#The other photos weren't taken at the time as I was just living my life and not prepared for that

[scoriarose]

A Noisy Chicago Apartment Ghost

Here's a little spooky story of something that really happened to my girl and me a few months back when I was still living in my apartment in Chicago (Specifically July 11th through the 14th, so not that long ago!)

Chicago is a place with a lot of old buildings, not sure if that means more ghosts? But I'm also the sort of person that if something spooky is going on, I'm usually the one that's most likely to experience it, and surprisingly my little girl did too!

We were living on the fourth floor of an apartment in Edgewater that was so old I had to sign a waiver that I knew the walls had lead somewhere in the paint omelet the landlord coated the interior with. There was something else there, something I couldn't see, but it made itself known by throwing things, mostly. Most would think, "Are you sure it didn't fall?" But most of these things were sitting on a flat surface, sometimes for months before they were suddenly flung with force across the room. Whatever it was didn't like my cat, as several times I'd see him run out of a room then something be thrown out of the doorway at him. I lived alone, and he very well couldn't have done it if it was thrown after he was out of the room!

This is a photo I took of the hallway just before I moved, which is where the most recent spooky things happened. To the left is the bathroom, to the right is the walk in closet my cat claimed as his room, and the far back is where I had my bed. My computer desk and girls were against the opposite wall, so I had my back to this area. Around the time it happened, most of my things were in boxes, aside for what I needed on the daily, so if something was out of place it was pretty easy to tell.

One thing that's nice about working from home is I could have my baby girl chilling with me, and she'd often be snuggled with me while I organized video shoots, booked talent, or worked on preproduction. So one day early in the afternoon I was buy working away on something when I heard a loud sound behind me. Imagine someone holding a leather biker's coat above their head and dropping it to the ground- it sounded exactly like that. Owning a leather biker jacket, that was the first thing I checked and it was still on its hanger. In fact, nothing was out of place, which is pretty strange since that was a rather loud sound- but not a thing had been moved! So I just added it to my mental list of weird things I can't really do anything about and went back to working.

The next day, around the same time, I heard something get thrown into the bathtub. I'm half wondering if this time I'll actually find something or it will be another mystery sound- and I find my makeup case thrown from a shelf into the bathtub. No reason. I put it back and again add it to my mental list of things I can't explain and just have to accept happened. Third day, around the same time, I again hear a sound in the same area of the hallway, just outside the bathroom door, but this time it sounds like something plastic got dropped. I rush over, worried that something like my live crickets or isopods got flung (and subsequently LOOSE) in my apartment- but again, nothing out of place.

At this point, it's become a daily thing at around the same time. Was their a reason this started? Are they upset I'm moving? Whatever the reason, on the fourth day I've notice the trend of something weird happening in the hallway behind my desk around the same time. Today, the fourth day, I was holding my baby girl.

Scoria is sweeter than pie and she lives to play, explore, and love her family. Absolute sweetheart. She was wandering about in my arms, but then stopped and started staring into the empty hallway. She periscoped up, just staring, and I couldn't see anything! Then she hooded up bigger than I'd ever seen her hood before, like something scary was there and she was trying to intimidate it. There was nothing new in the hallway, again, it was pretty empty since most things had been packed away for the upcoming move, so it wasn't as though she were misidentifying something unknown. Whatever she saw, this tiny little gummyworm thought was dangerous- and she was going to protect us.

Thinking back to the prior three days of things I couldn't explain, and the possibility of ghosts in my mind, I honestly wonder if she saw someone I couldn't. And what the heck do you do in that moment? I did the only thing I could think to- I talked calmly to her, asking her what she saw, and what was wrong? After a few more moments she relaxed, her hood melted down, and she looked at me as if to say, "Everything is okay now Mom."

And the weird things in that apartment completely stopped through to the day we moved. I honestly wonder if my girl scared a ghost? Experience with the paranormal has taught me that most ghosts use to be people, and the beliefs and fears they had in life go with them into the afterlife. So if whatever was in my apartment use to be a person afraid of snakes, well now they were a ghost afraid of snakes. Even little teenie tiny gummyworm snakes. There's a surprisingly high number of people afraid of friendly little gummyworm snakes. And I guess this ghost was one of them!

I certainly appreciate my baby girl squaring off with this thing I couldn't see or do anything about. Somehow she could? I guess? And she was my brave little girl, who would protect her family from whatever scary thing she saw. This is just one of so many reasons I love her more than words could ever express.

( @yeetntve you liked my other post so I tag u so u can see the story.)

[aquanutart]

I was talking and I mentioned that I have my old Game Boy and original Pokemon cartridge. I said, "I think they still work."

I was told, "The internal batteries on the Game Boy cartridges have run out. They're all dead."

"Oh," I said, trying not to show how crestfallen I was. I felt like I was losing nerd cred for not knowing that, although I never kept up with that type of info anyway. I'm here for the fantasy and imaginative aspects of games, and tend not to follow the competitive or technical details.

I tried not to feel anything as I went home. If they were real animals, I reminded myself, I would have had to say goodbye long ago.

But like so many other people, Pokemon was my childhood. It was all I thought about and dreamed about, and the closest thing I could imagine to heartbreak was the knowledge that they weren't real. I spent nearly all my time writing longhand self-insert Pokemon fanfiction--far more than I spent actually playing the game. My Pokemon were with me in my imagination wherever I went. I started playing Pokemon Blue when I was 5, and the last time I had played it was probably when I was 9 or 10. I remembered I had turned it on again one more time after that, not to play it, but to look at my childhood Pokemon.

It was during high school, after a move overseas that completely upended my life, and I was struggling with the crushing blow of being taken away from everything I knew and trying to make sense of anything (least of all adolescence) in another language. All I wanted was to go back to childhood and have everything go back to how it was before.

Seeing my Pokemon, just as I'd left them, had comforted me. I had looked at their stats pages, taken photos of them with my digital camera (that I don't even know if I still have), and then turned it off without doing anything.

That was probably 9 or 10 years after the games came out. It had been a long time since then. I had long since taken the AA batteries out of my Game Boy Color and left it untouched. I didn't even have AA batteries anymore.

It had worked then. But now it had been 27 years... I thought about not trying to turn my cartridge back on. As long as I didn't turn it on, I could believe my Pokemon were still there, the way I remembered them.

On my day off, which happened to be Pokemon Day, I googled and read that some people on forums and Reddit were still able to play their original Pokemon games.

Then... it was possible. I went out to buy toothpaste. At the store, I asked where I could find AA batteries.

It was a big thing for me to be able to go to the store and buy things myself. When I moved at age 13, I felt like something went wrong with growing up. It was difficult to follow what people were saying, and people didn't always understand what I said either. I had been introverted even in English, but now I had enough negative experiences that I became afraid and stopped trying to talk to people altogether.

I threw myself into video games and reliving childhood memories. The internet was where I could communicate in my first language and understand. I lived online and didn't interact with the real world. On the internet I felt like I was understood and could find people who shared my interests the way I did, but in the real world it always felt like I could get hurt if anyone knew me.

I realize now that I could have had a better experience overseas if I'd known how to adapt and socialize, but this was not something I knew even in English, and trying to learn in another language made it ten times harder. I'm sorry now for missing out on interactions that I know I could have had, but I just didn't know how. I wouldn't know how until I learned, and it took me a long time to learn.

I grew up online, in the company of others who had trouble fitting in with the real world, even in their own language. Those experiences shaped me, and the friendships I've made and support I've received online are invaluable to me. The internet gave me a way to live, and through it I learned how to interact with others. But in many ways, for many years, it felt like my life was put on hold and I stopped growing up.

Several years ago I moved back, to not far from where I was born, and I was able to work for the first time. I began to interact with people and feel like I had a place in the real world.

After shutting myself away for so many years, every little step I made out in the world felt terrifying. But every little thing I did on my own made me feel like I was living for the first time.

Even something as little as going to the store and buying a pack of batteries.

I was directed to a shelf at the end of an aisle, and found myself looking at a rack of lithium AA batteries. Did they not sell the old kind anymore?

I walked around to the other side and was relieved to find the familiar black and brown Duracell batteries I'd known from my childhood. I felt more confident about putting in a battery that looked the same as I remembered. The smallest pack they sold was an 8-pack for $12.99. I really didn't need 8 batteries. I didn't have any other devices that used them.

I thought, what if I turn it on and it doesn't work and I'll have wasted $12.99?

I also thought we might already have batteries. I might be able to say, "Mom, do we have any batteries?" and she'd pull out two AAs from a drawer somewhere and I'd save my money.

But somehow I felt like part of what was important about this was being an adult and being able to buy my own batteries.

Yet... what if it just ended up making me sad? Was it better not to know?

I went to the checkout with just the toothpaste and stood hesitating at the edge of the checkout line.

If I didn't get the batteries now, and it turned out we didn't have any batteries, I wouldn't try it. I knew I would just put it off until even more time passed, and then... "Are you in line?" someone asked me.

"No," I said, and I turned around and went back to the shelf.

I bought the batteries.

At home, I took out my original Game Boy Color from the drawer where I left it, the one my dad had surprised me with when I was 5 years old and that I had brought overseas and back.

I put the batteries in and turned it on without a cartridge first to make sure the batteries were inserted correctly. The Game Boy logo scrolled across the screen and it made the familiar blinging Game Boy startup noise. I turned it off again, satisfied.

I took out my original Pokemon Blue cartridge, momentarily having to remember which way it went in, and slotted it in.

I turned it on, watched the whole Pokemon Blue intro out of nostalgia, and then pressed START.

My heart leaped for joy.

MY POKEMON!!!! MY POKEMON ARE ALIVE!!! 🥺🥺🥺

My original Pokemon, that were with me in 1998 when I was 5-6 years old, are still with me 27 years later. I want to cry!!! I love the old sprites, I'm SO happy to see them again 😭😭😭 the Pokemon look so little and cheerful at the same time, which I love 🥺🥺🥺 I know there are people with many more hours on their games, who have leveled all their Pokemon to 100. But these are my Pokemon who were with me through my childhood, and I spent many more hours making up stories about them than actually playing the game. I'm so happy to see them again 😭😭😭

All I want is to see my Pokemon. My other Pokemon are in boxes. Now, how do I get to the nearest PC? Where am I?

Oh... Oh. I have to confess something. When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark cave areas, and whenever I got to them, I stopped playing for a while. (I was stuck at Mt. Moon until I was like, 7.) So I never actually beat the game.

And here I am on Victory Road, with the team of Pokemon I was taking to the Elite Four, without an Escape Rope.

The only way for me to see my other Pokemon is... to finally make it through Victory Road, after 27 years?!

[cbeargyu]

Hiii if reqs are still open can I ask for a coworker Doyoung finding out you're an onlyfans model....😭✋♥️

miss erotica

summary: you and doyoung are coworkers who maintain a strictly professional relationship… until he accidentally discovers your secret life as a lingerie model on onlyfans. tension builds, desires unravel, and when the truth finally comes out, you make him a filthy little offer he can't refuse.

pairing: coworker ! doyoung x coworker (of model) fem! reader

genre: smut, coworkers to lovers, slow burn tension, light dom!doyoung, lingerie kink, secret double life reveal.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, explicit sexual content, thigh riding, lingerie modeling, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral fixation (male receiving implied), cumshot on stomach/lace lingerie, cumshot on face (briefly mentioned), possessive behavior, light praise/degradation, slight overstimulation, photo taken for onlyfans post, doyoung jerking off alone at the end

wc: 3,6k

notes: omg, incredible request anon, i hope you enjoy it! thank you all for your requests, remember that they’re open, though it might take me some time to get to them due to my schedule🩷

working with doyoung had always been... easy. despite your desks being placed directly in front of each other, just a breath apart, the relationship stayed strictly professional. you weren't sure if it was because he was a workaholic who barely lifted his head from the screen, or if it was simply the nature of two people who lived parallel lives — polite, distant, untouched by anything messy or personal.

you knew the basics. he was single, lived alone, probably married to his job. you weren’t that different either — renting a cozy little apartment not far from the office, sharing your space with your two cats: milo, a silver tabby with a mischievous glint in his eye, and luna, a cream-colored ragdoll with lazy, half-lidded stares. you had exchanged bits of your life over small talk, shallow conversations at best. never more. never deeper.

what you didn’t know, what nobody knew, was that doyoung had a secret obsession — paying for content on onlyfans. not just any content. he was a loyal subscriber to a certain "miss erotica", a woman who never showed her face but showcased her body in ways that blurred the lines between art and temptation. he didn’t tell anyone. how could he? it was his private addiction, the one thing he allowed himself outside the endless deadlines and excel sheets.

then, one morning during a rare group breakfast at the office, the conversation drifted to pets. casual, harmless. you, smiling, pulled out your phone and showed a picture of your cats lounging by your living room window. milo, sprawled like a king, his silver fur shining under the sun; luna, tucked next to him, her cream coat like a spilled glass of milk against the dark wood floor.

"they're beautiful," someone cooed.

doyoung looked at the screen. and froze.

something pricked at the back of his mind. the silver tabby with the green collar... luna's cream fur... it looked familiar. almost too familiar.

he had seen them before.

but not here.

his heart stuttered, his throat going dry. he stayed silent, watching as you scrolled through more pictures, laughing, showing off your babies to the group. you didn't notice the way his eyes stayed glued to your screen, how his mind reeled.

because in one of miss erotica's most memorable posts — a shot of her ass in black lace panties, arching perfectly against a leather chair — there had been a cat in the background. a silver tabby. with the exact same green collar. and another fluff of cream lazing by a window.

doyoung’s stomach twisted.

no, it couldn't be.

he hadn't saved the picture. it had been months ago. it could be a coincidence. right?

he spent the rest of the day distracted, replaying the image in his mind, trying to grasp at details, trying to reason with himself. people had cats. cats could look similar. it didn’t have to be you.

and he almost let it go.

almost.

until summer came.

you traded your usual long-sleeved blouses for casual short-sleeve shirts, your skin kissed golden by the sun, the curve of your arm now exposed to his line of sight. that day, when you leaned across the desk to pass him a file, the hem of your sleeve rode up. doyoung’s eyes — traitorous, hungry — caught something.

a tattoo.

small, delicate.

a slender vine of wildflowers, curling around the back of your arm, the ink fine and dark against your skin.

he stared.

he knew that tattoo.

he had spent hours tracing it with his eyes on his screen, had memorized the way the petals twisted, the slight flaw in one of the leaves. miss erotica had that same tattoo. he had noticed it countless times while she modeled those sinful sets of lingerie — crimson silk, ivory lace, black leather.

doyoung’s heart slammed against his ribs. it wasn’t just a theory anymore. it was you.

he looked up slowly, meeting your eyes across the desk. you gave him a small, polite smile, unaware of the war raging inside him.

he swallowed thickly, his hands curling into fists under the desk.

fuck.

you were miss erotica.

and now, he couldn't unsee it. couldn't pretend he didn't know. every time you bent over slightly to pick up a file, every time you tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, every time you laughed low and sweet — it all layered itself with the filthy, burning images he'd paid to see at 2 a.m.

it was you.

doyoung hadn’t just stumbled across your profile. he had been looking for something — something specific, something that scratched a very particular itch deep inside him. lingerie. but not just anyone posing in cheap lace or overexposed shots. he liked the slow burn, the tease, the art of it. miss erotica was perfect. you had perfected it.

your content wasn’t explicit in the obvious sense. no faces, no messy, desperate angles. it was the suggestion of sin, the elegance of a body wrapped in silken temptation. intricate corsets, delicate garter belts, sheer stockings stretched over soft skin. sometimes, he thought the way you positioned your hands was even sexier than nudity — subtle, knowing. you wore lace like it was a second skin, posed in ways that made his mind work, made him imagine peeling each layer off inch by inch.

he had a thing for thigh-high stockings. for black lace that hugged curves and hinted at forbidden places. and miss erotica — you — had a way of making every single photo feel personal. like you were posing just for him.

he had spent too many nights gripping the sheets in frustration, whispering your name under his breath, not even realizing it. miss erotica. miss erotica. it was stupid how deep it went.

and now...

you were sitting across from him at your shared desks, tapping away on your keyboard, completely unaware that the woman who had made him lose sleep, made him ache with need, was breathing the same office air as him.

it felt wrong.

it felt so good.

he was drowning in it.

the realization clung to him like static electricity. he watched the way your fingers danced across the keys, slender and sure, the same fingers he had imagined curled in the waistband of delicate panties. he watched the way you tilted your head slightly when you read something intently, exposing the soft line of your throat, the same throat he had dreamed of marking.

he couldn't focus.

he couldn’t fucking breathe.

you had no idea.

the days after the realization were torture.

doyoung tried to act normal — professional, polite, like he hadn't spent half the night with your photos burned into his eyelids. but it was impossible. now he noticed everything. the slight sway of your hips when you walked past his desk. the way your fingers sometimes absentmindedly played with the hem of your blouse. the shape of your mouth when you sipped your coffee. it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t fucking fair.

he needed a release. he needed you.

so one evening, as you both packed up your things, the office mostly deserted except for a few lingering coworkers, he cleared his throat and said casually, "hey, y/n... you doing anything tonight?"

you looked up, a little surprised — it was rare for doyoung to initiate anything that wasn’t strictly about work. "not really," you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "why?"

he shrugged, forcing nonchalance. "thought maybe we could grab a drink. just... you know, decompress a bit. long week."

you smiled — a soft, genuine smile he didn’t usually get to see — and nodded. "yeah, sure. that sounds nice."

it was a simple moment.

ordinary.

but his pulse hammered against his ribs like he had just won something forbidden.

the bar he picked wasn’t far from the office. dimly lit, cozy, tucked away enough that no one from work would accidentally stumble in. he watched you under the low lights, the way you peeled off your jacket, revealing more of your arms — more of that tattoo — and he felt his mouth go dry.

you ordered something sweet. he ordered something strong.

conversation started off light. movies, weekend plans, the weather.

but as the drinks flowed, the distance between you seemed to shrink. your laughter got a little looser. your glances lingered a little longer. he leaned in, elbows brushing yours on the tiny table, and he could smell the soft, clean scent of your shampoo. he could imagine burying his face in it, breathing you in as he pressed your body against his.

