#anyone else watched both of these and know what i mean?

[killerelysia]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader!

The kid at the back is a 18+ visual novel Minors don't interact!

Words:10004

Genre: Yandere-(Self aware yandere won the poll)

Summary: You’ve become consumed by your obsession with Solivan Brugmansia. What started as innocent curiosity quickly spiraled into a fixation. He started it and you began to stalk him, learning every detail about his life. You felt a sick sense of satisfaction in making Sol’s world safer while growing increasingly delusional about your connection with him. Your love for him deepens as you fantasize about the future, convinced that you are the one who truly understands him—better than anyone else. Despite the line between reality and obsession blurring, you remain certain: Sol is yours, even if he doesn’t know it yet.. You're his and he's yours...

( Reader is a g.n!)-

Trigger Warning: This content contains themes of obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, mental instability, and delusional thinking, Drugging, Yandere?, Hopeless in love for attention Please read with caution.

Obsessive behavior: The reader becomes dangerously fixated on someone, bordering on stalking and delusion.

Manipulation: The reader engages in schemes to control or harm others, often through deception.

Mental illness: Delusional thinking, possible dissociation from reality, and unhealthy fixation on someone.

Violence: There are references to bullying, physical harm, and emotional manipulation.

Emotional abuse: Both in terms of how the protagonist manipulates others and how they might internalize toxic behaviors.

Stalking: The reader watches and follows the person they are obsessed with.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named The kid at the back!! Note, The relationship presented here between sol and reader is extremely toxic!! In no way, Just because I'm writing doesn't mean I support this kind of toxicity. Note, It's okay to like sol if you know the flaws and don't be a blind eye on them! Again, I don't support his actions etc! If you hate sol ignore this.

You always knew something was off within the labyrinth of your mind, an ache that whispered solitude in every corner. Perhaps it was loneliness, so profound that you yearned for someone to notice you—anything to shift the weight of your gaze from them to you. Some flicker of curiosity, a moment that lingered in the eyes of another.

Love? No, it wasn't something you believed you deserved. That thought had long been etched into your consciousness like a brand. But if, by some twist of fate, someone were to fall for you, you’d ensnare them with relentless support until they admitted it, an inexplicable, almost desperate logic born from the shadowed corners of your heart.

The end of the first semester brought the storm. It wasn’t just another rough day; it was the day you became a target for the school’s cruelest crew. Fists flew, words cut, and everything seemed to blend into one terrifying blur until Crowe stepped in, his eyes dark with determination.

"Thank goodness you're unharmed," he gasped, breathing heavily, each word a raw mix of relief and pain.

"You’re worried about me? Look at you, you're the one who’s hurt!" Your voice quivered, the disbelief clashing with gratitude.

He stood there, battle-worn and steady, blood trickling from a split lip, the bruises stark against his pale skin. Those who had cornered you were finally satisfied, leaving with the empty laughter of the bored and cruel. Crowe looked at you and shrugged, the glint in his eyes softening.

"As long as you’re safe, this doesn’t matter."

A warmth spread through your chest, alien and consuming. Someone cared. Someone defended you, unyielding in their resolve.

"What's your name, crazy prince?"

He managed a tired, almost mischievous smile. "Jericho. Jericho Ichabod. But just call me Crowe."

You exhaled a shaky breath. "Nice to meet you, Crowe. Call me Y/N."

That moment in the clinic, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights and the sterile scent of antiseptic, became the silent contract that bonded you two. You shared conversations, silent glances, and a strange understanding that made the world seem a little less harsh. For a while, you even harbored a crush, tender and tentative.

But then it hit you, as sudden as that fateful day. Crowe would have done the same for anyone—he was simply good. He was kind. The realization struck with an ache so deep it nearly broke you. Love, you learned, was an unrequited script in your story. But you respected him too much to let it taint what was there.

You laughed at the absurdity of your own heart, wondering how it had come to this: delusional, hopeful, but still grateful for the fleeting feeling of being someone’s concern.

There was always that gnawing thought, like a shadow, lurking at the back of your mind. You tried to shake it off, but it whispered relentlessly: There’s something wrong with the way you love. Maybe it was the way you sought attention, not in small doses but in that raw, hungry kind of way. The way you craved someone’s gaze not as a fleeting glance but as an unwavering fixation.

Too much, you thought, turning the phrase over and over like a bitter pill on your tongue. You wanted to be loved so desperately that it bordered on obsession, a gnawing, insatiable need. It wasn’t the soft, gentle kind of love you read about or saw in movies—it was something darker, almost suffocating. It made your chest tighten with both longing and dread.

You swallowed hard, a dry laugh slipping past your lips as the thought settled in: That’s just you, isn’t it? Creepy Y/N, always wanting more, always needing to be consumed by the flame of someone’s attention. A shiver traced down your spine, and you hugged your arms close, seeking comfort in the cold truth.

Now, you’ve perfected the act. You've slipped so far into delusion that reality feels like it’s cracking at the edges, and your mind might not make it back intact. But you only have one task: work relentlessly and pay off the debt, save the farm that’s been the lifeblood of your family.

Your obsession with love, you remind yourself, is nothing but a sickness—a distraction, unhealthy and unneeded. Focus, you think. Study. Keep your head down. Your father believes in you, doesn’t he? He trusts you with this responsibility. But would anyone love a mess like you anyway? The question loops bitterly in your mind, self-loathing taking hold before you even have the chance.

“Pathetic, isn’t it?” You tell yourself.

Something felt off for a few weeks now, like an odd tension building in the corners of your life. It was... something. It wasn’t anything you could pinpoint, but you couldn’t shake the feeling.

A pair of eyes, always there, always watching. At first, it was subtle—just a flicker of awareness when you turned a corner or sat down. But it was more than that. It was almost a presence, an invisible force that seemed to follow your every move. It wasn’t a simple glance. No, it was far more intense, almost stalking.

And yet, a strange part of you... liked it. It sent a thrill through you, a kind of adrenaline rush you couldn’t explain. You’d find yourself sitting in class, pretending to study, but the sensation of being watched made your heart race. It wasn’t discomfort—it was excitement, a twisted thrill, something you couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t just at University. No, it followed you home too. As you entered your room, you couldn’t help but feel the familiar weight of someone’s gaze on you, lingering in the dark corners, watching through the crack in your door. Your mind spun with a chaotic mix of fear and anticipation. Who was it? Why were they watching you?

There was no reason for it—at least, none you could rationalize. And yet, you found yourself... hoping to meet them. Wanting to meet them. A part of you longed to finally see the one who’d been following you in the shadows. Because somehow, you knew they were close. You knew they were waiting for the right moment to step out from the

The next morning, something was off. The usual routine of brushing off your paranoia seemed heavier, more tangible. Your bedroom window, which you always locked at night, was ajar. Not just unlocked—it had slid open slightly, exposing a crack wide enough to send shivers down your spine. You tried to push it closed, but the latch was broken, the mechanism jammed beyond repair. Had it always been like this?

You stared at it for a moment, the realization sinking in: someone could have come in. Someone might have been inside.

You tried to shake it off, but as the day went on, more pieces fell into place. A gnawing sense of violation crept up your spine when you went to grab your laundry and noticed... something was missing. Not just something—specific clothes. Shirts you’d worn recently, soft hoodies you curled up in, a pair of socks that didn’t match but had sentimental value. Gone.

Your chest tightened, panic flooding your veins, but it wasn’t just fear. A part of you—some sick, pathetic part—felt thrilled. Someone is watching me.

The thought settled in, heavy and dark, but the sharp edges of logic began to dull. Who would stalk you? You’re not even pretty. You weren’t special. Not worth the effort. And yet, here you were, clothes missing, your window breached, the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze following you through every step of your day.

“Normal people would think this isn’t fine,” you muttered aloud to yourself, trying to anchor yourself in rationality. This isn’t fine. This isn’t okay.

But the words fell flat. Somewhere in your mind, reality started to bend. Yes, it was wrong—stalking was wrong. It was invasive, dangerous, terrifying. And yet, the pounding in your chest wasn’t just fear. It was curiosity. It was longing.

The thought twisted in your mind, dark and intrusive: What kind of person would go this far just for me? They must care. They must want to know you in a way no one else ever had. What do they see when they watch? What do they think about?

You couldn’t help yourself. The idea of being desired so intensely that someone would break into your life, leave pieces of themselves hidden in the cracks of your existence—it sent a thrill through you. Wrong. So wrong. But intoxicating.

You paced your room that evening, staring at the broken latch on the window. The moonlight spilled across the floor in sharp lines, almost like it was pointing at the scene of the crime. A part of you wondered if they were watching now. Standing somewhere in the dark, just out of reach, their breath fogging up the glass.

Who even are you? Why me?

