the table.

Understanding that anything else he says is only going to make Tashi angrier, Art resigns to once again watching her in silence. His blue eyes are sad. The usually fair skin of his cheek is tinted pink where she popped him. Although it wasn't very hard, you're sure it still hurt him all the same.

"Quit wasting my time," is all she says before she finally turns and leaves, walking right past you and out the other door. You hold your breath as she passes you. Art watches her go but makes no move to follow. You release an audible sigh. It's been a frustrating day for everyone. As Art's personal trainer, physical therapist, and close friend, you felt every loss, every ache and pain, every bad play. And there seemed to be a lot of those lately.

Art is still standing there, watching the closed door that Tashi left though.

Not knowing how to break the silence, you finally pat the freshly sanitized treatment table. "C'mon," you call gently, as though beckoning to a wounded dog.

It takes a moment for him to budge, but eventually he does, his disheartened spirit apparent in the way he walks over. Used to the usual routine, he tugs his damp shirt off over his head as he takes a seat, the lean muscles of his torso flexing as he does so. You allow yourself to ogle at him, only for a brief moment before stepping in between the bracket of his knees. Gently, you cradle his chin, tipping his head back to look up at you as your thumb smooths over the redness of his cheek. His blue eyes blink up at you, sad and dog-like.

"It wasn't terrible," you reassure him. "You had surgery six months ago. You're still getting your feet back underneath you. Most people wouldn't have come back." You're right. The still-pink scars on his shoulder are still fresh on your mind. The stitches weren't even out before Tashi had him in physical therapy. Even though his medical team had released him, it was still a bit early to start doing rehab so soon after surgery, Art's comfort being your biggest concern. But when Tashi wants something, she gets it.

Wordlessly, Art sighs, the weight of his head settling into your palm as he finally lets go of the tension he'd been carrying. It was always like this. You fixing what Tashi had torn apart. You understood where Tashi was coming from. Art needed a firm voice in his training, and you had a lot of respect for the way she put her foot down and never let up, not even once. But there was only so many times you could kick a dog while he was down.

So if Art needed someone to coddle him, you would coddle him.

He trusts you. He needs you, is what Tashi had told you when she asked you to stay on as his trainer full time. The three of you had been in the same year at Stanford all those years ago, Tashi and Art on the tennis team and you helping out as a student trainer as part of a class requirement. Three peas in a pod, the trio of you were. Of course then they both graduated, leaving you to finish up your schooling, meanwhile Art set off to go pro.

A few years later, once Tashi officially took on the position as Art's coach, she began building his team, and that's where you came in. You were hesitant at first.

'I already lost to you once, Tashi. I won't come in second to you again.'

She had paused on the other end of the line. Back in your Stanford days, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that you were head over heels in love with the blonde tennis player. But loving Art was like accepting the participation ribbon for a game you knew you weren't going to win in the first place. It was like standing next to the podium, just lucky enough to be included in the picture while Tashi and tennis took first and second place. And so you let him go.

'I'm not asking you to. This is different.'

Your hand slips from his face, and he forces his eyes open.

“Have you eaten?" you ask, stepping away in order to put some distance between the two of you and look for the granola bars that you keep especially for him. The gels were good sources of quick fuel in between sets, but they were hardly enough to even begin to make up for the calories he burned while playing.

Slowly, Art shakes his head, but he makes no move to take the snack from your hand when you offer it to him. Ever since his injury, nutrition became all the more important. So much to the point that every single thing that he consumed was mapped out to the exact calorie. Although he would never admit it, any sort of change in this routine made him incredibly anxious. Some days it was better not to cause him the anxiety than to force him.

Today, you insistently hold out the bar until he begrudgingly takes it from your hand. You don't move until you've seen him tear open the package and take a bite.

"Were you still feeling tight?" you ask as you walk around the table, stopping at the slouch of his turned back. You reach out to grasp at the joint of his neck and shoulder, your thumb smoothing over the kinesiology tape that's peeling away at the base of his neck.

He half turns his head to glance back at you. "You watched the match. You tell me."

His response is meant to be snippy, but it comes out more defeated than anything. To be fair, you've been his trainer long enough to know that if something was bothering him physically, you would have picked up on it.

"I want to hear it from you."

"I felt fine."

Your left hand follows suit on the other side of his neck, and you use both of your thumbs to apply pressure to what you assume will be a tense spot along the upper part of his traps. Predictably, Art groans at the attention. The muscles of his back contract as he fights the urge to shake you off. Relaxing the muscle hurts as much as it feels good. Besides his obvious discomfort, the rest of his body has gone lax under your touch. His shoulders have dropped at least an inch, and his chin has fallen to rest against his chest.

"Finish your granola bar," you reprimand him, your firm fingers working across his back until you find another spot that nearly has him jerking away. He releases a whine but obediently takes another bite of the bar. This time he finishes it before you have to remind him again.

You spend a few more minutes torturing him before you're satisfied that a majority of the tension has left his shoulders.

"Okay, good boy," you murmur, leaning forward so that your chest is close enough to brush against his back. One of your hands trails up to squeeze the back of his neck reassuringly.

You're close enough to hear him swallow at the name. The skin on the nape of his neck shivers despite how hot he still is from the match.

"Was I?" he asks timidly. "Good today?"

'I can be his coach. Or I can be the person he cries to after a bad day. But I can't be both. That's why he needs you."

Without removing your hand from his neck, you walk around the table so you're standing in front of him. Art widens the spread of his legs so that you can stand between them. His chin is still pressed to his chest, blue eyes focused on the ground.

"Art," is all you say, shifting your grip on his neck to tug lightly at his golden blonde hair. At your voice, he lifts his head just enough to look up at you through the pale wisps of his eyelashes. The irises of his blue eyes shine are wet with uncertainty.

Your fingers loosen their grip to allow your nails to scratch at his scalp. "You're good, Art. You'll always be good."

Art twists his head to nuzzle his cheek along the inside of  your outstretched arm. His lips kiss the crook of your elbow. He swallows again. "Even if I don't play tennis?"

You can tell the question's been bothering him, eating at his nerves, and messing up his game. You know him well enough to know that retirement isn't what he wants, not really. At least not right now. What he wants is the reassurance that it's going to be okay if he can't swing the comeback.

"Look at me."

He lingers a moment longer with his lips pressed lovingly against your skin before he reluctantly shifts his gaze up to you. His look is anticipatory but reserved, as if to preemptively conceal his disappointment should you choose to crush his heart with your answer.

His fear is understandable. Art's relationship with Tashi has always been entirely built off of his tennis career. By being the driving force behind his success, Tashi has vicariously lived out the life she would have had had her injury never happened. Without tennis, Art has nothing left to offer her. He knows that if he gives up tennis, he loses Tashi.

Your relationship with Art was a little less conditional. Hell, you'd been in love with him since the first time you'd laid eyes on him at Stanford. You can still picture him standing there on the court, barely nineteen, scrawny, nervous smile, backwards cap over his strawberry blonde hair. Before he was the Art Donaldson. But when Tashi had stepped into the picture, you figured that was where your fairytale ended.

"I don't love you because of tennis. I love you because you're kind, and thoughtful, and you're passionate about what you do." You smile a bit before adding, "And you're my good boy."

The name turns him bashful again, and he's quick to turn and hide his smiling face against your arm, only the flushed tips of his ears visible. "[Y/n]," he mumbles, likely meaning to be threatening, but it doesn't come out that way.

Art Donaldson lived to be praised.

You laugh, pulling him closer so that his face is held against your chest. The hand that you don't have threaded through his hair trails up the muscle of his defined quad. "You're my good boy. Aren't you, baby?"

Art whines, squirming when your hand reaches the apex of his thigh and hovers over the forming bugle of his shorts. He's not quite there yet, his dick only half chubbed up in interest, but given the day that he's had, you won't make him wait.

"Please?" he mumbles, his face still buried into your collarbone, as if attempting to curling into you, like a small child needing their parent to hold them for comfort.

You rake your nails lightly up the inside of his thigh. "What, baby?"

Not only did Art liked to be praised, but he was masochist even on his worst days.

"Want you to touch me," he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shirt. "Please."

Your hand still scratching through his hair, you press a kiss to the side of his head, unable to suppress your smile at his timid politeness and how it never seems to fail him. The only time he ever resembled anything remotely voracious was on the court.

Palm finding his tented shorts, you cup him through the fabric. Art responds immediately to your touch, his hips shifting further into your grasp. You continue to pet him through his shorts, appreciating the way you can feel him actively responding to your touch.

His nails dig into the padding of the treatment table when you give his now fully hard dick a less than sympathetic squeeze. His breath is hot as he pants against your collarbone, alternating between laving open mouthed kisses to your skin and whining when you pause fondling him just to feel his hips rut up into your palm.

Art was so in control on the tennis court, that often after a match, putting the control into someone else's hands was just what he needed.

When his hips start to stutter, you ease up but continue to stroke him through his shorts. The front of his shorts are damp with the musk of residual sweat and precum.

His breath is shallow—anticipatory.

"Gunna come?" you ask softly, speaking into the blonde mess of his hair, cradling him. He right there, you can tell by the lackluster buck of his hips, his building fatigue, and the change in his breathing.

"Can I? —Please?" Art asks breathily. He hiccups out the last part, his voice catching.

"You know you don't have to ask."

There's a brief pause, as if coming to the realization, before he meekly murmurs, "I know.

It should be sad really, his unwavering obedience, but there are two sides to Art, two polar extremes. On the court, every match, every set, every debilitating second is up to him. No one else can help him out there, and up until about a year ago, he played like it. That was the side of Art Donaldson that Tashi wanted. After the match is a different story. In private, Art needed someone to do the thinking for him, to pull him into a reality where he could believe that it didn't matter whether he won or lost. Tashi had not the sympathy nor the patience for that kind of fragility.

Art comes with a brief cry into your chest, his body arching into yours. Your hand palms at his pulsing dick until he's oversensitive and pulling away. When you relent, the front of his shorts are sticky and wet.

Finally, Art lifts his face from the safety of your chest. His blue eyes are glossed over, but it's an improvement from the detached look they held ten minutes ago. His cheeks are flushed, a mixture of his own embarrassment and satisfaction. 

You can't help the soft smile that creeps onto your face at the look of him, and immediately Art is abashedly trying to hide his face again, his own smile starting to appear. Before he can, you bring your hands back up to cradle his face, thumbs wiping away the wetness from under his eyes. This time he lets you.

His eyes study your face for a second, admiring you, appreciating the love he has for you.

“I don’t want to play tennis anymore.”

You can’t tell if it’s more of a statement or a confession. Either way, you know he’s telling you the absolute truth.

“Okay,” you reply softly, not hint of judgement in your voice. Maybe some disappointment, but that was understandable.

Retirement would be a kindness. Art would finally put back on some healthy weight, start smiling again, put on a real, actual smile. You could already see it, a nice house for the two of you to settle down in, with a picket fence and a dog in the backyard, the kind of things the two of you would have never had time for on tour.

Tennis had brought the two of you together, but it wouldn’t end you.

[dduane]

Hello! Love your work, life-long fan, etc. etc. But I am here today on a mission and wondering if you could help. My nibling (who is unsure if "niece" and other gendered concepts is right for them) is turning 7 this week and is TERRIFIED of black holes. Can't sleep, can't enjoy the night sky, is-getting-picked-on-at-school bad. I'm hoping to introduce her to Fred, but I think if I start at "so there these things called white holes which kind of are "opposite" black holes," I might have a whole new problem to explain to my sister.

So as I dream up what a "nice" black hole would be all about - How was Fred as a black hole? What would such an entropically-interesting entity like a black hole even look like as a wizard? Have people with melanoheliophobia reached out to you before/Do you have any expert advice?

Thanks for all that you do to help change the landscape for anxious, nerdy people!!

Let me go talk to Fred.

***

"It was a good while ago, you know?" he says.

("He" is an approximation of the most extreme kind, here. Most astronomical entities above the Planetary level have no idea whatsoever what gender is about, or what it's good for. And even at the Planetary level they're often none too sure what it means for biologicals.)

Anyway. When you're in Timeheart, even when only visiting, it's hard to avoid the sense of everything you're discussing being in the nature of a game you won; or a test you passed and don't have to deal with further except as an amused memory. But then, on the other side of physicality, all games are won. All tests are passed. This is where you choose the next challenge. As for past ones...?

"It seems straightforward," Fred says, "when you're a black hole. More and more stuff accretes to you. At first, it's just your job, right? But then it starts to become more, and you slowly start getting aware of it. Mass = consciousness, possibly? I don't know. But you start noticing it. More, and more, and more, till you just can't bear it! Gravity, right? What can you do about gravity? Or mass? Honestly. ...But then, finally!—all of a sudden, the pressure releases. There's room. You have somewhere for it to go."

"The Schwarzchild radius," I say.

"Is that what it's called?" Fred says. "...Was he nice?"

"I, uh... couldn't say. Didn't know him personally."

"Pity," Fred says. "It was such a relief! Please thank him for me." A pause. "...'Him?'"

"Insofar as it matters," I say, "apparently so."

"All right," he says. "But anyway, it's such a simple thing. All your life you've been gathering stuff in. More and more, all the time. And you start saying to yourself, "This can't go on, it's just wrong, what happens if I eat everything? I don't want to eat everything!' You know? It's scary."

"I hear you, cuz," I say.

"But it doesn't matter what you think or feel; it just gets worse and worse. You swell on the inside but you can't swell on the outside, and you can't stop stuff from swirling in and in and in. You think, 'This is all wrong, it's going to be the end of me! And if it is, what else is there? What was this all about? Why am I not big enough?' And 'Why can't I be the same kind of "big enough" on both sides?' And the inside and the outside start fighting over which should be bigger—"

"I think I may know where this is going," I say.

"Yes! And then, all of a sudden, when you think you can't bear it another second longer, something happens and you just... evert!"

"Go inside out, you mean."

He laughs out loud. "Yeah, well, that's maybe a little simplistic...? I mean, when you're dealing with six dimensions and above, you sort of go inside out, and upside down, and sideways, and, you know, more ways than that."

"I'm sorry to say that I don't know," I say, "but I suspect it's memorable."

"Please!" he says. "My poor gnaester! You have no idea."

"Um... perhaps that's for the best."

"But the inside gets bigger than the outside," Fred says. And then adds, a bit abashed but also amused, "I was kind of late to the party on this, apparently. I'm told it's a trope."

"So it is," I said. "...For a lot of us, though. Takes a while to realize what's happened. But you're in good company."

"Oh good. Anyway, so then after that you start emitting all the stuff you earlier absorbed," Fred says. "You're a gateway. It's like... recycling, you know? Takes a while sometimes: some people have trouble emitting, after absorbing and absorbing for so long." He laughs. "Habit, yeah?"

"Yes it is," I say. "Habit is such a problem."

"Anyway," Fred says, "tell everybody it's okay. Black holes are about taking in what's over with, what's done. But when we shift, it's about letting whatever we ingested go out to be something new. Has to go through our insides first, though! That's what we're for."

"Recycling?" I say.

"Recycling. You're starstuff, sure!" And Fred laughs. "But sometimes even starstuff needs to go through the wash."

***

HTH!

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Waking up to a clean apartment was not what Dick was expecting at all. It was a nice surprise, for sure, but it begged the question as to how long he was asleep for. His phone said that it was the same day, only two hours later, but that state of the apartment suggested it had been at least a day!

He poked his head into the room he'd given Danny to stay in. The kid had ignored the bed almost completely, it seemed, and curled up in the corner furthest from the door with the blanket and his bag. He closed the door softly as he left the room. He hated that Danny didn't feel safe enough to sleep on the bed, but he understood the need to have his back to a corner.

Dick took one look at the shopping list on the counter before opening his fridge. Immediately, he closed it again. The rancid stench of spoiled milk and other foodstuffs seeped into the open room, making Dick rush to open the windows. He added candles and Febreeze to the shopping list. With his pay, he should have more than enough to get everything written down, as well as some things for Danny.

Would Danny want to go to school? Or would he want to take online courses? What grade would he even be in? There was nothing about any of that in the cover story the kid had made up. Did he just not think about it, or had he deemed it unimportant? Either way, Dick would bring it up with him in a little bit. For now, shopping. The kid had done a hell of a job with cleaning up, so it was only natural that Dick would pull his weight in his own apartment.

Making sure to leave a note, Dick locked the door behind himself as he headed down, mentally adding fridge magnets to the shopping list, too.

***

Stepping back into the apartment was like walking into someone else's home. The place looked no different than when he'd left earlier, but it was only just now settling that he now had someone to take care of. Dick was no longer alone in this apartment. He had someone to look out for, someone who was looking out for him.

And how pathetic was that? A child was having to take care of him. He's an adult! He should be able to take care of himself! But, here he is, hopeless. He hadn't even bothered to get off his ass and go shopping or clean up a little bit until a kid knocked on his door and spelled everything out for him in blue glitter pen.

Dick set down the six bags he was carrying on the counter. He completely emptied out the fridge and freezer, throwing it all away. It all had to go. The smell would linger for a little bit, but it wouldn't ever get that bad again, especially now that the stuff causing it was all gone. He quickly put everything away before picking up his phone.

He hadn't called the Manor in a while. Not since- not since Jason died...

He shook his head, scolding himself for letting irrational fear and anger get in the way of contacting the only family he had left, and called Wayne Manor.

After exactly two and a half rings, the line picked up. "Wayne Manor, Alfred Pennyworth speaking."

"Hey, Alfie," Dick knew he sounded pathetic.

There was..something on the other end that Dick couldn't quite pick up before Alfred spoke, formalities dropped and a smile in his voice. "Master Dick, how good to hear from you. It has been a while."

He leaned against the counter, sagging a bit. "Yeah, it has been. I'm sorry, Alfred, I just-"

"No need to apologize, Master Dick, I completely understand."

Did he? Maybe. "That's- Thank you, Alfred, really, but I didn't really call to apologize."

"Oh?" There was another sound in the background, a little closer to the phone, but not close or loud enough to be clearly picked up. "What seems to be the issue, then?"

"I, um," God, how was he going to explain this? "A kid showed up at my door, um, and offered to help me out? I-I couldn't say no to him, Alfe, but- I don't! I-I don't know how to take care of a kid!" The floodgates seemed to open with that as he sank to the floor, his back against the wall. "I can barely take care of myself, let alone a whole other person! But I can't put him back on the streets, Alfred, I just can't. And the things he's been telling me- He's not had an okay life, Alfred. I don't- I don't know what to do."

It was quiet for a moment before Alfred let out a small breath. "You, too?"

"Huh?"

THe question was ignored. "Take a deep breath for me, Master Dick." He did. "Good. This child, how old is he?"

"I don't know, about fourteen?"

A click of his tongue. "Taking care of a child is going to look different for everyone, especially if they've never had to care for anyone but themselves before. From what I understand, he has come to you for safety. He has nowhere else to go, yes?"

"Well, yeah, other than the streets, but I'm not sending him back out there-!"

"I'm not telling you to. If he came to you, he will leave of his own accord. It is your job to make sure he knows he can stay and that he is safe with you."

"I know that, but-"

"Do you have food in your house?"

"I- What? Yeah, I just got back from shopping."

"Good. Is your house clean?"

"Yeah, he, um, the kid cleaned up the place while I was asleep."

"Alright. Does he have a place to sleep?"

"Yeah, I gave him my spare room. What does this-?"

"Then the only thing left for you to do is to make sure he knows he's allowed to be comfortable there. Make sure he knows that it is a safe space for him and that he can stay as long as he likes. From the sounds of it, he intends to take care of you just as you intend to take care of him. Find a middle ground, set up some house rules, go at a pace that works for the both of you. You two will grow into a routine that fits for you in time. And it will take time. Bonds do not grow overnight, especially ones that are meant to last. It will be hard, but that is what makes it worth it."

Dick was quiet for a minute. Alfred let him gather his thoughts, not hanging up and simply waiting. Finally, "Thanks, Alfred."

"You are most welcome, Master Dick." The old man was smiling again. "Oh, aster Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"When you two are more comfortable, please come by the Manor."

Dick smiled, too. "I will. And I'll try to call more often."

"That's all I ask. Have a good day, Master Dick.

"Thanks, Alfred, you, too."

Part 5

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Route 666 | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, j e a l o u s y, d e n i a l

Word Count: 4325

Series Rewrite Masterlist

After your conversation with Dean about why you couldn’t lose him, a nagging want was tugging on your heart. 

Dean explained to you that the father of an “old friend” of his was killed last night. Your stomach dropped; knowing exactly what “old friend” meant. 

Sam did, too. “By old friend you mean...?”

“A friend that's not new,” came Dean’s gruff response. His eyes never left the road.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” Sam deadpanned. “So her name's Cassie, huh? You never mentioned her.”

“Didn't I? Yeah, we went out.”

You felt like you could throw up.

“You mean you dated somebody? For more than one night?” Sam commented.

“Am I speaking a language you're not getting here? Dad and I were working a job in Ohio, she was finishing up college. We went out for a coupla weeks,” Dean explained.

Sam pressed further, but you silently begged him to stop. You hoped his mind powers would kick in long enough to read the way your heart was begging for mercy in the backseat. “And...?” 

Dean shrugged. 

“Look, it's terrible about her dad, but it kinda sounds like a standard car accident. I'm not seeing how it fits with what we do. Which by the way, how does she know what we do?”

Dean shifted uncomfortably.

‘He told her.’ You were definitely going to throw up now.

“You told her. You told her the secret! Our big family rule number one. We do what we do and we shut up about it. For a year and a half I do nothing but lie to Jessica, and you go out with this chick in Ohio a couple of times and you tell her everything? Dean!” Sam was getting angrier by the second.

“Yeah, looks like,” Dean grumbled. 

This job would undoubtedly be an incredibly painful one.

***

You saw a beautiful dark-skinned girl arguing with two older men in the newspaper office you and the boys had arrived at. You silently pleaded for it not to be Cassie. She was stunning; nothing but long legs and slender curves. Her dark hair curled tightly, framing her face beautifully. The girl sighed and turned around as the two men walked away from her. She seemed taken aback. “Dean.”

You recognized the fondness in her eyes; it was the same fondness you were beginning to look at Dean with. 

‘Of course, she’s fucking gorgeous. Wouldn’t expect anything else from Dean,’ you thought.

“Hey, Cassie,” Dean grinned. The two stared at each other for a moment before he cleared his throat. “This is my brother, Sam, and this is my friend, (Y/N).”

You tried your best to smile at her; the girl had done nothing wrong. It was Dean you were beginning to get upset with.

“Sorry ‘bout your dad,” Dean said.

“Yeah. Me too,” Cassie muttered.

The two kept staring at each other. 

You cleared your throat awkwardly, and Cassie seemed to snap out of it. “Sorry,” she laughed. “Let’s take this somewhere a bit more… private.”

***

Cassie took you back to her home and brought you a tray of tea and cups. “My mother’s in pretty bad shape. I've been staying with her. I wish she wouldn't go off by herself. She's been so nervous and frightened. She was worried about dad.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

She gracefully poured some tea into a cup. “He was scared. He was seeing things.”

“Like what?”

“He swore he saw an awful-looking black truck following him,” the young woman explained.