"so," he said after a pause, voice a little rougher now, "you live alone, right?"

you nodded, swirling the ice in your glass. "yeah. just me and my two little troublemakers."

"the cats," he said, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"mhm." you tilted your head, curious. "you remembered?"

he chuckled lowly. "hard to forget."

especially when those cats had haunted his fucking dreams alongside your lace-clad body.

you leaned in a little closer without realizing it, your knee brushing his under the table.

doyoung’s hand twitched, desperate to touch, desperate to confirm that you were real, that you were here, that he wasn’t losing his goddamn mind.

"you ever feel like people don’t really know you?" you said suddenly, voice soft, almost vulnerable. "like... you have this whole side of you no one even sees?"

you didn’t know what you were doing to him.

or maybe you did.

he set his glass down, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath catch.

"i think," he said slowly, voice dropping, "some sides are meant for only a few lucky ones to see."

the air between you crackled, thick and heavy.

you swallowed hard, heart beating too fast.

you hadn’t realized how close you had leaned in. how close he was.

or maybe you had.

the space between you buzzed like an invisible wire pulled too tight. every time you shifted, his eyes flickered down, tracing the subtle lines of your body. you were painfully aware of it — of him — of the way his fingers curled against the edge of his glass, the way his jaw tensed whenever your knees brushed under the table.

you sipped your drink slowly, tongue darting out to catch a drop at the corner of your mouth. his gaze followed the movement like a man starved. you could practically feel the heat rolling off his body in thick, stifling waves.

the conversation faltered. it didn’t need words anymore. everything was felt.

"y/n," he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges.

you looked up, heart skipping.

there was something dangerous in his eyes. something that told you he wasn’t going to play pretend anymore.

"those cats of yours," he started, almost casually. "i swear i’ve seen them somewhere else before."

you smiled, slow, almost coy. "yeah?"

he leaned in, his breath brushing your cheek. you could smell the bourbon on him, feel the warmth of it seeping into your skin.

"yeah," he murmured. "in a... very specific place."

a pause. a deliberate, loaded silence.

you set your glass down carefully, the ice clinking sharp in the quiet. "where, doyoung?" you asked, voice sweet, teasing. but your heart was hammering against your ribs, adrenaline and arousal twining together into something electric.

he watched you, pupils blown wide, fingers flexing like he was holding himself back from reaching across the table and dragging you into him.

"onlyfans," he said finally. barely a whisper. a confession.

the word hung between you, scandalous and heavy.

you didn’t flinch. didn’t look away.

instead, you tilted your head, a slow, sinful smile curling your lips.

"miss erotica," he said, the name coming out like a prayer he had whispered a hundred times in the dark.

you leaned in, so close your knees were fully pressed together now under the table.

your voice dropped to a purr.

"so," you breathed, "you’re a fan of lingerie, huh?"

his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, y/n... more than a fan."

the confession hung in the air like smoke, sweet and thick.

you let the moment stretch, savoring the way his body tensed, the way he shifted like he was seconds away from snapping.

"lace?" you murmured. "stockings? garters?"

he nodded, unable to look away from you, like you were the center of his whole fucking universe.

"all of it," he said, voice almost breaking. "i... i can’t get enough."

you licked your lips slowly, leaning back just a little to give him a view of the curve of your body under your blouse. teasing. tempting.

his fingers twitched like he was holding onto the last shred of his self-control.

"poor thing," you whispered. "must be hard, wanting something so bad and not being able to touch it."

his hands fisted in his lap, knuckles white.

"y/n," he warned, voice wrecked, pleading.

you smiled, wicked and soft all at once.

you leaned closer, so your mouth was right by his ear, your breath warm against his skin.

"what if," you whispered, so quietly it was almost obscene, "i modeled for you?"

he sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body shuddering like he’d been struck.

you pulled back just enough to see his face — the desperation there, the hunger, the need.

"real life," you said, your fingers ghosting along the hem of your skirt under the table, just enough for him to catch the motion. "no screens. no distance."

he was trembling. you were trembling.

the world outside the little cocoon of the bar didn’t exist anymore.

there was only this — the heavy beat of your hearts, the unbearable pull between you, the promise of something dirty and sweet hanging in the air.

"you’d model for me," he said, disbelieving, wrecked.

"if you’re a good boy," you teased, wicked and tender all at once.

he let out a low, broken noise, half-growl, half-whimper, and you knew — you knew — that tonight was going to change everything.

you barely made it through the door before he was on you.

doyoung kicked the door shut behind him, hands everywhere, breath hot against your skin as he pressed you against the wall.

"fuck," he muttered against your neck, voice low and trembling with restraint. "you drive me insane."

you laughed softly, threading your fingers into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.

"patience," you whispered. "you still want me to model for you, don't you?"

he pulled back, eyes dark and wild, chest heaving.

"yeah," he rasped. "fuck, yeah. show me, baby. show me everything."

you slipped out from under him, sauntering toward your bedroom with a slow sway of your hips, feeling his gaze burning into you.

you could hear him curse under his breath, could hear the faint clink of his belt as he adjusted himself, trying to keep it together.

you left the door slightly ajar, just enough for him to peek in as you changed.

slowly, languidly, you stripped down, sliding the soft fabric of your blouse over your head, shimmying your skirt down your thighs.

you chose one of your best sets — a delicate black lace bralette and matching thong, the garter belt hugging your hips, sheer thigh-high stockings clipping into place with a soft click.

you posed in front of the mirror for a moment, adjusting the straps, making sure everything sat just right, teasing yourself as much as you were teasing him.

"come in," you called sweetly.

the door creaked open and there he was, standing there, jaw clenched, eyes practically black.

his hands fisted at his sides like he was seconds from losing every ounce of control.

you turned slowly, letting him take you in — the curve of your ass in the sheer lace, the tight lines of the garter straps, the soft swell of your breasts barely contained by the delicate fabric.

"holy fuck," he breathed, voice wrecked. "you're gonna kill me."

you sauntered up to him, slow and deliberate, your fingers trailing up his chest, feeling the tremor beneath your touch.

"sit," you commanded, voice like velvet.

he obeyed without hesitation, sinking onto the edge of your bed, legs spread wide, hands gripping the sheets.

you climbed onto his lap, straddling one strong thigh, feeling the hard muscle flex beneath you.

your soaked panties pressed against him as you started to rock your hips, slow, grinding motions that sent sparks shooting up your spine.

his hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, guiding your movements as you rode his thigh like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

"fuck, look at you," he groaned, tilting his head back, eyes fluttering shut for a second before snapping back to you, dark and hungry. "so fucking pretty, so fucking wet."

you rolled your hips against his thigh, your soaked panties dragging delicious friction along the hard muscle beneath you.

doyoung watched you with a look that was pure hunger, his hands locked on your waist, controlling your pace, forcing you to grind harder, deeper.

"fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice a wreck of desire. "you’re fucking yourself on my thigh like a desperate little thing."

you whimpered, grinding harder, feeling the rough fabric of his pants rubbing right against your clit through the thin lace.

"please," you gasped, not even sure what you were begging for anymore — more, faster, him.

he growled low in his throat, grabbing you by the hips and flipping you onto the bed in one smooth, desperate motion.

"can't wait anymore," he muttered, tugging his shirt over his head, undoing his belt with trembling fingers. "need you. now."

you spread your legs eagerly, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes as he shed the rest of his clothes, his cock thick and leaking, curving up toward his stomach.

he crawled over you, one hand sliding up your thigh, tracing the garter strap, hooking his fingers under it and snapping it playfully against your skin, making you gasp.

"keep it on," he ordered, voice dark and low. "i wanna fuck you in this."

you nodded frantically, hips canting up toward him, desperate for any kind of friction.

he lined himself up and pushed in slowly, groaning deep in his chest as he filled you inch by agonizing inch.

"so tight," he breathed, forehead pressed against yours. "so fucking good."

you clung to him, nails digging into his back, moaning brokenly as he started to move — slow at first, grinding deep inside you, savoring every second.

the lace scraped lightly against his skin, the garters tugging with every thrust, the whole thing messy and desperate and perfect.

he fucked you like he couldn't get close enough, couldn't get deep enough, like he wanted to crawl inside your skin and live there.

then he slowed, grinding deep instead of thrusting, fucking you slow and filthy, making you feel every inch of him.

he pulled back just enough to look down at you, his cock still buried deep inside, his hands rough on your hips.

you cried out, legs trembling, the pressure building fast and brutal.

"wanna see you cum," he growled, fucking you harder, faster, making the bed creak beneath you. "wanna feel you."

your orgasm hit like a freight train, ripping through you with a force that left you gasping, clinging to him as you shattered apart.

his voice was low, almost a growl against your ear: "where do you want it, baby? tell me."

you whimpered, meeting his eyes, feeling the heat of your own desperation mirrored in his gaze.

"on my face and... my lingerie," you whispered, voice shaking with need. "i want you to ruin it."

his eyes darkened impossibly further, his thrusts turning erratic, brutal.

"fuck. fuck, you’re gonna kill me," he muttered, pulling out at the last second.

he pulled out quickly, fisting his cock with a few rough strokes, and then he was painting your face with hot, sticky ropes of cum, groaning your name like a prayer.

you moaned softly, licking a drop from your lip, watching him through hooded eyes.

but he wasn't done yet.

he stroked himself back to hardness almost immediately, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach.

you arched your back for him, showing off the perfect view — the lace barely covering your ass, the garters framing your curves beautifully.

he jerked himself hard and fast, the obscene sounds of slick skin filling the room, until he came again, thick and messy across your lower back and ass, the cum soaking into the delicate lace.

you stayed like that for a moment, panting, letting it drip down your skin.

you watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, heart hammering, feeling every hot splash land on you, branding you, claiming you exactly the way you asked for.

he collapsed onto the couch beside you, chest heaving, watching you with a dazed, satisfied grin.

you lay there for a moment, catching your breath, feeling the slick mess cooling on your skin, the ruined lace clinging to you obscenely.

and then, with a wicked little smile, you reached for your phone. you angled it perfectly — the sticky, creamy mess glistening across your stomach, the black lace sheer against your flushed skin.

click.

you uploaded it to your onlyfans with a simple, filthy caption:

"he made me a mess tonight."

hours later, doyoung sat on his own bed, phone in hand, heart pounding.

he opened your page and there it was — your body, still trembling, still glistening with the evidence of his obsession.

his cock twitched violently, already leaking, already aching.

he groaned low in his throat, unable to stop himself from palming his cock roughly, needing relief, needing you all over again.

he came in seconds, harsh and hot across his stomach, your name a broken whisper on his lips.

and he knew.

he was never going to survive you.

[bahngarang]

chapter 9.0 ☆ imposter syndrome

ss: 18

wc: 829

cw: food mentions, mentions of physical fighting

a/n: I lost two years of my life trying to edit that photo if it looks bad don't tell me (also the initials l . y are l/n y/n if you're confused)

"okay, okay, hear me out," minji paused, chewing a heroically sized mouthful of pizza, holding her finger up as if to hold her place in the conversation.

it went on for just long enough to be awkward, and yn took a sip of their soda – as if they weren't already stewing in a pool of their own embarrassment at this whole situation. and it was embarrassing, to say the least. how long would it have taken them to get to this point if not for some... some bitch trying to steal their soulmates? honestly, yn thought they would have the opposite reaction to this sort of thing. the other yn – she was pretty, able-bodied from what they could tell, and she seemed remarkably put together. a far cry from their own life. she seemed to be everything yn wanted for their soulmates.

well, except for the fact that she was almost undoubtedly a sasaeng. stray kids' management had gone to great lengths not to show their soul marks, but there had been a few slip-ups over the years, and despite their best efforts, it had come out that the group were soulmates – and that there was one more person included. that came with a lot of failed attempts of stalkers trying their best to convince they boys that they were their soulmate. up until now, it had always been fairly mediocre attempts, and/or easy to see through. it was different this time, almost indistinguishable from yn's own (before the accident).

but apart from that, theoretically, she was perfect for them. and yn... wasn't. but that didn't stop the pit of frustration burning deep in their stomach – frustration at themselves, mostly, at the world, and everything else. although, that last one was the more general ire for living made worse by this whole debacle.

sometimes, privately, yn wondered if it really was just a big coincidence, if they really were their last soulmate. it just felt like they... didn't fit. and, just occasionally, they wished it was that way – although, not really. they didn't know the others, and didn't really know how to feel about them just yet, but the idea of chan being with someone else made yn's chest clench painfully.

"what if," minji started again, "what if you showed up at the company building with like, one of those massive rose bouquets and blasting a sad song on your boombox?"

"well, first of all," yn said, "where are the funds for this rose bouquet? with the price of everything these days, i'm not sure i even have enough for twelve. secondly, a boombox? how old do you think i am? contrary to apparently popular belief, i do not have a boombox. and, you know, i think security wouldn't let me within 50 metres of the building."

"darn."

the quiet clicking of lego pieces broke the silence between the poignant lack of ideas in the brainstorming session. it was difficult, coming up with a way to explain to your best friend that you'd been hiding the fact that you were his last soulmate that made you look least like a buffoon. it was unavoidable, looking like an idiot, but surely there had to be a way too minimize the damage, right?

it wasn't going very well so far.

yn sighed heavily to themselves. any angle you looked at it, it was bad. the problem being self aware was exactly that – being self aware. the second-hand embarrassment at their own actions had suddenly hit them like a freight train early that morning during classes. it had not been a pleasant day, with every free moment spent shrivelling into their own skin in a very visceral reaction. god, it was just... ugh.

the doorbell rung out through their apartment, breaking the spell that had fallen over the three of them. bingus trotted in, complaining loudly at the intrusion. his fur was all scruffed up, indicative of his 47th nap of the day that he'd just been rudely awoken from.

chika furrowed her brows, glancing in the direction of the door. "you got a package coming or something?"

"uhh... not to my knowledge..." bingus jumped up onto yn's lap, circling a few times before climbing up onto their shoulders like a parrot. chika reached over to brush his fur back into place, eliciting a deep, crackly purr as he pushed his face against her hand. "i'll go see who it is..."

yn stood up tentatively, gently supporting bingus's ass so he didn't fall off during the process, before walking over to the door, grabbing the keys off the hook next to it and unlocking it.

"hey," minho said conversationally, like he hadn't just shown up at yn's door unceremoniously.

"hi," yn mumbled, forcing the word out. they couldn't decide where to look, the doorframe taken up by not only minho, but seungmin and hyunjin as well, the other two appearing at least a little more awkward about the situation.

"we know."

< prev ☆ series masterlist ☆ next >

a/n: if you're wondering I do find joy in torturing people with cliff hangers

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[writing-flower]

“ Between life and death, death is tempting ”

First act: “From the roots”

Chapter I: “Happy Birthday to you (me)”

WARNING: None for now, just a little sad background at the beginning with a calm ending. Enjoy!

Prologue

Masterlist

The hallways are the same as I remember, white walls and full of marked photos, there weren't that many, but enough to make me think that I don't appear in any of them.

Although I am grateful that my room is not that far from the stairs, but at the same time, it hurts.

Looking at all those photos, looking at how everyone is smiling carefree (except Jason), everything is fine, except that one member of the mansion is missing.

And you know what the worst part is? Today is supposedly my birthday.

And I bet you anything that none of them remember.

The last photo they took was still next to the stairs, a photo big enough for all the Waynes to fit into it.

But since I'm not a Wayne, I didn't appear, I'm not, in any sense.

Because I would never "save" a child from the streets so that he would later receive the same treatment he once received there.

I would never allow the child to be insulted and denigrated for coming from the slums much less would I justify it by saying 'he's just a child'.

I would have taken that child directly to another family who could give him the attention that every child deserves. I wouldn't have taken him to a house where he would suffer.

Of course, they never touched him, they never hit me.

But words hurt worse than a sword.