The questions spun in your mind, each one pulling you deeper into a strange obsession of your own. You should be scared. You should be scared. But instead, you were intrigued. Drawn in. You wanted to know this person, to see the face that lingered in the shadows.

You sat down at your desk, your reflection catching in the window’s glass. “This isn’t normal,” you said softly, your voice cracking slightly. “I shouldn’t feel like this. I shouldn’t want this.”

But you did. You couldn’t deny it any longer. The thought of someone dedicating their time, their energy, their every waking moment to you—it filled a hole you didn’t know existed. You craved that kind of devotion, twisted as it was.

You caught yourself smiling, a wry, self-deprecating grin. “God, I’m a mess,” you whispered. You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. Why do I feel this way?

The truth settled in, stark and undeniable: you’d never felt wanted before. Not like this. And now, even if it was wrong, even if it was dangerous, you couldn’t help but feel... excited. Like something in your life was finally happening, shaking you out of the monotony of existence.

You wanted to meet them. To see them. To understand the face behind the gaze that followed you everywhere you went. You told yourself it wasn’t love—not yet. But it was something. Something raw and electric, and you weren’t sure you could resist it.

Your fixation deepened, evolving from a vague thrill to deliberate action. The missing items didn’t alarm you anymore—they exhilarated you. At first, it was small things: a pen left behind on a desk or the bench outside class. Accidental, you told yourself. But you knew better. You weren’t careless. You’d started leaving things on purpose, wondering, hoping, knowing they would take them.

And they did.

The pen was gone when you returned, replaced by nothing but the faintest hint of satisfaction in your chest. You tested it again, leaving behind a notebook with a stray doodle inside—gone by the next day. It became a game. A secret dance between you and this unknown figure lurking in your shadow.

The knowledge that someone wanted these pieces of you made your heart race. Pathetic, you thought, but the warmth in your chest told a different story. You were addicted to the idea, to them. And soon, you weren’t just leaving things behind. You were creating a world where they could exist freely.

You didn’t fix the window. Why would you? You liked to imagine them climbing through it, their hands brushing against the sill, their breath in your room. Fixing it would shut them out, make their life harder. You couldn’t do that—not to them. You told yourself it wasn’t because you wanted them inside, because you were inviting them in. No, it was just… considerate. Thoughtful.

The laugh that bubbled up from your throat at the thought startled you. Soft, at first, then louder. “I’m losing it,” you murmured, but the giggles didn’t stop. They spilled out of you, an almost giddy sound as you turned the idea over and over in your head.

If they were coming in, why not make it easier for both of you? Why not see them, finally see them?

That night, you slipped a tiny camera into the corner of your room, hidden carefully in the folds of an old, dusty bookend. It was subtle, unassuming—nothing that would stand out to anyone who didn’t know it was there.

The thrill of it sent a shiver down your spine. Soon, you’d have answers. Soon, you’d see their face, their expressions, their intent. Ah, what would they look like? You’d imagined it before, of course—soft features, a piercing gaze, maybe even a shy smile. Someone who would look at you with the intensity that had kept you up at night, that had followed you for weeks.

You sat in the middle of your room that night, staring at the blinking light on the camera, anticipation coiling in your stomach. “You’ll come, won’t you?” you whispered to no one. The silence answered back, but you weren’t disheartened. You knew they’d come.

You could feel the laughter building up in your chest again, giddy and uncontrollable. The corners of your lips curled upward as you muttered, “I’m going to see you. Heheh… Soon.” The giggle turned into full-blown laughter, sharp and manic as it filled the room.

This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But God, it was intoxicating.

The thought of finally meeting them, of knowing them, sent your thoughts spiraling. Your hands trembled as you checked the camera one last time before heading to bed. It was all set. Everything was perfect. All that was left was to wait.

As you lay in bed, staring at the broken window, your mind swirled with fantasies of what was to come. Maybe they’d speak to you, confess their reasons for watching, for taking your things. Maybe they’d admit their feelings—feelings you were sure existed, even if you couldn’t yet see them.

And if they didn’t? Well, you’d find out soon enough.

“Come on,” you whispered to the empty room, your voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and desperation. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

And with that, you closed your eyes, letting the thrill of anticipation lull you into restless sleep.

You wake up, drowsy and groggy, blinking as you register the faint glow of your camera's recording light. Your heart skips—not from fear but from a jittery excitement. Did it catch something? Your hands move faster than your thoughts, fumbling to pull up the footage.

Last night had been a blur. You’d tried so hard to stay awake, but the meal you’d eaten earlier had lulled you into a deep, undisturbed sleep. As you scroll through the recording, skipping the mundane moments of you tossing and turning, the feed jumps to him.

The man.

His hair, black with vivid green streaks, is loose, falling in soft waves around his face. The mask he wears obscures most of his features, but his eyes—crimson red on the outer ring with fiery orange at their centers—gleam, focused solely on you. His attire is dark and layered: a black t-shirt over a green-striped long-sleeve, necklaces clinking softly with each of his movements. You even catch a glint of the metallic piercings decorating his ears, the upside-down cross swaying slightly as he leans closer.

And then, he speaks.

“Finally found you, pumpkin,” his voice is soft, smooth, almost reverent. You freeze, your pulse hammering against your ribs. Pumpkin?

“I’m sorry about the window,” he continues, running gloved fingers along the edge of your desk. “But it’s a good thing you didn’t fix it, still.” His tone is teasing, like he’s scolding and praising you all at once.

Your hands hover over the keyboard as he approaches your sleeping form on the screen. He kneels beside you, brushing back a strand of hair from your face with deliberate care. “Hyugo’s pills do work,” he murmurs to himself, chuckling faintly. “They make you sleep so peacefully. I can finally see you at night…”

Then, he leans down. His masked face inches closer to your cheek. You watch, your breath caught, as he plants the softest kiss on your skin.

That explains it. The faint pressure you’d felt in your sleep—the fleeting warmth. Your hand instinctively touches the spot on your cheek, even now, feeling its ghost.

Yet instead of terror, instead of the dread that should’ve consumed you, your heart flutters. A warmth blooms in your chest, spreading, suffocating. You press your clasped hands to your lips, trembling not in fear, but in something else entirely.

The stalker. The man. He…he likes you? Watches you every night, praises you even in your most unguarded moments? It’s wrong. It’s so obviously wrong. The rational part of your mind screams at you to call for help, to fix the window, to run far away.

But instead, you giggle.

The sound bubbles out of you uncontrollably, and you quickly clamp a hand over your mouth. You know this isn’t normal. You know something is terribly broken inside of you. But that knowledge doesn’t stop the twisted elation coursing through your veins.

He’s here. He sees you. He wants you.

You rewind the footage, watching it again. This time, you focus on his words, on the reverent way he speaks to your unconscious self. You note the details: the shine of his hair, the small buckle on his collar-like choker, the way his spider-bite piercings catch the moonlight when he tilts his head. He’s beautiful, like something plucked out of your dreams—or maybe your nightmares.

And now, he’s real.

Your hands shake as you stop the playback, staring blankly at the paused image of him by your bedside. The mask hides so much, but his eyes—they burn into you, even through the screen. You imagine what it would be like to see him without it, to hear his voice unfiltered, to—

You slap your cheeks, shaking your head. Focus, Y/N.

But the truth clings to you, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. You know he’s a stalker. You know this situation is dangerous. Yet the thought of fixing the window, of locking him out for good, feels unbearable. The idea of never seeing him again—of never hearing his voice, his praises—sends a pang of despair through you.

“Delusional,” you whisper to yourself, laughing softly. You curl into yourself, gripping the camera tightly. “I’m so delusional.”

But even as you say it, even as you acknowledge the depths of your spiraling thoughts, you can’t stop the lovesick smile creeping across your face.

You couldn’t shake the image of him—the stalker who had taken such a twisted interest in you. His voice, his praise, the way he watched you with that obsessive focus—it haunted your waking thoughts and danced through your dreams.

You needed to know more about him.

At first, you tried to find clues, anything that could lead you to his identity. You scoured your campus, paying close attention to anyone with black and green-streaked hair, those fiery orange-crimson eyes, or piercings that matched the ones you’d seen on the footage. But nothing. He was a ghost, blending seamlessly into the crowd or watching from somewhere beyond your grasp.

Still, you didn’t give up. Each day, you upped your game. You adjusted your routine to appear natural, but always left subtle traces behind—a scarf forgotten on a bench, a pen dropped intentionally in class. When you circled back, the items were always gone, confirming he was following you even during the day. Good, you thought with a lovesick smile.

Then there was the matter of the food.

You began preparing two batches of every meal—one real and one fake. The fake was the key to your plan. You seasoned it as usual but spiked it with just enough sleeping pills to incapacitate. You made sure to label it with your name, store it visibly in your fridge, and place a half-finished glass of juice beside it. You wanted it to look lived-in, convincing, a perfect trap should he decide to raid your kitchen while you left so he can do be fooled with the fake, food.