“A truck. Who was the driver?” Sam questioned.

Cassie handed cups of tea to each of you. You took one, thanking her as you did so. “He didn't talk about a driver,” she continued. “Just the truck. He said it would appear and disappear. And, in the accident, Dad's car was dented, like it had been slammed into by something big.”

“Now you're sure this dent wasn't there before?”

“He sold cars. Always drove a new one. There wasn't a scratch on that thing. It had rained hard that night. There was mud everywhere. There was a distinct set of muddy tracks leading from dad's car… leading right to the edge, where he went over.” The girl took a second to get her emotions back under control. “One set of tracks. His.”

“The first was a friend of your fathers?” Dean had discarded his cup on a side table. The sight almost made you smile; you knew tea was a bit too fancy for him. 

“Best friend. Clayton Soames. They owned the car dealership together. Same thing. Dent. No Tracks. And the cops said exactly what they said about dad. He 'lost control of his car.' “

“Can you think of any reason why your father and his partner might be targets?”

Cassie shook her head.

“And you think this vanishing truck ran them off the road?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

“When you say it aloud like that…” Cassie breathed deeply. “Listen, I'm a little skeptical about this… ghost stuff… or whatever it is you guys are into.”

Dean huffed. “Skeptical. If I remember, I think you said I was nuts.”

‘Uh, oh,’ you thought, beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“That was then.” Cassie and Dean stared at each other again. “I just know that I can't explain what happened up there. So I called you.”

A middle-aged woman entered the room. Cassie rushed to her. “Mom. Where have you been I was so…”

Cassie’s mom forced a smile. “I had no idea you’d invited friends over.”

“Mom, this is Dean, a… friend of mine from.... college. And his brother Sam and friend, (Y/N).”

“Well, I won't interrupt you.” Cassie’s mom went to leave the room.

“Mrs Robinson. We're sorry for your loss. We'd like to talk to you for a minute if you don't mind?” Dean stopped her.

The woman seemed slightly affronted. “I'm really not up for that right now.” She left the room, and Dean and Cassie continued to stare at each other.

***

The next day, Dean informed you of another killing that happened in a field beside the main road. Another one of Cassie’s father’s friends had been murdered. You met the beautiful woman who was bravely berating the mayor for not closing the main road; heavily suggesting there was a racist undertone behind the mayor’s motives. You admired the woman’s bravery, and wished you had those kinds of balls in certain situations. Had the circumstances been different, you probably would have been good friends with her.

You and the boys learned from a friend of the deceased that the town once was home to a family with an incredibly racist history. In fact, the big black truck the victims had described seeing was one that many black men disappeared in back in the 1960s. You and the boys walked away from the men you learned this information from and returned to the Impala.

“Truck,” Dean noted.

“Keeps coming up doesn't it?” Sam added.

“Yeah, kinda like the flying dutchman,” you continued.

“Yeah, that ghost ship, infused with the Captain's evil spirit. It was basically part of him,” the younger Winchester finished.

Dean nodded. “So what if we're dealing with the same thing? You know, a phantom truck, an extension of some bastard's ghost, re-enacting past crimes.”

“The victims have all been black men,” noted Sam.

“I think it's more than that. They all seem connected to Cassie and her family,” Dean suggested.

“Alright, well, you work that angle, go talk to her,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I will.”

Sam stopped his brother before he could get down into the car. “Oh, and you might also wanna mention that other thing.”

‘Stop talking, Sam,’ you mentally pleaded.

“What other thing?” Dean asked.

“The serious, unfinished business?”

The older brother remained silent, and for that, you were thankful.

“Dean, what is going on between you two?” Sam huffed out a laugh.

Dean seemed uncomfortable, as were you. “Alright, so maybe we were a little bit more involved than I said.”

“Really?” you said, unable to help yourself.

“Okay, a lot more. Maybe. And I told her our secret, about what we do. And I shouldn't have.”

“Ah, look man, everybody's gotta open up to someone sometime,” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, I don't. It was stupid to get that close. I mean, look how it ended.”

The younger brother smiled. 

“Would you stop!”

Sam just kept staring and smiling.

“Blink or something!”

The brunet simply said, “You loved her.”

You nearly choked on your own spit as Dean grumbled and turned to the Impala.

“You were in love with her, but you dumped her.” Sam paused a moment before realizing, “Oh, wow. She dumped you.”

“Get in the car. Get in the car!” Dean ordered you and Sam.

You refused to continue to let Dean have that effect on you. There was no room for feelings in this profession, and you would not let them get in the way of your friendship with Dean or Sam. The former dropped you and his brother off at the motel before speeding away to Cassie’s house. You and Sam decided to get takeout and have a carpet picnic in the brothers’ motel room.

You chowed down on fried rice while Sam eyed you curiously. “What?” you asked through a mouthful of rice.

“Nothing. You just seem off,” he replied.

“I don’t know, honestly. After… everything that’s happened, I—” you couldn’t finish your sentence. “Nevermind. What’s your thoughts on this case?”

He gave you a bitchface at your change in the subject, but went along with it nonetheless. “I think our theory about the flying dutchman’s right. I’m just waiting for Dean to fill in the missing pieces.” He paused before continuing. “Speaking of which, I don’t think he’ll be back for the night? You wanna crash here?”

You smiled. “Sure. Wanna get some cheap tequila and ride the bus?” 

“You’re on,” he grinned back.

The two of you played with your deck of cards for a bit, joking and laughing about previous hunts and memories from Sam’s school days. After getting thoroughly hammered from your card game, you just talked for hours.

“My parents weren’t always… crazy supportive of me,” you explained. “I get your whole thing with college, though.” 

“You do?”

“Yeah,” you responded. “I wanted to go to school as a teenager, actually. Was dead set on it.”

He grinned. “Really?”

“Yeah, but after my parents passed, I decided I’m better at hunting,” you replied, flopping back on the ground. “You’re hella argumentative. You’d be an exceptional lawyer.”

He chuckled at you, slurring his words together. “You really think so?”

“Yeah! Duh!”

“You’re not ever this giddy, (Y/N), how much did we drink?”

The two of you looked over at the mostly empty bottle of tequila before exploding into a fit of giggles. 

“I don’t think I’ve been this drunk ever,” you slurred.

“Yeah, ne meither,” Sam said simply.

You burst out laughing again. “Ne meither?!”

“Oops,” he giggled boyishly.

“Wait, wait, wait. I have a question. You went to school with a full ride, right? How’d you get a full ride and hunt at the same time? That’s fucking crazy.”

He nodded. “Yeah. My dad took me on hunts every once in a while between AP Bio tests.”

“Holy shit, you’re smart.”

He sighed. “Not as smart as you’d think.”

“Cut the humble crap, you’re crazy smart,” you replied, turning to him. “You give me a run for my money sometimes. Trust me, that’s rare.”

He shrugged. “I guess you’re right.”

“Seriously, dude. You gotta be crazy gifted. You’re a great hunter and really smart. That’s a wild combination.”

“Yeah, well, so are you,” Sam replied. 

You grinned, barely holding your eyes open. “Thanks.” You paused a moment. “You ever smoked weed?”

He snorted. “Of course.”

You mock-gasped. “Sammy, never thought you were the type!”

“Pfft, I’m not a total prude, (Y/N).”

“Well, forgive me, you don’t exactly scream ‘I chase my tequila with mary jane,’ “ you jested.

“College, man. Whole new world.”

“What was it like?” you asked.

“Meh,” he squeaked, voice breaking drunkenly. “Lots of studying. Jess was the one who got me into partying a little.”

“Yeahhh, Jess!” you cheered. “She sounds cool as fuck.”

“She was.” He suddenly got sad and sniffed a little.

You crawled over to him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring bad shit up for you.”

He sniffed again and shrugged. “‘S okay, I jus’ miss her.”

“I know.” You laid your head on his shoulder and let him cry as the two of you sat next to each other in silence.

***

The next morning and thoroughly hungover, you and Sam headed to yet another field; where this time, the mayor’s car had been found. And it was in a different location than the main road. Dean met you a short time later once you’d finished talking to a cop on the scene. 

“Where were you last night? You didn't make it back to the hotel,” Sam questioned, although the subtle smirk on his face told you he already knew the answer.

“Well…”

Sam grinned smugly. “I'm guessing you guys worked things out?”

“We'll be working things out when we're ninety. So what happened?”

“We got really drunk,” you muttered.

“What?” Dean looked down at you. 

Sam shook his head. “Every bone crushed. Internal organ's turned to pudding. The cops are all stumped, it's like something ran him over.”

“Something like a truck?” Dean asked.

Sam nodded and explained there had been no tracks. He went on to say that the mayor had bought the property he was murdered on a few weeks ago; which was odd given he was white and found off the main road.

Cassie and Dean were considerably more chummy after their eventful evening, and it made your stomach turn a little. He insisted on being dropped off at the newspaper office Cassie worked at while you and Sam did research on the property the mayor had purchased at the library.

You discovered the mayor’s land was where the Dorian family had lived for over one hundred years. Apparently, their incredibly racist and firebrand son had disappeared just after the string of murders back in the 1960s. Cassie explained how the Dorians owned pretty much everything in the town before Cyrus, their son, disappeared. Weeks after the mayor bought the property, he knocked the house down. The very next day, the first killing started.

***

Amidst your throbbing headache and the research you'd done, you parted ways with the brothers to rest in your motel room. You settled on reorganizing your duffel bag to keep your mind occupied, but it still wandered to Dean and Cassie. You knew you'd been cold to Dean all day, and you just hoped he was too preoccupied with his fling to even notice.

Of course, that was simply wishful thinking. A knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts.

Dean opened the door a moment later and stepped into your room wordlessly. He began to pace a little.

"Are... you okay—?" you started to ask, but he cut you off.

"What's your deal?"

"What?" you pretended to be dumbfounded.

"I caught what you said about getting drunk with Sam last night. Did you... fuck my brother?" he asked, voice teetering on rageful.

"God, no, Winchester," you scoffed. "Not everyone's intentions are sexual 24/7. We literally just played a drinking game and talked."

"Then, what's with your fucking attitude? You've been a bitch to me all day," he replied, shoulders tense.

"Have not, first of all," you began. "Trust me, if I was upset with you, you'd know about it."

"What, then? Is this about Cassie?" he questioned pointedly, staring you down.

"Dean, has it occured to you that not everything has to do with you?" you spat, becoming incredibly defensive. "I'm pissy because I'm hungover. And right now, you are making my headache a thousand times worse."

"Sorry that I was concerned about you, then," he responded flippantly.

"You weren't concerned," you laughed coldly. "You came here looking for a fight. Well, now you've got one. I like Cassie a lot, actually. Different circumstances, we'd be good friends. What I don't like is how unprofessionally you're acting."

"We fucking hunt monsters for a living, (Y/N)," Dean argued. "There's not exactly a code of ethics."

"Well, you should have some desire to conduct yourself in a professional manner. Because your main motivation on every fucking hunt doesn't seem to be hunting, it seems to be getting your dick wet," you berated, even though you knew your words were not reflective of your true thoughts of him.

"Sorry that I'm not a stuck-up bitch like you are," Dean scoffed. "You are completely miserable to be around. You always have something to be angry about. Don't you ever get tired of sucking the life outta everyone?"

You cut your eyes at him harshly, rage boiling under your skin. "Get the fuck out of my room, Winchester," you said evenly.

When he didn't move, it just added to your anger.

"I said get the fuck out!"

***

You and the Winchesters were called to Cassie’s house later that evening when she’d called Dean in a panic about the truck appearing outside of her home. You hated the way Dean sat with his arm protectively around Cassie, especially after your incredibly awkward car ride to her house where he couldn't seem to bare looking at you. He acted like you weren't in the backseat at all.

You handed Cassie a cup of tea, which she took with shaky hands. “Maybe you could throw a couple of shots in that.”

You snorted. “You didn’t see who was driving the truck?”

“It seemed to be no one. Everything was moving so fast. And then it was just gone. Why didn't it kill us?” Cassie questioned.

“Whoever was controlling the truck wants you afraid first,” Dean grumbled. 

Sam turned to Cassie’s mother. “Mrs Robinson, Cassie said that your husband saw the truck before he died.”

The older woman was shaking, pulled away from reality into her own thoughts. When her daughter’s voice brought her back to earth, Mrs. Robinson began to explain. “Oh. Martin was under a lot of stress. You can't be sure about what he was seeing.”

“Well, after tonight I think we can be reasonably sure he was seeing a truck. What happened tonight, you and Cassie are marked. Okay? Your daughter could die.” You knew Dean cared about her, and selfishly, you wanted him to be that worried about you; not her. “So if you know something, now would be a really good time to tell us about it.”

Cassie went to silence Dean, but Mrs. Robinson took in a shaky breath. “Yes. Yes, he said he saw a truck.”

“Did he know who it belonged to?” you asked her.

“He thought he did,” she nodded. She began to get upset. “Cyrus. A man named Cyrus.”

“Cyrus Dorian?” you questioned.

“Cyrus Dorian died more than 40 years ago.”

Now, you had her. “The paper said he went missing, Mrs. Robinson. How do you know he died?”

She refused to answer.

“Mrs. Robinson, please,” you urged.

She began to talk again, getting visibly more upset. “We were all very young. I dated Cyrus a while; I was also seeing Martin. In secret of course. Interracial couples didn't go over too well back then. When I broke it off with Cyrus, and when he found out about Martin, I don't know, he… changed. His hatred. His hatred was frightening.”

“The murders,” Sam noted.

You saw tears forming at the edges of the woman’s eyes. “There were rumors. People of color disappearing into some kind of a truck. Nothing was ever done. Martin and a... Martin and I, we were gonna be, uh, married in that little church near here, but last minute we decided to elope as we didn't want the attention.”

“And Cyrus?” Dean prompted.

“The day we set for the wedding, was the day someone set fire to the church. There was a children's choir practicing in there. They all died.” Mrs. Robinson clapped a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes.

“Did the attacks stop after that?” Sam asked softly.

She shook her head as she continued to sob. “No! There was one more. One night, that truck came for Martin. Cyrus beat him something terrible. But Martin, you see, Martin got loose. And he started hitting Cyrus and he just kept hitting him and hitting him.”

“Why didn't you call the cops?” Dean questioned.

Mrs. Robinson looked at Dean like he was crazy. “This was forty years ago. He called on his friends, Clayton Soames and Jimmy Anderson, and they put Cyrus' body into the truck, and they rolled it into the swamp at the end of his land, and all three of them kept that secret all of these years.”

“And now all three are gone,” Sam said.

“And so is Mayor Todd. Now, he said that you of all people would know he is not a racist. Why would he say that?” Dean asked.

“He was a good man. He was a young deputy back then investigating Cyrus' disappearance. Once he figured out what Martin and the others had done he— he did nothing, because he also knew what Cyrus had done.”

Cassie spoke up for the first time in a while. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I thought I was protecting them. And now there's no one left to protect.” She put her head down in her hands.

“Yes, there is,” Dean said, looking down at Cassie. Mrs. Robinson looked at her daughter as well before breaking down crying once more.

You and Sam left the home shortly after to get to work on finding the truck and disposing of it. Dean paced in front of you, waiting for Cassie to come bid you goodbye. You leaned against the Impala, picking at imaginary dirt under your nails. You just needed something to focus on that wasn’t Dean and your jealousy.

“Ah, my life was so simple. Just school, exams, papers on polycentric cultural norms,” Sam spoke up next to you.

“So I guess we saved you from a boring existence,” Dean smirked.

“Yeah, occasionally I miss boring,” he grinned down at you.

“So, this killer truck—” Dean began before getting cut off by his brother.

“I miss conversations that didn't start with 'this killer truck'.”

Dean laughed a little. “Well, this Cyrus guy. Evil on a level that infected even his truck. When he died, the swamp became his tomb, and his spirit was dormant for forty years.”

“So what woke it up?” Sam questioned.

“The construction on his house,” you shrugged. “Or, rather, destruction.”

“Right. Demolition or remodeling can awaken spirits, make them restless.”

Dean hummed. “And the guy that tore down the family homestead, Harold Todd, is the same guy that kept Cyrus' murder quiet and unsolved.”

“So now his spirit is awakened and out for blood,” Sam nodded.

“Yeah, I guess. Who knows what ghosts are thinking anyway.”

“You know we're going to have to dredge that body up from the swamp, right?"

Dean grinned, and you smirked despite the swirling emotions inside you. You hated how easily those green eyes and freckles could make any negative feelings you had dissipate.

“Man,” Sam groaned.

“You said it,” Dean continued to grin. 

Cassie approached your group from her house, and Dean turned to face her.

“Hey. She's asleep. Now what?” she asked Dean.

“Well, you should stay put and look after her, and we'll be back. Don't leave the house.” Dean held up a finger at her, standing way too close to her for your liking.

“Don't go getting all authoritative on me. I hate it,” she said seductively.

Dean glanced behind himself to you and Sam. You both averted your eyes while you held back the bile rising in your throat.

“Don't leave the house, please?” Dean mumbled. Suddenly, the two were kissing. You looked up at them and leaned over to Sam.

“It’s like watching a car crash,” you whispered. “With, like, kids burning in the backseat.”

Sam laughed at you and cleared his throat. Dean simply held up a finger back to you, urging you to “wait a minute.”

“You comin' or what?” Dean awkwardly rubbed his neck after he pulled away from Cassie, and you envied her ability to make Dean blush the way she had.

The drive to the Dorian property largely consisted of Sam teasing Dean about Cassie while you said nothing. Dean used a tractor that was on the property from the construction to pull the submerged truck out of the water.

Sam continued to tease Dean about how he was definitely still in love with Cassie while you continued to focus on your work. You doused the corpse in Cyrus’s truck once you’d gotten it on the ground with kerosene and watched as it burned.

“All business tonight, huh, (Y/N)?” Dean taunted, still clearly upset with you.

“You’ll have to forgive me, I’m not particularly interested in who or what you choose to put your dick in,” you responded coldly.

“Hey!—” 

You turned to him, eyes hard. “Seriously. Let’s focus, please.”

Sam eyed you curiously while you continued to watch the corpse burn. Suddenly, the truck appeared behind you and the brothers, revving its engine.

“So burning the body had no effect on that thing?” Sam questioned, panicked.

“I guess not,” you shrugged.

“Sure it did. Now it's really pissed,” Dean snarked.

“Great! He’s fused with the fucking truck,” you huffed. “Where are you going?” Dean was retreating to his car.

“Goin' for a little ride,” he responded.

“What?!”

“Gonna lead that thing away. That busted piece of crap: you gotta burn it.”

“How the fuck are we supposed to burn a truck, Dean?” you argued.

“I don't know. Figure something out.” He threw the duffel bag in the trunk at you before getting in and taking off.

“What the f—” you watched his retreating form.

“You sure you’re okay, (Y/N/N)?” Sam asked you. “You seem pretty on edge.”

“Yeah, I’m fine, dude, let’s focus.” You thought for a moment before getting an idea. 

“Hey, you gotta give me a minute,” Sam said to his brother who had called him. “Let me get back to you.” He hung up.

You turned to Sam. “The church where Cyrus butchered those kids.”

He grinned. “Hallowed ground. That should work!” He called Cassie and had her tell him where the church had once stood.

Sam then called his panicking brother back and instructed him on exactly how far to drive to hopefully demolish the ghost. “Dean. You still there? Dean?”

He breathed a sigh of relief when his brother spoke to him again. “Dean, you're where the church was. The place Cyrus burned down. Murdered all those kids. Church ground is hallowed ground; whether the church is still there or not. Evil spirits cross over hallowed ground, sometimes they're destroyed, so we figured, maybe that would get rid of it.”

Even though he wasn’t on speaker, you could hear Dean’s panic. “Maybe? Maybe! What if you were wrong?”

Sam smirked. “Huh. Honestly that thought hadn't occurred to me.”

***

You didn't make it back to the motel until almost two in the morning. Dean was still completely ignoring your existence, and he was beginning to follow Sam into their room. You stopped him just before he could.

"Dean, wait," you called out after him, resolve breaking.

"What," he almost growled, turning back to you.

"Can we talk?" you asked, eyes pleading.

Dean didn't say anything in response for a moment, and you held your breath while you waited for him to talk. Finally, he nodded slightly.

"I'm sorry," you said earnestly. "For everything that I said earlier."

He nodded. "I am, too. You're not completely misreable to be around. Only sometimes when you get bitchy." You could see the slight smirk on his face illuminated by the moonlight.

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. "You can never take anhthing seriously, huh?"

"Hey, this is a chick-flick-moment-free zone."

"Seriously," you laughed, "I didn't mean what I said at all. You're... actually amazing. As a hunter, I mean," you quickly corrected yourself. "I know your first priority on hunts isn't sex."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Eh, you weren't one-hundred-percent wrong. Sorry about that."

You shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. Who or what you choose to fornicate with is your business. Even if it is the Magic Fingers machines at those nasty ass motels." A smile tugged on your lips.

He chuckled. "Well, anyway... goodnight, sweetheart." Dean turned on his heel and walked away from you, leaving you in the parking lot with a pounding heart and butterfly-filled stomach.

***

The next day, you and the brothers were leaving town. You and Sam waited in the car while Dean stood talking to Cassie. You, once again, couldn’t tear your eyes away from the horror show in front of you. He kissed her deeply before climbing down into the car. You had never been so thankful to leave a town in your rearview mirror.

The car had been mostly silent for the last thirty minutes before Sam broke it. “I like her.”

Dean grumbled, “Yeah,” in response.

“You meet someone like her, doesn't it makes you wonder if it's worth it? Putting everything else on hold, doing what we do?”

You watched Dean with bated breath, waiting anxiously for his answer. Instead of replying, he just took out his sunglasses and smiled. “Why don't you wake me up when it's my turn to drive?” He slouched against the window and sighed.

You shook your head and looked back out of your window, mulling over everything you’d felt during your time in Columbus. You knew feelings were not allowed in your line of work; certainly not relationships. You refused to let them interfere with your job any longer, and convinced yourself you would be perfectly content with Dean just being your friend.

After all, you'd already made it incredibly apparent that he was too much of a playboy for you. You would never be able to stomach a relationship with him because of how jealous of a person you were. And so, you decided that as long as you were with the boys, you would never, ever date Dean Winchester.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog

quite a few tags are broken :( sorry lovebugs!!

[elllisaaa]

hi can u write bf hueningkai too please?

BF!KAI who, despite all the time you had spent together, is still shy around you sometimes, and is still absolutely smitten by your beauty.

kai is still hit by the realization that you're really his girlfriend sometimes, because how can someone as pretty and perfect and kind as you love him ? he doesn't know what he did in his past life to deserve that, but he's glad he got to wake up by your side every morning. that also means that he will never stop reminding you that he loves you : he needs to tell you at least five times a day, to cuddle and kiss as much as he can. sometimes he's even worried about smothering you with his affection a little too much, but you always make sure to remind him that you love him too. the smile on his face and faint blush on his cheeks when you whisper that you love him in between kisses may be the most effective way to fluster your boyfriend. that also means that kai is constantly complimenting and praising you. whenever you show him your outfits, he never fails to show you he appreciates them and the genuine smile on his face as he looks at you makes your heart melt.