Anyway, I doubt I'll be spending much more time than I should, I have to get back somehow.

But how?

[Name] stared at the photo for a few more moments before finally rushing down the stairs.

Her thoughts were a whirlwind out of control, so many questions hovered around her, stalking her, but there was only one that did not disappear.

Why? Why her? Of all the people who would long for this chance, why choose the one who would hate it the most?

"Lord, or whatever higher being is behind this, if you hear me... I hope you find your partner with another man, you damned wretch." She thought, completely ignoring her surroundings, until Alfred's voice called her.

"Miss" Alfred said, looking at her somewhat strangely. His expression didn't say it, but she noticed it. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I'm still a little sleepy." She replied smiling a little. Alfred just raised an eyebrow but didn't reply further. "Alfred, do you know why the mansion feels so... empty?"

Alfred headed to the kitchen to finish preparing her breakfast before answering, "Today is Monday, Miss. It's normal for the mansion to be like this, even more so in the morning."

[Name] didn't say anything, she looked at him curiously. "I mean, yeah, it's normal, for now it's just Tim, Damian and I living in the mansion." She thought as she sat down in one of the chairs.

"There are two more years until I officially leave the mansion, but, I don't think I can handle two years of pretending to be the same girl who wants approval...I have to-" [Name] snapped out of her thoughts, again, as she watched Alfred place a plate of food in front of her, pancakes with cream and strawberries.

"Happy fifteenth birthday, miss." Alfred said with a small smile adorning his normally serious and expressionless expression.

"Alfred"

"Yes, miss?"

"Is there another important date today? You know, some event, gala, party?" [Name] looked at him curiously and attentively for his answer, Alfred on the other hand didn't say anything.

"No, miss, there is nothing planned for today."

Oh.

Oh.

"Alfred... Were you always this bad at lying or was I just really naive?" She thought with a smile, smiling trying to fake a hopeful look.

"That's great! That means I can spend today with my family!" She said with a smile, she seemed genuinely happy. She seemed.

Alfred fell silent.

"Of course, miss, today will be a special day for you." Those words distracted her a little, but she didn't show it, she had to keep up the role.

"YAY! Well, nevermind, I need to go find a dress and look nice! I want to show Dick the dress I bought, it's blue! I'm sure he'll love it! Bye Alfred, thanks!" [Name] stood up from the chair so quickly that it made a high pitched, annoying noise, Alfred simply tried to ignore it.

He just watched her run up the stairs with a smile, a smile that the butler could sense was strange.

[Name] on the other hand, barely left Alfred's sight, her smile disappeared, now being replaced by an expression of curiosity.

"Well, what happened today? Besides my birthday..." She muttered as she slowed her walk back to the squares in the hallway.

Observing each one of them one by one.

"What are you looking at?"

[Name] almost screamed when she heard the other voice, she turned around to see boy younger than her somewhat sleepy.

Black hair, Green eyes. Damian Wayne.

"Honestly, have I always had bad luck or is it just because I'm in the mansion? Damn it." [Name] thought as she looked at the boy who was looking at her in an angry and discontented manner.

"Good morning to you too Damian."

"Answer my question."

"I was just looking at family photos, I already had breakfast." [Name] said as she turned her gaze back to the photograph, with that she also turned her gaze to one in particular.

"Oh, you mean MY family?" Some won't notice it, but she will, that little silent mockery.

She knew what that boy was trying to do, ever since he arrived a year ago he always tried to do the same thing, to have everything in his favor.

Trying to provoke her.

He had done it with Tim before, a few months after his arrival, and it seemed that now his new target was her.

But this time [Name] couldn't care less about that comment.

She was no longer a Wayne, [Name] already took that for granted the moment she left this mansion.

So why should she be affected by a comment from someone she doesn't care about?

Comment coming from someone who doesn't care about her well-being either. Again, does she have to care?

Obviously not.

"Yes Damian, YOUR family, come down now, your breakfast will get cold." [Name] could feel Damian's normally serious and emotionless expression falter at her response.

A faltered that no one would notice except Bruce, Alfred, or an adult.

A faltering she noticed, technically, she is an adult only she is trapped in the body of a fifteen year old girl.

Damian wanted to say more, but he just closed his mouth, giving her a look of contempt and annoyance.

[Name] felt that gaze leave her and then return all her attention to the photograph that caught her attention.

It wasn't a photograph as such, it was a kind of family tree.

Below each small photo was the name and birthday. In the case of the adopted children without parents, their birthday was the day they came to the mansion.

[Name] looked for his photo and realized that it was very outdated compared to the others.

This was her when she was around ten or eleven years old. Birthday: July 19th.

"Wait..." [Name] began to check the birthday dates of the family members.

Until she got to Tim's.

July 19th. Damn.

"No wonder there was so much silence, now it makes sense because no one remembered mine..." She thought as she touched Tim's photo to frown a little. "But that doesn't justify them in the slightest."

[Name] walked away from the family tree to return to her room. She had already lamented before, what would change if she continued to lament now?

Nothing.

I spent the rest of the day in my room, the silence from before had disappeared over time, just as the morning turned to afternoon and afternoon to night.

"This doesn't affect me, no, it doesn't affect me one bit." That kept repeating in my head like a broken record. But that statement stopped working when I heard them sing.

Their voices were not annoying, on the contrary, those voices were soft and happy.

Even Bruce's voice sounded soft, Haha, it feels strange.

It's been a while since I spoke to him, no, rather, it's been a while since I heard his voice.

He always listened to my voice, my shrill voice demanding his attention and support. That little voice that always wanders through my mind, But will never wander through his.

I'm not complaining, I'm convincing myself.

Convincing that shrill voice that this is not an opportunity, that it should not have hope that anything will change this time.

I don't want it to change, I like my future, where I work and my life before this.

I don't want to hold on to a past that I know, I want to hold on to my future which is not more uncertain.

I want my life, MY life. Not her life. Not anymore.

I just want—

*TOCK TOCK TOCK*

Three continuous knocks managed to get me out of my mind, I'm grateful for that, if I continued like this I wouldn't be able to sleep.

I get up from my bed to go to that attic door and open it. There he was, Alfred looking at me with a small smile.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up, Miss."

"Don't worry, I couldn't sleep, did something happen?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, just a request from me." I raised my eyebrow curiously, it's not unusual for him to do this kind of thing, but I couldn't help but have a little deja vu.

"Could you accompany me to the kitchen?"

I stood still for a few moments, until I nodded in approval, Alfred moved to the side of the small staircase so I could pass.

Once done, we both began to walk side by side. my gaze wandered through the photographs again, and there was silence again, which was not surprising.

It was nighttime, but there was still a small light on in the kitchen when we finished going down the stairs.

With that light she was accompanied by a small cake along with a box wrapped in gift paper.

"Happy birthday, miss." Alfred said again as he approached the table where the cake was, the decorations from the old party (if there were any decorations) had disappeared.

I stared at the scene in front of me.

"This isn't the way I would have liked to celebrate your birthday, miss, but it's not an excuse not to celebrate it, don't you think?" Alfred looked at me, his smile never faltering even as I stood there staring at the scene, seemingly paralyzed.

"Thank you Alfred..." This time, his smile faltered for a few short seconds, perhaps it wasn't his smile, maybe it was his look or something else.

I didn't know what my expression was right now, but it must have been something new for him, maybe I'm wrong, but his gaze seemed slightly surprised and comprehension.

As if to say, "Since when could she make that expression?"

But that look changed as soon as I started to approach the box.

Being careful not to make any noise, I tore the paper open to open the box. I opened it, my look now one of slight surprise.

The box was not that big, but it was big enough to fit three items of clothing.

A long, wide skirt with cascading ruffles that give it a flowing and elegant effect.

Sheer fabric cape-like sleeves fasten to the arms with delicate flower-adorned bracelets, creating an ethereal and elegant effect that flows as you move.

Finally, A long white cloth that was soft to the touch. As I pulled out my things I looked at Alfred in confusion.

"This is a big thing for me, Alfred."

Alfred nodded "I know, miss." He carefully grabbed the white cloth, then folded it and put it back in the box, but not before looking for something else inside. "Some time ago you told me that you liked those dancers' dance outfits."

"That's why I decided to ask a friend for a favor and make these clothes." Alfred took out two fans from the same box, he opened one of them revealing that it was not an ordinary fan.

It was a fan that when extended was considerably large, in turn releasing a colorful silk fabric degrading in warm colors, like fire.

"Obviously, I couldn't forget about this." He handed them to me, I took them carefully, with precision and with a little difficulty I extended them both at the same time.

I stepped away from the table and Alfred to spin around a bit, admiring how the fabric circled around me as it spun, then stopped peacefully and elegantly when I did too.

Now I remember this Deja vu, the gift, the outfit and the fans, that outfit was the first one I wore for my first performance at eighteen, when I had just left the mansion.

"It's obviously not for your size because I don't think it's the right outfit for you yet, but once you grow up and still have dancing in mind, it will be perfect for you Miss [Name]." Alfred said as he approached me with the box in his arms.

"Does Dad know about this?"

Alfred shook his head. "No, miss, he doesn't know."

"Alfred..." I said in a scolding tone, which is ironic considering he's, technically, the adult here.

"I know what you're thinking, and let me tell you that money comes and goes, but this isn't going away for a long time." He placed the box in my arms, until now I had only seen his gaze falter once, but now it happened again.

Before I had thought it was a look of pity.

But now, I only see flashes of guilt. Why?

That guilt in his eyes did not reach his smile, which remained intact.

I let out a small sigh that was later accompanied by a smile.

Without warning he dropped the box along with the fans to hug him, I let my head settle under Alfred's chin, I could feel him smile.

Not that polite smile, a smile he formed because he wanted to.

"Thank you Alfred."

Alfred returned my hug shortly after by stroking my head.

"You're welcome, miss."

As he hugged me, I felt a strange sensation, a gaze that pierced my body and soul. A gaze that I decided to ignore, for now, I just wanted to feel like a part of my past, it was good.

NOTES: I'M REALLY SORRY FOR THE LATENESS, god, I think this is the first time I've had so much trouble with a character's age/timeline. But hey, here you go, eat and ask questions my children.

Because I will be more than happy to answer them💋💋.

And also, any ideas or advice to start the masterlist?

TAGLIST:

@crazycaoticsimp @closetreader1864 @eyeless-kun @welpthisisboring @saiichai @leeiasure @shycreatorreview @bat1212 @vanessa-boo @midnightgrimoire @thereeallink @c4xcocoa @jsprien213 @stargirl404 @chericia @a-lurking-fae @kye-chen-r @alittletiredcry @lfiee @mishkapi @cxcilla @alittlelostmoonchild @ocean-mochi @randomlyappearingartist

[leo-gold-hotchner]

Dating app

Long time no writing!!!!

Aaron Hotchner X G.N. Reader

The BAU team was quietly doing paperwork. From time to time, Reid or Morgan went to the kitchen to refill their coffee cup, and Prentiss yawned and stretched. While supporting your chin, you flicked your fingers as drily watched photos of 'potential date partners'. Of course, at first, you were reluctant to sign up for a dating app, especially what you live for; you had the right to be cautious about meeting a stranger from an app. But you didn't want loneliness to become your life partner. Your finger halted in the air, and you forced yourself not to scream or jump out from your chair in surprise.

You stared at the photo on the app. Then you looked back at your boss' office. Hotch was in his dark office, looking down at his desk with only the lamp on.

You looked at the photo and the name.

It was Hotch.

You quickly observed other photos. Then you realised something was off. All 5 photos were taken from a distance. Not too far, but still, there were no selfies or face-close distance photos. Even if it was Hotch, if he signed up for the dating app, he would've at least tried to take a selfie, wouldn't he? Maybe an imposter?

You tapped your desk and then looked around. Thankfully, your friends were occupied with their own stuff, and they weren't interested in what you were doing.

Should I?

You looked back at the Hotch's office again. Would Hotch really sign up for a dating app? One way to find out. Hotch would probably leave his office to grab you if it was really him. After all, your photos and name were on the profile anyway.

'Hello, handsome.'

You messaged him. You didn't know how long he or an imposter would take to reply. Besides, you were regretting writing 'handsome'.

Your body winced as you nearly jumped out from your chair as soon as you saw 'read' appear on the chat.

'Hi, there.'

You tilted your head curiously.

As if Hotch didn't know you. You looked at the office, and you blinked. Hotch was looking at his phone now. What the hell?

'What do you like to do during free time?'

If you were drinking, you would've been spitting at the message. You looked back at the office, and Hotch was indeed typing something on his phone.

Was it really Hotch?

-----------------------------

You texted the dating app Hotch for some time, and you weren't sure if it was really Hotch or not. You just wanted to grab him and ask him. The dating app Hotch didn't seem to know about you, and Hotch behaved as if nothing happened at the office and during cases. Your friends could sense something was happening, and you were agitated. They asked, and you just told them you were fine. If Rossi or Morgan find out, they will ask Hotch directly, showing him the texts you've been having with the dating app Hotch. If it were really Aaron, it would embarrass him, and you wanted to spare that for Aaron.

Shoot, when did I start to think of him as Aaron?

You banged your head on your desk. The dating app Hotch insisted on calling him Aaron. You shook your head against the desk and could feel your friends' eyes staring at you. But you didn't care. You needed to know if the dating app Hotch was real Hotch or not.

"A trouble in paradise?"

You rolled your eyes at Morgan's comment. You turned off your phone screen before Morgan could come and look into it.

"I wish," you scoffed. You sat up straight and crossed your arms behind your head. "Just a puzzle."

Reid silently came to your side in his chair at the mention of a puzzle.

"Not that kind of puzzle," you chuckled.

"Relationship, huh?" Prentiss grinned with her pen in her mouth.

"Maybe?" You replied with a mysterious smile. "Too early to tell, I think."

"But you'll tell us when it's the time?" Morgan asked. "Penelope will love to hear about your story."

----------------------------

'Aaron, it's been two weeks we've been texting.'

'Don't you think we should meet and have lunch or something?'

'My bad. I should've asked first. Let's have lunch. I'll tell you after checking my schedule.'

'Nice. I'll be waiting to hear from you!'

You looked at the screen.

Finally, the time to check if the guy is really A… Hotch or an imposter has come.

-------------------------------

You were there first. The dating app Hotch told you where he booked the restaurant, which was in his name. You were playing with a black straw in the water glass while a block of ice was in your mouth, rolling over your tongue.

"L/N?" A dumbfounded voice called you in surprise.

You looked up, and it was Hotch. It was really Hotch. The real Aaron Hotchner, the boss of yours, the leader of the BAU of the FBI. He was staring at you with his mouth ajar. Your mouth was also hung open. You didn't realise the water from the ice was flowing over, which looked like drooling. As soon as you realised the cold feeling on your chin, you quickly cleaned it with the tissue.

"You are real Hotch." You pointed a finger at him.

Hotch made a funny face, then laughed.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

It was your time to make a funny face. Then you took your phone out and showed him the texts you've been having on the dating app.

"You've been texting me…?"

Hotch snatched your phone and read the text for a minute. Then you saw the realisation in his eyes.

"So it was you they set me up with."

"Who?"

"My son and sister-in-law." Hotch returned the phone to you and sat in front of you. "If they set me up with you, they must have liked the text you were sending."

You opened your mouth and closed it several times.

"Sorry about this," Hotch smiled bashfully.

You weren't about to say you asked for a date to check if he was real or not.

"But you knew it was me with the photo but still asked for a date?"

"You not gonna reject now, would you?" You asked.

"Of course not," Hotch smiled softly. "How we got here doesn't matter. We're here for a date lunch, aren't we?"

You could feel blood flushing your cheeks.

"We aren't here as colleagues. Relax," Hotch smiled.

"Then can I call you Aaron?" You asked bashfully.

"You were doing it on the app."

"But it wasn't real you."

Hotch blinked at you and laughed. He looked like a different person. He was so relaxed and smiling more.

"Of course you can. If you still want to continue this, I'm open to it."

"Really?"

It felt like he had read your mind, but it didn't matter. You wanted to get to know Aaron.

"Because I'm not gonna say no, Aaron," you grinned like an idiot.

"F/N, I'm looking forward to it." Aaron mirrored your grin.

++++

"Dad!"

"Aaron!"

Aaron rubbed the back of his head as he was called by his son and sister-in-law.

"Dad, you need to go here!" Jack shoved a phone in front of his dad's face.

Aaron read the screen. It was an address of a restaurant.

"A restaurant?"

"We made a reservation in your name. Go there by 1pm on Thursday, please," Jessica informed Aaron while checking her wallet.

Aaron stared at Jack's unbelievable aunt. Only Jessica can make a request sound like an order.

"Who are you setting me with?"

Jack just grinned at his father.

[rwshfordgirl]

"I HOPE THEY LIKE ME."

all images were taken from pinterest.

where he meets her parents for the first time.

pairing: hector fort x reader!

a/n: the last one 💔 i feel like i could have developed it more but i hope you like it.

𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬

"Cariño, you look good in anything." I said looking at my cell phone screen watching Hector try to choose an outfit. "I just want to make a good impression." He said as he changed his shirt for the thousandth time.  "Just wear the clothes you normally wear, my parents don't care about that." I tried to calm him down.

My parents know who Hector is, I just don't know if they remember him, but we studied together in the early years of school. We weren't close, but we stayed together because of our friendships. I lost contact with him when I moved to Valencia because my grandmother had become ill and my mother decided it was best for us to stay close to her, and she certainly wouldn't live in Barcelona even if you offered her all the money in the world.

So I spent four years there, I would come to Barcelona every now and then to sort things out with my parents but I didn't stay for long. I remember when I left, my friends organized a farewell snack after school, it felt like I was going to the other side of the world. And my favorite memory of that day is Hector saying, "I'm going to miss you so much, don't forget me." And I replayed that phrase in my head every day before I went to sleep.

Until I got back to Barcelona, I went with some friends to a birthday party for someone I didn't know and do you know what was the first thing I saw? Hector Fort, leaning against the wall and laughing uncontrollably at something his friends had said to him. He stopped laughing when he saw me, waved and came walking towards me excitedly, the huge smile on his face almost made me fall apart. "Why didn't you tell me you were back?" he said hugging me.

That hug changed my life. After that we spent the night talking, every detail about how our lives had changed was shared. Before I knew it, I was already going to Barcelona games, I sent him good luck messages and worst of all, I lied to my parents every time I met him. 

But it was on a random Wednesday where I was sitting on the couch watching a movie with my mother, I opened my cell phone, went into the gallery and turned the phone towards her. "Your son-in-law." She almost spat out the water she was drinking. "Seriously? Why haven't I met him yet? Why hasn't he come here yet?" Later that day, my father came to my room. "Your mother told me about Hector." I smiled, but the tone in his voice was serious and I felt apprehensive "I'm only accepting this relationship because he's one of ours! Visca el Barca." He made me laugh and then closed the bedroom door.

"You're coming to my house on the 15th, don't forget." I sent him an audio message. "Why? Are your parents going to be there?" He replied by text and then sent me a playful photo, but I could already feel that Fort was nervous from the start. "Yes boy, they want to meet you."

Hector arrived about forty minutes after the video call, I was waiting for him on the porch. "I told you you looked beautiful either way." I kissed him as he approached, in his hands he had a bag and a bouquet of flowers. "I'll give you your present later." he said as he held out his hand to me. I gently pulled him into the house, my mother was finishing the food in the kitchen and my father was watching the news in the living room.

"I hope they like me." he commented and I smiled without showing my teeth, I gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "it's impossible not to like you." I replied. My father looked at us when he saw us approaching, he promptly stood up smiling and already offering his hand to my boyfriend. "Hector Fort in my house, what a privilege!" he said and I felt Fort's cheeks blush "Thank you for having me, sir! I was looking forward to meeting you." Fort was so nervous, I wanted to hug him "We've only heard good things about you! I hope you and my daughter work out." my father patted him on the shoulder.

My mother appeared in the room all happy, she greeted Hector with a tight hug. "Make yourself at home." she told him.  The player gave her the bouquet and an autographed Barcelona shirt to my father, and I knew that he had won my parents' hearts. My mother loves flowers and my father loves Barcelona.

"My brother-in-law just lost his position as favorite son-in-law to you." I commented before giving him a peck on the lips. "He's going to hate me." Hector commented. "I told you it's impossible not to like you."

[hearts4golbach]

Picture Perfect. // Epilogue.

TBP!Gerard Way x AFAB!Reader.

Warnings:

None.

Word count:

0.4k

A/N:

THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE LOVE FOR THIS STORY. I worked my ass off to make the actual plot interesting too. I love all of you so so much. This story is my pride and joy and im so glad so many of you love it too. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this shit. This story will hold such a special place in my heart, even if it is just a fanfiction. Thank you all so much for the love and support. I'll see you guys in the next one ;).

Gerard couldn't live with himself for a few weeks after the fact. With you by his side, it made it a lot easier for him to cope with.

Within a week, you and Gerard had moved out of the safehouse. You went back to your own homes and got some much needed alone time. You would stay the night at eachothers houses so often that Gerard suggested you buy a house together. Who were you to argue with that?

A search warrant was placed on Mikey Way and Bob Bryar, allowing police officers to search their homes.

Mikey was living out of a motel on the outskirts of town. There wasnt anything out of the ordinary in the room, save for the different switch blades and knives he had stored away. The motel had eventually shut down due to bad press and stigma surrounding the place.

Bobs trailer was searched as well. The police found multiple stashes of drugs in felony quantities. There was also a registered firearm in the home, which was taken into police custody.

Mikey ended up being ruled with 2 life sentences without parole, as well as a felony charge for battery on an officer and resisting arrest. Bob got 50 years for being the accomplice, as well as being charged with 2 felony possessions of drugs. Although, the drugs weren't found in either of their tests.

The skin and other miscellaneous body parts of those who passed were never found. The only lasting body part was the piece of skin that had been sent to the office.

The numerous anonymous calls were all planned and executed by Mikey. Although, the photo was taken by Bob.

Gerard stayed in contact with his brother, of course. He tried to call at least once a week. He also provided Mikey money for basic essentials in prison.

Mikeys true motive was never disclosed. Not even Gerard could get a straight answer out of him. You eventually settled, letting it stay a mystery.

[tw1l1te]

Stay with me

Sal Fisher x Reader

This is the long awaited sequel to blueberry! I'm finally getting back into my Sally Face phase for a bit, so I hope y'all enjoy this one! <3

Tagging: @atashi-najimi, @kofiwuzhere , @kaldwiner, @zc000ter , @night-shadowblood-writes2

🪐‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You never thought you'd come back.

You'd accepted it years ago, on that fateful night on the roof of Addison Apartments.

And yet... you found yourself driving back the familiar road, passing by a sign that read "Welcome to Nockfell!"

Finally seeing the decaying beuilding ahead of you, you ease off the gas pedal, parking on the side of the road closest to the complex. You were only here to pick up some of your father's old things, as he passed about a year ago, you not getting the chance to get his things until now.

Shutting the door, you reluctantly made your way down the main path, hands nervously twitching against your legs. Even after all this time, the eerieness never left. You open the main door, the hinges creaking at the movement. They clearly haven't been greased in a while.

You look to your right to see the mailboxes, room 403 having letters and notices practically bursting out the tiny metal box. Using your key, you unlock the tiny door, letters and papers spilling out onto the floor. With a sigh, you lean down and start picking up papers, halting when you see a letter from a very familiar person.

Sal Fisher.

You shove the letter into your jacket pocket, opting to read it after you make it into your own father's apartment. Hopefully the elevator still worked.

Taking out your keycard, you slide it against the card reader and press the button, not having to wait long for the elevator doors to open. You hum softly as the elevator shakes a bit, the old creak making the place feel ancient. If you weren't used to the apartment's "charm", you probably would've had a heart attack in here.

Once you reached the fourth floor with a soft ring, the doors creaked open, allowing you to step out and quietly walk over to 403. A gnawing thought comes up in your head, the question of whther or not Sal still lived here, much less in Nockfell. Perhaps his dad was still around?

No matter, you had things you needed to do. Being back here was already doing a number on you, the impending gloom and decay clouding your emotions.

Unlocking the door with a click, you walk into your old home.

So many memories come flooding back, the scent of old smoke and lumber making your eyes tear up slightly. It's been a while.

Sighing heavily for the millionth time that day, you walk in and try to flip the lightswitch, the dull yellowed light flickering to life. You walk into your dad's old room, the room being slightly cluttered, though you knew he was never the type to keep it perfectly pristine.

You took about two hours to organize and pack up your dad's belongings, finding some old photos of him and you when you were in your highschool years. There were some photos with the gang, a particular birthday photo making you smile.

It was your 17th birthday party, taking place in this very apartment. You had invited all of your friends from your small friend group, all of them smiling and laughing in the photo. All of you were at your tiny kitchen table, a circular cake with candles right in the middle. You were in the middle of blowing out your candles, the photo capturing all of your happiness and surrounded by the people you love.

You look at Sal in the photo, smiling at how he was looking at you. His eyes were glued to you. You remember clasping his hand under the table in this photo, as it was taken a few weeks after you'd confessed to each other.

Now that you think about it.... you both never officially broke it off. Obviously your relationship was over, but part of you always wondered if he still waited for you. If he was still here.

"Oh shit- sorry, didn't think anyone was here. I just saw the door open and-"

You turn around at the voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

Sal.

"Y/n?" he asks, voice wavering.

He looks... older. Taller, hair still bright blue. Not the boy you'd left behind.

"Sal." you breathlessly whispered. You didn't ever think you'd see him again.

"I-I thought- I thought you didn't live here anymore?" you ask, voice starting to waver. You could feel your vocal chords giving away.

Sal stood there, still as could be. He was in shock. Fully convinced you were a figment of his imagination. A dream.

"I-I don't, I mean, I'm still in Nockfell. My parents still live here."

"Right."

You take a moment to breathe, your heartbeat hammering within your chest. You want to embrace him, kiss him, but your feet don't move.

That's over. You ended it by your shitty departure.

You could feel your tears streaming down your face, not noticing them until now. This was all too much. The memories, the feelings-

"Hey, hey. Shhh..." Sal whispers, swiping your tears away with his thumbs. You shiver at the contact, not having felt it in almost half a decade.

"I-I'm so fucking sorry, Sally. I'm so sorry-" you hiccup, your vision blurry from all the tears. Sal embraces you placing his head on your shoulder, rubbing your back slowly. He was there.

"I know, Y/n. I know. I'm sorry too."

You both stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you staining his sweatshirt with your salty tears.

After calming down a bit, you reluctantly pull away, your face close to Sal's. You wanted to stay like this forever.

"You've grown." you chuckled, a stray tear falling from your waterline.

"So have you," he muttered, his gaze focused on you. You'd cut your hair shorter and dyed it a darker color, the color making your eyes all the more enticing and brighter. You'd changed so much, and yet, he felt like he was looking at the same Y/n from highschool who hung out on the playground during lunch.

He wanted to kiss you, even if you left right after it, he needed that goodbye. He needed the seal to confirm that everything that had happened was in the past and that you both could go your separate ways.

You were about to say something, but he took it as a chance to do the one thing he'd been dreaming about for years. Unclasping his prosthetic and dropping it on the carpet, he holds both of your cheeks in his hands, pulling you into him. You don't protest, craving his touch for years.

Your plush lips meld with his scarred ones, the kiss feeling so natural. So right. Like puzzle pieces finally being slotted with each other, completeing the final image.

You bring your hands into his hair, lightly gripping onto his blue locks. A small groan reverbrates through his throat, making its way into your mouth. His tongue licks against your lower lip. More, it means.

You were running out of oxygen, so you pull away reluctantly, placing your forehead against his, panting for air.

"S-Sal, fuck, I-"

"I love you."

You look into his eyes, his good eye's pupil being blown wide from your actions. His half-lidded gaze flickering between your parted lips and your teary eyes. You were so fucking perfect. He should've never let you go.

"I should've never let you go, baby. Do you know how often I stayed up, wondering where you went? How often I stayed up, wishing I could go back, make you stay. Stay with me, Y/n."

You were going to start crying again. His words were so heartfelt, every ounce of love and repressed feelings pouring out for you.

"Stay. Stay with me."

He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gazing softly at you. You could see his younger self in those eyes. His younger, yearning, boyish self that you loved oh so deeply.

"I'll stay this time, I promise."

🪐‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

[canirove]

Friends, lovers... and an orange | Chapter 1

Summary: Since the day Adele was born, people had told her she was destined to fall in love with Mason. Their mothers, supermodels Elizabeth Turlingon and Toni Mount, had been best friends since they were teenagers, and according to everyone, it just meant to be. But after 25 years, nothing of the sort had happened. Nothing, until some photos and a big secret changed it all. 

Author’s note: And after almost two years since I started writing this story... it is finally live! 😅 You are lucky my perfectionist self doesn't allow me to post anything that isn't finished, because you would have have been waiting for an ending for ages, and I hate that 🙈 This is a friends to lovers story inspired by all those conspiracy theories about a couple not being able to be together because their evil management team don't allow them to, but with a twist. I hope you like it, and as always, thank you for reading! 💜

Next chapter

Masterlist

Elizabeth Turlington and Antonia "Toni" Mount had been two of the most famous models in the 90's. They both got to be on Vogue covers all over the world, walked for the best designers, and became the face of the most important brands in fashion. They were, what you call, supermodels.

Best friends since they met during a casting when they were just 16 years old, Elizabeth and Toni became inseparable, and their private lives kind of followed the same path. They both got engaged and married the same year, and their first kids were born just a few months apart. First Mason, in January, and then Adele in July.

The media had gone crazy about it, saying that they were going to fall in love and get married because they were destined to be together due to their mothers being best friends. But almost 25 years later, nothing like that had really happened.

Mason, Toni's son, had decided to follow his mother's steps and become a model. Unlike many others, he had chosen to start from the bottom, doing castings like everyone else. He had wanted to make a career due to his talent and not because of his last name (he had taken his mother’s instead of his father’s as an homage), and he had managed to do it. Mason was now considered one of the most successful male models, his face basically being everywhere. Brands were fighting to have him on their campaigns, all the designers wanted him on their shows, and your party was nothing if he wasn't attending. He was THE one.

Meanwhile, Adele had chosen a quiet life. Everyone had always told her that she had gotten the best of her parents, her mother's looks and her father's brain, but she had never been interested in modeling. She had focused on her studies and going to uni, and the only thing related to that world that she liked was photography, which also was the thing that she and Mason enjoyed doing together the most.��

Growing up they weren't super close, they were just... friends. They had never been attached to the hip like people expected them to be. That, had actually been their little brothers' case. But their relationship would completely change every time there was a camera involved. 

When Adele turned eleven, her dad gifted her her first proper camera, and Mason was as fascinated by it as she was. They spent the day learning how to use it, and after getting the hang of it, their days would consist in going outside and taking photos of each other or anything they saw. A tree, a rock, the sunset... It didn't matter. They would be gone for hours, though for them time flew by.

As they grew older and busy with their own lives, they started to see each other less often, but the couple of weeks in the summer they spent together with their families were a must, and both of them would bring their cameras and go out to explore. 

"These photos are stunning, Adele" Toni said. 

"Thank you" she smiled.

"What about mine?" Mason asked.

"Lovely too, darling. But she has something you don't have."

"Thank you, mum" he said, rolling his eyes. "Though I agree. Addie here is the talented one."

"Thank you" she replied, Mason putting an arm around her shoulders and hugging her. 

Addie. That had been his nickname for her since they were kids, and everyone else in their families had picked it too. Addie and Mase, something you could still see carved on a tree in her grandmother's garden. They were twelve when they did it, and she almost killed them when she saw it.

"You know, I've been thinking and... Why don't you take the photos for my 50th birthday party?" Toni said. "I was looking for someone, but why pay a stranger when I have you?"

"That's a wonderful idea!" Elizabeth said. "Now you won't have an excuse to not attend."

"You weren't coming?"

"I... I'm just busy with..." Adele mumbled.

"With nothing. You just finished your degree and still don't know what to do next" her mum said. "She'll be there."

"Wonderful!" Toni smiled.

"It'll be a small thing, you will be fine" Mason said. "And if you need help to run away or hide, you can always count on me" he winked.

"Thank you, Mase" Adele smiled.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

Flashforward to Toni's birthday party. The small thing, wasn't small. At all. Adele had already taken photos of over fifty people and more were arriving, and by the time she was done with the photocall, her memory card was full.

"How is it going?"

"Shit, Mase. You scared me" she laughed.

"Sorry" he smiled, that cute dimple of his showing.

"I'm lucky I brought several memory cards with me. A small thing, you said?"

"Yeah… You know my mum" Mason replied, scratching the back of his head. "Do you want to have a drink or something before going back to it?"

"Sure" Adele said. "Just let me put my camera somewhere safe."

Once they were done with that drink, it was time to go back to work, and she filled two more memory cards before Mason went looking for her again. But she just couldn't stop taking photos of all the guests and what they were wearing, of them dancing, talking, drinking, laughing... They all were captivating.

"Mum wants you with us for the cake."

"What? And who will be taking the photos?" Adele asked.

"I don't know" Mason shrugged. "But she wants you there with us and your parents."

"Ok" she sighed. She hated being in front of the camera unless it was Mason the one behind it. Somehow, he always knew how to make her feel comfortable. "By the way, who was that girl you were talking to earlier?" Adele had been drawn to her the moment they had crossed paths. She had the most beautiful black hair she had ever seen, and after taking a few snaps of her, she saw her talking with Mason. Or flirting, to be more precise.

"We were on a shoot together a couple of weeks ago. She's nice."

"And she fancies you."

"What? Nah. She's just a work colleague, nothing else."

"If you say so... But what about that other girl? The one you were seen with the other day, the singer."

"Addie, are you interrogating me about my love life?" Mason laughed.

"No, I was just... It doesn't matter."