Your window remained unfixed, and you started leaving the back door slightly unlocked, just in case. You didn’t want to inconvenience him. He might notice and think you were trying to keep him out, and you couldn’t have that.

Meanwhile, your eyes darted constantly across the campus, scanning crowds for any hint of him. You noted everyone’s schedules, mapped out their movements, even engaged in small talk to see if anyone slipped or seemed overly interested in you. But you were careful, never letting on that you were actively looking for someone.

The high alert you maintained made your classmates think you were just unusually focused. Nobody questioned you, and you made sure to keep up appearances: smiling, laughing when appropriate, pretending you didn’t feel eyes on you during every step you took.

Your awareness sharpened to the point where you could feel even the subtlest shifts in your environment. A shadow lingering a little too long, footsteps trailing you just far enough to seem coincidental, and the faint brush of something in your periphery. It thrilled you.

That night, everything was in place. You prepared your fake dinner, complete with a side of drugged juice, and left it in the kitchen. The back door was left unlocked, the window slightly ajar. You dimmed the lights in your room, slipped into bed, and forced yourself to feign sleep.

Your heart raced as you waited. Will he come tonight?

Time passed, but you stayed still, fighting the urge to peek at the camera feed. If this worked, you would finally get what you wanted—a glimpse of him unguarded, vulnerable.

The plan worked almost too perfectly. The camera, discreetly tucked in a shadowy corner, confirmed what you already suspected—he was breaking in nightly. Sol fell for the fake food every time, drugging it to keep you in a deeper sleep. You couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of pride. He's trying so hard for me.

That night, you left everything in place as usual. The drugged fake food was strategically left out, the door slightly ajar, and your performance as a deep sleeper rehearsed to perfection. You even regulated your breathing to mimic the rise and fall of slumber, fully aware he was watching. The excitement bubbled under your skin, but you held it in check. Be still. He can’t suspect.

You felt him enter, the faintest whisper of air as the door creaked open. He moved quietly, though not silently. Every step he took was deliberate, careful not to wake you. You heard the faint sound of him checking the food, his soft hum of satisfaction as he saw it gone!. Good. He thinks I ate it.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he sat down beside you. Your pulse quickened, but you kept your breathing steady, your body relaxed. He leaned close, his breath warm against your neck.

“Pumpkin...” he whispered, the word barely audible, yet it sent a shiver down your spine. His voice was soft, tender, laced with a devotion that felt almost holy in its intensity. “You’re so perfect, you know that? Even when you sleep, you’re beautiful.”

You felt his hand brush against your hair, a soft caress like you were something precious, fragile. He moved closer, the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you. Then, he did something you didn’t expect—he lay down beside you. His arm draped over your waist, pulling you close as though you belonged there, as though this was his right.

He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like heaven,” he murmured, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ve waited so long for this. To hold you. To be close to you.”

Your heart clenched. Not in fear or disgust—no, it was something else entirely. He’s... cute? The thought struck you like a lightning bolt, absurd and yet undeniable. There was something endearing about the way he clung to you, his touches reverent, his voice filled with genuine emotion. This is wrong. He’s a stalker. He drugs my food. He breaks into my house... but... You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile.

He continued to whisper sweet nothings, his words blurring into a hazy mix of praise and adoration. “You’re everything to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His hand slid up to brush your hair back, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You’re mine, pumpkin. You’ll always be mine.”

A part of you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Mine? You were the one trapping him, leading him into this elaborate game of cat and mouse. And yet, his words made your heart flutter. What is wrong with me? you thought, though the answer was glaringly obvious. You were broken, disturbed, a sick and twisted mirror of his obsession.

But you were self-aware, at least. That counted for something, didn’t it? No. No, it doesn’t, you admitted silently, feeling a pang of guilt.

Still, you played your part perfectly. You didn’t stir as he shifted, wrapping his arms around you more tightly. You felt the weight of his head resting against yours, his breath warm and steady.

“You make me feel alive,” he whispered. “Even if you don’t know it, even if you’d hate me if you did... I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. But instead of fear, you felt a sick sense of satisfaction. He needs me.

You clasped your hands together under the blanket, holding them to your mouth as though in prayer. Your lips curved into a soft smile, hidden from his view. This was real. Someone wanted you, needed you, loved you so obsessively it consumed them.

It didn’t matter that it was wrong, that it was dangerous. You weren’t afraid. If anything, you felt secure, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. How ironic, you thought, giggling softly in your mind. The stalker makes me feel safe.

The hours dragged on, but he didn’t move. He stayed there, holding you as though he was afraid you’d vanish. When his breathing finally evened out, signaling he’d fallen asleep, you dared to open your eyes just a sliver.

You caught a glimpse of his face, partially obscured by the strands of his black-and-green hair. Even in sleep, there was a softness to his features, a vulnerability that made your chest ache.

He’s beautiful.

You closed your eyes again, biting your lip to stifle another giggle. You were a good actor, yes, but deep down, you knew the truth. You weren’t pretending for his sake. You were pretending for yours, to keep up the illusion that you still had control.

Because the reality was, you didn’t.

He had you just as much as you had him.

Each night, you lay in bed, pretending to be under the spell of the fake food laced with sleeping pills. Each night, he came to you, a shadow in the moonlight, and you reveled in his presence.

Your adoration for him grew like an uncontrollable fire, consuming every rational thought. The notebook you'd started was your secret shrine to him. Sketches filled the pages—his face, his hair cascading like a dark waterfall, his intense eyes, the way his lips curled into the faintest smile when he whispered sweet things to your sleeping form. You had to capture it all. Your pencil scratched furiously, your mind replaying his words, his touch, the way he’d caress your face and murmur promises as if you were his most precious treasure.

That night, you prepared everything as usual. The fake food sat on the counter, the door left just barely ajar, your blankets pulled up to mimic serene sleep. You curled into the mattress, feigning slumber, though your heart raced with anticipation.

The familiar sound of the door creaking open sent a thrill down your spine. His footsteps were soft but unmistakable, and you felt the mattress shift as he sat down beside you. Here we go.

“Pumpkin,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a tenderness that made your chest ache. His hand brushed your hair back from your face, and you fought the urge to smile. “Why don’t you ever turn back to look at me? I saw you at class today...”

Your breath hitched ever so slightly. What?! Your mind raced, but you maintained your facade. His voice was soft, almost pleading, and it tugged at something deep inside you.

He sighed, lying down beside you and draping an arm over your waist. His grip was possessive, but his touch was gentle, warm. “I wish you would,” he whispered. “I wish you’d look at me, smile at me, talk to me… God, I’d do anything to make you happy.”

Your heart thudded loudly in your chest. Is this real? His words, his touch, the way he held you—it all felt surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake from.

“If anyone bullies you…” he began, his voice low and serious. “They’re done for. I’ll make sure of it.”

Bullies? Your mind latched onto the word. Did he know about the snide remarks, the subtle glances from classmates? Wait… Your heart skipped a beat as realization dawned. Same school?!

You wanted to scream, laugh, cry—every emotion hit you at once. He was there, so close, within reach even during the day. The idea sent a jolt of giddy energy through you. He's been watching me even then.

He shifted, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you fully, and your heart practically stopped. Instead, he kissed the corner of your lips, lingering just enough to make your stomach churn with a dizzying mix of emotions.

“You’re so perfect,” he whispered. “Good night, pumpkin.”

You waited, your body tense, until you heard the faint click of the door closing behind him. Only then did you sit up, your breaths coming fast and shallow. Same school, your mind repeated, looping the thought like a mantra.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed, your fingers trembling as you opened your notebook. The sketch of him was already half-finished, but now you added the details you hadn’t dared before—the soft smile he wore when he looked at you, the way his hair framed his face like ink spilled on paper. You scribbled furiously, giggling to yourself as your mind replayed his words.

“He’s mine,” you whispered, clutching the notebook to your chest. The idea felt like a delicious secret, one only the two of you shared.

You fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. It was manic, unhinged, and you couldn’t stop. You covered your mouth with your hands, trying to stifle the sound, but it burst out anyway.

He’s at my school. He’s watching me. He wants me.

The thought spiraled in your mind, sending shivers of excitement down your spine. You hugged yourself, the ghost of his embrace still lingering on your skin.

“Ahahaha…” Your laughter echoed in the room, a twisted symphony of delight and madness. This is love, you thought, your smile widening. “He loves me. He loves me so much.”

Dark circles framed your eyes, your energy depleted from balancing your nightly "acting" with day-to-day university life. Every night, after he left, your mind raced with fantasies of him, spinning scenarios that left you restless, yet alive.

Crowe noticed, of course. He always did. His concern showed in the way he glanced at you during lectures, and eventually, he leaned over, whispering, “You look like death. Go to sleep in the next class. I’ll get the notes for you.”