"you're so gorgeous baby, how are you even real ?"

usually, when kai is a little down, he prefers to be away from everyone else until it gets better. but since he met you, the only thing he need and seek when he had a bad day is the comfort of your embrace. he's not afraid to cry in front of you, and the fact that he trusts you enough to be vulnerable with you only strenghtened how much you care for him. he doesn't like it when his members are treating him like a baby or teasing him about that, but when it's you, he doesn't mind and he even likes it. but kai also wants to look dependable, and for you to not be afraid to come to him when you need something. and when you actually do - often to ask him to help you reach something on the higher shelves - he feels all giddy inside. but that doesn't stop him from teasing you and asking for a kiss in exchange for his service. also the type to hold things out of your reach and ask you to kiss him if you want it back with a smug smile, and then get shy about it once you do it.

"i won't give it back unless you give me a kiss." - "you asked for this kiss baby, don't get shy on me now." - "i'm not ! you lips are just really soft…"

kai doesn't really like to share his plushies collection, especially with his members because he's sure they would lose them. however, when you asked him to borrow one to keep you company while he was away on tour, he couldn't say no to your cute face, pouty lips and pleading, puppy eyes. he's incredibly weak for you. you only need to say "please" and be cute, and he'll cave in very easily. another thing about your boyfriend he's that he wants to see you always well fed and hydrated. so whenever you tell you didn't eat, he will buy food for you. there's no question about who pays when the two of you go out as it's always him. he feels so lucky to have an incredible girlfriend like you, he obviously has to spoil you. sometimes you don't know how to feel about all the gifts he's giving you, but he always insists that he's doing it because he loves you and because you deserve to be treated like the queen you are. his members are always making fun of him for being such a simp for you, but kai couldn't care less, he's proud of it even because every girl should be treated like this and especially you. and everytime he defends you in front of them, you can't help the smile taking over your face.

"you're all just jealous 'cause you are bitchless and i got the prettiest girl all for me."

BF!KAI who is treating you exactly the same way in the bedroom, putting your pleasure above his and everything else. your wishes are his commands.

nothing is too much for his girl, so kai is willing to do everything you want. want him to rail you into next week ? no problem. want him to be your good boy ? of course. however, and even if he's a little ashamed to admit it, he cums twice as fast when he's subbing. the way your voice deepens whenever you take the lead and ask him to jerk off in front of you before he can have your pussy turn him on quickly, getting hard in his pants every time you get more assertive, even when it's not directed to him. you could be scolding the waiter for messing up your order three times and he'll be watching you with lust in his eyes, squirming in his seat and dying to let you use his body and take your frustration out on him when you get back home at night. as much as you can be mean to him, he's nothing but good to you : only talking when he's allowed to, never breaking your rules, keeping his hands for himself when you ask him to. he wants to deserve your praises, to have to work for them. and he'll do absolutely anything for that. he'll eat you out to no end, and if he could die in between your thighs, he would be a happy man. he's also willing to beg, they come out of his mouth so easily it's almost pathetic.

"please baby, please let me taste your pretty cunt, i need it…" - "have you been a good boy hyuka ?" - "yes, yes, i didn't touch myself all week, i waited for you, i promise, please i need you so bad."

the thing that drives kai the most crazy is when you're wearing high socks paired up with a cute little skirt. if you want him to pop a boner on the spot, that's the perfect way to rail him up. whenever you put on a skirt to go out with him, he has to physically restrain himself from fucking you before getting out of the car. because the way the material is rising up whenever you want to get something on the higher shelves of the store you're in is almost giving him a peek of your ass. and of course he's gonna slide behind you to hide the view to everyone else, but you can feel his hot breath against your neck, and his semi hard-on pressing against the small of your back. these little hangouts always end up with some good sex in his car, windows fogged up for the way he has you bouncing on his dick, filling you up with his cum. kai can be a little perv sometimes, and he will have no shame stealing your high socks and panties when he has to go on tour, sniffling the tissue and jerking off while imagining it's you with him right now. he'll send you pics of the evidence of his crimes too, because if he's suffering, you have to suffer too.

"i wish you were there baby, wish it was your little cunt squeezing my dick, fuck ! i miss you so bad, need to ruin you…"

and i personaly think that kai would be easily jealous, but not in a toxic way, in a way that makes him crave to show everyone that he's yours, because he knows that you're fucking gorgeous and that anyone would want to have a chance with you. but you're his. and he's yours. and he needs to show you off. when he gets possessive like that, he's letting you know because he's getting so touchy and clingy, kissing you and letting his hands wander in some inapropriate places sometimes. the sex after that is really good, letting you know how pretty you are and reminding you that you belong to him through and through. besides, even if he doesn't mind you calling him baby, when his members are treating him like that, he despise it. whenever he gets frustrated like that, he needs to assert dominance and he fucks you rough at the dorm - head pushed down in to the pillow, pounding into you from behind, your whines echoing in his rooms and letting know all his hyungs how good he's fucking you. in these kinds of moment, his size kink drives him mad, seeing how easily he's able to throw you around without even trying. and the way you're crying his name from him calling you a desperate slut fuels his ego so much.

"you're clenching around me so tight baby, you love knowing they can all hear you, right ? yeah, i know you do. fucking slut going dumb for my big cock, uh ?"

[kaiijo]

ok. bllk and jealousy rate. how jealous can they get over their gf and what do they do to cope lmao

HOW JEALOUS IS HE? — [BLUE LOCK]

characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kunigami rensuke, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, oliver aiku content: gn! reader (request says gf but reader is gender neutral) notes: some of these are lowkey toxic, minor spoilers for kunigami’s character arc, nagi is taller than reader

most jealous: bachira, rin, reo 

bachira meguru ✶

bachira has many, many insecurities. growing up isolated and without many friends, he is more possessive of those he’s close to, which obviously includes you. he just doesn’t want to lose you, which manifests itself in jealousy over anyone he perceives as a threat to your relationship

bachira gets really clingy when he’s jealous. he thinks that inserting himself into the situation, sometimes literally wedging himself between you and the other person. he usually chooses to drape himself over you, nuzzling into your neck and speaking low enough that only you hear, trying his best to divert your attention. third-wheeling is pretty uncomfortable for the other person, especially with the smiling sneer bachira’s shooting at them, so they make a quick irish exit 

itoshi rin ✶

an egoist to his very core, rin can get very jealous. while he’s very sure of himself in nearly every other part of his life, he knows that he is not an ideal partner a lot of the time, though he’ll never admit it. he’s not the most expressive or the most patient, and he’s sure that there are better partners for you out there. 

when rin’s jealous, it’s a silent but deadly thing. like when he’s locked in on the ball in a game, his focus you and his ‘competitor’ is unwavering. he stalks over to stand behind you, his chest bumping right up against your back, and he snarls, “what the hell do you want, you mediocrity?” usually the other person backs off after seeing rin’s bone-chilling glare but if they’re bold enough to answer back, rin bares his teeth and is poised to strike. it’s probably best if you diffuse the situation quickly before it gets uglier  

mikage reo ✶

we already know how jealous reo was over nagi so it’s safe to say that he’s definitely very jealous. having been bored with the world and other people for so long, he’s thrilled when you two get together. it makes his very protective of you and he wants to be one of the most, if not the most, special person in your life. 

reo can go a couple of ways when he feels jealous over someone else but it think his primary response is to tear down the person methodically. he tilts his head a little, looks the person up and down, and notes everything about their appearance — hair, skin, clothes (including brand and cost) and criticizes every little thing. it’s a strategic move in his opinion, using observational skills and knowledge he had given his upbringing to pick apart the other person. he also might make some underhanded comment that includes that he has a black card 

less jealous: isagi, kunigami, sae 

isagi yoichi ✶

he definitely gets jealous from time to time but he doesn’t feel the need to act on it a lot. he’s pretty mature and for the most part level-headed (plus his ability to piece together future events helps him keep his cool a lot). this doesn’t mean that he isn’t jealous 

when isagi is jealous, he’s sulky. he won’t take immediate action and watch from afar, arms crossed and a little pouty. he tries to look as dejected and as ‘wet-cat pathetic’ as possible to make you feel bad and come over to comfort him. when you inevitably do, looping your arm through his and kissing his cheek, he can’t help but smirk at the other person like a cat who go the cream 

kunigami rensuke ✶

i debated where to put kunigami since there are ‘two sides’ to him — pre- and post-wildcard. pre-wild card kunigami is definitely a lot less bothered; he trusts you 100% and is 100% confident and secure in your relationship and himself. post-wild card kunigami is less chill and more forceful. he’s not a hero anymore but even as he plays a more ‘villainous’ role in soccer, he won’t cross that line in your relationship. he’s still very secure in you and himself, but he’s more protective of your relationship. definitely a ‘i trust you/us but it’s other people i’m worried about’ kind of guy

when pre-wild card kunigami got jealous, he won’t act in the moment and will talk to you about it afterwards, in a private setting. open lines of communication were important to him and working out problems like this. post-wildcard kunigami is all stormy looks and intimidation. like rin, he also stands behind you but in less actively aggressive way and more just to be threatening. it’s 95% effective and the 5% of times it doesn’t work, kunigami is not above muscling the other person away 

itoshi sae ✶

i thought about putting sae in the ‘most jealous’ section but i just think that he is someone whose jealousy simmer just beneath his apathetic surface. he sees most other people as beneath him and believes that they are not worthy of speaking to you, let alone hitting on you, but because he’s sees them as so beneath him, he can’t be bothered half the time to do anything since they’re simply not worth it. he gets the most jealous when it’s people who he can potentially view as equals, like other professional athletes 

when he’s jealous, sae literally just pretends they don’t exist, only talking to you. if the other person tries to interject, he sends them a sideways glare — the only acknowledgment of their existence — and then turns away to continue whatever conversation, suggesting that you both get away from the other person as quickly as possible. if ignoring the person doesn’t work, sae doesn’t shy away from spewing vitriol at the other person

least jealous: nagi, oliver, michael

nagi seishiro ✶

simply put, being jealous is a hassle to nagi. it makes him too hot and too annoyed for him to want to feel it so he suppresses the feeling a lot. nagi’s height is already intimidating enough for most people so they don’t approach you when they see you two together but that isn’t a deterrent to everyone

when nagi gets jealous, he does one of two things: just gives a thousand-yard stare that freaks people out or he gets whiny and clingy. his stare is eerie and silent, and the lightness of his eyes doesn’t help it. he towers over you like some cryptid companion. when he gets whiny and clingy, nagi tugs at your sleeve and asks drily, “can we go yet? why are you still talking to them?”

oliver aiku ✶

sigh… oliver is undoubtedly someone who thinks and knows he’s the shit. with so many women and men alike fawning over everything about him, his ego is through the roof. he has very little worry about you leaving him for someone else. honestly, he finds it amusing most of the time when someone attempt to draw you away from him, and let’s it play out a lot for his own entertainment. of course, he’ll intervene if it’s making you uncomfortable but he also believes you can handle yourself 

when oliver gets jealous, he acts as casual as possible. he’s friendly towards the other person and but it’s not hard to uncover that it’s all fake, whether it’s from the glint in his eye or the way his smile is stiff and forced. common tells when he gets jealous is that he pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek or he clenches his teeth and inhales softly but sharply.  he employs the good old tactic of calling the other person the wrong name and making all kind of underhanded comments that slowly chip at their nerves. (“haruya? haruki? oh! you’re haruto! right, right, you know, they’ve never mentioned you before! crazy, huh?”) 

michael kaiser ✶

kaiser in german literally means ‘emperor,’ and it’s no secret that kaiser views himself as one. similar to sae, he see himself as so above others that he’s not even bothered by other people hitting on you. it displeases him greatly, sure, but these cockroaches will never be able to steal you from him so why should an emperor deal with the plebians? the only time that ever happens is when a peasant is particularly forceful and then, kaiser intervenes

when he gets jealous, kaiser puts on a show. if there’s one thing about him, he’s a bit of a drama queen. he will absolutely posture and puff out his chest at the offending person, looking down his nose arrogantly and smirking. he makes a big display of wrapping himself around you, gripping firmly at your hips and saying, “liebling, you’re very charitable to entertain this insect, but it’s time to end this ruse.”

[worldofkuro]

idk if it sounds selfish but i need more comfort in my life rn, so i wanna ask for help.

if it's not really a big deal, i wanna see some comfort between alastor and reader when they were teens. maybe after he already told her that he wants to marry her, and something made her feel insecure and bad about herself. so she called Marie and ask Alastor to come, so she could lie down in his arms and listen him telling her that he loves her anyway.

or any other plots because I'll be okay with everything if it's fluff. thank you.

Of course dearest, anything for you to feel better. For those who will notice it, their last sentence is from the song “ Follow You” by Bring me the Horizon. I love this song and I thought it was pretty fitting. So here ,my dear, this scenario isn’t very long but I hope it will make you feel better. 

Follow You

You were coming back from school, trying to contain your tears. 

You had told Alice about Alastor’s wedding proposal and she was excited for you but some other girls heard you and made fun of you. How could a man see you desirable enough to be his wife? Most of the time, you didn’t care about their vile words, but you didn’t know why, today it was hurtful. Of course, Alice had taken your side immediately swearing at them like a sailor.

You didn’t greet your parents as you went immediately into your bedroom, hiding yourself under the blankets. You couldn’t even look at yourself in the mirror. Were you even worth being Alastor’s wife? He would always say you were “endearingly stupid”, did it mean he saw you as a stupid girl? Was he manipulating you?

Were you worth being special to someone’s heart?

You jerked your head up as you heard a knock on your window. You wiped your eyes and saw Alastor, his fist against the glass, staring at you. You opened the window quickly, scared he would fall.

“ Alastor, what are you doing here?”

“ I heard my mother talking with yours through the telephone, saying you didn’t feel well, so I came to check on you.” he entered your room, looking at you. You saw his eyes stopped at your tearied one. You tried to look away but he gripped your face, making sure he could watch your expression. “ Who?”

“ What..?”

“ Who made you cry?” he said with a gentle smile but his eyes had a dark glint.

“ No one.. It’s just… Am I worth it , Alastor?”

You gasped as Alastor forced you to lay on your bed, pushing something soft in your arms. Looking down on it you almost cried some more as you saw Eamon staring back at you. You squeezed it against your chest as Alastor laid next to you, observing your face.

“ Dearest, you’re just like a jewel. Being desired by people and those who can't have you are jealous. You are like a fresh breeze in summer, so short and yet so welcomed. You are much more than how you perceive yourself.”

“ But.. I feel like I’m going to be a useless wife…”

“ Hah! You, my dear, a useless wife? You could be doing nothing at home, as long as you are waiting for me, I would feel the happiest. But why would you think that? You have always been to my side, always accepted me. Why would I choose someone else to be next to me for my entire life? How could I look at anyone else now that my eyes have seen you?”

“ Alastor.. Do you love me…?”

He looked perplexed but wrapped his arms around your body, staring at your eyes without blinking.

“ I don’t know what love is about. But if loving you is wanting to devour you all, to protect you, you have your attention on me all the time, then I guess.. that I love you. But please, dearest, remember that even though I adore you, more than anything, my love is tainted with darkness. No matter how much I’m obsessed with you, I’ll drag you down to hell with me. I'm telling you, you're all I need, I promise you, you're all I see. I’ll never leave.” he stared at you, waiting for your answer.

“ I’ll follow you.’ you breathed, staring at his chocolate eyes. “So dig two graves because when you die, I swear I'll be leaving by your side. So you can drag me through hell, I’ll follow you.” you smiled sweetly at him as he beamed at your words, his cheeks flushed. He squeezed you against his body, Eamon between the both of you. 

You would always be together, the both of you. Alastor would always be by your side, like a curse, clawing at you to keep you from leaving, even if you would never think such a thing.

Your love was twisted, tainted in dark obsession but it was perfect for the both of you. Maybe people wouldn’t consider it as love, but you knew deep inside, Alastor would always chase after you if you were to run away. If you were to run away because of your feelings, your fears, everything, the only person who would chase you would be Alastor. And you knew he would never stop.

He would follow you.

[lambtotheslaughterr]

Rise : Chapter Seventeen

A Rafe Cameron Series

[THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN THEMES OF NON-CON/DUB-CON, MENTAL-EMOTIONAL-PHYSICAL ABUSE, ETC. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. 18+. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT]

WC: 3.5k

Dividers provided by @firefly-graphics

CHAPTER SIXTEEN | MASTERLIST | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Your back ached as you trudged behind everyone. Rafe walked alongside you, every step of the way. He wasn’t going to take it easy on you & you knew it.

There was debate about how to track down Bear. The others wanted to take Sayyed’s wrangler, making it easier to get from point A to point B, but Rafe didn’t allow it. He didn’t want Bear, or anyone for that matter, to destroy or steal the vehicle. So, the hunt for Bear would be done on foot. You thought that to be a good thing though, meant everyone would be slower.

You didn’t understand why Rafe felt it necessary to track down Bear. It had been days since he escaped & since you were leading them in the wrong direction, Bear would never be found. Rafe didn’t know you were lying, but he had to at least know that Bear was long gone. So, why? But you didn’t bother asking. After what he did to you, you would never give him your voice again.

“It’ll be half a days walk to get there.” Rafe said beside you, his voice low. “Where is he going exactly?”

You rolled your eyes, groveling internally. Even if Greensboro was the true destination, you wouldn’t have told him.

“_____.” Rafe said your name in warning, “If you don’t tell me…”

You stopped in your steps abruptly, turning to glare at him. Challenging him. What the fuck else are you going to do to me? You knew Rafe understood what you were asking by your glare. It was bad enough that he had Micah lash you like they did hundreds of years ago, made worse by Micah breaking your fingers, which were expertly cast but the pain was still there. But more so, he had raped you. Twice. Lied to you, took advantage of you, manipulated you. There was nothing more he could take from you.

A deep grumble produced from within his chest as he sneered down at you, but he ultimately snatched you by the upper arm & forced you to keep moving. You shook him off, glad to walk ahead of him with him out of your line of sight.

Maddie, Kai, & Barry stayed behind at the mill. The rest of you—Micah, Rafe, Adrianna, Victor, & Enzo. Micah led the pack, keeping an eye out for any sign of recent life. Adrianna was hot on his heels, her gun securely attached at her hip. Everyone carried, except for you. Of course, Rafe knew better than to give you any sort of weapon, or means of defense should any of you come across hostile forces.

Your role was the mule. You carried one of the heavier backpacks on your back which only added to the pain & discomfort of Micah’s punishment at Rafe’s command. The backpack carried most of what anyone would need to survive in the woods should any of you get held up for longer than imagined. You were surprised Rafe trusted you to carry it, knowing that if you had the opportunity to escape you would & then you’d have everything you needed to survive. And while you knew the chances to get just that opportunity were slim, you were fully prepared to take off.

What you wore wouldn’t get you much survival went. After all, the group would only be out of for a couple days, but in the off chance you did escape, you’d make it your second priority to find more clothes. Your first would be putting a great distance between you & the enemies you walked with.

About an hour into walking in the wrong direction, a whistle sounded from the front of the group, & you peered over the heads of the others as you saw Micah halt the others with his right fist raised.

“Rafe, think we got something.” Micah announced, his voice carrying to the two of you in the back.

Rafe tossed you a look before making you move forward with him. Once at the front, Rafe approached Micah who was bent at the knees inspecting the forest floor.

“Tracks. Recent. Maybe a day or two old.” You heard Micah tell him.

You weren’t sure when & where Micah learned how to track, but you didn’t care. They weren’t Bear’s. But you’d lead them to believe they were.

“Huh.” Rafe stared at the shoe prints in the dirt before following the direction they went in, “Hasn’t gotten very far.”

“If they’re even his…” Micah rose to his full height, giving Rafe a knowing look before throwing a spiteful glance your way.

You returned it ten-fold.

“They’re his.” Rafe told him firmly, “She has no reason to lie. Besides, look at her.”

Both of the boys glanced where you stood, “She’s shaking. She knows were getting closer & she knows she can do nothing about it.”

Pfft. But you played the role of scared & surprised thoroughly, widening your eyes in fear. Rafe clapped Micah on the shoulder, “Lead the way.”

Micah inhaled sharply, displeased, but nodded. The group continued & Rafe kept you close, almost as if there was an invisible leash tied securely around your neck. You dreamed about cutting the imagined tether, more so, cutting Rafe’s throat. But surrounded by his lackey’s, you knew the chance would never happen. Micah would put you down before you ever could.

The group walked for another 40 minutes or so, following the tracks closely unknowing of where they led. Since you knew them not to be Bear’s, you couldn’t imagine it would lead you all to anywhere good, but you wouldn’t warn them of such. If they got fucked, you hoped it was royally.

Your feet were beginning to ache though. Your hand, too. You took painkillers this morning to numb the discomfort but it appeared they were already wearing off. Grunting silently to yourself, you shifted the back uncomfortably. Rafe paused in his steps when he noticed you were slowing down.

“What is it?” He asked, staring at you in mild concern. Concern? Ha, yeah, right.

Ignoring him, you dropped yourself onto a nearby fallen trunk, swinging the backpack around to your front.

Rafe whistled at the others, “Wait. We’re taking ten!”

You heard half of them grumble, likely having noticed the reason for a break was because of you, but the other half sounded slightly relieved, more than happy to take a breather. Reaching into the backpack, you searched blindly for the painkillers Adrianna placed in there. But after a moment or of two of struggling to find them, the backpack was ripped away from you. Rafe kneeled on one knee before you, unzipping another compartment of the backpack. You heard the rattling sound of pills against plastic.

He produced the painkillers & you reached your hand out for them, but just as you did, Rafe pulled his hand away, a haughty smirk on his face, “Need these?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Huh?” Rafe raised his brows, “Then ask nicely.”

He wanted you to talk, that much was obvious. But you wouldn’t give in. You attempted reaching for them again but Rafe was quick to use his other hand to block you from moving closer to the object of your desire.

“C’mon. Mind your p’s & q’s.”

Asshole. You pressed your lips together, glaring at him as he eyed you challengingly.

The pain would only get worse unless you got your hands on those painkillers. And you weren’t sure if going a full day without them, potentially more than that, was worth it just in an effort to remain silent.

But just as you parted your lips to snarkily ask for the medicine, shots rang out. Before you could register was exactly was happening, Rafe yanked you from the trunk you sat on & shielded you as he fell on top of you from the bullets whizzing through the air.

“Get down!” Rafe shouted as the others quickly fell to the forest floor & covered their heads.

Your back stung & burned as Rafe’s body weight crushed against you, pressing you into the ground. Hot tears escaped your eyes at the sudden onslaught of pain but you had bigger worries to concern yourself with. Like being shot at.

“There’s more than one!” Micah shouted amidst the chaos.

You felt as Rafe covered your head with his arms as he cocooned himself around you. You whimpered beneath him but not because you were scared. Your back & hand were fucking pulsing with ungodly pain.

Then just as quickly as the madhouse began, it ended. The forest was eerily quiet for about a second before Rafe shot to his feet.

“Adrianna, stay with _____. Rest of you with me, let’s go!” Rafe shouted as he & the rest of the boys took off after him through the trees, all their guns out & ready for war.