"I'm going on dates but I'm not dating anyone. Got what you wanted?" he smirked.

"That's not why I asked. I…"

"Mason, Adele. C'mon!" her mum called after them. "It's almost cake time!"

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

By the end of the night, Adele had five memory cards full of photos, her feet hurt like hell, and she was slightly tipsy. 

"Do you think your mum will mind if I don't have the photos ready right away? I think it will take me days to go through all of them and edit them."

"Yeah, don't worry. Take your time" Mason said while helping her pack her camera. "And if you need an extra pair of hands and eyes, just call me. I'm free for the next few days."

"Thank you, Mase" she smiled. 

"Do you want me to accompany you home?"

“There is no need. But if you could wait with me outside until my uber comes..."

"Of course. And we could share it if you don't mind. I'm going back to my place instead of my parents."

"Worried your mum may not allow you to sleep until lunch time?" Adele chuckled.

"Exactly" he smiled.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Why is that car taking so long?" 

"I wish I knew" Adele yawned.

"Tired?"

"Very" she said, resting her head on Mason's shoulder. "And a bit cold too."

"Come here" he said, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. It was something he had been doing since they were kids, and it felt natural, familiar… comforting. 

"You smell really good tonight. What perfume are you wearing?"

"Can't tell you, it isn't out yet."

"A new campaign?"

"Yep. You'll get tired of seeing my face everywhere.”

"Of seeing your face everywhere again, you mean" Adele teased him. "But congratulations, Mase. A perfume contract is huge!"

"It is, yes. And I'm really proud of this one. I actually helped pick some of the ingredients."

"You did? That's amazing! Let me smell you again."

"Ok" Mason laughed, moving his head so she could do it better.

"Oranges. Of course you had to pick oranges."

"They are my fave, and yours too” he smiled. “And they remind me of that trip to Italy, the one where we ate the best pizza ever at the beach."

"Oh my God, that pizza was so good… Now you are making me hungry!”

"Maybe we could stop to eat some on our way home. If the uber ever..."

"There it is" Adele chuckled when the car stopped in front of them. "Should we stop at Giorgio's?"

"You know the way to my heart, Addie" Mason smiled while opening the car's door for her.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━

"Addie… Addie, wake up. Ad… Adele!"

"What" she mumbled, slowly opening her eyes. 

"Something has happened, Addie. Look" her friend Jourdan said, literally putting her phone in her nose.

"I'm not that blind, you know" she complained while picking it. "What is this?"

"This was published this morning. Is... Is it true? Did you...?"

"Did I..." she said, her eyes finally adjusting to the light and being able to read what was on the screen. "Mason Mount and Adele Turlington caught kissing! The couple was seen outside Toni Mount's birthday party sharing confidences, laughing and getting cosy before leaving together in the same car." "What the fuck?"

"Addie, are you dating Mason? I thought you didn't like him like that" Jourdan said.

"What? No! I'm not dating him and I didn't kiss him!"

"Then why does it totally look like it?"

"It was the angle! I was just smelling his neck!"

"You what?" her friend laughed.

"It's a long story. But I didn't kiss him!"

"Well, the whole world thinks you did. And people are going nuts about it."

"Wonderful. That's just wonderful" Adele sighed. 

Knowing how much people wanted them to be together, she and Mason had always been careful around each other to try to not start any rumours. But that night, they had let their guard down, the idea that there could be paparazzis still waiting outside never crossing their minds. And now, what they had always feared, could have started.

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: June 16

2018

sweatpants [david/patrick, E, 3,664] by mihaly

Patrick goes to the gym with David and is taken off-guard by David's attire.

2019

Everything Is Going Totally Okay (Right?) [david/patrick, M, 3,495] by @dreamformetoo

The Roses invite Patrick's parents back to Schitt's Creek for a little Get to Know You Dinner. This, of course, stresses David out to no end. But is he going overboard or does he really have to worry about his family that much...

Homeward Bound [david/patrick, G, 1,506] by @holmesapothecary

A house, a town, a barbeque, and a photo. David and Patrick set out to have a marriage.

I Get Ready, I Get All Dressed Up [david/patrick, E, 3,503] by @smoulderandbraids

When David asked Patrick about his bedroom fantasies, these weren't the sheets he was expecting. Spreadsheets? What's the thread count on those? OR Patrick is stressed over small business taxes. David helps.

If At First [david/patrick, E, 1,778] by @ittybittyblondie

The complete and total lack of privacy was the only thing between them and what Patrick was sure would be the best sex of his life. The reality was somewhat different. “So,” Patrick said, lying on his back, staring up at Stevie’s ceiling—and really at some point, he was going to have to deal with how weird this whole evening had been—trying to find the right words to say. “That was sex.” “Yep,” David replied flatly from where he was sprawled out next to him. Neither of them was looking at the other *Or, David and Patrick finally get some alone time. Things don't go to plan until they sort of do.

It's Brighter Than The Sun [david/patrick, E, 30,341] by @wildxwired

“That matching ‘under new management’ underwear set from your college roommate was a ridiculous wedding gift. My father’s old business mentor giving us first class flights with the airline he holds major shares in is just sensible gift giving.”

Kiss Full of Color [alexis/twyla, M, 7,028] by witchplease

Alexis might be reading this wrong, but Twyla has been finding opportunities to touch her hands more often. And her stares linger a little longer than they used to. But wait, where does Ted fit into all of this? Because that’s what she can’t shake, right? This funk she’s been in, it’s all because she hasn’t been able to get over the disastrous breakup. What Twyla would tell her is that it’s not actually about Ted. It’s about the kind of person she wants to be. So maybe Ted doesn’t fit into this at all. Maybe the fact that she can’t stop thinking about running her fingers along Twyla’s cheekbones doesn’t have anything to do with Ted? (Girls Night AU for Open Fic Night 2019!)

Life in Color [david/patrick, M, 13,928] by Fanfic_or_bust

David had long ago given up any hope of ever seeing in colour, because seeing in colour would mean meeting his soulmate. And that was impossible for David because he didn't have a soulmate. Well, that's what he thought. He was pretty sure at least. Okay, had anyone ever told him that? No. But he just thought that if he had a soulmate, he probably would have known by 34 years of age. Bottom line, he'd given up hope years before ever arriving in Schitt's Creek. So he was perfectly fine, living a monochrome life, preparing for an important meeting at Ray's about his incorporation papers for the general store he'd just leased, minding his own business, when a chance encounter at the Cafe Tropical would leave David's life changed forever. In more way than one.

like a bird taking way [ted/alexis, G, 6,548] by @ohlafraise

Alexis makes a new friend, Ted learns to play guitar, and the Mullens-Perez feud comes to its inevitable conclusion.

looks through his window’s eye [david/patrick, T, 2,707] by orphan_account

He wanted to know what it was like, for David, to actually deal with those thoughts, to write them down and sit with them, to flip back to them, to have the proof of some kind of continuity, developing story, sitting in the pages. Patrick wondered what it was like for David now, if he ever picked up ‘Freshman Year’ and drank in the story of his life.

More Than Just Towels [patrick & stevie, T, 5,019] by orphan_account

Stevie goes to get David the perfect engagement gift and ends up finding something for herself.

Pagliacci [david/patrick, M, 2,323] by @nilolay

"I think you might have an easier time of it, and maybe a little bit more fun, if you just learn to trust people."

Prelude [david/patrick, M, 4,649] by madesimplefic

“Patriiiiick.” David dragged out the last syllable, watching as the other man put the box on the ground before plucking a brand new container out. “Can you apply the serum?” Patrick’s eyebrows raise and David turned on his most effectively charming smile. “Please?” Patrick ducked his head and returned the grin; he shifted so that he’s standing between David’s legs, spinning the top of the jar open. “Well. Only because you asked so nicely.”

Pride and Prejudice and Schitt's Creek [david/patrick, T, 30,371] by @stargatewars

Pride and Prejudice AU.The Roses are living in genteel poverty. Mr. Brewer has recently arrived in the neighbourhood and rumour is he has 10,000 a year!

Rose Patisserie [david/patrick, G, 2,601] by @schittsgeek

David looked around at the Parisians reclining on the wrought iron patio furniture, the street around them bustling with shoppers and sightseers. What if he could bring a bit of European café culture back to Manhattan somehow? The prompt was: David opens a bakery AUAU is the Rose family before they lost all their money... and maybe in this AU they never do.A lot of references are canon but I have taken artistic license ofc!

Rose, Alexis Rose [david & alexis, G, 6,969] by @whetherwoman

Alexis just wants David to have a nice, relaxing day before his wedding. At least, until Ted goes missing.

Sticky Floors [david/patrick, E, 2,982] by xoxxblitz

David and Patrick take a trip to their regular gay bar to have a little fun Or Possessive!Patrick car sex

Sundays are for Lovers [david/patrick, T, 8,071] by @kingcatt

Love was a concept that both David and Patrick had thought about individually, now they have to think about what it means in relation to each other. or, The exact moments that they realized that they were in love.

Sunsets and Samesies [david/patrick, T, 4,757] by Still_Not_King

David was 6 when he found out he'd inherited his mother's ability to see color - soulmate or no. Patrick doesn't believe in that whole rom-com romantic-soulmate nonsense. Everything in this world is different but, somehow, everything is exactly the same. :-)

When nothing else in the world works get advice from David Rose [david/patrick, T, 2,691] by @scoob2222

Stevie has a last minute party to plan and a secret to keep. What are the chances she accomplishes either of those things? In Schitt's Creek....probably not high.

You're a Mystery I Love Figuring Out - End Racism in the OTW [david/patrick, G, 1,757] by @atlanticsea

You notice a lot of things, in two years. About yourself, about others. About life, about fate. About forests, too.

2020

[Podfic] A Fair Return [david/patrick, E, podfic] by Amanita_Fierce

and there are some like us,just walking, making our feet move ahead of us,a little bored, a little lost, a little angry,walking as though we were really going somewhere,walking as if there was something to see at Adelaide or maybe on King,something that will give a fair return for this use of shoe-leather,something that will make us smile with a strange newhappiness, a lost but recovered joy. - Raymond Souster, “Yonge Street Saturday Night” [Podfic of A Fair Return, written by thingswithwings]

[Podfic] Great Acoustics [david/patrick, E, podfic] by @kiwiana-writes

It’s intensely flattering at the start of their relationship, but David always sort of assumes that it’s a result of Patrick having the kind of sex he wanted to be having for the first time in his life, and that it will settle down eventually.

Five ways it could have ended (and one way it still could) [david/patrick, G, 1,200, CW: MCD] by @kiwiana-writes

Five ways David and Patrick’s relationship could have ended, and one way it still might. Mind the tags, folks. This ain’t a fluffy one.

I Carry These Heart-Shapes Only to You [david/patrick, E, 180,475] by @ships-to-sail @ladyflowdi

Patrick is just getting ready to leave when he spots him across the bar. The man has his head thrown back in laughter, the lines of his neck long and graceful. His smile is its own gas light, cutting through the smoke of the bar like sunshine off the Seine, a literal impossibility at this late hour. Patrick can’t hear his laugh over the music, but he doesn’t need to. He’s so busy watching, he doesn’t see the waitress drop another drink on the table until it’s too late, and she’s already moved on to serving the next table. Now that it’s here, he’s not going to turn it down. Or Two lives, seven days, one amazing city.

i'll be flying like a thousand doves [david/patrick, T, 4,599] by deathbysandblk

Stevie's snobby cousin wants to catch up and Stevie drags David along so she doesn't have to face her alone.

one summer night... [david/patrick, T, 2,714] by @startswithhope

Three glimpses of time spent on the porch together on warm summer nights...

Runaway (Run Toward) [david/patrick, E, 23,855] by @streetlampsunset

David is sitting on the floor of his new apartment, drinking with Twyla, Stevie, and Patrick when he realizes he has no idea what he’s doing. David accepts Patrick’s offer to help with the business side of Rose Apothecary and look over his finances. This leads Patrick to make an important discovery or two. David is the one who ran away to Schitt’s Creek while Patrick lost his home and wound up there. The Rose’s never lose their money and everyone ends up exactly where they are supposed to be.

Set It Up [david/patrick, T, 5,215] by @agoodpersonrose

David can't escape the constant interference of the town who are desperate to set him up with the new guy in town.

2022

[Podfic] Caught Wig-Handed [david/patrick, T, podfic] by @doug-judys-blog

Patrick finds himself alone with Moira’s wig wall and can’t resist himself. [Podfic of "Caught Wig-Handed" written by Doug_Judy]

Help I'm Alive [david/patrick, T, 536] by cowltwigtruther

Patrick being in love with David for 536 words

2023

This Is Not a Drill [david/patrick, E, 7,342] by @rmd-writes

Building flat pack furniture has never been David’s forte, and when he loses the metal tool thingy that was in the box, things begin to look dire. Some quick thinking brings a neighbour to his aid – a gorgeous, curly-haired neighbour with forearms that are, quite frankly, rude. And perhaps most inexplicably of all, he’s nice. David isn’t used to nice. Or, the Grindr meet-cute AU

2024

what do you know of pride? [david/patrick, NR, 1,600] by ruuinxs

In lieu of pride month, a 30-day drabble challenge of Patrick and David's celebration.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017 or 2021 2018: 1 fic/3,664 words 2019: 20 fics/143,024 words 2020: 8 fanworks (6 fics, 2 podfics)/218,373 words 2022: 2 fanworks (1 fic, 1 podfic)/536 words 2023: 1 fic/7,342 words 2024: 1 fic/1,600 words Total: 33 fanworks (30 fics, 3 podfics)/374,547 words

[lemotmo]

A lot of these people are just way out of control at this point. Dear god. Do NOT spoil that moment for me.

Q. It's bizarre and a little bad for business that we're not getting any 911 bts content. I mean they want us to engage and talk about it and big it up but they're not giving us anything to feed our excitement. It's not a very good look from a business perspective. The fact is if you want excitement and engagement from your audience you have to feed the audience. What are they doing? Give us teases. Give us photos.

A. I'm going to say from go that my answer is going to piss you off. They're not obligated to give any kind of BTS content. They create a television show. Their job is to make believe. Right now real life is taking precedence over the job, as it should. Their city is literally on fire around them. They're not operating at normalcy right now. We know that Jennifer lost her home. We have no idea how many other members of the cast and crew or their family have been affected. We don't know that the social media team weren't affected. The fact that they don't feel obligated to record the cast doing an Apple dance 2.0 for you is more than reasonable. And frankly the content still wouldn't satisfy most of you because you feel entitled to everything and you're not entitled to anything. Nothing. They owe you nothing. And sorry but you all ran off the one constant, genuine BTS provider the fandom had. They had the nerve to post something TRUTHFUL that made your favorite show not look great and you ran them off the Internet. Anyone who has been around the 911 fandoms for any length of time was not and should not have been surprised to hear that the crew was still being made to work. They have a history of not so great treatment of their crew members. But you didn't like it so you attacked the messenger instead of just posting your disappointment at the situation. The bullying, the constant screaming and shouting about what the show and actors owe you has been going on for almost a year now and it's exhausting and frankly frightening. The entitlement syndrome is disgusting.

'I don't care about Brad content why is that what they chose to share'. ' Where's Ryan, he still has a beard that clearly means he's not filming'. 'Why hasn't Oliver taken any wardrobe photos and shared them with us'? 'Why don't we know what episode they're working on'? 'Why haven't we seen anything of Ryan and Oliver together on set'? 'Why isn't the crew tweeting and pic posting'?

Stop. If and when they choose to share some content they will. But you lost your most consistent access to that content when you behaved the way you did towards them sharing something you didn't like. The cast are not social media content creators. Their job is not social media. They don't owe you any kind of access to them. We have no idea what they are dealing with in their actual real life lives at this time. And it's none of our business either. It's amazing that so many people care. More people than ever are watching and are interested and invested but with that new influx of viewers has come this insistent expectation of instant gratification and access. This show has never operated like that. They engage, of course they do, but they have never done it all day everyday and it's ridiculous and unrealistic to demand that from them now. They intentionally became very anti spoiler during 8a that was always going to continue into 8b. They got tired of people guessing storylines months in advance based off of wardrobe. Don't get me wrong, that stuff is super fun and I love that we can do it but we don't need, and shouldn't want, to do it with every storyline. I don't want the Buddie moment spoiled. I have waited for too long for it to be spoiled by a BTS pic. No one should want it spoiled ahead of time. And Oliver isn't petty posting wardrobe pics because he's not stuck in a boring onscreen no chemistry situationship with a co-star he doesn't like that he's excited to be free of. Gavin is in L.A. so Ryan is clearly going to film with him. They have already scouted a location to use as El Paso from the looks of some of the pics we have seen. You're getting information. Not getting spoiler pics of Oliver and Ryan is not depriving you of content. And actually it's good for business to build the anticipation and it's working because you all are in daily hysterics all over social media. Everyone is tense right now. Things suck. I understand completely that people want to turn to their comfort shows and characters for joy, that's what we should do. But it's their job to create those shows and characters which means it's also their job to build excitement and expectations for those storylines. It is not their job to provide photos and videos to help you guess the storylines ahead of time. Stop wanting to do that. Stop badmouthing them and complaining about them for not giving you the specific bta content you want. Stop trying to tear down something you claim to love because it's not feeding you as often as you think you're entitled too.