You flashed him a polite smile, brushing off his concern. “I’m fine, really. I was going to head to the library anyway.”

Crowe’s friend Brittney was hard to miss. Tall, striking, and effortlessly commanding, she was the kind of person who drew attention whether she wanted to or not. Her gyaru style made her stand out even more: bold streaks of color in her hair, immaculate nails, and an outfit that balanced daring and chic. Crowe had asked you to at least try to get along with her, but the truth was, you didn’t see yourself fitting into their world. Too weird, too… you.

Still, you played your part well, smiling sweetly when Brittney asked for help organizing papers. “Of course! Thank you for asking,” you replied, your voice the picture of politeness.

As she walked away, Crowe chuckled. “She’s like that. Rough edges, but she means well.”

You tilted your head, smiling faintly. “Everyone hides something under their skin, Crowe.”

The library was a quieter battlefield until one of the bullies decided to play a cruel joke. A mean girl "accidentally" knocked over a shelf Brittney had been working on. Papers and books scattered everywhere, and you could see Brittney’s jaw tighten, her polished exterior cracking.

“F***ing bitch!” Brittney snarled, tackling the girl with surprising ferocity.

It escalated quickly. Books flew, chairs screeched, and the air buzzed with tension. You tried to step in, hands raised in a gesture of peace, but chaos had already broken loose. When one of the girls attempted to strike Brittney from behind, you didn’t hesitate—you shoved her hard, pushing her back into a table.

Pain shot through your wrist as you deflected her, and you realized she’d managed to scratch you with something sharp. Blood welled up, staining your sleeve, but adrenaline drowned out the pain. Brittney’s punches found their target while you held the attacker off.

The fight fizzled when a few bystanders yelled for order, and the bullies slinked away under the librarian’s furious glare. Brittney brushed herself off, her hair askew but her fiery defiance intact. Jess, another of Brittney’s friends, rushed to her side, fretting quietly as she checked her for injuries.

You stood off to the side, cradling your wrist. Jess glanced at you briefly, hesitant, before returning her focus to Brittney. You caught the faintest flicker of concern in her expression. She does care, you thought, but you let it go.

Crowe appeared moments later, taking in the scene with wide eyes. “What the hell happened? You’re hurt—let me take you to the nurse.”

You shook your head, offering him a tired smile. “I’m fine. I can go on my own.”

Crowe didn’t look convinced, but you turned away before he could argue, clutching your injured wrist as you made your way out. It’s nothing, you told yourself. Just another day in your fractured reality, another crack in the mask you wore so well.

The nurse’s office was a quiet reprieve from the chaos of the library. You slipped into the restroom nearby first, taking a moment to breathe and inspect your injured wrist under the fluorescent lights. The skin was raw and red, the gash deeper than you initially thought, but the pain was dulled by the adrenaline still coursing through you. You splashed water on your face, smoothing your features back into a neutral mask before heading into the nurse's domain.

The hallway seemed endless as you walked, with lingering eyes on you from passing students. Whispers buzzed faintly, but no one dared approach. Good, you thought. You preferred it that way. Once inside, the nurse noticed your bruised state immediately.

“Another bully victim?” she sighed, her tone exasperated but kind. “This school, honestly... I need to file a formal complaint with the principal.” She gestured for you to sit, but you stayed standing, pretending to be fascinated by the various medical supplies lined up on the counter. You didn’t want to stay still. It made you too vulnerable.

As you idly picked at a box of bandages, a voice sliced through the quiet atmosphere.

“Did you have to punch that girl’s boyfriend that hard, Sunny?”

“Yes,” came a familiar, firm reply. “They hurt them. So I did.”

Your heart stopped. That voice—it was him. The one who watched, who whispered. The voice that curled around your mind every night like smoke.

Without thinking, you stumbled backward, finding a corner to hide behind as your gaze sought him out. And there he was.

There was something almost surreal about seeing him in the light of day, his presence no longer confined to the shadowy cocoon of your nights. "Sunny," as his companion called him—was perched on the nurse’s bed, his plum hair catching the light in a way that made it seem alive, streaked with vibrant green like ivy climbing through ruins. His heterochromatic eyes burned like embers: orange at their core, ringed with a deep crimson that seemed to pulse with restrained intensity. They were a contradiction, much like him—fiery yet haunting, sharp yet soft.

His features were angular, carved with precision, yet softened by the slight pout of his lips and the faint curve of his nose. He radiated a raw, magnetic energy that felt both predatory and tender, like the kind of beauty that ruins you, and yet you crave it. The piercings that adorned his ears gleamed faintly, tiny markers of rebellion etched into his skin. The hoops on his lower lip caught the light every time he spoke, adding a glint of silver to the vibrant palette of his face.

His striped shirt clung to him, black and green lines stretching across his lean frame. The black t-shirt layered beneath was slightly oversized, softening the edge of his appearance, while his necklace dangled lightly with each of his movements—a two-pronged key, dangling with an air of mystery. His jewelry matched his aesthetic perfectly: the buckled choker hugging his throat, the key necklace swaying with each breath, the metal glinting like secrets waiting to be uncovered.

Even seated, he had a presence that demanded attention, though he seemed to wield it effortlessly, unaware of the effect he had on the room.

The blue-haired boy standing next to him was smaller in stature, and despite his exasperated expression, there was a gentle authority in the way he interacted with Sol.

“Isn’t it time to go, Sunny?” he asked, clearly used to Sunny's antics.

“Nope,” Sunny replied lazily, crossing his arms. “Not until Y/N gets bandaged.”

Your breath hitched. Your name falling from his lips sent a jolt through your chest, like an electric wire connecting directly to your heartbeat. You pressed further into the corner, praying they wouldn’t notice you, but you couldn’t stop watching.

The blue-haired boy—Hyugo, as Sol addressed him—sighed, dragging Sunny off the bed with surprising strength despite their size difference. “Sunny,” he chided, like a parent scolding their child. Sol resisted briefly, pouting, before reluctantly letting himself be led away. His footsteps echoed faintly as they left, and you waited until you were sure the coast was clear before emerging from your hiding spot.

You managed to snap a few discreet photos of Sol. You told yourself it was just for memory’s sake, but when you looked at them again, your stomach fluttered.

Sol, with his chaos and beauty, was so striking, so utterly unique. And he was yours to admire, even if only from a distance.

The nurse’s hurried return interrupted your spiraling thoughts. Her voice pulled you back to reality as she gestured for you to sit on the bed she had prepared. "And what about the other two students?" she asked, glancing toward the hallway.

“They left,” you muttered, your voice neutral as you fought to keep your heart rate under control. The nurse bustled around, grabbing supplies while she filled the silence with small talk.

“They’re such interesting boys,” she said, her voice warm with familiarity. “Hyugo is such a helpful young man. Always looking out for that friend of his. You know, despite his height, Sol is surprisingly sweet—like a friendly giant."

Your hands tightened around the edge of the bed, nails pressing into the vinyl. Hyugo. That was the blue-haired boy’s name. The nurse’s description of him as Sol’s protector matched perfectly with what you had seen. You forced out a soft giggle, though it escaped as a hiccup, drawing the nurse’s attention. “Are you alright?” she asked.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied quickly, masking your excitement. “It’s just… they seem close. It’s kind of nice.”

“Oh, they are,” she continued, dabbing antiseptic on your wound. “Hyugo’s always been like that. And Solivan…” She paused, as though thinking of the right words. “He’s a bit of a sad case, really. He’s been through a lot, poor thing. But he’s strong—so much stronger than he realizes.”

Your breath hitched. Solivan. Your world tilted as the name settled in your chest like a brand. Solivan Brugmansia. It echoed in your head, sweet and perfect, like a melody only you were meant to hear.

The nurse’s voice faded into a murmur as she continued her work, oblivious to the storm brewing within you. Your heart raced, your mind spinning as you turned the name over and over in your head. When she finished bandaging your hand, you thanked her in a daze and stumbled out of the office.

The hallway was empty, but you didn’t care. You ducked into the restroom, slamming the door shut behind you. The sterile walls seemed to close in as your emotions surged. A giggle bubbled up, spilling out in shaky bursts before escalating into full-blown laughter.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, your voice reverent, almost trembling. You repeated it, louder this time, your reflection in the mirror smiling back at you. “Solivan Brugmansia. Solivan. Brugmansia. Sol. Solivan.”

The name felt like magic, a key unlocking something wild and unhinged within you. You chanted it like a prayer, each repetition filling you with a twisted joy. “Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia, Solivan Brugmansia—”

Your giggles turned to shrill laughter, a sound that echoed eerily in the small restroom. You clutched the sink for support, your bandaged hand trembling as your thoughts spiraled further. I know his name. I know his name! The realization was intoxicating, overwhelming, consuming every rational thought you had left.