You stayed on the ground for a moment longer, watching as Adrianna set herself up behind a tree, hidden well enough from view but had her gun aimed & ready in the direction the others disappeared to. In the distance, you could hear shouting & more gunfire. But it sounded further & further away.

Your heart hammered in your chest. This was your chance. Likely your one & only chance. You had to take it. Now.

Looking around you, you spotted a rock half the size of your head. It was only partly buried by the earth. Quickly, & quietly, you crawled over to it, unearthing it from the forest floor. Then you peered at the back Adrianna’s head.

You may not remember anything from the last couple weeks, but you remembered her as someone you once called friend. How you, her, & Millie would have girls’ night at your apartment where the three of you would drink wine & beer & troll the university dating app, making fun of the pool of single fish in the area. You remembered how she would poke fun at you in the morning after when you were dealing with a wicked hangover but could make one hell of a hangover cocktail to help.

But that girl was gone. Dead & gone. The girl who had her back to you wasn’t a friend. She watched as Rafe & Micah abused you, showed no emotion or care during it. She allowed Rafe to lie & manipulate you, all to keep him happy. And you’d bet your life on it that she knew about him raping you. The girl before you wasn’t a friend, she was an extension of the enemy. And in this new world, you learned harshly that survival meant doing whatever it took to survive.

Adrianna was none the wiser as you walked up behind her, her focus entirely on the woods before her. After all, you were sure she didn’t expect you to grow a pair. Underestimating you would be her downfall.

With the rock gripped tightly in your hand, you raised it above your head, then brought it down on the back of Adrianna’s skull. Adrianna howled in pain, the gun dropping from her hands as she fell to her knees clutching her head. You quickly kicked the gun away into some foliage nearby. But as you did, Adrianna was quick too react & rebuttal.

She swung her leg out, knocking your feet out from under you, effectively making you drop the rock. A wheezed grunt escaped you as you fell to your back. Adrianna growled, glaring hotly at you.

“You fucking hit me?!” She yelled.

All you could do was smirk. You’d do it again.

“Fuck, Rafe.” She spit, reaching into a band around her thigh & removing the pocketknife there. Shit. You had forgotten about that. “You’re dead.”

Adrianna screamed then, racing towards you with the knife, aiming it right at your chest. You forced yourself to roll to the side just as she fell where you once were, her knife dug into the earth. Much to your luck, you rolled right next to the rock you had used on her before. Quickly gripping it yet again, you swung your arm & bashed the rock into Adrianna’s face. Another yelp sounded from her. Her hand loosened around the knife.

Your survival instincts only burned brighter as you kicked her in the stomach, knocking her onto her back & away from her knife. You rolled after until you straddled her hips. She threw a punch into your side, making you wince in pain, but not enough to deter you. The rock fell from your hand for a second time. With both hands, you hurriedly snatched the back of her head & raised it before bringing your forehead down on her. The sound of bone crunching was practically music to your ears.

“You broke my fucking nose!” Adrianna cried out as she instinctively raised her hands to cover her face, blood seeping between her fingers.

I’ll break more than that, bitch.

Yanking one of her hands from her face, you gripped four of her fingers in your left hand, & with all the strength you could muster in your non-dominant hand, you bent the fingers back until you heard them snap all at the same time.

“Fuck! Get the fuck off me!” Adrianna screamed, thrashing under you but your rage kept you grounded atop her.

Eyeing her pocket knife a foot away, you quickly reached out & snatched it, before bringing the briny edge of the blade to her throat. Adrianna immediately stopped crying, though she was still breathing heavily, as she stared wide-eyed up at you.

You pressed the blade further into her skin, just enough that if she made any sudden movement, it would surely puncture her.

The two of you glared at one another. You shook your head, angry tears returning as you stared down at someone you once called friend.

“Why?” You questioned, your voice harsh & hoarse.

She sneered up at you, “Why, what?”

“Why did you let him do all that shit to me?”

Adrianna’s scowl softened, but only slightly. Then her eyes hardened.

“Why, Adrianna?!” You yelled, pressing the blade until you saw a droplet of blood appear.

“Because.” She started, her voice equally as harsh as your own, “He’s a survivor.”

A teardrop of yours landed on Adrianna’s cheek at her admittance. Your blood felt hot, your skin burned, your back stung, your hand throbbed, your mind darkened.

You leaned forward, looking her dead in the eyes as you gritted out the last words she’d hear, “So am I.”

Then you brought the knife down & plunged it into the center of her chest. Adrianna screamed then yelped as blood pooled around your hand & soaked her shirt. Then she coughed & red stained her lips as her lungs drowned in her own blood.

Tears continued to fall from your eyes as you watched Adrianna weakly reach for you. You shoved yourself off her, your heart racing as you paced around her.

“Rafe…will be…proud.” Adrianna choked out as her eyes began to glaze over.

You stood there silently as she struggled to breathe. And then a rattle sounded from her throat, & she stopped moving. Adrianna was dead. Her blood on your hands proved it.

But you didn’t have time to mourn your old friend. You needed to move.

The forest was silent. No gunfire. No shouting. Whoever Rafe & the others chased after wouldn’t survive long. You had to get as far away as possible before they returned.

Rushing back to the fallen trunk, you quickly found the bottle of painkillers Rafe had dropped & stuffed them back into the backpack. Once the backpack was secured, you glanced around once more. The knife. The gun.

Moving as fast as possible, you snatched the gun from the brush you kicked it into & stuck it into your waistband. Then, as coldly & emotionlessly as possible, you returned to Adrianna’s body. Kneeling down, you firmly gripped the knife buried into her chest & yanked it out. Blood sprayed across your shirt. You ignored the action of what you were doing & wiped the blade against your thigh before folding it back into its place.

Now, it was time to run.

Rafe circled the clearing, glaring at the one man left alive as Micah held a gun under his chin.

“So, you haven’t seen a big guy come through here?” Rafe asked for the last time.

After the unknown shoots shot at him & his group, Rafe led the men into the woods, determined to track down & maim those who shot at them in the first place. He mildly hoped Bear would be among them, but much to his chagrin, Bear was nowhere to be found. Instead, after a lengthy gunfight & hand-to-hand brawl, Rafe finally gained the upper hand.

There was only three of them. Micah killed one. Victor the other. Now, there was just one alive. He was around Rafe’s age, give or take a few years. The other two had been older. Maybe his brothers. Rafe didn’t care though. He just wanted answers.

“Like I said,” The young man spit, “No one comes through these woods without us knowing about it. How do you think we found you all? We have a whole fifty acres rigged to alert us to any potential threats.”

Rafe smirked at that. He was indeed a threat. And they fucked up when they started shooting at him. It was too bad, honestly. Rafe would’ve liked to have had the extra manpower. But he wasn’t going to let them get away with it. Not one bit.

“Those tracks we found, whose were they then?” Micah asked next as he forced the muzzle of his deeper into the man’s chin.

“Ours.” The stranger responded. “Look, you won, alright?!”

He shuddered, his eyes peering around at the others with pitiful plea, “Just let me go. It won’t happen again.”

Rafe sighed, staring up at the tops of the trees. Then he glanced at the young man, “You’re right. It won’t.”

Then he nodded at Micah.

Micah’s grinned & pulled the trigger. The back of the man’s head exploded & chunks of blood, brain, & flesh painted the tree behind him.

“She lied.” Rafe thought out loud.

“I told you so.” Micah commented as he cleaned off the muzzle of his gun. “Still, you act so surprised that your precious slut would dare defy you.”

Rafe ignored the comment, shaking his head, “Well. She won’t lie again.”

“How’re you going to make sure of that?” Micah questioned.

“Because hurting her doesn’t get us the truth. But…hurting someone she cares about? That’ll be the winner.”

Micah guffawed at that, smirking knowingly, “There’s no one else she cares about. You made sure of that.”

“No, no.” Rafe disagreed, gesturing for the others to collect the guns & ammo off the dead men, “There’s still one person left.”

“Who?” Micah cocked his head, “You? C’mon, you’re crazy but you’re not delusional.”

“Nah, not me.” Rafe smiled, “Kai. That little pussy has nothing to offer us anyway. _____ knows he only follows me because he’s scared. We hurt him, we get answers. Real answers.”

Micah sighed but nodded, “Worth the try, I guess.”

“Alright, let’s head back. I’m sure the girls are just worried sick.” Rafe shared sarcastically. The others laughed as they trailed their way back to where they ran off from.

But what they returned to was a sight none of them ever expected to see.

“Holy shit, dude.” Victor breathed out as everyone circled around Anna’s body.

Rafe felt his heartbeat wildly within his chest. Micah kneeled down, his fingers against Anna’s neck as he felt for a pulse. But it was futile. She was clearly dead.

Micah looked up at Rafe, nodding in confirmation.

“Guess your girl has more fight in her.” Enzo commented playfully.

Rafe was stewing. _____ killed Anna? Had anyone said she would be capable of such a thing months ago he’d say bullshit, but now. Now, she had nothing left to lose. And it was all Rafe’s doing. He created her, molded her to be as cold-blooded of a killer as he was. Part of him was impressed, & regrettably horny about it, but most of him was angry. She just couldn’t stop turning his back on him. Even after he gave her everything, protected her, kept her the fuck alive. And this is how she repaid him?

“What do you wanna do?” Micah questioned, pulling his gun out yet again, “She couldn’t have gotten far. We can still catch up to her.”

But Rafe raised his hand, shaking his head, “Nah. Let her go. Let her think she’ll get away. It’ll just make it that much more satisfying when we catch her again.”

“She could be going anywhere, though.” Micah replied, clearly geared up & ready to track her down & hurt her beyond recognition, “The longer we let her go the harder it’ll be to find her.”

Rafe only smiled knowingly, looking at Anna’s corpse, “She won’t find Bear. Bear’s in the wind. So, she’ll go where she feels safest next.”

“And where’s that?”

Rafe grinned.

Adrianna Green

2001-2023

i spy with my little eye a reader who will do anything to survive.

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[t-r99]

Obsessed

Oliver loves you so much, why can't you see that?

Oliver Aiku x fem reader

College au

Aiku is lowkey a lunatic (completey delusional & unhinged)

warnings: stalking, mental torture, manipulation, deception, gaslightning, coercion || anxiety, paranoia, brief panic attack || dub con bordering on non con (blink and you miss it brief and tame smut at the end *whispers* spooning)

This was supposed to be pure porn but I changed my mind. It did not turn out the way I wanted.

Quick background: mc is being stalked by someone who keeps texting and sending pictures and has been for weeks.

Given that this is a blue lock fic, all of readers friends are guys heh.

wc: 10k

God, why did I stay so long? You think. You usually don't stay at the library for this long, preferring to quickly find the books you need in the moment then leave.

Staying this long means you'll walk home well after sunset. Hours after sunset means it's dark. Darkness means it's easier to follow people. Following someone walking alone means-

I'm overthinking again. You sigh.

This is torture.

It's been a few days since the last text you received. You can't help but to open your phone several times a day and read all the shit the person has sent in the past few weeks, hoping to figure out who they are.

It feels like you're being watched.

You take in every last little detail of your surroundings.

A few people are out and walking who knows where, some of them familiar. You've seen them at school.

Almost home, You tell yourself. The apartment building you call home is less than a minute away.

You turn to look behind you, but no one is following you like you thought . . . and it feels like you're going crazy.

At this point, you expect a text from another unknown ID welcoming you home. The guy on the other side does it sometimes. It's bad enough that he knows which building you live in, you just hope he doesn't know which apartment is yours. You may as well dig your own grave if he does.

The elevator feels suffocating when you step in. You're alone but you keep expecting it to stop before it reaches your floor and that someone else will step in.

What if he steps in? What if you end up alone in this tiny little box with your worst nightmare and-

Ding.

You gasp at the sound, only staying still for a half a second before stepping out.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. What if he's is behind you? What if he's waiting for you to open the door so he can push you in and trap you?

You turn around, heart pounding.

There's no one there.

Just as you unlock your door, another opens a few steps away and you hear familiar voices. Out of the other apartment steps Aiku, and then you see Otoya, they're saying bye for tonight. It's the latter's apartment, you remember.

Aiku spots you but you look away and ignore him. You know them both, not that you particularly like them or enjoy their company, it's just that you share the same friends. You almost wish you were actually being followed for a second so Otoya and Aiku could beat the guy senseless.

Otoya pops his head out the doorframe and asks if you're okay when he sees that you're stressed.

Ignoring them both, you step inside and close the door behind you.

Home.

You're home.

I'm home, You tell yourself, repeating it iver and over for a few seconds.

There's a knock on the door and your heart almost leaps out of your chest.

It's him, it's him, it's him, it's hi-

You hear a familiar voice call your name, followed by, "Everything okay?" It's Aiku.

You gulp and take a deep breath before cracking the door just enough to see his face. Otoya is standing behind him and asks, "Something happen?"

"I'm fine, I," You gulp again, feeling lightheaded. "I just need some rest."

"Sure?" Aiku asks. "You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine, I promise." You insist. "I'm going to bed."

"'kaaay," Otoya gives a peace sign. "night."

You close the door and take a moment to try to calm yourself.

*

Outside, Otoya strains to not laugh out loud. He can't help it, though, forced to slap a hand against his mouth to muffle the sound of his amused giggling.

Aiku hushes him and smirks. "Shut up, you'll ruin everything." He says.

"Seriously, dude, why do you even bother at this point?"

Who knows? Maybe Oliver has gotten a bit obsessed. He won't give up until he gets what he wants, and he wants you.

Aiku doesn't just want sex. He wants you.

"It'll be worth it." He says.

Sure, you don't want him yet, but you will soon.

*

You feel a bit better after a long and warm shower, not a lot, but at least it's something.

You haven't eaten. Honestly, you can't find it in you to eat these days. Sometimes two or even three days pass before you realize you're starving. You've been losing weight for weeks, and looking in the mirror now you see just how much it has affected you.

Aiku was right, you're pale.

Look at me. You feel disgusted by the sight.

It takes you a few moments to force yourself to look away and leave the bathroom to go get dressed. Despite living several floors above the ground, with no buildings facing your bedroom window, you still feel the need to pull the curtain to hide.

What if he is watching? It's impossible to know.

You quickly get dressed, not comfortable with being naked even in your own bedroom with the windows covered, and then it happens again.

Two quick vibrations, the sound of a text, make your heart stop for a second.

Again, two vibrations.

Another two . . .

That's three texts.

Your hand shakes as you reach out for the phone that you honestly just want to smash up. You want to throw away all your electronics and find a cave out in the wilderness to hide in so no one will ever be able to contact you again.

The first one says exactly what you expect, Welcome home.

He was watching you walk home.

You shouldn't be out alone in the dark, it's dangerous. The second text is almost funny.

The third makes your blood run cold, Don't worry. I'll protect you.

When will this end?

While you're holding the phone, he sends a picture. This is the fourth time he's done this exact thing, having written, I don't know where you live. Maybe I should come in and knock on every door until I find yours.

It's a picture of the entrance to the building.

There's a knock on your apartment door.

. . . No.

You dare not move.

Should you look through the peephole? What if it's him and you finally get to see who it is? It could be someone you know, or maybe a complete stranger.

Another knock.

Go away. You want to scream. You want to yell at him to leave you alone.

No more knocks follow.

You don't know how long you stand frozen in your spot, taking slow breaths and standing as still and as quietly as you can.

Only when your feet hurt from standing there for so long do you finally snap out of it. You take your phone and set it to airplane mode, and you lock yourself in the bathroom.

There you remain until morning.

Of course you don't sleep.

You think about calling a friend to come over so you won't have to walk to school alone, or maybe you should just skip today and stay home.

Please . . . You curl up in the corner and sob. I can't take it anymore.

It feels like an eternity has passed when you leave the bathroom.

Staying home felt like the best thing to do. At least he doesn't know which apartment is yours so you can just stay in and not go out where he can spot and follow you again.

Your phone is still on airplane mode and you contemplate turning the function off. Will you only find texts from your friends asking why you didn't show up today or will you get more messages from him?

I'm hungry. You didn't eat last night.

There's very little in your kitchen and your heart sinks when you realize you have to go get some groceries soon.

There's a knock . . .

You gasp at the sound and turn to look at the door. It's the middle of the day so there's no way it's him. He only fucks with you after dark so-

Another knock.

You faintly hear someone call your name. "It's Otoya, you okay in there?"

That's a relief.

The front door cracks open and you look up at him. Otoya rarely shows much emotion on his face but you actually see some worry in his eyes. "Everything okay? You didn't show up at school."

You gulp. "I don't . . . feel very well." Your voice is hoarse and your throat feels rough, itching as you speak.

"I noticed last night. I just wanted to make sure you were all right so I knocked but you didn't answer."

Oh, it was him? It was just Otoya, not the guy on the other end of the phone. "Sorry," You say quietly. "I must've fallen asleep." You lie.

"No worries. Just come over if you ever need anything, yeah?"

"Yeah." You murmur. "Thanks."

You wonder just how messed up you look if it's enough to make Otoya of all people worry.

I'm going crazy. You close the door and sniffle, eyes welling with tears.

A few quiet days pass and it is actually nerve wracking. Normally you would be happy, no texts, no paranoia and the feeling of being watched, but after those texts and the picture of the building entrance you just can't relax.

It feels like the calm before the storm.

You can't shake off the feeling that you're being watched everywhere you go, on campus, on the road, sometimes even when you're at home, feeling the need to check every inch of the apartment multiple times a day to make sure you're actually alone.

"You okay? You've been staring at the textbook forever." Chigiri's voice pulls you from your thoughts.

"Hm?"

He looks worried. Everyone has been worried about you lately, it makes you feel hopeless and pathetic. "More stalker texts?"

You shake your head. "Not for a few days." Your voice is small, heavy with sleep deprivation. "But everytime someone calls or texts or," Just talking about this makes you nauseous. "whenever someone knocks on my door I don't know what to think."

Before Chigiri can say anything else, a few of the other guys show up. Isagi comes and reminds him that they have training soon.

Why does it feel like all eyes are on you?

You're uncomfortable.

"I think I'll go home." You say. Before it gets dark.

"Sure you'll be okay on your own?" Chigiri asks.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's fine." You clear your throat and close your textbook. "I'm fine." You insist.

Keeping your gaze down, you ignore everyone and mutter a quick bye, missing the way a pair of dual coloured eyes watch you walk away.

Thank goodness that the sun is still high in the sky as you walk home.

Is this to be your new normal? Are you supposed to live the rest of your life in a constant state of panic?

Still no texts. No creepy pictures of your building. No knocking on the door. To be fair, it was Otoya, not some creepy lunatic of a stalker.

You sit down on your bed with a defeated bed then fall back.

"I hate this." You whisper.

It's been a week since the night you spent terrified in the bathroom. He has still not sent anything, and for once you're actually in a better mood. Maybe he got bored of me, You think, and you truly hope that that's the case.

The days are growing shorter and colder. Winter is right around the corner and you wonder how you'll feel once it starts getting dark outside earlier. Your mind drifts back to the text that said, You shouldn't be out alone in the dark, it's dangerous.

Yeah, it can be dangerous alright. You haven't felt safe in a long time thanks to the bastard.

You're getting ready to eat, reaching up to the cabinet to grab a plate when there's a knock on the door.

Is it him?

Fuck, what if it is?

No, nothing has happened lately, You tell yourself.

More knocking . . .

You set the plate down on the counter and go to the door, wondering if it's one of your friends. Quite a few of them live in the same building, cheap and close to campus.

Upon opening the door, you find that there's no one there.

Oh, God . . .

Fuck. Shit, shit, fuck.

Your phone vibrates and the sound makes you jump.

You don't want to check it.

No.

Damn it.

When will this stop?

*

It's kind of funny. Otoya peers over Aiku's shoulder and cracks up. "Dude, you'll end up giving the chick a heart attack one day."

What Oliver wants is to be there when you need someone and be the one you lean on for emotional support. He'll have you depending on him in no time. "Hey, you told her to come over if she needs help, right?"

"Uh huh."

Aiku hopes you'll do it now. He's going at this pretty hard and doubts you'll stay alone in your apartment when you think your stalker is in the building. Everyone you know in the building live on other floors while Otoya's apartment is the only one close to yours. Come on, doll, don't disappoint me now.

Oliver wants to jump and pump his fist in success when he hears a knock on Otoya's door. He stays on the couch while his friend goes to open, hearing him say, "Hey, you okay?"

Aiku gets off the couch and goes to the hall where you're standing right outside. You're trying to keep yourself calm but he can see panic in your eyes, those beautiful eyes that should be on him and only him. "Have, uhm . . ." You close your eyes and take a deep breath. "Have you heard anyone outside?"

"No, why?" Otoya feigns ignorance. "Are you sure you're okay? You're shaking."

Oliver almost feels bad, but he just needs to make sure his plan works. If everything ends up working out then he's only a few days away from being able to call you his and hold and comfort you. "Stalker again?" He asks.

Aiku doesn't like using that word. It makes him feel like a creep. He's not a creep, he just wants you to be his but you're not making it easy for him.

Your only reply is a small nod.

Otoya steps aside. "Okay, come on. Come in." He urges you to step inside and you're more than happy to. "What happened this time? Did he text again?"

"I- I think he . . . I think he's i- in the building."

Oh, you poor thing.

Oliver tells you to sit down on the couch. You're holding your phone, clutching it tightly.

He doesn't need to give Otoya a look that silently asks him to help out. His friend already knows what to do while Oliver talks to you and tries to calm you down.

Your mind is racing with a million questions, but it goes blank when your phone vibrates in your hand and you look down at it in terror, too scared to check the text.

Oliver looks down at it. "Here, let me." He offers. Your hand is shaking when he takes it from you. "It's okay, I got you." He takes your hand in his and rubs soothing circles on the back. What did Otoya text, he wonders.

Aiku wants to laugh when he reads it. It includes the number of Otoya's apartment, followed by, Is this your place? I can hear your pretty voice coming from inside.

Damn, he really couldn't have asked for a better bro.

"What . . . What does . . ."

Oliver hushes you gently and locks the phone instead of showing you. "It's okay, we'll deal with the guy."

Otoya steps behind the couch. "What's up?"

"You want to check if there's anyone in the hall?" Oliver asks. He's still holding your hand.

"I got it." Otoya gives a thumbs up and heads out. You want to tell him to stay inside, scared that the stalker might be dangerous, but your voice gets caught in your throat.

"Hey, it's okay." Oliver says softly. "Everything will be okay." He lets go of your hand and puts his arm around you instead when you exhale shakily and sob hopelessly.

You're just tired at this point. The past several weeks have left you so paranoid and terrified that you can't sleep. You don't eat, barely drink, you struggle to take care of yourself. It's beyond tiring. "I'm scared . . ." You whisper.

Oliver holds you close. He feels all warm inside like this, loving the feeling of your smaller body in his embrace like he's wanted for so long. He looks down at where your cheek is pressed against his chest and put his other arm around you comfortingly.

You're his.

You don't know it yet but you are his.

*

I fell asleep . . . Your eyes flutter partially open. You wonder when you did, and how you even managed to given how scared you were. How scared you still are.