Thank you Nonny! Sorry I got a little later at this, but I've been dealing with some lower back pain that made it hard to sit down and type. I'm taking medicin and I have regular PT sessions and I already feel so much better. So I can finally sit down again and reply to this. 🤗

Yeah, I admit that I'm also feeling the drought here, but I don't complain about it. I understand why there is little activity. Like Ali said, we cannot forget the horror some of the people working on this show went through with those fires. Some of them lost everything and that has to be absolutely terrible. It would be in very bad taste to start posting happy apple-dances right now.

I think most of the screaming and shouting is going down on Twitter though, because I don't see a lot of it on Tumblr. Twitter has always been a more 'in your face' place when it comes to fandom. Hence the reason why I mostly lurk there. I don't like the constant discourse that goes on there. It's much more quiet and 'normal' here... if you can call Tumblr 'normal'. 🤣

It's also quite obvious that ABC has the sets of its shows locked down. They enforced a strict lockdown last year and it seems that they aren't giving up on that.

I cannot lie, part of me is a little sad about this lockdown, because I thrive on speculating about the small details in bts footage. It's so much fun to talk about colour theory, clothing, pictures that have been moved, hair styles... It's just plain fandom fun. For me speculation makes half of the experience of being a 911 fan. I love the show, but I equally love being in this fandom and speculate. It's part of the package of being a fan.

And remember, I grew up in a time when all I got was a tiny blurb in a TV magazine every week. There was no bts, no extra content... nothing. So when I finally got into the online fandom a world opened for me. I'm still so grateful for it. My life would have been so much duller without the added joy of fandom and fandom friends.

All that being said though, if ABC has decided that locking down that set is what needs to be done, I'm fine with it. It's their show, they get to decide.🤷‍♀️ The upside is that we have less speculation and information to go on when 8b begins. We won't know what will happen until he moment it's happening, which is terrifying but fun at the same time. 😋

I'm also quite sure that they'll start up the promotional train back in February with the official 8b trailer and hopefully some interesting interviews. We'll get lots to talk and speculate about then. So let's just wait and see what they'll throw at us.

Most of all though, I just need it to be March already. I need 911 back NOW! I miss it so much. 😫 And hopefully it has the added benefit of quieting down the discourse, because people will have something to talk about again.

IMPORTANT! Please don't repost this ask and/or a link that leads straight to my Tumblr account on Twitter or any other social media. Thank you!

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

"Oh, and I guess what you did was okay?" Nancy asked.

"No, I never said that," Jonathan replied.

"He had every right to be pissed," Nancy replied.

"Listen, don't take it personally, okay?" Jonathan said. "I don't like most people. He's in the vast majority."

"You know, I was actually starting to think you were okay," she said angrily.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I was thinking, 'Jonathan Byers, he's not the pretentious creep everyone thinks he is,' " Nancy said.

"Well, I was starting to think that you were okay. I was thinking, 'Nancy Wheeler, she's not just another suburban girl who thinks she's rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does. . .until that phase passes, and they marry some boring one-time jock, who now works sales, and they live out a perfectly little boring life at the end of a cul-de-sac. Exactly like their parents, who they thought were so depressing. . .but now, hey, they get it,' " Jonathan spat.

Jonathan felt like he had just slapped himself and Nancy. His insides went cold as Nancy looked at him in annoyance. He could see the hurt flash behind her eyes as well. What the fuck did he just say to her? God, he was a pretentious creep and an asshole. That was something his father would have said. He scoffed and stepped back, turning away from her. She did the same as they continued walking through the woods. And that's when he heard it. It was so quiet, it was hard not to. It was a sniffle. Nancy was crying or trying not to.

"I'm sorry," Jonathan said.

"Whatever," Nancy said.

Her best friend was missing. It was just as hard for her as it was for him, he remembered. Jonathan gently grabbed her arm, and she yanked it out of his grasp. Nancy turned to him. She was trying not to let the tears come.

"I really am sorry. You didn't deserve that. Especially the part about your parents. I shouldn't have thrown that in your face," Jonathan said.

"No, you shouldn't have," Nancy said, crossing her arms. "You're a dick."

"Yeah, that's true," Jonathan said. "I'm not proud of what I said. That's something my dad would have said to my mom, and I always hated him. I try so hard not to be like him. He ends up coming out anyway."

"I get that," Nancy said, her features softening.

"I shouldn't have taken those pictures. I was completely wrong for that, and Steve had every right to break my camera. I would have been even more fucked if she had gone to the police and my mom was left to pay for it. . .but that doesn't matter. I had plenty of time to stop taking those pictures, and I pushed my brother to the back of my mind when I saw you in the pool. . .when I saw something that I tried not to pretend I didn't want to be a part of. I say I hate people, but really, I hate the fact that I feel so alone, and when I saw you with them. . .I was jealous. You weren't pretending to be anyone else. If anyone was pretending, it was me. Pretending I didn't want to have friends, pretending that there was anything artistic about those photos. . .the only thing they were saying was that the boy behind the camera was lonely, and there was a part of him that wanted to have fun like you were having fun. Now, I'm a crazy boy in the woods, rambling and crying," Jonathan sniffled. "I'm sorry."

Nancy stared at him, her anger completely gone now. She no longer held that furious protective stance.

"Maybe you're not a pretentious creep like I though you were," Nancy said softly.

"No, you were right about that," Jonathan said.

"Well, maybe after this, we can fix that," Nancy said. "All of it."

Jonathan wasn't sure what she meant by that, and he was afraid to find out. It got a little crazy after that. They continued to search for the faceless creature, whatever it was, in the woods until it got dark. They found a wounded deer in the woods. Nancy had assumed that it had gotten hit by a car. Jonathan decided that it would be smart not to point out that they were in the middle of the woods. He didn't have long to think about it before the deer was yanked away, and shortly after that, he lost Nancy. He ended up pulling her out of a tree, and the hole he pulled her out of had closed behind her. Jonathan had held her tightly after that and made sure she got home safely. Nancy had looked so shaken. He had to make sure that she made it into her room. It had been scary for him, but it had been even scarier for her. She could have died tonight. He put a sweater around her and then his arm. Somehow, he found himself lying next to her in her bed. If she hadn't looked at him with those eyes of hers, he would have happily taken the floor.

"I don't want to be alone," Nancy had said, and Jonathan had folded.

It was awkward, lying here next to her like he hadn't thought about it a million times over. After everything, he shouldn't feel a little bit of hope building up inside of him.

"We don't really know each other, do we?" Jonathan asked.

"I think because our brothers are friends, it feels like we do," Nancy said.

"Do you think - do you think that we could be friends?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah, I think so," Nancy said.

It was the most he had ever spent with Nancy, only having watched her from afar like he's done with everyone else. It was easier to keep everyone at arm's length when he had his camera, but now he didn't. He had no excuse not to be vulnerable or honest with Nancy or try to push her away. He was definitely odd, no doubt about that, and maybe that's why he didn't try to put himself out there because people wouldn't understand him or his taste in music. Maybe pushing them away first before they could hurt him would be easier on him, right?

"I think I liked it when he broke my camera," Jonathan said, breaking the silence.

"What?" Nancy asked.

"I don't know why, but when he looked at me as he dropped it. . .that's weird, right?" Jonathan asked.

"I mean, I don't know. . .I'm not sure I'm the right person to judge on what's strange or not," Nancy said.

"It's like. . .it's like he could see through me for a moment. . .I know why he did it. . .he did it out of anger, but for a moment, it seemed like he knew I needed to let go of it," Jonathan said. "I think I'm just reading into things again."

"Well, I don't think he should have broken it to do that," Nancy said.

"Yeah, maybe, but like what I said in the woods. . .we all say and do shit we don't mean in the heat of the moment," Jonathan said.

"Well. . .we're teenagers. . .it's the most confusing times of our lives," she replied.

"I've been using it like a crutch, anyway. I've spent so long looking through that lense that I've gotten a narrow view of people. I've forgotten that there are more to people than just what I see in an image of them, a brief glimpse of their lives," Jonathan said. "I want to remember what it's like to be a photographer because sometimes it's so much more complicated, and sometimes, a picture is just a picture. . .I forgot where the line was."

"And sometimes, a girl just wants to fuck a boy," Nancy said and Jonathan burst into laughter. "Jonathan! Shh! You're going to wake my parents."

Jonathan stuffed his face into his pillow, and Nancy giggled quietly.

"We should probably get some sleep," Jonathan said.

"You're right," Nancy said. "Goodnight, Jonathan."

"Goodnight, Nancy," Jonathan paused and closed his eyes. "It was incredibly hot, too. . .him breaking my camera. Shouldn't have found it hot, but I did."

The next day, it wasn't quite so awkward with Nancy. Although, he was annoyed that his father was still loitering around. He knew it was because of some scheme of his and that he was only here to benefit himself, to squeeze whatever he could out of the situation. He tried not to show it, but Nancy could tell. It cheered him up considerably when she told the man behind the counter that they were monster hunting. The look on his face. . .it was so ridiculous. He didn't even bother asking anymore questions. Jonathan suspected he didn't really care, just glad to get customers. He was glad that Nancy didn't ask him about what he had let slip last night as he was falling asleep. If she had heard him, he couldn't tell. He was about to bring it up when some asshole in a car mentioned seeing her movie, and that's when they saw it on the Hawk. All the Right Moves starting Nancy the Slut Wheeler.

It was all a blur after that. Nancy discovered Steve, Tommy, and Carol at the scene of the crime . Steve revealed that he had witnessed them getting all cozy last night. It had been a well-deserved slap from Nancy even though Jonathan had known that it was Tommy and Carol holding the evidence. Steve hadn't stopped them. What could Nancy have said? She had been attacked by a monster, and that's why Jonathan was comforting her? Steve hadn't known, and it was easy to jump to those conclusions with the photos and everything. . .it was the only thing that made sense to a teenager. Nancy had said that they're teenagers, and it was the most confusing time of their lives. Steve had turned on him then.

"You know what, Byers? I'm actually kind of impressed. I always took you for a queer but I guess you're just a screw up like your father," Steve had said. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. That house is full of screw ups. A bunch of screw ups in your family. I'm not even surprised by what happened to your brother, I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but the Byers, their family, it's a disgrace to the entire - "

Jonathan had clenched his jaw, refusing to look at him even when he had shoved him. He tried so hard to ignore what he said, his words from the woods swimming in his ears to remind him that he was an asshole too.

"Well, I was starting to think that you were okay. I was thinking, 'Nancy Wheeler, she's not just another suburban girl who thinks she's rebelling by doing exactly what every other suburban girl does. . .until that phase passes, and they marry some boring one-time jock, who now works sales, and they live out a perfectly little boring life at the end of a cul-de-sac. Exactly like their parents, who they thought were so depressing. . .but now, hey, they get it,' " Jonathan spat.

Yeah, teenagers. . .they're all assholes. It was weird that he had acted just as defensively as Steve had. Steve had screwed up, and instead of apologizing, he had insulted Jonathan, like Jonathan had insulted Nancy. Maybe it was the fact that Jonathan was struggling with his own attraction to Steve, to Nancy, on top of his missing brother and strange monsters, but it was all too much for Jonathan. He whirled around and punched Steve.

He kept on punching him, and Steve fought back, throwing him to the ground, pressing his body against his. Jonathan flipped him, throwing another punch as he straddled his thigh. He could vaguely hear Tommy and Nancy screaming at him. Jonathan felt his stomach get warm. Can you still be attracted to someone and also hate him? No, Jonathan had nothing in common with Steve Harrington, and it was stupid of him to think that he did. When did Steve stop fighting back? Jonathan paused and looked into his eyes. Steve wanted Jonathanto hit him. Before Jonathan could question it further, someone was touching him. He reacted on instinct and swung. Fuck, it was a goddamn cop.

"You act like you're all alone in this world, Jonathan, but you're not," Joyce reminded him. "You're not."

His mom had been right. He had risked his life and Nancy's. He just wanted to save Will so badly, and he was so used to doing everything on his own. It wasn't his mother's fault. It was just the situation they were in. They had no one else to help them out. Lonnie only ever "helped" when it benefited him, and it usually never did. There was nothing like a scolding from his mother to remind him that he was still just a teenager trying to act like he was an adult. His mom did the same thing, though, didn't she? Act like she was all alone in this world? Maybe he was more like his mother and less like his father than he thought. He had been just as determined to save Will as she had been, and maybe that's why she was so worried. There's nothing like watching a piece of yourself running around in your jeans to scare the hell out of you. As he hugged his mother, he couldn't help but smile into her shoulder.

"I want to finish what we started," Nancy said. "I want to kill it."

And suddenly, they were in his house, preparing to kill the monster, the demogorgon, so Hopper and Joyce could go into the Upside Down to rescue Will. Jonathan hated leaving the kids, but he hated the idea that Nancy would be facing the monster alone. So, they left them. Of course, he didn't factor in Steve Harrington showing up to apologize and then to help. He wasn't surprised when Steve left, a little disappointed, but not surprised, and then he just had to come back in. . .he had to be gallant and brave. . .like a fucking prince out of a storybook. He had the hair for it. Just like that, he felt a wave of affection for the man, which he tried to deny over and over again since Steve picked up the bat.

"This is stupid," Jonathan muttered.

He was standing outside of Steve’s house. After spending two days by Will's side, Jonathan decided that he should really check on Steve after beating the shit out of him, especially since Steve risked it all to save his life. He wanted to check in on Nancy, too, but after what happened with Mike and the "agents" showing up to her house, she was on lockdown with her family. He couldn't get the look in Steve's eyes out of his head. . .when Jonathan had him on the ground and Steve had stopped fighting back. Steve had wanted him to hit him because he had realized what he had said. . .what he had done. Much like Jonathan had come to the realization that he had been a dick to Nancy as soon as those words had come out of his mouth. Jonathan liked to pretend that he was better than other people, but was he really? Who was Jonathan really punching in that alleyway? Steve or himself? He was tired of all the introspection. Jonathan had turned around to leave when the door opened.

"Jonathan?!" Steve yelled.

He turned around to find Steve looking frazzled. He was holding the bat in his hands. His hair was wild, his clothes were in a state of disarray, and it looked like he hadn't slept.

"Uh, hey," Jonathan said.

"Is something wrong?" Steve asked. "Is it Nancy? Oh god, it's back."

"What?! No, man, relax," Jonathan said. "I just wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine," Steve said.

"Clearly," Jonathan said dryly, and Steve snorted. "I just felt bad about, you know, hitting you."

"I deserved it," Steve said.

"You deserved one but not me nearly killing you," Jonathan said. "You look like shit."

He really did. His bruised face was definitely worse than it had been before. One of his eyes was swollen shut and his other eye had been fucked up by the rings that Jonathan had forgotten he had worn. His lip was split.

"Thanks, man," he said. "Look, I'm really sorry for the shit that I said. None of it was true, and it was really shitty of me to say all that, especially with everything that had been going on."

"Yeah, it was really shitty of you but it's not like you're the only one that's fucked up. I wasn't particularly nice to Nancy when she cornered me about the photos," Jonathan shrugged.

"So, we're both assholes," Steve scoffed.

"Pretty much, but you know, what teenager isn't?" Jonathan asked. "It's hard enough, but to add all this on top of it. You can't really know how you're going to react in the moment. . .in any moment. I think we all surprise ourselves."

"Yeah," Steve said softly.

"I think we both know that Nancy deserves better than that," Jonathan said. "And I think we both deserve better than to act like that."

"I don't want to be like my father," Steve said.

"I don't want to be like mine, either," Jonathan replied. "I'm sorry about the photos."

Steve smiled a sort of crooked smile, his hazel eye lightning up genuinely. He still looked dead tired, though.

"You want to hang out?" Steve asked.

Jonathan had another realization. Steve looked tired because he hadn't slept because no one was here, and Steve didn't want to be alone.

"Uh, where are your parents?" Jonathan asked.

"Oh, they extended their trip, which means that Dad fooled around again, and he has to make it up to Mum," Steve said.

"You call her 'mum'?" Jonathan asked.

"Well, she's British, so. . .," Steve said.

"I didn't know that," Jonathan said.

"Most people don't. She moved here when she was young," Steve said.

"So, you're alone?" Jonathan asked.

"Yeah, it's nothing that I'm not used to," Steve said. "So, do you want to hang out?"

It hit Jonathan to the core. He had convinced himself of that so many times that he was used to feeling alone and that it wasn't a big deal. His mother had no choice, not really, but Steve’s mother did, and she chose his father over over him. Jonathan was so grateful to Joyce then for choosing him and Will over Lonnie. Jonathan hoped she'd come to the realization that both her and Steve deserved better than that. Maybe there was still time for that, and Jonathan wanted that for Steve.