“He’s perfect,” you whispered to yourself, tears of manic delight prickling at your eyes. “I’ll meet him. I’ll be normal. I’ll be normal. I’ll—”

A sudden knock on the door shattered your reverie, the sound loud and jarring against your fragile composure.

“Could you keep it down in there?” a muffled voice called, annoyance dripping from the tone.

Your laughter cut off abruptly, replaced by a cold, seething anger. Slowly, you turned toward the door, your reflection in the mirror now a twisted, distorted version of yourself.

They dared to interrupt.

You opened the door slowly, your movements deliberate, controlled. The person on the other side—a student, their face vaguely familiar—took a step back, their irritation fading into nervousness as they met your gaze.

“Is there a problem?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous. The edges of your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, and your tilted head made you look like a predator sizing up its prey.

“N-No, just…” they stammered, their confidence crumbling under your cold stare. “You were, um, being kind of loud—”

Before they could finish, you took a single step forward, and they flinched. The hallway seemed darker now, your presence casting a shadow that felt far too large for one person.

“I’ll keep it down,” you said softly, the sweetness in your tone laced with venom. Then, leaning in just enough for them to catch the glint of something unhinged in your eyes, you whispered, “But you should watch where you stick your nose next time.”

They stumbled back, their mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, before muttering a hurried apology and retreating down the hall.

The sound of their footsteps faded, you turned back into the restroom, closing the door with a quiet click. Your reflection in the mirror greeted you, your smile widening as you touched your lips, imagining them shaping his name again.

“Solivan Brugmansia,” you whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

The encounter had done nothing to dim your obsession. If anything, it only fed it. Soon, you thought, your heart pounding with anticipation.

You started stalking Sol and Hyugo like clockwork. Every day on campus, you trailed after them, your movements as careful as a predator circling its prey. They were always together—Hyugo acting like a makeshift guardian while Sol seemed lost in his own world. Their favorite spot quickly became apparent: the rooftop. It wasn’t technically allowed for students to hang out there, but that didn’t stop them. Sol seemed to loathe the cafeteria, his disdain for its noise and chaos written all over his face whenever someone suggested it.

You made it a habit to reach the rooftop before them, ensuring you’d have the perfect vantage point to watch them. Not creepy at all, you thought with a twisted grin. There was something ethereal about Solivan under the open sky, the sunlight catching on the green streaks in his hair and making his mismatched eyes gleam like fire and blood. He’s so pretty, you sighed internally. Every movement, every glance felt deliberate and perfect, like he was crafted by your own imagination.

Hyugo, the blue-haired “parent” of the duo, was Sol’s grounding force. You watched as he subtly steered Sol’s chaotic thoughts back to reality, his calm voice carrying through the breeze. Sometimes, their conversations drifted your way. One particular exchange made your heart race.

“Have you been taking your sleeping pills, Sol?” Hyugo asked, his tone laced with concern.

Sol nodded, but you knew better. Oh, sweetheart, you’re feeding them to me instead, you thought, biting back a giggle. The very idea thrilled you. He’s lying to his best friend for me—just like I’d lie for him. We’re so alike, Sol. Matchy-matchy. You giggled softly to yourself, clutching your bag as though it held every secret you’d gathered about him.

The rooftop had become your sacred ground. Each day, you made sure to get there first, blending into the background as best you could while Sol and Hyugo came to unwind. It was their haven, where Sol could escape the cafeteria—his disdain for the crowded, noisy space evident in every eye roll and sharp comment he made about it.

You hid yourself carefully, peering around corners or crouching behind vents as the duo talked. It wasn’t hard to piece together their dynamic: Hyugo, the loud and teasing one, always nudging Sol toward some semblance of normalcy, and Sol, the quiet, brooding artist, who seemed eternally annoyed yet tethered to his friend’s chaotic energy.

“Sunny boy, I swear, one day you’re going to crack from all this stalking,” Hyugo teased, leaning against the edge of the rooftop railing. His blue hair caught the sunlight, but your eyes were locked on Sol.

“I’m not stalking anyone,” Sol muttered, his voice as flat and disinterested as ever. He didn’t look up from his sketchbook, where his pencil moved in quick, fluid strokes.

“Uh-huh. And I’m the Pope. Come on, Sunny, you’re practically vibrating whenever Y/N’s around. It’s cute, actually.”

Sol shot him a glare so sharp it could cut glass. “I don’t vibrate.”

“Sure, sure,” Hyugo said with a grin, leaning closer to peek at the sketchbook. “Hey, is that—oh my God, are you drawing them again? Sunny, you’re obsessed!”

“Shut up, Hyugo,” Sol snapped, snapping the book shut with a satisfying thud. A faint flush dusted his cheeks, and you almost swooned at the sight.

Through your relentless watching, you pieced together more and more about Sol’s world. He liked plushies—tiny glimpses of them in his bag or on his desk betrayed a softness he tried to hide. Horses fascinated him, though you’d never seen him near one. The ocean, however, was an object of pure hatred. Even the thought of it seemed to unsettle him. And his neck—oh, how he hated when people noticed it. You didn’t know why, but the way he’d pull his collar up or hide behind his scarf whenever someone’s gaze lingered too long sent shivers of fascination down your spine.

Crowe, though? Sol hated Crowe. Why? You weren’t sure. Did Sol think you liked Crowe? That thought made you laugh—a loud, manic sound that echoed in your mind. No, silly Sol. Crowe’s just a friend. You’re the only one who matters. You giggled to yourself, making a mental note to friendzone Crowe at the next opportunity. No one has to die, right?

Your stalking wasn’t all selfish indulgence, though. You made it your mission to protect Sol from his bullies in secret. Every time someone dared to mess with him, you found ways to make their lives miserable. Pranks, carefully crafted rumors, even well-placed traps—it was your way of showing love, even if he’d never know it was you.

You couldn't stop yourself, could you? Each time your mind drifted back to Sol, it felt like you were drowning in an ocean of thoughts you couldn’t escape. There was no rational explanation for it, just a need, a yearning to see him, to be close to him. You didn’t know why you liked Sol, and the more you thought about it, the more you felt like something inside you was broken. Messy. Rotten. Ugly. Stupid. The words echoed in your mind like a relentless drumbeat, each one sinking deeper into your consciousness.

But you couldn’t stop. Why couldn’t you stop?

Maybe you were just messed up—maybe this was just who you were now. The idea of obsession wasn’t new to you, but this? This feeling for Sol was different. You were feeding into his own obsession, subtly manipulating his thoughts and actions, just as he unknowingly tugged on your every string. I’m a fucking mess, you thought, crumpling the pages of your journal before tossing it aside. I’m messed up for liking him. I shouldn’t be doing this. Why do I care so much?

Yet, as you thought about it, a darker voice inside your head whispered: But you don’t care. You just want him. You want to keep him. Don’t you?

You looked at your reflection in the glass, disgust rising up in your throat. The self-loathing was overwhelming. You wanted to leave. Run away. Escape from this sick obsession gnawing at you, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. What would I even do without him? you thought, the sick realization that he was the only thing that made sense in your otherwise chaotic world.

And then your gaze shifted. Your scrapbook—your treasure trove of Sol. You’d been filling it for weeks, months, maybe. Pictures of him, scribbled notes, little drawings of his face, and the countless things you learned about him. Things you knew he would never notice, things that were yours and yours alone. You smiled, a dark, twisted grin spreading across your face as you flipped through the pages, relishing in the thought that no one else had this.

You reached for your favorite pen, the one that always felt so good in your hand, and began writing. The words flowed out like a twisted confession, something that felt raw and vulnerable, but at the same time, empowering. You wrote:

O, thou shadowed soul whose crimson eyes do stare, Through twilight’s veil, seeking me with ceaseless care. How I know thy step, thy breath, thy tender scheme, The hunter’s heart, woven deep within this dream.

I, Annabel, with whispers darkly sweet, Stand here entranced, ready for the cruel heat, Of trial and gaze, a feverish, whispered jest, To test thy fervor, O stalker, my unrest.

Art thou true, or doth the mask crack wide, When confronted with love that seeks to chide? O Sol, thou art regal, a lost marquis, A figure grander than court's rich pleas.

Why dost thou flinch at this jeweled yoke, Collared like Marie Antoinette, when spoke Of necks adorned in fate’s decree, Tell me, pretty man, dost thou flee or plea?

Yet, I love thee, this strange, begotten chase, A danse macabre within thy haunted embrace. O, prove thyself, meet the midnight’s dare, For ‘tis love I hold, should thy soul lay bare.

His Annabel...

You laughed quietly to yourself, the sound almost hollow. Oh god, this is so cringy, you thought. The poetry, the confession—it was ridiculous. But it’s what I feel, isn't it?