A pair of arms are around you. You open your eyes further and see that you're in an apartment you don't recognize, then you look up and see that you're being held by a sleeping Aiku, and you remember that you're in Otoya's apartment.

You don't exactly dislike the two, it's just that you don't like their womanizing and their attitudes. Who would have ever thought that you would go to Otoya's place in a panic and be comforted by Aiku of all people?

Oliver wakes up when you move in his arms. "Hey," He clears his throat and blinks. "Hey, you feel any better?"

A tiny bit maybe. "I guess." You say in a small voice. You still don't want to go back to your own apartment where you'll just end up hiding in the bathroom at the sound of your phone receiving a text or a knock on your door.

Aiku can easily see that you're still shaken up and he hopes you'll let him hold you like this even longer.

You exhale shakily. "I don't want to be alone . . ."

"You're not alone, I got you." He rubs your back gently.

It feels nice . . . "Thank you." You whisper, relaxing further against him.

Oliver bites his bottom lip and smiles. You're starting to warm up to him, it's perfect.

It's been a few days and you can't stop thinking about that night. Otoya didn't find anyone in the hallway so you still have no idea who he is, but the one thing you can't stop thinking about is how comforting it was to be held by Aiku.

You feel ridiculous for it, even more so whenever you see him and feel your cheeks heat up.

He asks how you're doing everyday now and if anything else has happened since that night.

It's embarrassing how you almost immediately relaxed so much you actually fell asleep in his arms back then and it makes you want to avoid him.

Oliver hates that. He was so happy to have finally managed to push you to him for support, but now you don't talk to him other than short answers where you tell him you're doing okay whenever he asks, and he can't stand it.

He hates having to scare you so much. Why are you being so stubborn? Why do you try to hide how much it affects you? All you're doing is forcing his hand at this point. Why won't you just let him in?

He contemplates sending a text or two or maybe a picture of your apartment building. Those don't usually do much, though. Aiku exhales heavily as he tries to think of something more effective.

The door knocking was enough to get you to go to Otoya's apartment, but no more than that.

What to do? What to do?

Oliver doesn't want to threaten you. He doesn't want to scare you like that. You're his special girl, after all.

What to do?

*

It's gotten dark, You think grimly.

Classes are done for the day and now you're forced to walk home in the dark. The boys have training in a bit so you can't walk back to the student apartments with any of them, and all your other friends live in the opposite direction. It would be rude to ask someone to accompany you home and in turn force them to walk twice as far back to their own place.

Damn bastard.

Your phone vibrates in your pocket and you pick it up.

The colour drains from your face when you unlock it and open the text you've received, a picture of you right this moment.

The picture has been taken from your left. You turn in a flash to see if you can spot the stalker, but you only see your peers. Some are standing in groups and talking to their friends, others are looking down at their phones as they're leaving for the day.

Who is it?

Who could it be?

Where is he?

"Hey,"

You spin around with a sharp gasp at the feeling of someone touching your arm.

"Shit, did something happen?" It's just Aiku. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He steps back to give you space. "What happened?"

You're breathing too fast for comfort now, unable to speak. All you manage to do is point in the direction behind you and look down at your phone.

"Again? What the hell does the guy want now? Show me."

Hands shaking, you take a moment to unlock your phone and open your texts. Aiku takes your phone and reads the message from the No Caller ID that says, You look really good today. He open the picture and takes a sharp breath.

"Sick fuck." He spits. "Hey, don't look down at it. Look at me." He holds your shoulder. "Look at me. It's okay, I'm right here. You're not alone now, okay?"

You're not alone.

Aiku is with you right now and that brings you comfort.

"'m scared . . ."

"I know," He says softly. "I know. Everything will be okay, we'll figure out who the guy is."

You've lost any hope of that happening.

"Hey, come on, I'll walk you home, yeah?"

You gulp. "B- But . . . practice . . ."

"It's fine. I can skip this one time. You shouldn't be alone right now."

You only nod at that, grateful to not be on your own. Having Aiku walk next you makes you feel safer than you have in months, but you honestly feel guilty about all this and want to apologize for having go through all this trouble just because you're too scared to do anything on your own.

"How you holdin' up?"

You look down at the ground as you keep walking. "I'm sorry."

"Huh?" Oliver turns to you. "What for?"

"For . . . all this."

Why are you apologizing? You have nothing to be sorry for. "What, for being scared?" Aiku asks. "For needing help? I'd be surprised if you weren't scared. Everyone needs support sometimes, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

You're fighting back tears. "But I . . . I- I shouldn't need to be walked home like this."

Oliver frowns at that. Does that mean you don't want him there? You're really not making this easy for him. "It's okay, I don't mind."

You finally look up and turn to him, eyes glossy with unshed tears. Aiku wonders if you'll let him wipe them from your cheeks if they fall. He would love nothing more than to comfort you like a man and hold you close. He can't even begin to imagine how good it would feel.

When you turn away from him to look ahead again, Oliver carefully takes his phone and does his utmost to make sure you don't spot it.

He sets his caller ID to hidden and types away . . .

You're startled by the feeling of your phone vibrating. You've grown to hate it. Most of the time it signals a text from a hidden number from your nightmares.

You read the text. It sends chills down your spine. Got a boyfriend, huh? Did you forget about me, sweetheart? It says.

You freeze in your tracks and Aiku stops a step later.

"You good?"

No. No you're not.

You simply hold the screen out for him to read. Aiku puts a hand on your shoulder and pulls you closer to him. You look up at his hard face, he's looking all around you. "Damn psycho." He mutters harshly. "Come on, let's hurry."

He doesn't need to tell you twice.

Terrified out of your mind, you reach both hands out and hold his arm for safety. It's not much, but it does make you feel a bit better.

Oliver swears his heart skips a few beats at that. He has to use all his strength to restrain himself. Fuck, you're killing him with how long this is taking.

He stays by your side all the way up to your apartment, and there you find it impossible to let go of his arm. "Will you be okay from now on?"

Of course you won't. You shake your head in reply.

"You know," He feels warm. "I could stay over and make sure nothing happens until tomorrow. And Otoya will go home soon enough, I'll call for him if something does happen."

You really don't want to be alone. "I . . . You don't have to."

Sure, you might be saying that, but your body leans even closer against his and you let out a shaky breath.

"I'm staying." Oliver says. It's not a question. "I can't leave when you're this shaken up."

Maybe Aiku can finally scare the stalker away. "Okay . . ." You truly hope he can because this is getting ridiculous and you're exhausted.

Once he's inside, Oliver wants to yell out in triumph at how easy it was to get you to agree. Only a few more days and he won't have to keep at it. All you need to do is let him all the way in and he can put the whole thing to rest and enjoy you.

Your apartment is cute, just like you are. Oliver could stay here forever, and if his plan succeeds then he might just be able to.

*

Oliver decides not to send anything for now. He hates scaring you so much, and you were pretty shaken up on the walk to your apartment. It wouldn't hurt to prepare in advance, though.

You're currently taking a quick shower.

Aiku steps into your bedroom and takes a deep breath. He's never felt like this before.

He listens carefully to make sure the shower is still on.

Only a few minutes later, you step out of the bathroom with no idea of where Oliver went just minutes prior. He's still on the sofa and watching tv, just as he was when you left to shower.

Strangely enough, you don't feel uncomfortable with him there. Only a few months ago you would have rather drank acid than let him into your home, but now his presence puts you at ease.

He notices you and offers a smile. "Feel any better?"

"Yeah, a bit." You say softly.

Oliver exhales slowly when you turn around to go to the kitchen. You really are the prettiest girl he's ever seen. He can't stop thinking about what you look like under your clothes and how pretty you would luck under him.

You're his beautiful girl. He's counting the seconds to when he can finally say it outloud.

"Do you want anything to eat or drink?" You ask.

"Nah, I'm fine." Oliver shakes his head.

What he wants is you.

Earlier, he decided to give you a few days of peace, but now he wants to send only one text. If you get anxious again then he can be there and hold you and help you calm down.

You drink some water and take a moment to think about everything. You're lucky to have friends who care, even when you insist you're okay on your own. Even Aiku of all people is going out of his way to make sure you're not alone.

It's actually not as awkward as you thought it would be. He doesn't annoy or pester you with endless questions, instead talking to you about other things in an effort to get your mind off things.

It works, for some time.

"Are you sure about staying? I feel like I'm just inconveniencing you."

Once again, Oliver thinks you don't want him there and he feels like he's been punched in the gut. "If it helps you feel any safer, I'm more than happy to." He says. Oliver won't let you push him away now that he's so close to getting what he was.

It's getting late.

You've brought a pillow and covers for him sleep on the sofa, and for the third time today your phone receives a text from a hidden caller ID.

It's a short text that reads, Good night, pretty girl. Sweet dreams.

Oliver frowns next to you when you tense up. "What is it? Show me."

When will it end?

He takes your phone from you and set it down on the table in front of the sofa. "The guy better pray I never find him." He mutters quietly. "Okay, c'mere, I got you." He puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close.

You're even more grateful to have him there now. If you were alone you would probably lock yourself in the bathroom and cry your eyes out again. "I can't take it anymore . . ." You whimper into his chest.

Oliver hushes you softly and puts his hand on the back of your head. He leans back against the sofa and pulls you with him, now rubbing your back soothingly. It feels so good to hold you like this, he can't get enough of it.

This feels oddly calming.

Like this, all you hear is the sound of his steady heartbeat. It's soothing, helping you relax with each soft thump.

You finally manage to slow your breathing down and sigh, going limp against him. "Thank you . . ."

Oliver smiles down at you and combs his fingers through your soft hair. "Close your eyes," He says softly. "I got you."

You wake up the next morning and find that you're still in Oliver's arms. He has pulled the covers over you and is awake, running his fingers through your hair.

When he notices that you've woken up, he smiles softly. "Hey there, how do you feel?"

You want to die.

Death would be preferable to being constantly watched by some lunatic out there.

You close your eyes again. "I'm tired." You whisper. Tired of being scared, tired of constantly looking over your shoulder, tired of feeling helpless.

"Sleep well?"

The feeling of him playing with your hair is a nice one. It's weird to see such a soft side of Aiku when you've known him for a while and seen his goofier side with your shared friends. "Yeah," You mumble. "thank you."

Oliver is loving this.

Strangely enough, the following several days are quiet.

Neither of you actually agreed to it outloud, but Aiku now accompanies you on your walk home from campus everyday and it becomes a routine. If he's busy with practice or has classes after yours have all ended then you wait, and it feels nice to have him walk by your side.

You get suspicious when you don't receive any texts from the stalker, wondering when he'll send you something again and what the text will say. Ever since Oliver stayed over that night it's been radio silence.

Your friends are just as confused by the lack of texts and a few are hopeful that it means the stalker just grew tired of tormenting you, the rest are worried about what he'll send in the future.

"Bitch ass." You mumble to yourself. You hate the guy more than anything and you wish the worst for him.

It's the weekend and you've been studying ever since you came home from school.

Your phone vibrates next to you but it's not from the stalker, it's Oliver calling you.

Never in a million years would you have ever thought that seeing Aiku's contact calling you would make you feel all warm inside.

He's asking how you're doing and if everything's okay.

"Everything's fine," You say. "I try not to think about all that now that it's quiet."

"Fucking finally. Let's just hope nothing happens."

"Yeah." You sigh. "I think I'll go to bed, I'm getting tired. Thank you for being there."

"You don't need to thank me, doll, I'm happy to help." Oliver says. "I didn't want to bother by coming over, but I'm at Sendou's and getting ready to leave. He lives two floors below you."

While he talks, your phone quickly vibrates in your hand and you quickly set it on speaker to check the text you've received. It makes you jump in your seat and quickly turn around to look around in the room.

Oliver hears you shuffling around as you stand up and storm out of your bedroom to turn all the lights in your apartment. He asks if you're okay but you don't hear his voice in this state.

He is there.

He's there, he's in there, he's in your apartment.

He's watching you, you can feel it.

It feels like he'll pop out and grab you any second now.

I can't breathe. Your head feels light, like everything is spinning. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

You drop your phone and try to reach the door instead. You can't stay in there, not when he is in the apartment and watching you.

Suddenly there's loud knocking on your door and you almost scream when the sound startles you.

Is he outside or inside right now? Is he in the apartment or knocking on the door to get in?

Where is he? Where?

You hear your name being called.

The voice is familiar.

It takes you a few seconds to find the strength to stand up and reach the door, your hands shaking as you try to unlock it.

A few seconds pass and you look behind you, vision blurry and cheeks wet with tears.

There's no one behind you.

Where is he?

Finally unlocking the door, you fling it open and find Aiku and Sendou standing outside and looking worried. Oliver reaches out to hold your shoulders but you step forward instead and cling to him as your legs go weak and give out.

"Hey, hey, what happened? What's going on?" Oliver quickly asks. "What's wrong?"

"H- Here . . . Here . . . He- He's here . . ." You can't breathe. You can't breathe.

Oliver hold you close and hushes you by your ear.

You hear Sendou walking down the hall and knock on a door. It opens, Otoya, and Sendou tells him to follow. They enter your apartment while Oliver sits down on the hallway floor with you in his arms. "Easy now, I got you. I got you, you're safe, I'm right here." Oliver says softly.

You sob into his chest, terrified.

"There's no one in there." You hear Sendou's voice. "Here. Look." He shows Oliver the text on your phone that's still unlocked.

You've got a nice apartment. I really like your bedroom. It's cute.

Sendou doesn't know what Oliver has been up to these past few months. No one except for Otoya does.

"Hear that?" Oliver looks down at where you're still sobbing into his chest. "There's no one in there."

That doesn't make you feel any better. You don't want to go back inside your apartment, you don't want to stay and sleep there. You shake your head and whimper, fisting his shirt at the mere thought of going back inside. Oliver hushes you again and puts a hand on the back of your head.

Sendou says, "I don't think it's a good idea for her to stay here right now." Oliver knows that Sendou genuinely worried about you, but he has no idea just how long Aiku has waited for this.

"How about staying at my place tonight?" Oliver ask in a gentle voice. "How's that sound?"

You only nod in response.

*

It still feels like you're being watched, you can't shake the feeling. It has you holding Oliver's hand while you walk and clinging to him desperately for safety. You're outside his apartment and feel the need to look behind you to check the hallway while he unlocks the door. "It's okay, I won't let anything happen to you." He squeezes your hand and leads you in. He closes the door and immediately turns to you, pulling you in for a hug. "You're safe here. Nothing will happen to you."

You haven't said a word since leaving your building.

"Come on, doll, let's get you to bed." He pulls back and cups your flushed cheeks where fresh tears have started running, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks gently to wipe them.

Being able to finally call you his is just within arm's reach.

"Oliver . . ."

Fuck, you're killing him.

He leans his forehead against yours, still caressing your cheeks. "I'm right here." Oliver whispers. He pulls you into another hug and waits for you to lean further against him. You even put your arms around his neck which is more than he could have asked for in the moment. "C'mere," He doesn't waste any time, moving an arm down to pick you up and hold you close. "I got you."

You keep your arms around him and your face hidden in the crook of his neck as he carries you through his apartment, only looking up when you feel something soft beneath you.

It's his bed, but you don't want to be alone right now.

Just as Oliver goes to lean back from you, you tighten your arms around him, whimpering out a desperate, "Please don't leave me."

Shit, shit, shit. Oliver is sure he's going to die now.

"You sure?" He asks, voice low.

"Please . . ." You whisper.

Oh, this is fucking perfect. This is much better than Aiku expected.

Oliver lets you lie down on his bed, and he doesn't know how to handle the view of you down there, then gets down next to you. He lets you rest your head on his arm, putting the other around your smaller frame and pulling you into his chest where you instantly close your eyes and sigh in relief. "Try to get some sleep now. You're safe here." He whispers.

"Thank you, Oliver."

He's so close to finally getting what he wants in life. What he needs.

You're my beautiful girl, Oliver thinks and smiles down at you. You look so pretty like this, eyes closed and features soft and relaxed. Aiku has finally managed to turn himself into your safe space.

"Oliver . . ."

He moves his hand up to brush away the hair that covers your beautiful face. "Yeah?"

You open your eyes to look at his, dual coloured and mesmerizing. "I'm . . . I'm so scared these days."

For a moment, Oliver feels conflicted. He just wanted this, to be the one you will always seek out and rely on, but he also wonders if he's taken things too far. Seeing your pretty eyes all teary like this is breaking his heart, but he's more than happy to help you heal from this and build you back up again.

Oliver has all the time in the world now. You trust him, he knows that, and he'll never let you leave his side. "I'm sorry this is happening," He caresses your cheek, touch soft. "I'll help in any way I can."

Please, please just let him do this.

Aiku needs only you in life, why does he have to do so much to get what he wants?

Please don't push him away.

Oliver leans closer to you, eyes still locked with yours. It's a wordless plea. He's asking you if it's okay.

Please don't say no.

If you push him away now he won't know how to handle it. He doesn't want to keep scaring you.

"Oliver . . ."

He's so close.

When you don't push him away, Oliver closes the space between you and finally presses his lips to yours.

Maybe he should've waited a bit longer and given you some more time to calm down, but he can't take it anymore.

He needs you.

Oliver doesn't push for more. He breaks the kiss after only a few seconds, but it's enough for now. "That okay?" He whispers, heart pounding against his chest.

You gulp, feeling dazed. "'s okay."

Perfect.

*

You wake up the next morning with Oliver's arms wrapped around you. This is the third time it has happened, and by now you've grown to enjoy the feeling.

He's still asleep.

You can't help it, but you end up laying there and just watching him.

Oliver is a handsome guy, yes, but you've never looked at him like that before. You don't know when that changed during the chaos of the past few weeks, but it's not the worst thing ever.

You reach out absentmindedly and brush his bangs from his eyes. His hair is softer than you imagined, you want to run your fingers through it forever.

He stirs a bit and takes a deep breath as he wakes up, eyes fluttering open and softening as soon as they meet yours.

"Morning." You say softly, hand on his cheek.

He smiles tiredly and closes his eyes again. "Morning, doll." Oliver puts his hand over yours and traces small circles on the back of your hand. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah." Much better than you have in months.

Oliver loves that he's the reason why you feel safe enough to have a good night's sleep now. "Stay here for a few days," He opens his eyes. "I don't want you to feel like that again."

"You sure?"

"Mhm." How could he ever want anything else? "How would you feel about it?"

"I don't want to be a burden."

"You could never be." Oliver is confused by that. How could you ever think that you would be a burden to him? He leans closer to you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead that makes you feel all warm and fuzzy. "Stay here until you feel better."

Staying with Oliver? You wouldn't exactly hate that.

Oliver has never felt happier.

You've been staying with him for a few days now, showing no signs of wanting to leave. He knows it's because he makes you feel safe, something no one else manages to do.

He does his best to make you feel comfortable in his apartment, never pushing things too far and being careful not to say the wrong thing. The last thing Aiku wants is to scare you away.

You can't leave him.

You cannot.

Oliver wouldn't know what to do without you now that he's gotten a taste of life with you by his side. He would never forgive himself if he ruined this.

"You okay?" Your soft voice pulls him from his thoughts. "You look stressed out."

That's right. He stresses himself out every time he thinks about losing you, but he will not lose you so he should stop tormenting himself. "Just a bit tired." Oliver says. He's sitting on the couch and you're standing right next to him.

Oliver wants to hold you.

He takes your hand and pulls gently, bringing you down to hin. Aiku puts his hands on your waist, like he's been doing every now and then these past few days, and leans forward to nuzzle into your shoulder.

He always feels overjoyed when you let him do this. The first time he did he was scared you would push him away.

Oliver swears he's in heaven when he feels your fingers comb through his hair.

"Thank you for letting me stay." You thank him once again.

Oliver hums softly against your shoulder then turns towards you to place a kiss on the side of your neck.

He wants you so fucking badly.

"No need to thank me." He wraps his arms around your waist. "I'm just happy you're feeling better."

Oliver doesn't need to send you any more texts as long as you're with him. Everything is perfect this way and will stay as such so long as you don't leave.

He needs to make sure you'll stay.

Oliver waits until you decide to go to sleep. You did feel bad after your first night at his place, but all he needed to do was wait for you to start overthinking again and then he could hold you in his arms all night long.

Maybe he can finally try to take it a step further.

He'll never get tired of seeing you in his bed.

Oliver loves holding you like this more than anything. Your body fits in his arms perfectly because you were made for him and him alone. My beautiful girl. Oliver caresses your cheek.

He can't get enough of you.

When he first started doing this a few days you would blush and avoid his gaze. Now, it makes you smile up at him with those gorgeous eyes of yours.

"It feels like all I'm doing these days is just thank you over and over." You say. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't been there."

Oh, if only you knew just why he was always there every time you needed someone.

Oliver feels bolder than he did days ago now. He leans down and slots his lips against yours, and it's the best thing he has ever felt.

He's careful to not push for too much and make you uncomfortable, but fuck, it's hard to restrain himself.

Oliver hopes you won't say no next.

He pushes gently on your shoulder to get you to move onto your back, and when you comply he moves on top of you. You don't seem uncomfortable or even shocked, thank fuck for that, and it spurs Aiku on.

He breaks the kiss and pulls back to look down at your flushed face. You look so pretty like this, Oliver has never felt like this before.

No one can compare to you. He regrets wasting his time on other girls when he could've focused all his attention on you instead.

"'s this okay?" He whispers.

You feel hot. Oliver makes you feel things you've never experienced. "Uh huh . . ."

He's so close to getting what he's waited for since the day he met you.

Oliver kisses you again and you welcome it eagerly, pulling him closer by putting your arms around his neck.

You're so perfect.

You're perfect.

Oliver needs you more than he needs air. He can't live without you, he loves you so much

Oliver loves you. He loves you. He loves you.

*

Oliver wakes up to the sound of his phone vibrating softly on the nightstand. He sighs, annoyed, reaching out to pick it up.

Otoya.

Oliver gets out of bed carefully, making sure you won't wake up as he leaves and goes to open the front door where Otoya is waiting outside and smirks in amusement when he sees Oliver. "Mission accomplished?"

"Almost." Oliver yawns. "What's up?"

Otoya holds up the phone Oliver bought to text you with most of the time a few months back. "I keep forgetting to give this back at campus but I was close by and remembered it a few minutes ago."

Oliver takes the phone. "Thanks, bro."

"Well you seem happy." Otoya notes. "Score yet?"

"No, she's more than that." Oliver would never see you as just another girl to sleep with. You're his precious love and he'll never let you go. He doesn't need anyone else, only you.

Aiku doesn't know that his special girl woke up from him getting out of bed.

You're confused by what the boys are talking about, standing by the bedroom door and listening.

"Well, be careful with that thing." Otoya nods down at the phone. "I don't want to see the hell everyone will raise if they find out her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer." Otoya puts on a sweet, girly voice and makes a cute face.

Otoya's words hit you like a punch in the gut.

Oliver slaps the side of Otoya's head playfully and says, "Shut up, that won't happen."

"Here's to hoping." Otoya fistbumps him. "Later." He turns around and waves as he walks away.

Your mind goes blank.

Oliver?

What?