"I mean, I wish I could, but I wasn't planning on leaving my brother and mother home alone for long," Jonathan said, and then he had a thought. "You want to hang out at my house?"

"Yeah! Yes!" Steve exclaimed.

There was a huge sigh of relief as Steve’s shoulders relaxed. It must have been terrifying all by himself over here with no one to call, not even Tommy and Carol anymore. How paranoid did he get? Did he feel like something or someone was watching him? Did he jump at every shadow? It probably hadn't helped that Jonathan had lurked in the bushes, taking intimate photos of Nancy in Steve's bedroom. While Jonathan had nightmares, he also had his mother and brother. Nancy and Mike couldn't tell their parents what happened, but they knew enough to be there for their kids. Steve didn't have anyone.

"Goddamnit," Jonathan cursed.

"What? Did you change your mind?" Steve asked.

Jonathan shook his head. He didn't try very hard to deny his attraction to Steve, but he could feel stirrings in his chest. He was developing feelings for Steve Harrington. God, he was such a hypocrite. Although he had apologized now, he was the suburban girl who thought she was rebelling.

"No, I just remembered something. You ever not like something because everyone else likes it, and then suddenly, you tried it now you're starting to like it," Jonathan said. "I was just thinking about that."

"Hm, yeah, totally. Everyone I knew liked pineapple on pizza, but I thought it was, like, I don't know. . .blasphemy?" Steve asked. "But then I tried it, and I realized it wasn't as bad as I thought it was. What were you thinking of?"

"Mushrooms," Jonathan blurted out, blushing.

"Oh, I love mushrooms!" Steve exclaimed. "Alright, I'm ready, let's go!"

"You don't have shoes, man," Jonathan laughed. "Or pants."

"Right," Steve said.

"You should probably pack a bag, too. I don't think my mom's going to let you leave when she finds out that your parents are gone," Jonathan said.

Jonathan expected to see cartoon dust clouds in Steve's wake as he had taken off so fast. He came back just as quick with the nailbat still in his hands along with a bag. He was flipping his keys in his hands. Jonathan noted that he was quite eager to leave the house. Maybe it was the mixture of bad memories: his parents leaving, the monster that prowled in the woods, Barb dying in his pool. . .Jonathan understood why he wanted to leave. His house wasn't much better, but at least there were more people there. Jesus, he looked exhausted. Jonathan grabbed his keys.

"Hey!"

"You are not driving in your condition," Jonathan said.

"I'm fine," Steve said.

"We're taking my car," Jonathan said.

He helped Steve into the passenger seat and threw his stuff into the back. Jonathan slid into the driver's seat and found Steve smiling at him. God, this is not what he came over for.

"Thanks for doing this," Steve said. "I didn't want to be alone."

"None of us did," Jonathan said, and he took Steve’s hand as he drove off.

Why the hell did he take Steve’s hand? Jonathan focused on the road. He didn't want to let go, and neither did Steve. At the next stop light, he looked over at Steve and found that he was fast asleep. His entire body had finally relaxed when he felt safe. He felt safe enough with Jonathan to finally fall asleep. Jonathan squeezed his hand and drove to his house. He hated to wake Steve, but he couldn't carry him inside. He gently woke him up and Steve smiled softly at him, blinking sleepily. He rubbed his eye and yelped. Jonathan tried not to laugh and helped him out of the car. With Steve's bag in hand, he pushed Steve gently into the house.

"Hey, mom! I brought home a stray!" Jonathan called out to Joyce.

"Asshole," Steve said affectionately and Jonathan laughed.

"Again?!" Joyce asked from the hallway. "You haven't done that since you were four and you thought that baby opossum was very ugly kitten. . .Oh, hey, Steve."

"I made a friend," Jonathan shrugged as if it was no big deal.

"Okay, you brought home an opossum, and you thought it was kitten? That's adorable," Steve said.

"Shut up, I was four," Jonathan replied. "Mom, you don't mind if Steve stays here for a little bit, do you? His parents still aren't home, and I'm pretty sure he hasn't slept in a couple of days."

"Of course," Joyce said. "Where are your parents?"

"I don't know, they were in Boston for a conference, but my mom walked in on him with another prostitute again so he's making it up to her," Steve shrugged. "They extended the trip, I don't know for how long this time, they usually tell me."

"How often does this happen?" Joyce asked, looking at him in concern.

"I'm used to it," Steve shrugged and Joyce's frown deepened.

"Well, if Jonathan wants to, you can sleep in his room," Joyce said.

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother," Steve said.

"You saved my boy, you can stay as long as you want," she replied, touching his arm softly.

Jonathan watched as Steve's eyebrows furrowed and he could almost tell what he was thinking. Joyce could too. Is what a present mom is supposed to be like? Joyce squeezed his arm, looking at him in sympathy. Suddenly, there came a loud bark, and Chester came barreling into the living room. He nearly knocked Steve over.

"Chester!" Jonathan exclaimed.

"Puppy!" Steve laughed and collapsed onto the floor. "Oh, my dad never let me have a dog as a kid. I've always wanted one or a cat. I'm not picky. Oh, he's so cute."

"Chester, calm down a little bit," Jonathan laughed as his dog licked Steve’s face.

"Oh, he's just trying to make my owies feel better," Steve giggled as Chester licked his face.

"Yeah, we thought for sure that the Demogorgon had gotten him, but he ended up finding his way home," Jonathan said.

"He's smart, he knows how good he has it," Steve grinned.

"Well, why don't we get you to bed, I'll wake you up when food's here," Joyce said.

Jonathan made sure that Steve got into his bed and threw the blanket over him. Chester had immediately jumped up on the bed and snuggled into Steve's side. It didn't take long for Steve to finally fall asleep. He walked out of the bedroom and went to check on Will, who was also taking a nap. He stared at him for a moment, thankful that Will was alive and safe. Jonathan found his mother in the kitchen, and he hugged her tightly.

"Have I ever thanked you for always fighting like hell to be here for us?" Jonathan asked.

"No," she replied.

"Thank you," Jonathan whispered. "I'm glad we have you."

Jonathan couldn't bear the thought of not having Will or Joyce in his life or Nancy and Steve now. He always thought that he wanted to be alone, but maybe what he was afraid of was making an actual connection with people. Now, he was afraid of losing it all, especially Hopper.

"I love you, honey," Joyce said.

"I love you, too," Jonathan said.

Steve had settled in pretty quickly. Jonathan could tell that he had loved it here and that everyone else loved having him there. It was eventually time for them all to go back to school, and Steve was still staying with them as his parents were still not back. Jonathan had been right; Joyce hadn't wanted him to stay on his own. She refused to let him leave, and Steve was determined to help out. As they sat around the breakfast table, Will had to speak up.

"Mom! If we keep Steve, does that mean he'll be our brother?" Will asked.

"Oh God, no!" Steve and Jonathan exclaimed.

"I mean, maybe you as a brother but I definitely wouldn't want to call Jonathan that," Steve said.

"Why?" Will asked.

"No reason," Steve said blushing.

"Will, sweetheart, eat your breakfast," Joyce said and she smiled knowingly over at them.

Will looked suspiciously at them for a moment before dropping bacon on the floor for Chester. After breakfast, Steve walked out the door with the Byers. He was less surprised when Joyce hugged him along with her sons. It wasn't like the first time when he had frozen up for a moment.

"Are you sure about going to school?" Joyce asked.

"Mom, I can't stay home forever," Will said. "I want to go to school."

"Okay, but if you need anything, call me, okay?" Joyce asked. "Steve and Jonathan are right next door if you need them."

"Yes, mom, I know where the high school is," Will said in amusement. "I just want to get back to normal."

"Well, you can't rush these things, okay," Joyce said. "And it might not go back to the way things were after what happened."

"Mom," Will sighed. "I'll be fine."

"It's just so soon," Joyce said.

Will hugged Joyce tightly and slipped into the front seat of Jonathan's car. Steve gladly entered the back seat, waving at Joyce as he did so. Jonathan blasted the radio, the three of them singing loudly with the music. Steve sang very off-key on purpose, making them all laugh. Jonathan knew eventually that Steve would have to go home, but he hoped it wasn't anytime soon, but at the same time, he wished that Steve’s mom would come to her senses. From what he told Jonathan, there's still a part of Evie Harrington that could be a good mom. . . If she just let Richard go. Steve really loved his mother. Jonathan loved having him here, and Will loved having him here. He fit so perfectly, and maybe that was because there was a part of Steve that was like Jonathan.

"He'll be okay," Steve said.

Jonathan was leaning against his car, watching Will walk off with his friends.

"I know, I can't help but worry," Jonathan said.

"You are your mother's son, which I think is so cute," Steve said, and Jonathan blushed. "Look, you have a free period. Maybe they'll let you check on him. And I have a free period, and I'll check on him, too."

"Can't do that forever," Jonathan said.

"Well, no, but Will's smart enough to understand that it's going to be weird for a while," Steve said and nudged his shoulder. "Hey, Nancy's coming this way. . .how's my hair?"

"Perfect as usual. . .how's mine? Wait. . .I don't care," Jonathan muttered.

"Yeah, you do," Steve said in amusement. "And your hair always looks good."

Nancy approached them, looking surprised to see them together.

"Steve, did you come here with Jonathan?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, we're friends now," Steve said with a goofy grin. "Plus, I'm staying with him and his family right now. Jonathan was worried about me."

"I showed up to his house, and he hadn't slept for two days," Jonathan said. "I had every reason to worry!"

"You didn't?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, I got scared and paranoid. I jumped at every shadow. Jonathan took me home with him," Steve said with a smile.

"Yeah, the nightmares have been awful," Nancy said. "Your parents still aren't back?"

"Nope," Steve rolled his eyes. "It's better this way. I'm grateful to Jonathan for letting me stay with him. I made sure to show my appreciation the next morning in bed."

"You - you did?" Nancy asked, her eyes wide.

"What?"

"Steve, think about what you said," Jonathan whispered.

"Oh! Nancy Wheeler, get your mind out of the gutter," Steve grinned. "I made Jonathan breakfast in bed. I also made some for Joyce and Will."

"I wasn't - I mean - ," Nancy said, blushing.

"It's okay, Nance, I would have gone there, too," Steve said, winking at Jonathan.

Jonathan's blushed deepened as he thought about all the times he woke up in bed with Steve, curled up in his arms. Now, as he gazed at Nancy, he suddenly wished that she had been there, too.

"So, your parents finally released you?" Jonathan asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah, I didn't think they ever would," Nancy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Especially Mike. They didn't appreciate him hiding a girl in their basement, but they're surprisingly not too hard on him. I think they've both picked up on the fact that he's upset about something."

"Can't imagine losing the first girl you ever really liked," Jonathan said and stared at Nancy.

"I'm trying to be there for him, but I don't know how," Nancy said.

There was silence between them all, as they thought about everything that occurred. They stared at each other, gazing into each other's eyes. No one knew what to say or do about any of it, but maybe they could figure it out together. They didn't have to have all the answers right now, but maybe they didn't have to be alone while they searched for them. Nancy slipped her arms through Steve and Jonathan's as they walked into the school, ready to face whatever came their way.

[arasinchahonghong]

Be Mine ||K.Sy

Pairings: K.Sy x reader

The following content contains. Obsession, toxicity, many more it can be uncomfortable for many.

The fluorescent lights of Sevit High hummed, a familiar, grating sound to Kwon Hoshi. Usually, it blended into the background noise of teenage life, but lately, it felt like a spotlight, following his every move. And behind that spotlight, always, was Cho Y/N.

Hoshi was the school's dance prodigy, his movements fluid, powerful, and captivating. He lived for the stage, for the roar of the crowd, for the intricate choreographies that consumed his every waking thought. He was friendly, outgoing, and effortlessly charming, but his world revolved around dance.

Y/N, on the other hand, revolved around Hoshi.

It started subtly. A casual presence at every dance practice, a murmured "good job" in the hallway. Hoshi, used to admiration, barely registered it at first. Then came the gifts – his favorite energy drinks appearing mysteriously in his locker, homemade cookies he never remembered asking for. His friends, initially amused, started to eye Y/N with a growing unease.

"Dude, Y/N is here again," Seungkwan whispered to Hoshi during a late-night practice, nodding towards the darkened bleachers where a lone figure sat. "Every single night. It's… intense."

Hoshi just sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. "She's just a big fan, Kwan. She loves watching us dance." He tried to convince himself, but a prickle of discomfort was already setting in.

The gifts escalated. A hand-knitted scarf in his favorite color, despite him never mentioning it. A meticulously drawn portrait of him, so detailed it was unsettling. Then came the messages, not just on social media, but notes tucked into his bag, left on his desk. They weren't just admiring; they were possessive. "You belong on stage, Hoshi. Only my eyes should see you." "Don't talk to other girls so much. It makes me sad."

One afternoon, Hoshi was walking home, earbuds in, lost in a new beat. He turned a corner and nearly collided with Y/N.

"Hoshi oppa!" she chirped, a wide, almost manic smile on her face. "What a coincidence! I was just thinking about you."

He forced a smile. "Hey, Y/N. Yeah, small world."

"Are you going straight home?" she asked, her eyes glittering with an intensity that made him uneasy. "My house is just around the corner. We could… study. Or just hang out."

"Uh, no, actually," Hoshi stammered, trying to sound polite but firm. "I have to meet up with my dance crew. Choreography for the regional competition."

Her smile faltered slightly. "Oh. But… you work so hard. You need to rest." Her voice dropped, a subtle chill entering it. "Don't overdo it, Hoshi oppa. I worry about you."

He mumbled a hasty goodbye and practically sprinted away. The encounter left him shaken. It wasn't just admiration; it was an suffocating closeness that felt increasingly threatening.

The Revelation of Fear

The line between infatuation and obsession blurred, then vanished entirely. Hoshi started noticing things that chilled him to the bone. Every time he posted a photo online, Y/N would reply with a comment that indicated she knew exactly where he was, even if the photo was old. If he deviated from his usual route to school, she'd suddenly appear from a side street. His friends reported Y/N asking them intrusive questions about his daily schedule, his habits, his preferences.

He tried to ignore it, to pretend it wasn't happening. But the fear was a cold knot in his stomach, tightening with each passing day. He felt watched, hunted. His vibrant world of dance started to feel muted, overshadowed by a constant, nagging anxiety.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, Hoshi received a series of anonymous messages. They weren't from Y/N directly, but the content made his blood run cold. They were pictures of him, taken that very night, through the dance studio window. Close-ups. And then, a message: "You were so beautiful tonight, Hoshi. So beautiful that I had to make sure no one else tried to steal your light. Some people just don't understand how precious you are."

He knew, with a sickening certainty, that it was Y/N. The vague threat, the possessive undertone, it was all her.

The next day, Hoshi decided he couldn't ignore it anymore. He had to confront her, or at least make it clear this needed to stop. He found her by her locker, meticulously arranging her books.

"Y/N, we need to talk," he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands.

She turned, her eyes lighting up. "Hoshi oppa! Of course. What is it?"

He took a deep breath. "The messages. The pictures. You need to stop, Y/N. You're making me uncomfortable."

Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes hardened, a chilling lack of emotion replacing the adoration. "What are you talking about, Hoshi oppa? I don't know anything about messages or pictures." Her voice was soft, saccharine, but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of malice. "Are you… perhaps talking to other girls? Making them jealous? Is that why you're saying these things?"

Hoshi felt a wave of despair. She was denying it, deflecting, twisting his words. "No, Y/N, it's not about other girls. It's about you. This is too much. You're invading my privacy. It's… it's creepy."

Her eyes narrowed, the smile finally dropping from her face. "Creepy?" Her voice dropped to a whisper, but it was sharper, colder than anything he'd ever heard from her. "Is that what you think of me, Hoshi oppa? After all I've done for you? All the sacrifices I've made just to be near you?"

She took a step closer, her gaze pinning him. "You know, I don't like it when you're rude. It makes me feel… misunderstood. And when I'm misunderstood, sometimes… things happen. Things that aren't very nice." She leaned in, her voice a low, chilling purr. "You wouldn't want anything to happen to your precious dance career, would you? Or your friends? Or even… your family?"

Hoshi felt the blood drain from his face. The implied threat was clear, unmistakable. It wasn't just about his comfort anymore. This was a direct, chilling warning. She had crossed a line, and he was no longer just dealing with an obsessed fan, but a potential danger.

His mind raced, a terrifying realization dawning. He had to placate her. He had to play along. For his safety, for the safety of those he cared about.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, a desperate, fake smile stretching his lips. "No, Y/N," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "No, I wouldn't. I… I misunderstood. I'm sorry. You're right. You're just… really dedicated. I appreciate that."

A triumphant, terrifyingly sweet smile returned to Y/N's face. "Oh, Hoshi oppa! I knew you'd understand! I just want us to be happy. Together." She reached out, taking his hand, her grip surprisingly strong. "So… you'll go on a date with me then? Tonight? To make up for being so mean?"

Hoshi looked at her, at the unblinking adoration in her eyes, at the steel beneath the softness. He saw no escape, no alternative. He swallowed hard, the taste of fear in his mouth.