You paused, looking at the mess of words you had written, and smiled. It’s okay. I don’t care. You couldn’t help but smile. I’m not normal. I’m not like everyone else. But Sol... Sol gets it, doesn’t he?

The laugh bubbled up again, darker this time, a little more manic. You hugged the scrapbook to your chest, clutching it tightly as though it were a lifeline. The obsession that had once felt foreign was now becoming a part of you, weaving itself into your identity like the very air you breathed.

You were hopeless. But, in a twisted way, you were happy. Because in this world of chaos, Sol was your constant. The only one who could save you.

And so you wrote more. “Fix me, Sol. Fix me, and I’ll love you forever.”

You looked at the words..

Everything was perfect until!

THUD!

Geo had always been a bit of a mystery to everyone, even to those who were close to Crowe. His tall, imposing presence, the sharp eyes that seemed to look straight through you, and his effortless grace with a weapon made him someone no one dared cross. He wasn't known for being sociable or for revealing much about himself, and despite his wealth, people respected his silence more than they feared his power.

But now, you had been caught.

The way he stood in front of you, arms crossed with that knowing, intimidating gaze locked on you—shit. You hadn't expected anyone to figure it out. You thought you'd covered your tracks well enough, staying in the shadows, sneaking around just before the rooftop sessions, watching Sol and Hyugo like an obsessive, lovesick ghost. But now, Geo—Geo—was standing in front of you, calling you out.

You forced a smile, a casual, almost innocent grin. "Why do you care?" You giggled, trying to make light of the situation, but the tremor in your voice betrayed you. The amusement didn't reach your eyes. He knows, doesn't he?

Geo raised an eyebrow, his aquamarine eyes never leaving yours, sharp and assessing. His posture was relaxed, but the air around him crackled with the intensity of someone who didn’t need to do much to make people feel uncomfortable. "Stalking people isn't exactly a good look," he said, his voice low and steady. "Especially not those close to Crowe." His eyes flickered briefly to your hands, as if he knew you were clutching something—your scrapbook, maybe, the evidence of your obsession. Shit.

You scoffed, trying to push down the anxiety creeping up your spine. "Oh, come on. I’m just… observing." You laughed, as though it were a joke, hoping that Geo would take it lightly. But you knew he wouldn’t. Geo wasn’t someone who took anything lightly.

"You think I'm stupid?" Geo's tone hardened, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. He stepped forward, the movement smooth and deliberate, closing the distance between you. "I know you’re not just observing. You’re obsessing, and you’re messing with them. Do you think I don't notice? Do you think you’re the only one who sees things?" His words were like daggers, each one hitting harder than the last.

The room felt smaller now, as if the walls were closing in on you. Your heart raced, a mix of fear and excitement. He was onto you. But did he know the extent of it? Did he know you weren’t just watching from afar? Did he understand how deep this fixation went?

Geo's expression shifted, growing more serious. "You’re playing a dangerous game, you know." He stepped even closer, his face inches from yours. "And I don’t like people who play games with people I care about. So, if you have something on them… or if you think you can manipulate them into something they don't want… I’d suggest you think twice."

You swallowed hard, your mind spinning. The image of Sol, of Hyugo, both so wrapped up in their own worlds, their quiet, innocent lives. You didn't want to hurt them, not really. But the obsession—the way Sol's face haunted your thoughts, how he was everything you wanted and more—it made your decisions blur. It made you do things you didn’t even fully understand.

Geo seemed to sense the shift in your demeanor. "Look," he said, a trace of pity in his voice now, "I don’t want to make things difficult. I just want to make sure you understand the consequences of your actions." His eyes bored into yours, almost reading your thoughts. "Whatever it is you think you're doing with them… just stop. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt."

The way he looked at you now, with a strange mix of concern and cold detachment, made you feel small, exposed. You weren’t used to this. You weren’t used to being vulnerable. He knows. He knows everything.

You bit your lip, trying to keep your composure. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you whispered, but it was clear Geo didn’t believe you.

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a little. "You’re lucky I don’t want to make this worse. Just… stay away from them, okay?" His voice softened just a fraction. "You don’t want to mess with someone like Sol. And you definitely don’t want to get on Hyugo’s bad side. Trust me and mess with him, you will see me."

Geo took a step back, eyes still on you, as if waiting for your response. You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything you could say. He’s right, isn’t he?

Geo turned and walked away, you felt your chest tighten.

You watch Geo from a distance, your heart pounding with excitement and a dash of madness. It wasn’t enough to just observe them anymore. No, you needed more.

With a quick step, you approach Geo, your grin growing wider. His dark eyes flicker with annoyance, and he halts, looking over at you as if you're a pest he wishes would just disappear. The tension is thick, and you're only getting more thrilled by it. You call out his full name, “Subaru Oogami,” knowing the effect it would have.

He stops. His expression hardens, and you can almost feel the wave of annoyance radiating off him. “What do you want?” he spits, his voice low, almost like a growl. It’s a response you expected. A warning, a challenge. You savor it.

“Isn’t Hyugo Sugimoto your older brother?” you ask, a playful note lacing your voice. The words are casual, but your eyes glint with mischief. His gaze sharpens even more. You can see the tension rising in his posture.

You giggle, unable to hide the amusement. "Such a bad boy, Subaru, ignoring your own brother like that. It’s so embarrassing, though... all that emo energy for what?" The words spill out of you in a rush, the laughter bubbling up uncontrollably. You know it’s getting under his skin. You can tell by the tightening of his jaw, the slight twitch of his hands.

You step closer, your eyes glinting with something dangerous, something predatory. “You know, I’ve gotten a lot of info from watching you and your brother... but don’t worry. I’m not interested in Hyugo,” you say, voice low and smooth, almost a whisper. You lean in just a bit, the space between you two narrowing. “But... I am interested in Sol.”

His glare feels like it could slice through steel, but you hold his stare, smiling evilly. His eyes narrow into daggers, but you don't flinch. No one gets in your way. Not anymore.

“Don’t disturb me, and I won’t be after your ass, Subaru,” you say, your voice sweet but laced with the cold bite of a threat.

He looks at you, eyes flashing with fury. There’s a moment of silence where he contemplates your words, the weight of your threat hanging between you two. He looks ready to strike, to put you in your place, but he simply lets out a harsh “tch” and shakes his head.

“You keep quiet, stay out of trouble with me or Hyugo, and we won’t have a problem,” he says, his voice sharp, his glare never leaving you.

You tilt your head, a sly smile still tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Promises,” you murmur, watching as he turns, clearly done with the conversation. You let out a quiet laugh as you watch him walk away, knowing that you’ve made your point.

Geo, Subaru Oogami—whatever you call him—wouldn’t be such a threat anymore.

He left, looking that same death glare at you smiled like a angel who did nothing wrong!

Part 1 over! Pls tell me if I should make part 2...

[the-flaneur]

the enemy of my friend is my enemy, but he's also his own worst enemy? so he's my friend? (nr6) | pt3

pairing: nico rosberg x hamilton!reader [smau]

summary: in an attempt to plan a surprise birthday party for your brother's 39th birthday, you enlist the help of his ex-??? to get into his apartment

warnings: none (i think)

[prev] [masterlist] [requests]

-> twitter

-> messages

-> instagram

lewishamilton

liked by fencer, charles_leclerc, roscoelovescoco and others

lewishamilton Excited to be back home for New Year's. Here's to an amazing 2024!

view all comments

user1 LOOKING GOOD SIRRRRRR 😩😩😩

user2 i usually hate manspreading, but the way this man does it is sooooooo sexy user3 literalllyyyyy it's the see through shirt that does it for me though user4 can't wait to see him without his braids, they're the only thing that get me through the winter break 😭😭😭

user5 UGH HOW DOES MONACO HAVE SUCH GOOD WEATHER IN LIKE THE MIDDLE OF WINTER, BRO'S IN A SHORT SLEEVE SHIRT

fencer can't wait to see you brother 💪

user6 yooooo birthday bash hints??? user7 i mean his birthday is pretty soon....maybe we'll see another bro pic hahahaha

user8 happy new years eve from london ❤️

charles_leclerc when are you going to finally invite me out on a yacht trip ☹️

user9 LOL CHARLES ARENT U LITERALLY MONEGASQUE AND RICH - GET UR OWN YACHT 🤣🤣🤣 user10 bro just wants to hang out with the goat

user11 ya'll anyone else catch on y/n's absent comment??? girlie is usually on top with responding to her brother's posts...

user12 yk she doesn't always have to respond right, like she could just be with lewis, or you know...being her own person user13 lmfaooo so real @/user12 user14 but like she's not even given it a like? i wonder where she is... LIKED BY lewishamilton

user15 hopefully mercedes have their car back on track this year, we NEED to see this man win a race 🙌🙌🙌

user16 CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT INSTA POST!!! BIRTHDAY TIMEEEEEE

f1gossipofficial

liked by user17, user18, user19 and others

f1gossipofficial well well well it looks like an old romance may have been rekindled just before new years!