Otoya's words echo in your mind, "I don't want to see the hell everyone will raise if they find out her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

Your legs go weak.

". . . her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

You slide down to the floor.

The front door closes.

You gasp, eyes going wide.

Footsteps . . .

Oliver is coming back to the bedroom. His bedroom. The room you've been sleeping in for days. The bed you've laid with him in. The bed he's held you in every night.

". . . her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

It has to be a joke right?

Right?!

"Oh?"

Oliver's voice makes your blood freeze.

"Hey, what are you doing on the floor?"

You look up at him, eyes wide. Otoya's words fill your mind again, ". . . her creepy stalker is actually her precious Oliveeer."

"What are . . . you . . ." Oliver realizes.

You heard.

You stare up at him in terror.

It's him.

What kind of a cruel, sadistic joke is this?

It all suddenly makes sense, how could you be so stupid? Every time something happened either Oliver or Otoya would be there. Otoya was in on it, too.

The texts, the pictures, the knocking . . . all those times you felt like you were being watched . . .

Just as Oliver moves, about to walk up to you, you shake your head. "Please don't hurt me."

"No, no, no, I would never hurt you." Oliver kneels down in front of you but you back into the wall. "I'd never hurt you, doll."

The room suddenly feels too small.

You can't stay in there, the room where you've been sleeping in Oliver's arms on his bed when he's been playing you like a damn fiddle all along.

You push yourself off the floor and try to leave the room but he stops you by grabbing your arms. "No! Let go!"

Oliver can't let you leave. You'll never come back if you run away now. "Please just listen to me for a minute," He pleads. "let me explain-"

"No!" You cry. "No, no!"

Oliver lets go of your arms to hold your face in his large hands instead. "Please, doll, listen to me." He forces you back against the wall and cages you in, wide frame preventing you from running away. You can't leave, you can't.

If he could torment you over the course of months so easily, what else is he capable of? The thought terrifies you and you can't stop the tears from running. "I trusted you . . ."

Oliver's heart breaks at the sight of your tears. Maybe he did take some things too far, but it's okay. All he needs to do is show how much he loves you. "You can still trust me, baby girl, I'd never hurt you, you know that."

"Oliver, please . . ." You whimper. "I'm scared . . ."

Scared of what? Of him? "You don't need to be scared, doll." Oliver says softly. He wipes the tears from your cheeks. "Please don't cry."

"O- Oliver . . ."

He's the one who turned you into a shell of your former self who spends every moment terrified for your safety.

Why would he do this?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Oliver whispers over and over again. "I'm sorry for scaring you, doll, I'll never do anything to hurt you again." He promised. "You're the most important person in my life, I can't live without you."

How can you trust him after learning all this?

"Please don't hate me." Oliver begs desperately. He is beyond terrified now. He can't let you leave, it would kill him. "Please don't hate me, I love you so much. I love you, I love you, I love you."

If he loves you so much . . . why would he put you through all this? "Y- You . . ."

"I love you." Oliver breathes. He prays you won't push him away, then leans down to kiss you desperately. "I love you," He whispers against your lips. "I love you and only you, I love you so much."

If you were in your right mind right now you would condemn him for him actions and demand answers, but you're not. You look up at Oliver, in a daze from the kiss. "Y'love . . ."

"I love you." Oliver kisses you again. "You know that I do, don't you? You know how much I love you, doll, yeah?"

You see nothing but panic and desperation in his mismatched eyes, the same ones that have only looked at you with pure adoration for weeks now. "Y- You love m- me . . ." You murmur.

"Yeah, that's right. That's right, I love you. You're the only one I've ever loved." Oliver captures your lips in a heated kiss.

There is still a tiny voice inside you that is telling you to get a grip, yelling at you to push him away. Aiku is the one who put you through so much shit that you nearly lost your sanity, the one who scared you so much you broke down.

Oliver kisses you like his life depends on it. He needs too show you just how much he loves you, he needs you to know.

"Oli- Oliver-"

He's scared that you will tell him to let you go and he can't take it. Oliver will never let you leave, not when you're finally his.

You're still crying and he hates himself for being the cause of your tears. Oliver brushes the fresh tears from your cheeks and whispers against your lips, "You'll let me love you, won't you, doll? You'll let me show you how much you mean to me, right?" He moves his hands down your body.

He loves you . . . Oliver loves you, you can see it in his eyes.

"You'll let me, won't you, baby?"

A small nod is all you manage to give as a reply.

You gasp when you feel his warm hands on your skin. He pushes your tank top up to finally feel your soft skin. Oliver has waited for this for so long, he'll be damned if it ends before it even begins. "Let me show you."

"Oliver . . ."

He steps back from the wall and pulls you with him, guiding you to the bed and pushing you down. You're overwhelmed and want to tell Oliver to wait, but he doesn't let you say anything and kisses you again.

You push on his shoulders lightly. "W- Wait . . ."

"What's wrong, doll?" Oliver coos down at you, cupping your cheek. "Just let me take care of you, I'll make you feel better."

He leans back enough to sit on his knees for a second, pulling his t shirt off and throwing it away. The sight makes you feel hot and he can see the effect it has on you. It swells Oliver's ego to know you like what you see, even if you don't say it outloud.

There's a part of you that wants to push him away but . . .

Oliver can see the doubt in your eyes.

He leans back down and brushes his lips against yours. "You want me to make you feel good, don't you?" Aiku pushes your top up. It tingles where his skin meets yours and you exhale shakily. "I'll make it all better, doll. That's what you want, ain't it?"

You gulp, and you nod.

"Yeah?" Oliver smiles and presses a quick peck to your now swollen lips. "Want me to make it better?"

"Uh huh . . ."

He has you now.

Oliver has you and he will never let you go.

*

Everything feels so hot . . .

You can't breathe.

You can't think.

All you feel is Oliver Aiku.

Your discovery is long forgotten. He's doing everything he can to make sure that you will never care about it again, and it's working. Every time he feels you tensing up or sees the doubt in your pretty eyes he does something new to get your mind off it.

You're on your side with his toned chest pressed against your back as he litters your nape and shoulder with kiss, one arm under you and holding you tight while his free hand roams every inch of your burning skin.

Oliver moves his hand down between your thighs that are pressed together. "O- Oli . . ."

He can't get enough of you. He's never felt so good in his life. "All f'me," Oliver whispers by your ear. "I want you so fuck'n bad, doll."

Oliver is skilled and experienced, you know that, and you should have enough common sense to not let that bother you but it does. It means he's been with plenty of other girls before you and you hate that.

He shifts his arm under you to move his hand up to hold your face, forcing you to turn your head and look back at him. "C'mere, doll." He kisses you hungrily. Oliver actually moans when he feels how wet you are.

All for him.

"Feels so good to hold you like this." Aiku pants. "You're so good for me. My good girl."

Oliver's gaze moves down to the marks on your shoulder. There aren't enough of them. You're not covered enough. He needs to leave enough marks for the whole world to know that you belong to him.

He grabs a handful of your plush thigh. "Spread 'em."

"Oliver . . ."

"You said you'd let me, remember?" He says softly. "Remember, baby? You said you'd let me love you."

That's right . . . you did.

"Here, we'll take it slow." He's okay with waiting a few more minutes if it means he can make you more needy in the process and eventually have you beg for it. "See? Just like this."

Oliver urges you to press your thighs together again. He's sure that being buried deep inside you would feel a lot better, but he doesn't mind fucking your pretty thighs for a while. They’re so soft and feel so good around his cock, everything about you feels like paradise.

You keep rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the tension in your body. He's only making it worse by rubbing against you like this, you're desperate for release. "Oliver . . . please . . ."

Every time he moves forward he nudges your sensitive clit and it has your thighs shaking.

You spread your legs and Oliver is quick to take advantage of it. "This is okay, right?" He pants, struggling to restrain himself.

Even now, there's still that tiny voice inside that begs you to stop.

Oliver kisses your shoulder. "I can do it, right?"

You . . .

He needs to make you his.

You're scared.

Oliver feels it in the way you tense you slightly, but he's so close, it's practically almost done. "Hey, doll, how do you feel?" He kisses your shoulder again and stops for a moment. "It's okay, right?"

It's Oliver . . . Oliver loves you, you know that now . . .

You don't say anything. Instead, you reach your hand back to the back of his head and turn to kiss him again.

Oliver will take this as a yes.

You tense up and gasp when he pushes in. He's a lot bigger than you expected.

Oliver swears he's dying, he can't handle it now that it's finally happening. You're so warm and so tight, it feels so good.

"Y'feel so fuck'n good, doll." Oliver whispers against your lips. "So good for me, my good girl."

You can't think of anything other than the feeling of Oliver's cock deep inside you, filling you perfectly.

He moves at a slow pace, whispering sweet nothings and praising you for being so good for him. You're his perfect girl, so sweet and so beautiful and all his.

Oliver knows he has you now.

"How's it feel, doll? Feel good?"

You feel hot. "Oli . . ."

"Deep breaths for me, baby, easy now." He murmurs softly, hitting that perfect spot inside you.

"F- Feels good . . ."

Yes.

Oliver has never been happier. He finally has you and it was worth the wait.

You cry out his name and it makes Oliver's heart flutter and he practically melts against you. You're the only girl who can do this to him. Everything about you is addicting, he could never get enough of you. Now that Oliver finally gets to bury himself inside you he never wants to pull out. He wishes that he can stay like this forever.

Aiku moans against your nape at the feeling of your tight cunt squeezing him, as if you never him to leave.

Shit, it feels so good, he won't last.

He whispers you name breathlessly and moves at an even slower pace in favour of giving harder thrusts.

Your sweet voice bounces off the walls and in the room, the sweetest sound Aiku has ever heard.

"G'na cum f'me, yeah?" Oliver pants, so close. "Come on, doll, cum for me. Give me everything."

You belong to him, just as he belongs to you.

You're his and he is yours.

Oliver loves you so fucking much, he can hardly handle it. He needs you to live.

"I love you."

[auncyen]

what I meant to write: mIrabelle as the one looping having a crying breakdown in the equivalent of act 3 because I thought of it a few days ago and it's been stuck in my head (Panic! at the Dinner Table).

What actually got written: can you imagine how terrible it'd be for another looper to start suspecting Siffrin did something WELL

-

Siffrin has been suspicious for several days.

(Odile might say 'days' is inaccurate, but it's close enough, you think! You start in early afternoon on one day and then, when everything goes well, see Euphrasie in late afternoon of the next day, so it's around a day--sometimes over...many times under. Also, calling them days feels...better. Maybe it's a 'cycle' or 'loop' for everyone else caught up in this, with them always being reset to the same places, the same lines until you start changing things, but you are moving through time. You're Changing.)

(You're changing, aren't you?)

(For the better?)

--Siffrin has been suspicious for several of your days. They still act like their friendly self--they've even gifted you a flower sometimes! (You suppose other times you might have been too abrupt in waking them up. And sometimes you haven't woken them up at all, because you realize they'll come to the Clocktower anyway. They all will, it's where you're staying. You couldn't come up with anything more creative than a sleepover?) But...something's off.

You first realized something was strange about Siffrin--well, a lot of things are strange about Siffrin. You're more worried about his memory than ever now. Whenever you go into that secret room for the stash of tonics, Siffrin starts talking about a time he ran away from home, only to suddenly stop and look confused. You've tried encouraging him to continue by reminding him of everything he said up to that point (Isabeau applauded your thorough recitation with the most lightheartedness he could muster while still looking Siffrin over with his own concern), but it doesn't jog anything. You've tried guiding Siffrin to tell the story a different way with questions, but it seems like he loses the thread even faster that way. Lately you've just...cut him off from telling the story by laughing as soon as he brings it up and mentioning how mad his parents must have been when he returned. Siffrin still looks confused and lost for a terrible moment when you say that, but then he grins and agrees, and surely he's agreeing because that's what actually happened, isn't it? He said he was playing a prank. He played a silly prank for an hour or two, and then he went home, and probably he got a scolding for it but everything was fine.

...You still. Would like to avoid that room in the future. To not see that scared, lost look on Siffrin. Maybe you're strong enough now that you don't need the tonics?

But, but, you need to focus. Siffrin's memory problems are strange and worrying, and you really wished they'd said sooner how bad it is instead of letting you all tease them about it, but what's suspicious is their connection to the King.

You're not entirely sure what it is. When you go to the King, he always singles Siffrin out. "Bright One...do you remember?"

Obviously, with the already-mentioned memory problems, the answer is No. You've tried asking Siffrin if they know the King in any way, but of course he says no? Even if they knew each other once, Siffrin could have forgotten him the same way he can't remember what happened when he went out on the ocean in a boat to prank his parents? You imagined a tragically doomed romance between a villain and a hero with partial amnesia from an injury earned in one of their past scuffles (why is Siffrin's memory that bad???) for all of ten seconds before you realized that if Siffrin could forget the King, he'll surely forget boring, stagnant Mirabelle as soon as he leaves. After that you were too depressed to imagine anything between Siffrin and the King, which was probably for the better. Especially considering...

One time, the King singled out Siffrin in a different way. A terrible way. The first loop--the first day after you defeated the King and got to see Euphrasie for a glimpse of happiness before being sent back--you'd lost your temper a bit. You'd pushed everyone to go through the House faster than any time before, brought back to your senses at the end of the second floor by Odile dryly commenting on her tired feet while giving a pointed look at Bonnie, who was obviously getting worn out. You'd apologized over and over, and chewed your nails off at the second snack break to let them take all the time they needed to recover their energy, and went through the third floor without saying anything to rush Siffrin. You'd kept your temper in check until you saw the King again, and then you'd accused him of being a cheat, an unchanged loser who couldn't accept defeat, and he'd let your venting wash over him with a calm indifference ("I do not know what you speak of, Housemaiden") until you told him exactly what you were speaking of--the time that kept turning back, again and again, the days the loops the returns--

His face is mostly obscured by his long hair, but you could tell by the way his head turned that he'd directed his attention to Siffrin, and you knew it was with a glare by the cold fury in his voice. "What have you done, Bright One. The Universe's will is with me."

And then

the king struck

and Siffrin--

You don't speak to the King anymore. You don't let him talk either. You're pretty sure he told you everything you'd want to know from him. He can use Time Craft, but he isn't the one holding you in these endless days. He thinks Siffrin can use Time Craft, which sounds ridiculous, but since then you've talked with the Change God (you'd wanted reassurance you'd wanted a sign your statue was the only one unbroken in the whole House and you touched its face in reverence and the Change God spoke to you) and they'd told you three things:

you're their favorite!

they're put out by Dormont being stagnant and unchanging, but they're excited to see how exactly you change (maybe being their favorite isn't good. Your favorite characters go through some awful things, after all)

Siffrin isn't not responsible for this???

So it makes sense that Siffrin had a hand in this somehow! After a few more days which let you reach Euphrasie, you realized the time reset at the end only happens while Euphrasie is talking to Siffrin! That's suspicious! And, and, you've tried preventing it by keeping Euphrasie from talking to Siffrin, but she is so insistent she'd like to talk to them, and everyone starts looking at you strangely the more you protest, and you just...can't stop it.

You can't stop Siffrin from ruining things.

You hate that you're even suspicious of him, but he won't admit to using Time Craft when you ask, and surely even with his terrible memory, he'd remember that? He doesn't forget everything! But if he's lying, then...

Then you don't know what that means.

You don't know what to do.

--

...What Siffrin did: show Mirabelle how to wish and be an islander recognized by other islanders and not particularly liked by the Change God

[buckys-metal-arm]

Not Alone

Bucky x GN!Reader

Description: Bucky is refusing to come to terms with everything that’s happened following the fight with Thanos, and you know that the walls he’s carefully built up around his emotions are going to come crashing down one day. So what happens when they finally do?

Warnings: Angstyyyyy, Bucky is SAD, takes place somewhere between that and FATWS but idk where, crying, hurt/comfort, I don’t know if it’s an inherently “happy” ending per say, but it's a comforting one I think, some mentions of bad mental health, NOT Endgame!Steve Friendly (just like me)

A/N: I am sorry for this

((18+ only below the cut please and thank you!!))

Bucky had been struggling, you knew it.

You’d been by his side for long enough to know when he was trapped in his own mind

But this was different

Usually, you could at least get him to tell you what was wrong

But ever since the fight with Thanos he’d avoided talking about what was wrong

You could hardly blame him, it had been a difficult last few months

In the fallout of his return from spending 5 years as a dust pile and the subsequent fight, you had held Bucky’s hand through Tony’s funeral, being placed in a holding cell by the US Government, his pardon hearing, moving back to Brooklyn, starting his court-mandated therapy, and trying to acclimate to the modern world, and fully come to terms with the pain and torture HYDRA had inflicted him for decades.

And then of course there had been Steve.

You knew Bucky was upset and hurt over his best friend leaving him, and everyone else he had grown close to, behind to be with Peggy.

And you could hardly blame him.

Suffice to say, Bucky had been through few months alone, and you knew it had been hard on him

But whenever you had tried to ask him about it he simply smiled and said “I’m fine, Doll. I’m okay.”

But you couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t reach his eyes.

He was trying so hard to be strong, to push down how he was feeling, but you saw the seams starting to unravel

All the pain he’d been feeling for months finally came to a head late one night

You two were doing dishes after dinner, you were washing and he was drying

Occasionally, Bucky would bump his hip against yours, making you smile and gently splash water at him, making him laugh

You and your boyfriend loved this, just enjoying each other’s presence with the two of you being giant dorks together

Everything was good, you two were having fun

Until Bucky went to dodge one of your splashes and lost his grip on the glass he was drying.

The glass shattered on the floor below, and he immediately went tense.

“Oh God, Bucky!” You grabbed his flesh hand gently, checking for injury, “are you okay?”

He didn’t reply, but looked down at you touching his hand

“I don’t see any injuries. You’re alright, Sweetheart. I’m gonna clean up the glass, okay?” You pressed a kiss to his stubbly cheek, but he didn’t look up.

Cleaning up the shattered glass went quickly, but when you finished you noticed Bucky was staring blankly at the floor where you’d cleaned, his blue eyes misty

“Bucky?” You cupped his face, but he still wouldn’t look at you, “Talk to me Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

“N-nothing,” his voice was soft, like he was trying his hardest to keep it from wavering, “I’m fine, Doll.”

“If you can look me in the eyes and say that, I’ll believe you.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” it was almost a chant as he slowly lifted his head, “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m–”

As soon as Bucky looked you in the face he burst into sobs, falling to his knees in front of you.

It tore a hole in your chest.

“Oh…” you knelt down in front of him, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him close, cradling his head against your shoulder, “oh Baby, oh, Bucky…”

He buried his face in your neck as you rocked him from side to side, your fingers carding through his hair, “shhhh, it’s alright, let it out, Baby Boy, let it all out…”

“H-He was my best friend,” Bucky whimpered, “h-he was my best friend, and he…he j-just fucking left me here–!”

“Oh, Baby, I know,” you kissed his temple, “I know. I’m so sorry, Sweet Boy…”

You held him tighter as he dissolved into sobs again.It broke your heart.

You knew that this was good for him, that Bucky had been fighting this for so long

He needed the release, the catharsis, but that didn’t mean it didn’t fill your broken heart with anger.

Anger at Steve for leaving the man in your arms behind in a world he didn’t understand, at the Government agents that treated him like a criminal for things that he had been forced to do when he had no control over his mind and body, at anyone who had ever caused this kind, sweet, gentle, loving man harm and left him unable to feel his emotions properly until he reached his absolute breaking point

When Bucky calmed down again you suggested moving to the couch

“It’ll be a lot more comfortable than the floor, Baby,” you said, gently taking his hand in yours and leading him to the living room

Once you two were seated you wrapped him in your arms again, keeping him close and rocking him.

“Talk to me, Baby, please,” you cupped his face, thumbing away his tears, “tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

“It’s… I wasn’t worth it.” Bucky said in a quiet, broken voice, “I told Steve I wasn’t, back when he… when we were on our way to Siberia. He tried to tell me that I was, and being with you, in Wakanda, when I was finally free I started to think that maybe he was right, maybe I was worth saving. That I was deserving of some kind of peace. But then Steve–”

His voice cracked, and you gave him a comforting hug.

“I just keep thinking that if I was really worth what you all went through for me then he– he wouldn’t have left me here alone."

Tears flowed freely again, and you hugged him tightly to you, pressing comforting kisses to his temple

“Shhhhh, Baby Boy, it’s alright,” you whispered, “it’s gonna be alright…”

Bucky shook his head and buried his face further into your neck

“I just… it makes it hard, y’know?” You nodded and kissed his forehead, he took a deep breath and added, “I’m scared. I keep thinking that one day I’m gonna wake up and you’re not gonna be there. T-that you’re gonna realize the same thing he did. That I’m not worth all of this.”

“Oh… Oh no, oh, Bucky…” You rubbed his back, pressing kisses to the top of his head, “oh, Honey…”

You cradled his head against your chest, running your fingers through his hair and hushing him, rocking him from side to side.

Once he’d calmed down slightly you took his face in both hands, stroking his stubbly cheeks.

“Baby? Can you look at me, please?” His sad blue eyes met yours, and you gently wiped the tears from them.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry Bucky. I’m sorry for everything you’ve been through, Baby. And I’m especially sorry that you were made to think like that.”

Bucky looked you in the eyes. No one had ever said that to him before.

“and speaking as someone who was involved in all of that trouble? You were absolutely worth it. Every minute of it. The two years Sam, Steve, and I spent looking for you, every fight, every bit of time spent on the run, every moment spent waiting for Shuri to okay letting you out of the ice in Wakanda. I would go through every second of it again if it meant that you got to be free, Sweet Boy. Even if you weren’t the man I love, even if you weren’t Steve’s best friend, even if you were just some guy I had no attachment to, I would fight just as hard if it meant you got to be safe and free from those monsters. Because you didn’t deserve HYDRA’s abuse, and you didn’t deserve to be punished for things you couldn’t control.”

He rested his hands over yours, and you pressed your forehead against yours

“I know it’s hard to trust anyone after what Steve did, I know. But I would never, ever leave you alone. I’m with you for the long haul, Sweetheart. You’ll always be worth it in my eyes."

His eyes searched your face, looking for any sign that it wasn’t true, and found nothing but genuine love and care. You gave him a soft sad smile.

“I’ll be here, right by your side, as long as you want me, Baby,” you kissed the tip of his nose, “you aren’t alone anymore, Buck. You’ll never be alone again.”

Bucky dissolved into tears in your arms again

“I-I’m sorry,” he cried over and over into your shoulder, embarrassed at his carrying on, “‘m sorry I keep cryin’...”

“Shhhhh….” you continued rocking him and rubbing his back, “you don’t have to apologize for expressing your emotions, Sweetheart. You’re allowed to feel bad. You’re allowed to let it out. I’ll be here for you.”

You held Bucky until he calmed down, and he let you lead him into the bathroom to clean his face with a cool cloth, not wanting the salt from his tears to irritate his skin, and showering him with affection and love.

When you two finally laid down to sleep that night you held the man you loved as close as humanly possible, pressing little kisses to his hairline and rubbing his back

Bucky nestled into your chest, listening to your heartbeat and relishing the feeling of skin-to-skin contact

“Get some sleep, Baby Boy,” you whispered, “I’ll always be here when you wake up. I love you so much, my Darling.”