"Yes, Y/N," he said, his voice devoid of any genuine emotion. "Yes, I will. I'd… I'd love to go on a date with you."

And as her triumphant smile widened, and she pulled him along, Hoshi knew, with a terrifying certainty, that his life as he knew it was over. He was no longer free. He was hers. And he had to date her, because the alternative, he realized with a shudder, was far more terrifying. His stage, his passion, his very existence, were now held hostage by the girl who was crazy in love with him.Hoshi walked beside Y/N, his hand still clutched in hers, but his mind was a whirlwind of sickening dread. Every step away from the school felt like a step further into a cage. His forced smile felt like a mask, suffocating him. He was a performer, yes, but this was a role he never auditioned for, a script written by someone else, and the stakes were terrifyingly real.

His immediate feelings were a violent cocktail of fear, disgust, and a desperate sense of powerlessness.

He felt violated. His personal space, his privacy, his very autonomy had been stripped away. The warmth of Y/N's hand in his was a chilling reminder that he was no longer his own. He imagined her going through his things, listening to his calls, watching him even now from some hidden vantage point. The thought made his skin crawl.

A wave of resentment simmered beneath the fear. How could she do this? How could someone claim to love him and yet treat him like a possession? He wanted to scream, to yank his hand away, to run until she was a distant, insignificant speck. But the veiled threats, the chilling implications about his dance career and his loved ones, paralyzed him. He was trapped, bound by an invisible leash.

There was also a profound sense of betrayal, not just by Y/N, but by the situation itself. He had always been so careful, so friendly to everyone. He had built his life around his passion, dance, a world of freedom and expression. Now, that world felt tainted, shadowed by this dark obsession. He pictured himself on stage, moving with his crew, and felt a cold dread that her eyes, her possessive gaze, would be watching from the audience, scrutinizing every interaction, every smile he gave that wasn't directed at her.

Above all, there was a stark, chilling realization of his vulnerability. He was Hoshi, the charismatic dancer, but against this kind of calculated obsession, he felt utterly helpless. He knew he had to play along, to feign affection, to keep her placated. The thought of what she might do if he resisted, if he broke character, was too terrifying to contemplate. His life, his dreams, his loved ones – they were all on a precarious tightrope, and Y/N held the balance.

As they walked, Y/N chattered happily about their "date," oblivious to the storm raging inside him. He nodded, feigned interest, his mind racing for an escape, for a plan, for any flicker of hope. But all he found was a vast, empty expanse of dread. The air suddenly felt heavy, thick with the unspoken, dangerous game he was now forced to play.

The Date: A Performance of Survival

Y/N led him to a small, brightly lit café. It was quaint, with mismatched furniture and a scent of strong coffee and pastries. Hoshi usually loved places like this, but tonight, it felt like a stage for his unwilling performance.

Y/N ordered for both of them, already knowing his preferences. "Hoshi oppa likes the caramel macchiato, extra foam, and the blueberry muffin," she told the barista, a sweet, possessive lilt in her voice. Hoshi just nodded, a hollow feeling in his stomach.

They sat at a small table by the window. Y/N beamed at him, her eyes shining. "Isn't this perfect, Hoshi oppa? Just us. No distractions. We can finally talk."

Hoshi forced a smile. "Yeah, perfect."

She launched into a monologue about her day, about classes, about a dress she saw that would "look so good on him if he ever wanted to try wearing one." Hoshi nodded, interjecting with polite sounds of agreement. His mind, however, was elsewhere. He was analyzing her, studying her expressions, trying to find a crack in her facade, a hint of weakness he could exploit. But there was none. Her devotion was absolute, frightening in its intensity.

"You know," Y/N said, leaning across the table, her voice dropping conspiratorially, "I told my friends we were dating. They were so jealous. But it's okay, because you're mine. You're only mine." She emphasized the last words with a chilling certainty.

Hoshi's heart pounded. He wanted to shout, to refute her, to tell her he was no one's property. But he just managed a strained laugh. "Of course, Y/N. Only yours." The words tasted like ash.

She giggled, a sound that grated on his nerves. "I knew you'd understand! We're going to be so happy, Hoshi oppa. I've planned out our whole future, you know. We'll go to the same college, live in a small apartment near campus, and you can dance every day, and I'll be there to support you, always. We'll get a dog, maybe two. A golden retriever and a corgi. And we'll name them after our favorite dance moves!"

Hoshi felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead. Her "plans" were not just fantasies; they were meticulously detailed blueprints for his enforced captivity. He saw his vibrant, spontaneous future shrinking, replaced by a suffocating, pre-ordained existence. He could only manage a weak, "That sounds… nice, Y/N."

As the evening wore on, Y/N continued to spin her web of possessive fantasies. Hoshi sat there, a puppet on her strings, offering the necessary responses, his mind screaming in silent protest. He realized, with a chilling certainty, that this wasn't just a date. This was his initiation into a nightmare. He was not just dating Y/N; he was trapped in a relationship built on fear, manipulation, and the very real threat of what she might do if he ever tried to break free.

When she finally walked him to his doorstep, a triumphant smile on her face, he felt an overwhelming urge to collapse.

"Good night, Hoshi oppa," she cooed, standing on her tiptoes to press a lingering kiss to his cheek. "Sweet dreams. I'll be thinking of you."

He managed a nod, forcing himself not to flinch. As she turned and walked away, a sense of absolute despair washed over him. He was in too deep. He was trapped. And the terrifying question echoed in his mind: how would he ever escape?

Hoshi staggered into his house, the lingering scent of Y/N's overly sweet perfume clinging to his clothes. He peeled off the "date" outfit, feeling a primal need to scrub himself clean. He knew, with terrifying clarity, that he couldn't just "play along" forever. This wasn't a temporary inconvenience; it was a life sentence.

His mind was a maelstrom of desperate thoughts.

Option 1: Tell his parents. This was his first instinct. But what would they do? Would they believe him? Y/N was so outwardly sweet, so composed. Could she twist the narrative? And more importantly, would reporting her escalate the threats? He envisioned Y/N losing control, lashing out not just at him, but at his family, his younger sister. The thought made him sick. He was 17, technically a minor, and the idea of involving adults felt both necessary and terrifying. He knew South Korea had recently strengthened its anti-stalking laws, but was it enough for a situation this insidious, where the threats were veiled and the obsession so deep?

Option 2: Tell the school. Similar to telling his parents, the school might intervene, but he feared it would only make things worse. Y/N would likely deny everything, play the victim. And what would the school do? Suspend her? That might only further enrage her. He imagined a scenario where she'd be expelled, and then, completely unmonitored by a school environment, her behavior could become even more unpredictable and dangerous.

Option 3: Escape. This was a fantasy, a desperate hope. Run away? Change schools? But where would he go? She seemed to know his every move. He pictured himself constantly looking over his shoulder, forever haunted by her presence. His dance dreams, tied to his crew, to his school, to his current life, would crumble. He couldn't abandon everything.

Option 4: Confront her again, more forcefully. The memory of her chilling whisper, the veiled threats, made him physically recoil from this idea. That had only made it worse. He knew direct confrontation was a dead end, likely to provoke a dangerous reaction.

Option 5: Gather evidence. This felt like the only viable, long-term solution. He needed undeniable proof of her stalking, her threats. He mentally reviewed everything: the anonymous messages, the photos taken from afar, the strange gifts, her knowing his schedule. He needed to document it all, meticulously. Screenshots of every message, photos of every gift, a log of every "coincidental" encounter. It felt cold, calculated, but also like his only way out.

The Silent War and The Breaking Point

Hoshi began his silent war. He saved every suspicious message, took photos of every unsettling gift. He started carrying his phone everywhere, subtly recording audio during their "dates" – just innocuous chatter, but enough to capture her chilling possessiveness if she ever dropped her guard. He feigned more interest in her life, drawing her out, hoping to expose a weakness, a crack in her composure.

Their "relationship" continued, a suffocating charade. He went on dates, held her hand, even offered forced compliments, all while a part of him screamed in protest. He felt like he was living a double life, a puppet in the daylight, a terrified survivor in the shadows. His dance suffered; his focus was shattered by the constant anxiety. His friends noticed his withdrawn demeanor, his vacant eyes, but he couldn't tell them, fearing it would put them in danger.

The breaking point came during a dance practice for a major competition. Hoshi was struggling, his usual fluidity replaced by a tense rigidity. His crew leader, a senior named Minjun, pulled him aside.

"Hoshi, what's going on?" Minjun asked, his voice gentle. "You're not yourself. You're losing your spark. Is everything okay?"

Hoshi looked at his mentor, at the passion in Minjun's eyes, and felt a surge of despair. This was his life, his dream, being suffocated. He thought of the threats, of Y/N's chilling smile, and realized he couldn't live like this anymore. The risk of speaking out felt less terrifying than the slow death of his spirit.

That night, Hoshi went home, pulled out his phone, and stared at the collected evidence. It was overwhelming. The anonymous messages, the dates and times of Y/N's appearances, the chilling voice memos where she casually mentioned knowing where he was. He knew what he had to do.

The End of the Nightmare

The next morning, Hoshi went to school early. He found Minjun and, with a trembling voice, started to explain everything. He showed him the evidence, the messages, the photos. Minjun, initially skeptical, grew increasingly horrified as he saw the depth of Y/N'N's obsession.

"Hoshi," Minjun said, his face pale. "This isn't just 'a girl liking you.' This is serious. We need to go to the police. Now."

They walked straight to the principal's office. The principal, a stern but fair woman, listened to Hoshi's story, her expression grim as she reviewed the evidence. She immediately contacted the police.

Within hours, the school was abuzz. Police officers arrived, discreetly but firmly. Y/N was called to the principal's office. Hoshi, accompanied by his parents (who were shocked and devastated but fiercely supportive) and Minjun, watched from a distance as she was escorted away. Her face, as she caught his eye, was a mask of cold fury, but Hoshi felt a tiny spark of relief. He had faced his fear.

The investigation was swift. With the new anti-stalking laws in South Korea, and the undeniable evidence Hoshi had painstakingly collected, Y/N was formally accused. The school took immediate action, implementing protective measures for Hoshi and initiating disciplinary proceedings against Y/N. There was talk of restraining orders, of psychological evaluations for Y/N.

The aftermath was difficult. Hoshi had to deal with the whispers, the stares, the uncomfortable questions from other students. But he also felt an immense weight lift from his shoulders. He was no longer looking over it. He could breathe. He could dance again.

His friends rallied around him, offering unwavering support. His dance crew, more like a family, helped him rediscover his passion, pushing him to focus on the stage, not the shadows. The fear lingered, a phantom ache, but it was slowly replaced by a sense of reclaiming his life.

Months later, Hoshi was on stage, the lights blinding, the music soaring. He moved with a freedom he hadn't felt in a long time. The crowd roared, a wave of pure, unadulterated adoration. He danced for them, for his crew, for himself. As he spun, a thought flickered in his mind: he was no longer trapped in a performance of survival. He was dancing for the joy of it, truly free, truly Hoshi. The nightmare was over. And he had, finally, taken his life back.

[faksyan]

OH I KNOW. Huey :]

Thank youuu you know me so well. I love him so much he's so awful.

First impression

I didn't really care much I think. Maybe I knew he's Otacon's dad, and that's kind of it.

Impression now

Oh I'm a bit unwell about this guy sorry. There's this one post about him I wrote (twirls hair) I think it was pretty good. I really like how he is the polar opposite of most of the other male characters in the series. Among the people a bunch of whom have various physical disabilities, only his gets used against him consistently and to such an extent. Kaz is a filthy hypocrite for treating him like he does in v, and I think it adds to his character and draws a lot of similarities between them (even if the narrative doesn't really openly acknowledge it). I like his photos on the AI pod and that he put his child in a fucking murder robot he built. I have many, many thoughts on him but as a sidenote why did they make him so fine in tpp. now looking back he always kind of was but I don't think it did anything for me because he wasn't on the floor shaking and crying. who said that. why did everyone leave. can anyone hear me.

Favorite moment

Hm I'm not sure honestly. I find his overall story really compelling, if I had to pick maybe the one where he yells at Diamond Dogs about how DD is not even a real dog, and they don't listen to him. I like when he shoots Skull Face and goes yess!!!! I did it!!!!! sure did buddy.

Idea for a story

He gets his ass kicked in my Paz au where she goes back in time and looks for another traitor with Kaz. Aside from that, I don't think I have anything Huey-related.

Unpopular opinion

I LOVE HIM. Awful terrible horrible guy who you tell to shut up once and then he kills himself in front of you five billion times and makes you feel bad. If the circumstances of his life had been different he could've been a brilliant scientist, acknowledged by the world and living a fulfilling and happy life, but they weren't.

Favorite relationship

Is his relationship with the world around him a viable answer. He's always the victim, everyone is always out to get him, and he is always sooo so innocent and has done nothing. I think maybe part of why I like him is that his paranoia and victim complex are kind of relatable? Not to such an extent, but I can definitely see the thought process there. Especially if you've been bullied in your life before, I think it's easy to kind of get used to that stuff, that's why some people spiral - it's loneliness and expectations to be treated badly, not taken seriously. He probably knows it's not true in many situations, somewhere deep down, but admitting it means taking responsibility and he's not about to do that. And, in the end of the day, in a lot of cases it is true, and he, to some extent, is a real victim. I like when the truth serum doesn't work on him and he just continues to lie (aka tell the truth that he so deeply believes). It's so good.

Favorite headcanon

I am so curious about what his relationship with Hal was like, I like thinking that he cared, but in such a fundamentally misguided way (as he usually does) that it fucked him up BIG TIME. my dearest son whom I love oh so much, no one loves you as much as I do, our home is the only safe place you will ever get. the rest of the world is an awful and horrible place, all of them hate you and you should be scared. Kind of Mother Gothel style where he brushes his hair and says don't leave but also goes to him with all of his adult problems that the child should absolutely not carry on his shoulders. He probably was pretty absent for a lot of it, but I do like thinking they did spend time together and talked, somewhat. It's interesting to think that it was part of the reason Hal shut the world and other people out for so long.

[rwshfordgirl]

OJITOS LINDOS

all of ferran's photos were taken from pinterest.

request: hey darling x I hope you're having an amazing day. i was wondering if you could write smth with Ferran Torres. we see mean comments on ig and how Ferrans ex was prettier and how he should be with someone more like known and a model or something. just angst and then Ferran notices our mood and he comforts us paring: ferran torres x reader a/n: can you believe i thought of a plot like that just a few hours before receiving this request? thank you for the request, i hope you like it.

requests are open | check here my masterlist

i made such a terrible decision now. i came back from work tired and the first thing i did when i got into the elevator of the building where i live was to grab my cell phone and open twitter, and to my surprise ferran's name was in the trending topics. he and i are already used to the not so affectionate messages directed at him, but this time the comments are about his girlfriend, me.

i got out of the elevator and walked towards the apartment in slow steps, my eyes never leaving my cell phone. completely horrified i would say, apparently people decided that it wouldn't be enough to send me a thousand mean messages on direct and decided it was time to fill another social network with hate.

ferran was lying on the couch watching television when i entered the apartment. he has no idea that i just read that people think the idea of us two living together after six months of relationship is terrible, even though we don't even live together. 

"mi amor, how was today?" he pulled me closer as soon as he sat on the couch and saw me approaching "normal." i took a deep breath as i threw my cell phone on the other side of the furniture. ferran's eyes passed over me and headed towards the cell phone. i sat on the floor, between his legs and placed my head on his knee. his hands promptly caressed my hair.

"normal? are you sure about that?" he smiled and i held myself back from starting to cry right there. i love ferran so much that it hurts, but it has been impossible to live with the comments from his fans. it has been impossible to open my Instagram, which even with private comments, is bombarded with messages from people insulting me, comparing me to girls i have never seen. "the problem is not at work."

ferran's gaze passed over me again and then to my cell phone, thrown on the other side of the couch. he threw his head back and snorted. "please don't be mad at me for saying that!" i held his hand. "but sometimes i wish you weren't someone famous just so i wouldn't have to read anything i read." the player took a deep breath and brought my hand close to his lips, where he placed a kiss. " i would never be mad at you, not for that or for anything." he commented "cariño, you are the love of my life and it hurts so much to see you like this." a tear ran down my cheek.

ferran sat on the floor, facing me. his fingers touched my face, trying to dry my tears. "i don't know what to do." i admitted, almost whispering. "you can be sure that i will make a statement on Instagram." i despaired inside "no, don't do that! they will hate me even more." i begged, seeing ferran's eyes grow as sad as mine. "but this can't go on like this." he stated, his hands still on my cheeks. "i'll deactivate my main instagram and all other social networks, that's the solution." torres bit his lower lip nervously. "it's not fair." his forehead touched mine for five seconds."but will kept them away from me."

ferran once again kissed my hands back "i'm sorry, cariño." i wiped my tears away " i just want you to know that you were the best thing that ever happened to me and there is no one like you, no one." i smiled as i heard ferran's words "i love you." he pressed his lips to mine "i love you too."