y/n hamilton and nico rosberg have been seen arguing in y/n's ferrari daytona sp3 in monaco, before engaging in a heated makeout session. are we going to see our first new (honorary) wag of 2024?

view all comments

user20 OH MY FUCKING GODDDDD 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

user20 WE ARE SO BACK GUYS

user21 HOLY SHIT MOTHER AND FATHER ARE BACK TOGETHER TRULY MY ROMAN EMPIRE

user22 someone gotta call the ambulance for lewis, he's about to get the biggest heart attack of his life

user23 cant believe their relationship has literally been strangers -> friends -> secret lovers -> enemies -> friends? -> lovers????

user24 that's why they're ICONS 💪💪💪 user25 istg if they go back to being enemies after all this crapshow they've put us through... user26 i think max would rather just shove them in a hotlap with him around spa and then lock them together in a room then face them being enemies again

user27 YA'LL ARE MISSING THE POINT AGAIN, THEY'VE PROBABLY BEEN TOGETHER SINCE BEFORE THE END OF THE YEAR

user28 RIGHTTTT 🤨 like are people seriously think they havent contacted each other before this lol user29 nah i think this is legit their first interaction in like eight years - welp didn't take them that long to get BACK together

user30 do you guys need a third??? asking for a friend

user31 bros are not subtle at all 😭 making out in such a recognisable car and city where everyone knows who tf they are 😭😭😭

user32 i forgot how good they look together 😍

user33 watch their kids be pretty as f too

user34 well looks like both hamiltons like rosberg, wonder if thats definitely not at all caused any arguments 😒

user35 well you defs werent around for the great hamilton twitter discourse of 2014... user36 oh yeah forgot about that user37 🤨 someone wanna tell me what that is?

user38 CANT WAIT FOR THEM TO ACTUALLY FINALLY POST EACH OTHER AFTER EIGHT YEARS

user39 i missed the anniversary posts so bad 😍 user40 their cute little dates healed something in me

-> messages

permanent f1 taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@charlesgirl16 @tallrock35 @sweate-r-weathe-r @unlikelystay @alex-wotton

@daisyfreecs @euphorihan @louloucs @oikarma @dying-inside-but-its-classy

@fadingcloudballoon @princessminjikwon

enemy or friend (this) series taglist (comment or msg me to join)

@menagerofmischief @mxdi0 @mixedstyles @tinystudentblaze-stuff

@a-beaverhausen @easy4 @formulaal @taygrls @woozarts

@im-an-op81-fan @vampsarereal @amz824 @taylorsvogue13

© the-flanuer || do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platform.

[willowsnook]

Let me in

Hi! Love your idea for a prompt list. Can I order: A turkey swiss on wheat bread, maybe mike’s way if you feel like it’s fitting for the sandwich?

Joe burrow x bsf!reader

Please don’t leave

—-----------------------------------------

Fall in Cincinnati was something that you loved. The trees changed colors, you could start leaving your windows open, and, of course, Bengals football. Now, you’d never claim that you were a die-hard fan, that was still reserved for your beloved Green Bay Packers, but after 5 years in the city, they were a solid 2nd favorite. Plus, being good friends with the starting quarterback meant you had to root for them. 

You met Joe at a charity event a year after you moved to Ohio. Working for a Cincinnati-specific lifestyle magazine, your recommendations and reviews had made you quite well known in the city. Your strategy was always finding small, hidden gem places, usually family-owned, to review and elevate. This fulfilled your need to make a difference and also get paid to eat food. 

While your job was so public and in the spotlight, you were pretty introverted, which surprised a lot of people. You didn’t necessarily enjoy being the center of attention, focusing more on making those around you shine. This meant that while you were appreciative of being recognized by the community, you hated going to big events; you’d much rather just be writing about them. 

So when the introverted star of Cincinnati joined you in the shadows of an event, the two of you hit it off. Knowing who you were, his PR team had noticed and pitched a content series involving Joe. You spent a whole day with him, going to places he recommended and giving instant reviews. Initially, you were worried about it being awkward because you didn’t know him well, but you both had a blast. Joe was easy to talk to, and he liked that you treated him like anyone else. 

After that, he’d invited you to hang out with his friends several times, and Ja’marr really liked you, insisting that you be added to the friend group. Since then, you’d spent the last couple of years being forced to go to every home Bengals game, but you could also easily force one of them to help you with some kind of content for work. A mutually beneficial friendship you thought. 

Midway through the week, you were back at your apartment, taking pictures of some cookies someone sent you to be considered for an upcoming article you were writing. You snapped the perfect picture just as your phone rang, and you looked over to see it was Joe calling. 

“What’s up?” You said, putting the phone on speaker. 

“I’m bored. Can I come hang?” He asked. 

“Yeah, I’m doing some work, but I’ll be done soon.”

“Okay, I’m on my way.” 

You were used to Joe calling you randomly to hang out, especially when the season was going poorly. One thing you learned in your years of friendship with him was that he didn’t like to be alone, mostly so he didn’t spiral thinking about everything. You were happy to be a friend he could lean on. 

15 minutes later, you heard your front door open and smiled as Joe wandered into the kitchen. He gave you a small squeeze from behind as you leaned over your laptop. 

“Are you doing anything with these?” He asked, and you looked over at the cookies. 

“No, I just got done. Have at it,” you replied, amused as he shoveled one into his mouth. 

“These are pretty good,” he said, swallowing. “But I’ve had better.”

“Hmm,” you thought. “What don’t you like about them?”

“Too grainy,” he said, and you agreed, unable to think of what you were feeling. 

“That’s a good point; I’m using that,” you said, typing it down in your notes. 

“Watch out, I’m going to steal your job,” he joked, and you smirked. 

“Does that mean I get yours?”

“You’d probably do a better job than me right now,” he said, and you frowned, shutting your laptop. 

“You are still a superstar, even when you lose,” you told him earnestly, getting a small smile from him. 

“I think I need you with a headset on to tell me that during the games,” he said, and you laughed. 

“Yeah yeah,” you replied, blushing. “Want to take a walk or something? I need to get out of the house.” 

“Yeah, let’s go.”

The two of you walked down the street and ventured towards the water, chatting about upcoming events and his family coming to visit. You started to get chilly and held your arms briefly before Joe noticed. He pulled his hoodie off with one hand and handed it to you, not even stopping what he was saying. You pulled it on, inhaled the lingering cologne, and sighed. 

“Will you come to dinner with us tomorrow night?” he asked, jolting you back to reality.

“With your parents?” you asked, and he nodded. “Would that not be a little weird?”

“Why would it be weird?” 

“I don't know. I just wouldn’t want them to think we were dating or anything,” you said, confused. Joe frowned at that, but you didn’t have time to analyze it. 

“Ja’marr is coming too,” he said. “You are both my best friends, so I’d like you to meet them.” 

“Okay, if it’s important to you,” you agreed, giving in. Dinner with Joe’s parents. Huh. Sometimes you really didn’t understand why he chose you as a best friend when many people were fighting over it. If only people knew how clingy Mr. Cool was. 

—---------------------------------------------------

Ja’Marr picked you up from your place the next night and the two of you headed to dinner. 

“You look nice,” he commented, and you smiled. You and Ja’Marr had a flirty relationship, but nothing had ever come of it. One time, when you were both very drunk in the offseason, you had made out but it didn’t last long with him backing out, saying that Joe was going to kill him. You had just assumed that Joe didn’t want anyone in the friend group dating in case it got messy, which was understandable. With Ja’marr, you were mostly just attracted to him vs. wanting something more. 

“I still feel weird about this whole thing,” you admitted to him and he gave you a lazy smirk. 

“Please, they’ll love you,” he assured you. 

“That’s not what I’m worried about; I’m amazing,” you said, causing him to laugh. “I just think it’s weird and intimate. Like if my parents were in town, yeah, maybe I wouldn’t mind them meeting you guys at the game or to celebrate in a group after. But I wouldn’t invite you for a small dinner.” 

Ja’Marr gave you a look you couldn’t decipher before laughing to himself. 

“I’ll try not to take offense to that,” he said and you rolled your eyes. 

The restaurant was a nicer one that you had been to before for work. Joe’s parents stood up as you approached the table and warmly greeted you. His mom pulled you into a tight hug, laughing about how excited she was to meet you finally. You shot Ja’Marr a look and found him trying not to laugh. You could tell Joe was embarrassed, which made the situation a little amusing. 

Sitting down beside him, he gave you an easy smile while handing you the drink menu. Joe’s dad jumped into conversation with Ja’Marr about the season while Robin asked you a ton of questions about your job and basically your whole life. You ended up loving his parents; they were the sweetest people. While you might have missed the way that Joe was looking at you the whole dinner, his parents definitely did not. 