Bucky looked up at you, a small but genuine smile on his face.

The first you had seen in the months since Thanos

“I love you too.” he kissed your lips, “goodnight, Doll.”

As Bucky drifted off in your arms, he felt better.

Lighter.

Better than he had in months.

He wasn’t cured, he knew that.

The demons of his past still haunted him, still clawed at the edges of his mind and whispered that he wasn’t worth the pain

But knowing that he wasn’t alone, that you would stay by him and support him through even his darkest days?

That you wouldn’t leave no matter what?

Maybe he could finally start to heal

[daydreams-after-dark]

What's your fanfic fantasy? part 4

Chapter Contents.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 // Part 11 // Part 12 // Part 13 // Part 14 //

Chapter summary: chan helps you fulfil a fantasy of sensual sex with a stranger.

Premise: OFC + Chan + Jisung 18+ fanfic. This is an AU story about Chan bringing your fantasies to life... but what happens when boyfriends Chan and Han fall in love with you?

Content Warnings: nudity, anonymous sexual encounter, blindfolds, anal fingering, blow job, angst, p in v unprotected sex.

You look out to the ocean from your balcony window. You're trying to calm your nerves and simultaneously build up the courage to go downstairs to make yourself some breakfast.

Why oh why did you send Chan that message last night? Admittedly, it was a very impulsive thing to do, and in hindsight you should have thought it through a bit more.

You hadn’t even considered what Chan might have thought. What if he doesn’t feel comfortable approaching a band member and saying “Hey do you wanna fuck y/n - and oh yeah, she won’t know it’s you?" Maybe he doesn’t want to make it look like you sleep around (not that that is even a bad thing)? Or what if none of them want to do it.

Oh my God. What if none of them want to fuck you? You shake your head. Get a grip.

Eventually, your hunger becomes too much and you head downstairs to the kitchen.

The kitchen is one of those gorgeous gourmet ones you see on Pinterest, and looks out onto a large living area that has enormous sliding doors, which opens out onto the ocean. It’s an absolutely gorgeous space, perfect for a creative getaway.

You hope that no one will be in there since you had waited well past what would be considered “breakfast” time to make your way down.

You tentatively peek your head in, and to your relief no one is there. Thank fuck. You survey the kitchen counter to see what you should eat, and see a cloche covering a plate with a note on top.

“Please eat me!”

You lift the covering to find fresh brownies underneath. Felix must have arrived. Felix isn’t in the band but he manages their tech. Plus he’s known the guys forever, and he makes the best brownies.

“Hey there.” you turn, startled, your mouth stuffed full of brownie.

It’s Jisung.

“You look good with your mouth full.” He teases and raises an eyebrow.

You manage to swallow your mouthful and stick your tongue out at him.

“Oh you want something else in you mouth do you?” he chuckles. “Actually, y/n. You’re not avoiding us this morning are you?” his tone turns serious. “You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

You shake your head “I was just tired.” you reply. He doesn’t believe you. You can see it in his face.

“You are… you’re okay with what happened yesterday then?” He looks at you intensely.

“Yes. Yes. Yesterday was fucking incredible.” you assure him, truthfully. It was incredible, but it’s the aftermath that has you confused. Confused about your feelings, your desires, about Chan and Jisung, and what they might be feeling.

“But?” he pushes.

“But nothing.” you respond more hastily than you intended.

He leans in “You weren’t freaked out when Chan fucked me were you?” he whispers.

Your breath hitches and your core aches at his words. “No! Everything is fine.” you reiterate.

Jisung nods. “Okay.” He seems reassured enough for now. “So, what about this blindfold thingy?” He changes the subject.

Your eyes widen. Of course Jisung would know about your message to Chan, but it doesn’t make you any less embarrassed.

“What did Chan say?” you ask with too much enthusiasm.

“He said-” Jisung begins.

“Jisung, y/n.” Chan is standing at the door, wearing grey sweats and loose t-shirt, but you can’t help picturing him shirtless and thrusting into Jisung. Oh God. You steady yourself.

“Hey babe!” Jisung skips over to him and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

Chan ushers you both over to the couch where he and Jisung sit across from you and you sit there nervously playing with the fabric of your shorts. You feel like you're about to be scolded by two parents.

“So y/n. I suppose we owe you an explanation?” begins Chan.

You shake your head. “Not really - ”

“We do. You see Jisung and I…” Chan pauses. “We're together. In a relationship. Boyfriends.” He continues matter of fact. Jisung squeezes Chan’s thigh and smiles at him. Jisung is so fucking in love, you can see it on his face. Why hadn’t you noticed this sooner?

“Okay.” you nod.

“Only the band members know.” adds Jisung, and you catch his smile falter ever so slightly.

“Well, that’s wonderful that you are both together. And I am glad that you are okay with me knowing.” You're genuinely happy for them.

Chan’s expression turns serious, pained even. “We also need to know if you have any concerns about yesterday? If we need to do anything...Fix anything?”

You can’t stop thinking about yesterday. You couldn’t stop thinking about it last night when you were alone in your bed. Jisung had certainly succeeded in his mission, and now you really can’t get him out of your head.

“Yesterday was great. I thought we all had a good time? Didn’t we?” You're really worried that they regret it.

“Oh y/n, we did! Didn’t we Chan? Y/n you were so- ” Chan raises his hand to cut Jisung off. “Jisung, calm yourself or you are gonna get yourself horny again, and I don’t have the energy.”

Jisung’s phone beeps. “Shit, it’s Binnie. I’ve got a training session with him. Leg day.” He gets up to leave and Chan gives him a love tap on the way past.

“Hey! Don’t touch my butt!” he cries, “Unless you’re going to fuck me!” he adds as he bounds out of the room. Chan smirks and you hide a giggle.

It’s just you and Chan now. The room is silent.

“So," Chan scratches his head and grins nervously. “You want to talk about this blindfold fantasy?”

-----------------------------------

Later… (a/n: some of you may recognise the following scenario as a standalone oneshot, but this where I wrote it originally. I apologise in advance if that makes this installment underwhelming. the chapter ends a little differently to the oneshot too.)

You walk down the dimly lit hallway towards one of the unused bedrooms. You've decided this scenario will take place in a space that no one is using, to really maximize the mysteriousness of it.

Butterflies are going absolutely crazy in your stomach, and you tug your satin robe tighter around you trying to settle them down. You feel very sexy and feminine wearing nothing but the robe. The cream floral print against a gold background makes you feel like a queen.

You approach the designated door and knock.

“Come in.” Chan calls from within the room.

You swallow hard and push open the door.

You're immediately taken aback. The room is stunning. The décor is dark and moody, with the walls painted a dark grey blue, and the furniture looks as though it’s antique. Paintings of abstract naked women are hung around the room.

There are various stained-glass lamps, emanating a seductive glow, and there is music playing low in the background. It sounds like French music. A woman’s voice seductively fills the room.

Then there’s the bed. Huge, King sized, so plush and high set. Chan is laying propped up against the dark timber headboard, he almost looks lost leaning amongst the generous number of over sized plush pillows. He’s wearing black tracksuit pants and a muscle tee. It looks out of place in such a sensually styled room.

“What do you think?” Chan gestures around the room.

“Th-this,” you stammer. “It’s amazing Chan.” You move towards the bed, stretching out your hand to touch the dark green quilt. It’s luxurious on your fingertips. You run your hand along the fabric as you move closer to the head of the bed. Someone’s going to fuck you on this.

You perch on the side of the bed facing away from Chan. Your feet barely reach the floor, and you notice the black blindfold laid out neatly on the bedside table. Next to it is a bottle of coconut oil.

“How are you feeling? Are you okay?” Chan reaches out to touch your hand that’s resting beside you on the bed.

You inhale deeply and then slowly release your breath. How are you feeling?  It’s a mixture of feelings really. You're so very nervous. That, you already know. But, you're also… excited. The idea of what’s about to happen is truly thrilling to you. You hope Chan doesn’t think you're too much. You don’t want him to judge you.

You turn to him. “You don’t think badly of me do you?” you ask him.

He looks surprised and squeezes your hand. “Of course I don’t think badly of you, babygirl.” He gazes deep into your eyes. “I just want to make you happy, and to feel good.” He sits up. “Y/n. I was worried you think badly of me! I was worried I might’ve pushed into something you didn’t really want to do.”

You shake your head profusely. “No! I loved yesterday.” you assure him. You sigh. “You seem so confident, and sure of things… you’ve got yourself sexually figured out and not ashamed of it. I feel like I don’t know anything about myself. I never imagine in a million years I would be living out a fantasy like this…I would normally be too ashamed to ever voice such a desire.” You say shrilly.

He laughs and goes quiet. “Well Jisung thinks I’m ashamed, ashamed of him, and that’s why we haven’t come out.” He sighs, a pained look in his eyes, “But it’s not that at all. I’m not ashamed of him… it’s just the world isn’t a very accepting place. I don’t want Jisung to get hurt.”

You reach up and cup his face. “This is why I love you. You are just too caring. We all love you for it.”

Chan smiles and then his focus switches like a light switch. “We gotta get you ready!” He practically jumps off the bed and moves around to the side of the bed you're sitting on. He takes your hand and you slide off the bed.

You'd already discussed the details of how you were going to do this, covering safe words and safe gestures, what positions you are going to be in, and these had been relayed to whoever was going to be participating.

You stand in front of Chan facing away from him. There is tension in the air. Your breath feels wobbly. He steps closer to you and you can feel his breath on your neck and a pang in your chest. You really wish he’d kiss you. He slowly reaches around, careful not to touch you too much, Why doesn’t he want to touch you? and pulls at your robe’s tie belt.

It comes loose easily and allows your robe to fall open. Chan delicately pulls it off your shoulders letting it drop to the floor. You were now standing completely naked in front of Chan, and only Chan.

He had seen you naked only just a day ago, but that was in the throws of lust. It wasn’t planned. This feels more intimate and you're feeling self conscious. He hasn’t been this close to your naked body. Goosebumps form on your skin. It isn’t cold in the room, Chan had thought of that too and had made the room a comfortable temperature. He’s so fucking considerate. You smile to yourself.

You close your eyes in a bid to compose yourself. Fuck. You're really doing this.

Chan takes your hand again and grabs the blindfold in the other. He steadies you as you climb onto the bed where he resumes the position of laying down but propped up against a pillow and headboard. He directs you to sit between his legs facing away from him, and carefully places the blindfold over your eyes and securing it at the back of your head. Your senses immediately heighten. This feels so erotic.

“Lean back on me.” He whispers as he guides you to lean back onto his fully clothed body. You can feel his hard, toned muscles flexing underneath you, and his breathing is strained. Is he nervous? You can feel an erection beginning to dig into your back. Is this turning him on?

You imagine what this must look like, your exposed, naked body with Chan’s strong legs on either side of yours. You don’t know what to do with your hands so you rest them on your stomach. You don’t know where Chan’s arms and hands are, only that they aren’t touching you. You wish he’d wraps his arms around you. You wish he’d caress your body.

For a moment you try to imagine what it would be like if he did touch you. The sensation of him squeezing your breasts, pinching a nipple, sliding his hands over your body. Then you remember why you're here. For a mystery fuck. A small moan escapes you. Did he hear you?

Chan nuzzles his face into your neck, resting his chin on your left shoulder. It’s the closest he’s been to you. “You already imagining a stranger inside you, hmm?” he whispers. You whimper. His voice turns you on beyond belief.

You don’t have chance to answer because there is a knock on the door. You suck in a breath. This is actually happening.

“Come in.” Chan calls out. You hear the door creak open and then close.

“Are you ready to begin?” Chan whispers in your ear.

“Mmm hmm, yes.” you reply.

“Good, because I think you are going to really enjoy this.”

He takes hold of your hands and places them on the bed either side of your body, using his hands to hold them down out of the way so you can’t go ahead and touch your anonymous lover. You had requested this. It makes you feel like you're being forcefully held in place, although you know you can change things if you want.

You feel the mattress dip slightly. Someone is climbing onto the bed near your feet. Who can it be? Is it Changbin? Or could it be Minho? Felix? Could it be Jisung?

A hand touches your ankle. You shudder, then very slowly and delicately it makes it way up to the side of your knee. Their touch is light and feathery. You swallow.

Then you feel a mouth, a moist, plush mouth just above your knee. You think he is about to take the kisses up your leg, but instead takes his kisses back down, making his way down to your ankle. It feels so sensual. Who do these lips belong to?

Chan releases your arms for just a moment so he can lift your legs over each of his legs, which are spread out wide on the bed. Then he goes back to gently pinning your hands to the mattress.

You sense the other man moving closer and a mouth reappears on your skin. This time it’s your inner right thigh. He drags his tongue from inside your leg near your knee all the way up your inner thigh, sending tingles through your body, but he stops before he gets anywhere near your pussy. He does this again, and then mirrors the action with your other leg.

His hands try to push your legs a little wider and Chan assists by moving his own legs wider, forcing your legs to part just a little more. You are ready, wide open for whatever you're about to receive.

The touching stops, but you can feel him kneeling in front of you. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly in anticipation.

You're pleasantly startled when you feel a warm liquid landing on your breasts. The oil, Chan must have warmed it up somehow in preparation. You moan at the sensation of the oil dripping down around and between your breasts. You suck a breath in a sharp breath when you feel a pair of hands cupping your breasts, then squeezing and massaging the flesh in slow, but firm circles.

His hands slide easily over your oiled skin, and you squeal slightly when he squeezes your nipples. You imagine Changbin before you and that it’s his hands pinching your nipples. But you don’t believe it’s actually him. Changbin is a guitarist, with callused fingers. These hands a soft and smooth. That leaves Jisung, Minho and Felix.

As the pinches and flicks become more aggressive you can’t help but arch your back and rock your hips at the sensation.

Chan shushes you. “We need to stay still and take it, remember what we agreed to?” That’s right, part of this was you needed to stay as still as possible, it was all part of being restrained. You compose yourself and stop moving. It’s so difficult but you're determined to play the part properly.

“Good girl.” Chan growls low. Good girl? You love those words.

More warm oil is applied to your stomach. There is so much that it coats your entire abdomen and runs down towards your pussy, and trickles down between your folds. You feel bad for the bedding, it’s probably going to be a mess.

It feels so fucking sexy with your body being this slick and slippery. You feel like a goddess being cherished and adored, yet at the same time you feel like a dirty whore who doesn’t care who fucks her.

You wait for the hands to return to your body, anticipating them all over your stomach and you moan and pant with the need to be touched now. You are so desperate and on the verge of begging.

“Pl-please… please touch me.” you say.

“He wants you to call him ‘Sir’." Chan whispers.

“Please touch me again… Sir.” you pant.

You release a long low moan as he pours the oil at the top of your pussy now. It runs down through your lips and onto your asshole. You wriggle with pleasure and frustration. Chan squeezes your hand, a reminder that you need to stay still. You don’t know where his hands will land next and the anticipation is pure agony.

The stranger lifts your legs up bending them so your knees are up near your chest. Chan releases one of my hands to grip under your knee to help pin it against your chest, whilst the other man pins your other leg.

The heel of a hand presses firmly against your clit and begins to move in circular motions, much like they did with your breasts. It provides a grinding sensation that shoots pleasure deep inside of your core.

“Fuck that feels so good… Sir.” you whimper as his hand swirls and presses on you for what feels like and eternity.

He then drags two fingers beginning at your clit all the way down to your ass, dragging the oil and your own slickness all the way down. Your pussy clenches as his fingers pass by your entrance, not stopping to explore.

He presses a finger to your asshole.

“Aaaah!!” you gasp at the sensation of the pressure.

He massages his finger against your rim, and you know you're going to open up easily for him. You're so aroused and so slick from the oil that it doesn’t take much for the tip of his finger to breech the entrance. You grip the sheets with your hands as his finger slips in slowly. Deeper, deeper, all the way in.

“You’re being so good for him.” Chan’s words of praise in your ear make your melt around the stranger’s finger and it isn't long until you're ready for more.

“Sir… please.. I need… can you put in another finger?”

He slowly removes his finger and you feel two fingers at your hole now. He pushes them in, going ever so slowly. It’s a stretch but he’s moving slowly enough that you're adjusting along the way, making the stretch feel achingly good. He must be experienced at this sort of thing. He knows exactly what to do.

You reach up and wrap an arm around Chan’s neck. He whispers words of encouragement in your ear.

The volume of your moans and whimpers grow so loud now that it’s drowning out the sound of the French woman’s singing. The man moves his fingers in and and out of your ass maintaining a relentlessly slow pace. The burning sensation with every drag of his fingers makes your cry out in pleasure.

“Faster… harder… Sir I need… more.” you whimper.

He quickly builds up the pace. Chan brings his hand to your neck, wrapping it around your throat and squeezing slightly but not enough to cut off the air. Then he brings his thumb up to your lips. You open your mouth allowing him to slip his thumb inside. You pull at the hair on the back of his head and he pushes his thumb further into your mouth. The other man continues to fuck your ass with his fingers.

A mouth lands on your pussy. His tongue swirls around and through your lips. The tip of his tongue slides inside of you. Chan starts to fuck your mouth with his thumb, pushing it deep inside roughly. You want him to ruin you.

You're practically screaming from the glorious agony, your senses are on overload.

Chan removes his thumb. “Is this okay?” he checks in with you.

“Yes… But… I want his cock now.” you pout.

“Ahhh yes, I bet you do. Let’s sort you out huh?”

The fingers inside your ass are removed and you feel the man shift his position.

His thighs press against the underside of yours. Then…you feel the tip of a cock. He pushes it against your entrance. You make a pathetic whiny sound. Your body is begging for him to push his cock in.

Moments pass and nothing happens. What is happening? A sense of panic makes it’s way into your body. Has he changed his mind?

Another moment passes.

“He wants to know if we can take the blindfold off?” Chan asks.

You pause. He hasn’t changed his mind. You quickly try to decide what to do. Whoever it is wants you to be right there with him, making this moment together. Not him fucking fucking, but you fucking each other.

“Okay.” you say shakily. Your breath quickens at the thought of coming face to face with the man who has been pleasuring you so amazingly.

Chan takes over holding both your legs up, and two hands come to rest on the sides of your blindfold, the tip of his cock slips into you slightly as he leans in towards you, giving you a tease of what’s to come. You can’t wait until he is all the way inside.

Your blindfold slides off but your vision is blurry. You blink to adjust your eyes and the man before you becomes clear.

Minho.

He is looking at you expectantly, nervously, like you might run away at the sight of him.

You reach up and cup his face. His cheeks are flushed and lips pink and swollen. He isn’t even being the one fucked right now but he looks like he is.

“Hey.” you say with a dazed smile.

“Hey.” He replies. “Is this okay…do you want to keep…”

You wrap an arm around his waist and pull him down on top of you. His hands reach around to your ass, lifting your hips up and pushes himself all the way inside of you.

Minho is finally free to make noises now and he makes long low moans as he rocks his hips into you. He looks down between the two of you to watch his cock glide in and out.

You still have one arm wrapped around Chan’s neck, your other explores Minho’s body. His toned body undulates like some sort of exotic python. He’s even more skilled with his cock than with those magic fingers. He brings his mouth down onto yours mirroring his tongue with his thrusts. He is such a skilled, diligent lover.

You melt together as his long, languid thrusts become deeper and you are being pressed against Chan’s hard cock.

Without warning, Minho pulls out of you and flips you over in one fluid move so you're on all fours.

You look down and see Chan’s hard erection inside his sweats.

You're about to reach for it when you're dragged away further down the bed by Minho. You look into Chan’s eyes longingly as you're being pulled out of reach while he just stares back at you. You want to please him so badly.

Minho pushes his cock back inside you, causing you to cry out. Pleasure washes over you, mixing with the angst of yearning for Chan.

He slides his thumb over your asshole and presses it inside. “Ahhh.. Yes, Minho.” you cry.

He pushes it in all the way and rests his palm and fingers on your tail bone. His grip is perfect to rock you on an off his cock. You love feeling so filled up, and you're about to come any minute.

Chan looks fucked out, like he’s on another planet. His engorged, swollen red cock is now out of his pants and in his hand but he’s not doing anything with it. He’s just holding it absentmindedly. His eyes are glazed over as he stares at you.

Minho must notice him too. “Kitten?” he asks. “Do you want to help Chan out? Make him come?”

Oh fuck yes! You look at Chan eagerly. You're practically salivating.

“Come over here Chan. It’s okay.” Minho encourages Chan over, but doesn’t move.

“Before I come.” He adds hoping that will spur him on.

Chan, as if possessed, gets up onto his knees and crawls his way towards you. Once he is close enough he offers you the head of his cock. You eagerly take hold of it with one hand and guide him into your mouth. Chan whimpers at your touch. You lick your tongue along his shaft and over the tip before taking him deep into your mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Chan whines high pitched.

“Y/n, don’t use your hands. Make him work for it.” Minho growls as he fucks you from behind.

You do as you're told and release your grip but keeping him in your warm, wet mouth.

Something in Chan snaps. He grabs the back of your head and starts plunging his cock into your mouth relentlessly. He tangles his fingers in your hair as he fucks your face without restraint. You gag. It’s hard to take him and your eyes water.

You look up at him to find him staring at you while he fucks your face. Having Chan using you like this while Minho pounds you from behind and fingering your ass is all to much. You cry out around Chan’s cock as your legs shake and your cunt clenches around Minho. Your arms and legs buckle underneath you, but Minho is there to hold you steady. He wraps and arm underneath you, keeping you in position. He pulls out of you painting your back in his cum.

Chan growls and moans, and pulls his cock out to massage his release into your waiting mouth and tongue. There is so much. He leans back onto his heels, shaking as he watches you swallow every drop. He looks horrified and startled. Oh shit, have you done something wrong?

Chan quickly gets off the bed and pulls up his sweats. “Fuck y/n. I'm so sorry.” He says flustered.

“I’ll get the towels.” Minho announces and hops off the bed.

“Chan?” you whimper. He doesn’t seem to hear you. You can tell he's freaking out. “Chan!” you repeat, “I need you to hold me.”

Chan looks down at you, as though he is scared. What's going through his mind? Cautiously, he edges closer to the bed and sits beside you. You're still in an all fours position waiting to have your back wiped, but you kneel up to let Chan wrap his arms around you. You nuzzle into his chest. Why is he so upset with you?

You feel him relax against you and he strokes your hair. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.” He whispers over and over. You don’t understand. You fucking loved that he did that to you.

Minho returns to wipe you down and to remove the excess coconut oil that had made its way to the strangest places.

Suddenly, Chan gets up and turns down the bed, gesturing for you to hop in. Then he goes around the other side and offers that side to Minho.

You and Minho look at each other. This seems like really odd behaviour, but you oblige and both get into bed as directed, even though this wasn’t part of the arrangement. You don’t say a word as you watch Chan slip his shirt back on and leave the room.

Next Chapter: you role play with Minho and learn more about the man on his mind.

taglist: open

@rylea08 @channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @kangnina @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @chuuchuu1224 @fun-fanfics @wolfennracha @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @rixenluv @piscesrising01 @lunearta @shltsnglggles @lilbabiebunni @jiminssluttyminx @armystay89 @krayzieestay

[quinloki]

Hi Quin <3

I may or may not have gone through your entire catalog haha (^///^) Thank you for feeding us all so well ☆ Such stunning works!!!!! (シ_ _ )シ

I was wondering, I find that I keep on reading the same people a lot. Have you discovered some cool new people to read from recently? any great recs? stuff you keep coming back to?

Anyways, you're awesome!! And I can't wait to read what you come up with next!!!!!

=O Sideblogs and everything?

...

Σ(っ °Д °;)っ

(*/ω＼*)

Goodness. ❤️I'm glad you enjoyed my stuff enough to read all that. I'm a terribly wordy ^^;

Ah! But hmmm... I do tend to read from many of the same folks, especially since I ended up surrounded by impressive writers.

But let's do this:

@swampstew - if you follow me, you know her. I cannot fathom otherwise, and if you don't, start here.

this is @icy-spicy's master list - I'd have that cold shower ready before you start, but there's more than One Piece there.

@mydisenchantedeulogy writes for a lot of fandoms, her words are so good I'm a fan of her stories without even having seen the universes they come from.

@un-shit-yourself is a long time real life friend, and a fantastic writer. Mostly Dragon Age, but the writing pulls you in. We chat, but we don't usually cross post, so you probably don't know about this one even if you do follow me.

@zoros-sheath - if you haven't read Magnets, start there, otherwise go hog wild. I can't imagine you're going to find anything bad.

@standfucker - whew, I look - Zen makes me wonder why I even write because what she writes is just too goddamn hot. Y'all don't need me, you got her. (I say this in jest, I'm going nowhere I promise) White Out and Rotation are two of my favorites, but Stowing Away to Save Yourself is something I specifically requested and gods was I served well.

@writing-yarn-goblin and @lyndsyh24 and @theaceofflamesposts are here, but you're more likely to enjoy the first two on Wattpad and the last on Ao3. Lyn's getting more active here, but her library is full of good stuff - fluffier than my usual work, but just as good imo. Lyn is one of the biggest reasons y'all get to deal with me at all. She was a saint when I stumbled into Wattpad.

I love @heyitsdoe and @/bas-writes stuff - they are both phenomenal writers. Bas has shifted away from OP a little and is more into JJK, but if you're looking for solid fic to read, then you will find tons there and I promise you'll enjoy it =3 Doe is super sweet and her writing is always a full meal, I've commissioned her and it was far and away worth every penny.

Honestly, I'd really recommend checking out my Following page. I leave it public, but everyone on it is either a friend, a writer, an artist, or some combination of all three.

I could go on in this post for like 5,000 more words and not hit everyone who has delighted me. @cyborg-franky @coza-main @lerya-fanfic @leakyweep @leftsidebonfire -- I'm going to hit a damn tag limit again.

@thus-spoke-lo is a little on the darker side, but gods alive I love her work, and I could read it for hours if I had the hours to spare.

@vizkopa writes in a way that helped me loosen up and write more how I wanted to, so thank her for that, and enjoy what she's got - mostly on Wattpad I believe? I know that's where I've read it.

Seriously, just peruse my followers, if you need something new.

But know that like me, they're 18+ and that's a boundary for their comfort as much as anything else. So don't break that.

[callsign-rogueone]

fractured - b.d.

Bodhi Durran x reader You break your arm, but Nolon isn't available to mend it. Bodhi takes care of you in the meantime. [request] words: 1.1k 🏷: no book spoilers. she/her reader in an established relationship with Bodhi. mentions of injury (broken arm) but no blood and no description of how it happened. just some fluff of Bo taking care of you.

Bodhi is out of his seat as soon as he sees you exit the exam room, looking a little worse for wear -- your arm is in a sling, the bridge of your nose split, and you’re walking slowly, like your legs are sore.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Xaden said you were here, but nobody would tell me anything. What happened?”

“I fractured my arm in two places,” you explain, “But Nolon is busy, so until he’s done with whatever else he has going on, I have to heal the old fashioned way.”

You leave out the details of how it happened, and hope that he won’t ask. He doesn’t -- he just takes your bag from your ‘good arm’, slinging it over his shoulder before you can protest and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You give him a pained smile, letting him lead you back across the bridge to the rider’s quadrant, where everyone is sat down for dinner, in the middle of a spirited conversation. You slip into your normal seat, thankful that nobody seems to notice your condition or make a scene -- until they do.

“What’s with the sling?” Imogen asks, raising an eyebrow.

Every head at the table turns toward you. Great.

“Nolon was unavailable,” you answer in a tone that does not invite any more questions -- that seems to be good enough for them, but you still get a few worried glances and pitying looks from your friends in response.

You poke at your food, attempting to cut it with the side of your fork and failing -- it isn’t sharp enough. You set the utensil down, giving up; you aren’t that hungry, anyway, not after the painkiller the healers had given you, which isn’t doing anything except make you nauseous. You really hope that Nolon will be back tomorrow, because living like this is going to suck.

Bodhi notices your dilemma and slides your plate toward him, wordlessly taking your knife and fork and cutting everything into bite-sized pieces for you before he gives it back.

You thank him quietly, managing to eat half of it -- better than nothing, you suppose. Maybe you’ll feel better at breakfast.

He’s sitting on your right, your uninjured side, and he keeps you close to him all through dinner, tucked into his side.

When everyone is finished, he picks up your bag again, carrying it upstairs to your room, right across from his, following you inside and setting the bag on your desk chair. “Do you want help changing clothes? I promise I’m not just asking because I want to see you naked.”

You don’t laugh at the joke, kicking your boots off roughly, not caring where they land. 

“I’ll be fine,” you answer, turning your back on him. You’re sick of this, of feeling like a child, of being coddled and given those concerned looks all through dinner, like you can’t handle yourself -- like you haven’t had worse injuries, like you hadn’t run the gauntlet and bonded a dragon and literally everything else this terrible school asks of its students.

You try to tug your shirt off, hissing in pain at the movement of your arm. Hot tears start to flow down your cheeks as you continue to struggle, the fabric getting stuck on the thick wooden splint the healers had put around your forearm as a temporary fix.

“Hey,” Bodhi coaxes, “let me do it.”

You sigh, admitting defeat and taking a few steps toward him, allowing him to help get your good arm out of the other sleeve first, and gently untangle the shirt from the splint, tossing it into your laundry hamper with practiced ease.

He wipes away your tears with a gentle brush of his thumb, cradling your cheek in his hand. The familiar softness of his touch relaxes you near-instantly.

“I know this is frustrating for you, and I know you’re a badass independent woman dragon rider, who can take care of herself, and that’s one of the things I love most about you, but it would be easier -- and it would make me feel better -- if you let me help you. I love you, and I don’t want you to be in pain.”

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Love you too.”

You stay like that for a moment, leaning into his hand and closing your eyes -- you’re exhausted.

“We’ll go by the healers before breakfast and see if Nolon is back,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But until then, I’m gonna be here to help you, okay?”

You make a soft sound of acknowledgement, working up the courage. “Stay the night?” you ask softly. 

“Gladly,” he answers. “I’ll even bring extra pillows.”

There’s a moment of soft, comfortable silence that you want to linger in forever -- you really don’t feel like trying to shower with this thing on, or to lay down in bed; even with Bodhi by your side, it’s going to be uncomfortable, especially with how much you usually toss and turn during the night.

“I never asked you how this happened,” he realizes.

You stiffen, silent.

He looks at you with a seriousness you hardly ever see, deep concern with anger simmering underneath. “I need you to tell me who did this to you.”

You shake your head. “Nobody hurt me.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you -- you could very well be lying, because you don’t want him to go off and beat someone up just because they bested you in a challenge, but there weren’t any challenge fights today; they’re over for the rest of the school year. Had someone gone out of their way to injure you, to make an attempt on your life? 

“My love, I’m serious. If someone tried to-”

“I tripped over my own shoelace and fell down the flight of stairs by Kaori’s classroom,” you interrupt quietly. “Half a dozen first-years saw the whole thing.”

He knows you well enough to know that you’re telling the truth, that what he’s seeing is genuine embarrassment -- the shyness in your voice and the warmth of your cheeks give it away.

He laughs in relief, and at how deeply unserious this whole situation is. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head with a slight smile. “It’s pretty funny.”

It’s hilarious. You’d completed your first year largely unscathed, sustaining no major injuries, but an untied shoelace had nearly done you in.

“That’s it,” he declares, “I’m tying your shoes for you every morning from now on.”

You laugh, wincing when the motion jostles your arm and sends a jolt of pain through you.

“Oh, honey,” he soothes. “C’mere.”

You settle into his arms, leaning against him as he embraces you, careful not to touch your splint.

“I love you,” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours.

“I love you too,” you reply. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, my love. Always.”

[fixingoff]

random nct members as horror movie antagonists

THEME : HORROR , DARK CONTENT AHEAD

CW : jeno's and haechan's are a bit graphic so don't read if easily uncomfortable, death, kidnapping, cursing, some have an altered storyline so it doesn't follow the movie's plot, torture (???)

note : its 5am and i can't sleep, let's see if i regret writing this in a few hours

yuta - jigsaw. in my eyes yuta seems like the type of person that enjoys playing games with people, whether the prize is staying alive. so when he and his apprentice mark lee, kidnaps you and your friends during a getaway trip you're scared shitless. one by one your friends die off, leaving you as the sole survivor for the final game. something to take into consideration is that yuta does not play fair. meaning? when he sees that you're about to successfully pass your test and escape, he rigs it so that instead, you're left bleeding out. when mark steps in to drag away your friends' bodies to god knows where, yuta trails behind him. he stays with you until you take your final breath, only whispering 'game over' once he makes sure it's the last thing you hear.

jisung - pelle from midsommar. jisung has had his eye on you for a while, but your boyfriend (whose name he didn't even bother to remember) swept you off your feet first. he watched as the love between you both die out, and when he suggested that you, your boyfriend, and his friends go to a nine-day festival at his ancestral commune it just became worse. from bad trips to watching people commit suicide, it was not a fruitful endeavor. one by one, the people you came on the trip with began disappearing, only scaring you further. you're numb by the end of it all, and have no more tears to give for your boyfriend as he becomes the last person to 'disappear'. you're left with jisung and his people, and you begin to question why he's left standing. but you don't care. after everything you've seen, you just don't care.

xiaojun - ghostface. what you think when people ask about your boyfriend is that he's too good to be true, and he is! he's close with everyone in the friend group, especially yangyang... odd. but you don't look into it that much, seeing as how you're still recovering from the death of your mother. weirdly enough, one of your classmates dies, and your boyfriend starts to act suspicious. you can't even trust him after seeing him climb into your room with a whole murder weapon. your friend insists on a party, and it doesn't look like you have a choice. you see everyone but your friend in the room, but she slipped your mind once you saw your boyfriend. now everyone is gone, and your boyfriend looks badly injured. but... you don't see any wounds or anything like that. you only notice you got yourself into trouble once your boyfriend looked up at you, eyes innocently wide but with a sinister smile on his face. where's yangyang...

jeno - terrifier. why the fuck is some guy dressed in a clown costume across the neighbor's house just standing there? you try calling her but to no avail. you can't help but commit to the bystander effect as you watch him follow your neighbor into her room and stab her back repeatedly, you could've sworn you saw her spine. the phone is in your fucking hand, call 911! you watch as he leaves and reenters with a cup of salt, spreading it all over her wounds as you hear whatever vocal chords in her cut open throat allowed her to scream. you watch as he props her up on the bed every part of her body lacerated, and only then he notices you staring. he heaves a smile before exiting the room, and when you look down you see him sprinting towards your house. why didn't you call the police?

haechan - freddy krueger. you can't sleep, or else he'll get you. he's gotten all of your friends already, you've even considered checking into a mental hospital just so they can call you crazy and tell you that whatever you're dreaming of is just in your mind. people wake up with gashes and bruises all the time after they wake up. people have this overwhelming fear of being killed by the boogeyman all the time! you can't close your eyes, even if the hallucinations are getting to you. your friend, chenle, notices your terrible state and slips some sleeping pills in your drink. he just wanted to be a good friend. only then you notice it when your eyes are closing, and you hear that beautiful singing voice in your dream. the realization that you're a goner hits you once his claws are deep into your chest, as you could hear your heartbeat from behind you, in his hand.

extra: johnny/taeyong/ten - the strangers. they're stalking the house of you and your now ex boyfriend, knocking on the fucking door and then leaving. once they're out of you guys' view, your boyfriend makes a run for it to the car to drive out for help as you watch from the window. only then do you see one of them in the back of the car along with a knife to his neck, then you hear footsteps behind you. they had access to get in all along; they just enjoy playing with their prey before attacking.

[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING ENTERTAINMENT/FEDERATION MAGAZINE: OCTOBER 2011

THE CULT OF CM PUNK

“All it took for The Straight Edge Superstar to turn the world upside-down and ignite the WWE Universe was one microphone. HEre we’ve given the “Voice of the Voiceless” another soapbox to explore his many issues with WWE management, his epic match at WWE Money In The Bank, his fellow Superstars who deserve a better shot, and what, if anything, is going to change now that he’ back for good. 

By JOHN MIHALY PHOTOGRAPHY BY PER BERNAL, DIGITAL IMAGING BY ERIC HEINTZ

[The Second City Saint reveals his cult of personality, and shows off his new T-shirt and WWE Championship during his unexpected return to WWE a week after leaving with the title (Raw, 7/25/11).]

In your estimation, what do you feel is wrong with WWE right now, and what would you do to change it?

What’s wrong with WWE right now is that there isn’t enough youth. Most of the ideas are old. They worked in The Attitude Era or in the ‘80s-and I'm not necessarily saying that they’re bad or they’re wrong-but they need updating, they need tweaking. There needs to be some young minds spinning the webs, so to speak. I’m sick of seeing people who are excellent wrestlers get passed over for people who have abs or who were good-string linemen in a European football league. I think there are a lot of people who, on their own terms, have made their own personas and perfected their craft simply out of love for what they do. They’re not trying to be bodybuilders or football players who fail miserably and then call their uncle or their dad and say, “Hey, I’ll give that wrestling thing a shot because I suck at everything else.”

Why do you think it’s such a strike against guys who-like yourself-are fans but aren't from a sports or bodybuilding background?

Now, this is complete speculation. I can't even tell you what somebody else is thinking. I can only say what I think works. And I'm not going to be right 100 percent of the time just like they're not going to be. Somewhere along the way I think we lost the Midas touch. This whole thing became uncool. I think people who love it aren’t going to go do something else  if they get fired. Like Colt Cabana. He’s a perfect example. He is a wrestler. If he gets hired and it doesn’t work out, he’s wrestling somewhere else the next day. He’s not trying to shoehorn himself into an accounting job. He’s a wrestler. He’s always going to be here. So I just think if you love wresting sometimes-maybe-you’re punished. You’re placed last in line. The attitude is: You’re always going to be here,  maybe we can use you later if we need you, but right now we’re going to use this guy because he was good at college football, and he didn’t quite make it in the NFL.

Another one of your gripes is how the WWE Championship looks. How would you redesign the title? What is the definitive look of that particular championship for you?

Oh god. How long is this interview? Honestly, I think old Dwayne used to have a cute little blue cow on his title or something. Then, of course, Stone Cold had the Smoking Skull title. I don't know. I think I could Straight Edge the hell out of that thing. A couple of “X”’s might make it look good. Make it look like a title should look like, and not make it look like some sort of weird, rapper bling. I feel the definitive look, though, is what I like to call “Bret Hart’s Title.” I think everyone likes to call it the “Winged Eagle Title.”That’s a little bit redundant. I’m pretty sure most eagles have wings. That’s the one that always sticks out in my mind.

This anger with your job has been festering for a while. Was there one moment backstage when you felt that you’d had enough?

I can name one off the top of my head. How about main-eventing a pay-per-view as the World Heavyweight Champion against Undertaker and then, a few months later, being in a dark match against R-Truth at WWE TLC? That’s pretty ignorant in my mind. This is the problem. We do this too many times to too many of the Superstars. It’s a start-stop kind of thing. The company likes to spotlight certain people. Like, “This week, Kofi’s cool,” and then, the next week, “We changed our minds-we like Dolph this week.” It flip-flops back and forth ad nauseam, and the next thing you know, the people couldn’t give a crap about either guy.

When did the powers that be really begin to take your leaving WWE seriously?

I told them probably a year out. They would say, “Hey, how about we talk about your contract?” And I would just say, “No, I don’t really feel like it.” And they would say, “Ok, back off. Punk’s crabby and temperamental.” We’ll get him next week.” And the next week it would be, “Hey let’s talk about it.” And then maybe eight or 10 months out, it was, “Hey, I really want to sit down. We really need to sign you a new deal.” And that’s when I straight up said, “No, I’m not interested.”

[CM Punk perches on the top rope to hear out The Chairman’s final contract offer (Raw, 7/11/11).]

Take us back to your title match at WWE Money In The Bank. What did you do differently that day knowing that could have been your last day on the job?

I don’t think I did anything different that day. I’m a man of my word. I wasn’t going to skip out on my contract earlier. I was going to let it run out. These to do, and I was going to let it run out. These are the terms. I agreed to and the dates I agreed to do, and I was definitely going to finish up. But I think I talked so much about everything and everybody that all eyes were on me and it created a high-pressure situation. Thankfully, I thrive very well in those situations. I’d say I pulled it off. All this stuff i talk about, about ebony the best in the world, I certainly proved it that night. The match went near the 35-minute mark But i wrestled for 93 minutes one time back in 2002 or 2003 in a Two-Out-Of-Three Falls Match.

You mentioned on the Bill Simmons B.S. Report podcast that you had made the decision to come back and resign at WWE Money In The Bank. Do you think your decision was at all clouded a little bit too much by all the emotion going on that day?

I can definitely put it aside. I can be a robot if I need to be. Resigning was something that was on my mind day -in and day-out whether I was at the gym or sleeping. I was dreaming about it, I was really trying to figure out what was the best decision for the company as a whole. I love what we do. I ‘m not going to get along with everybody I work with. I’m certainly not going to agree with everything all the time, But at the end of the day, I want everybody’s voice to be heard. I want this place to succeed. So I had to weigh my options. 

[The conquering hometown hero wins his first WWE Championship (To add to his three World Heavyweight Titles) at WWE Money In The Bank (7/17/11).]

They say  a man’s refrigerator is a window into his soul. When you Tweeted a photo of the WWE Championship inside your fridge the night you won, we couldn’t help but notice that there was a jar of peanut butter in there. Isn’t peanut butter meant to be stored at room temperature?

Is it? Why? I'm not saying we have to end the interview now, but here’s a good wrap-up for you: WWE has stored their peanut butter at room temperature for over 30 years; I'm putting it in the refrigerator now. It’s time for a damn change. I don’t eat my peanut butter like everybody else, I suppose. I don’t spread it on anything, because I try to stay away from bread and all that, so if I’m eating peanut butter, i take a spoonful of it, and i eat it like ice cream. It tastes better a little frozen. 

Another thing we noticed is that you used the “W” word a lot in your tirades these last weeks. How much do you dislike saying “sports-entertainment”?

I don’t hate it as much as you would think, but I really do think it’s ridiculous when you’re not allowed to say “wrestling.” At the end of the day, that’s what goes on in that ring. That ring is our stage. What we do on that stage is we wrestle. I’m not playing grab-ass. I’m out there fighting to win. Wins and losses mean something. Wrestling happens to be damn entertaining.

So is it weird to call yourself a “Superstar” as opposed to a wrestler?

I don’t think it’s weird. I think we’re all Superstars. Absolutely. I don’t think there’s anybody else who can be called that. Would you call Brad Pitt a Superstar? Do I think Brad Pitt can do what we do? Absolutely not! Brad Pitt gets scripts and lines to study months ahead of time and he has a very controlled setting in which he looks the best he possibly can. He has makeup on, there’s lighting, there’s people doing the sound and everything. We go out there on live TV every Monday night and kill it. That’s where the entertainment part comes in. It’s more entertaining than a Brad Pitt movie. There are no retakes, you know? There’s no Take 1, Take 2–”I screwed that up, let me do it again.” IF we screw up, we screw up. That’s the entertaining part. 

Entertaining was your baseball analogy equating John Cena to the Yankees-which caused him to punch you. But let’s follow that analogy a bit further. Earlier this century, your Chicago Cubs and the Boston Red Sox were quite similar. Then the Red Sox were quite the equivalent of baseball’s nouveau riche, effectively placing that franchise and fan base in line with the Yankees. Won’t the same thing happen to the Cubs when they win? And what about you? If you continue to win, wont you in turn become what you hate?

Possibly. We’ll have to wait and see. Is the same thing going to happen to me? It’s quite possible. That’s life, though. I really think it depends on the person. Am I going to change? Absolutely not. I'm not changing anything. Will the WWE Universe maybe get sick of me? I think the people get sick of anything if it's shoved down their throat. I think free-thinking people like variety, and they like change. There’s no reason why multiple people can’t be marketed correctly and in everybody’s face constantly so there’s a choice. 

[Punk ruffles the feathers (and tie) of new COO Triple H (Raw, 8/1/11), and hopes for a retro design akin to, in his words, “Bret Hart’s Title” (above left).]

One thing you did change is your entrance music, to Living Colour’s “Cult of Personality.” Did you consider anything else?

No, that was the one. It was a throwback to my Indie days, but it also just fit. I have tremendous guts, I’d like to say, and it was just a gut feeling that this was the right thing to do, to change my music now. Did I like my old song? Absolutely. Was it recognizable? Sure, I had it for five years. Was it time for a change? Was it a risky thing? Yes and yes. But ultimately, I think it was the right move. I haven't been able to get the song out of my head since last Monday. It’s a song that came out in 1989, when I was on my little league team, and now it just jumped into the iTunes Top 200. That’s powerful. That should speak volumes to the WWE management. They should say, “Holy crap, this kid has the power to do something like that. Let’s see what else he can do.”

What’s really different now that you’re back? What are we going to see that’s not status quo?

I don’t want to ruin any surprises, but i will tell you that when the Ramones were voted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame. This is, after all, the establishment that shunned the entire band for its entire career, and he wanted nothing to do with it. He was extremely adamant that, “No, you don’t get the privilege of having the Ramones in your little club.” My good friend, Lars Frederickson [of the band Rancid], got on the phone and said, “Marky, listen to me. You almost have responsibility to the underground to accept this award and be in the Hall of Fame to show that you are as big as the Beatles, you’re as good as Led Zeppelin, all these mainstream bands that the Ramones maybe never got credit on the same level as.” And that’s kind of how I feel about WWE right now. I’m a guy who, for all intents and purposes, never should have even made it to WWE. Then I had roadblock after roadblock thrown in my way. Not only did I get past those roadblock thrown in my way. Not only did I get past those roadblocks, I did it while flipping off the people who put up those roadblocks. I feel I have a responsibility to the younger wrestlers on the roster, the ones that aren't signed yet, and the future of wrestling as a whole, to help make this place better, and to change this place. I certainly can't change it by sitting on my couch in Chicago.