“It was so good to meet you y/n,” Robin gushed. “I’m sure we’ll see much more of you in the future.” 

You smiled, confused, while Ja’Marr couldn’t hold back his laugh. Joe’s face turned bright red and his dad chuckled. 

—------------------------------------------------

If you had thought the season was going poorly before it was a million times worse now. It seemed like each week, your two friends were putting up superstar numbers but still losing. After watching them lose by just a point to the Ravens, you clicked the TV off and sighed. Reaching for your phone you texted him a white heart and watched him read it and not reply. He usually would, even after a loss, but this one was tough so you didn’t pay much mind to it. 

As the week went on, you started to feel Joe’s tension about the team bleed into your friendship. He wasn’t answering your calls and had replied to any text you had sent him with just one word. What had really pissed you off though, was that he was supposed to shoot a Thanksgiving promo with you about places that provided free food for those who needed it and he didn’t show. 

“I get that you’re having a tough time right now and while I can live with you being a bad friend I can’t live with you 1. making me look bad professionally and 2. disappointing people making a difference. So give me a call when you figure your shit out,” you ranted to his voicemail. 

You were supposed to fly out for the game this weekend but weren’t sure if you still should. Calling Ja’Marr, you complained about Joe being a dick and that you didn’t know what to do. He assured you that you should still come and that Joe was just hurting because of the season. The best thing you could do was be there for him, even in the shadows. 

The game started out horribly with it being 24-6 leading into halftime. But a different team came out in the third quarter, and you went crazy as the Bengals got ahead. But like the week before, no matter what Joe did, even throwing for over 350 yards, they still lost in the end. You lingered by the locker room after the game and smiled sadly as you saw Ja’Marr first. He wrapped you in a hug, and he was happy to have you there. Joe on the other hand, did not look happy to see you. 

“What are you doing here?” he said coldly, and both you and Ja’Marr flinched. His teammate gave him a weird look, but Joe was just staring at you blankly. 

“I’ve had these tickets since before the season, you know that,” you replied. 

“I didn’t want you to come,” he said and you tried to ignore the hurt you felt. “Did you not get the hint from me ignoring you all week?” 

“Oh, so is that why you stood up the charity?” You bit back. “So that I would ‘get the hint’?”

Joe didn’t say anything, clenching his jaw and Ja’Marr tried to step in. 

“I wanted her to come man,” he said and Joe snapped his head towards his friend. 

“Well just fuck her then and get over it,” he replied and your jaw dropped. Ja”Marr shoved him backward, yelling at him before security intervened. You recovered from your shock and turned around, abruptly leaving the stadium. You called an Uber to take you back to the hotel, and the massive traffic gave you a lot of time to process what had just happened. 

You could understand him being upset over the game, especially since it was so fresh in his mind. But it’s not like you went up to him; he came up to you. This man was supposed to be your best friend, and he basically just called you a whore to your face. This shit was ridiculous. 

30 minutes later, you were walking into the hotel. Ja’Marr had tried calling, but you declined. You called the airline you were flying with to see if there was any chance of flying out early, and you were lucky to snag a seat on the last flight out. You quickly packed up your stuff after changing into a comfier outfit and headed down to the lobby to check out and call a car. 

Turning to head out the door you stopped as you saw Joe walking in, his eyes trained on you. He looked miserable and he made his way towards you slowly. 

“Y/n..” he started, his eyes filling up with tears, but you stopped him from saying anything else. 

“I’m leaving,” you said emotionlessly. He tried to reach out to you, but you flinched back and pain flashed across his face. 

“I need to talk to you y/n,” he begged. “Please don’t leave.” 

“Why would I stay?” You asked softly. “Goodbye, Joe.” 

You left him standing there wondering why it felt like your own heart was breaking into two. 

—-----------------------------------------------

It had been two weeks since then, and you had successfully avoided Joe at all costs. He blew up your phone of course but you have yet to answer. Luckily he hadn’t tried coming to your apartment because he knew you well enough to know that it’d piss you off. 

You were on your way to hang out with Ja’Marr for a group movie night which he promised you that Joe would not be at. You don’t know why you even believed him; Joe’s car was parked in the front driveway and you almost reversed until you saw Ja’Marr waving his arms at you. Stepping out, you crossed your arms, waiting for him. 

“I knew you wouldn’t come if you knew he was here,” he started and you scoffed. 

“You were right.”

“I am miserable because he is y/n,” he pleaded. “I’m sorry but I will be selfish for a minute. He is being a dick at practice to everyone and isn’t throwing me good balls. He’s moody, won’t say a word to me, and won’t leave his house unless necessary. So please let him make it up to you. You two belong together.”

“He called me a whore Ja’Marr!” You exclaimed frustrated and gave you a sympathetic look. 

“I know he did, and that was terrible. I tried to fight him on your behalf,” he said, earning a small smile from you. “God I shouldn’t tell you this but he’s so in love with you it’s insane. He’s hurting and you’re hurting. Please just talk to him.”

“He’s not in love with me,” you said and he just rolled his eyes. 

“Believe what you want but get in there,” he said steering you towards the door. 

The good thing was that there were a few other people here from your friend group, so technically, you didn’t even have to talk to him. He was the first person you saw when you walked in so clearly, this was a coordinated effort between the two friends. 

Joe did look sad, and you wanted to be happy about it, but you couldn’t find it in yourself. He was dressed down in grey sweats and a black T-shirt, his hair looking like he had run his hands through it over and over. His eyes were puffy, and that made your heart clench. 

“Are we ready to start?” One of your other friends called from the living room and you started to walk towards the room but Joe gently grabbed you, pulling you closer to him and letting Ja’Marr pass. 

“Can we talk?” He mumbled quietly to you and you nodded, letting him pull you into the study. You stood with your arms crossed as you looked at him, waiting. 

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “I was hurting so bad and I took it out on you. The one person who has always been there for me.” 

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it Joe,” you said, frustrated. “It’s not like it was just the comment; it was the week leading up to it, missing the event. I can’t be there for you when you don’t let me in.”

You had imagined how this conversation would go multiple times over the past few weeks. You expected an apology and another apology, but you did not expect Joe Burrow to start sobbing in front of you. 

He sunk against the wall and had his head in his hands while he was crying. Your shock wore off, and you knelt down in front of him, moving in between his legs. He looked up and your heart broke at his tear-stained face. 

“What is going on, Joe?” You asked softly, wiping some of his tears with your thumb. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Everything is going wrong, and I don’t feel like I’m in control. I do everything I can, and it’s still not enough.” 

“Oh Joey,” you murmured, pulling his head into your shoulders. He held on to you tightly as he cried and you ran your hand through his hair gently. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped. “I’m sorry I hurt you; I hated myself the second I said it.” 

“I forgive you Joe,” you told him, looking into his teary eyes. 

“I don’t deserve you; I’m not good enough for you,” he said. “I want to be enough for you.”

You cupped his face gently, making him look at you. Your own eyes started to water at the vulnerability he was showing.

"Joe, you’ve always been enough for me," you whispered. "You don’t have to prove anything. Not to me, not to anyone. I’m here for you, not for what you do or don’t achieve."

His brows furrowed, and he shook his head slightly, his hands moving to hold yours. "You don’t understand, y/n. I don’t just want to be your best friend—I want to be everything to you. And I’ve been so afraid of ruining our relationship that I pushed you away instead."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Joe..."

"I love you," he said, his voice breaking, but his gaze held steady. "I’ve been in love with you for so long, and I didn’t know how to tell you. But pushing you away hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt on the field. I can’t lose you."

For a moment, the weight of his words left you speechless. You searched his face, finding nothing but raw sincerity. Your heart ached, but in the best way, as if it were piecing itself together after being fractured.

"I love you too, Joe," you admitted to him and yourself, a soft smile breaking through the tears on your face. "But you have to let me in. No more shutting me out, no matter how hard things get. We figure it out together, okay?"

His hands tightened around yours, and he nodded, relief washing over his features. "Together. I promise."

You leaned forward, gently kissing his forehead before resting your own against it. The two of you walked out of the study and into the living room, where everyone else was already engrossed in the movie. Ja’Marr looked between the two of you and at your connected hands and gave you a wide smirk. Joe moved to the big armchair and pulled you down with him, and you snuggled into his lap. His arms wrapped around you, and you finally felt content. 

[hyunebunx]

˖˙ ᰋ ── you, clouds and rain (and the wine on your lips)

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: my mindy requested something soft and domestic with a slice of spicy tension with hyun and who am i to say no? enjoyyy <33 and let me know your thoughts <3

When shooting your tired boyfriend a message this morning, inviting him over for lunch and a cuddle sesh by the television, the last thing you expected was a power outage. Even though it was still light outside, the sun and its bright rays were obscured by dark and angry clouds that could only mean one thing: rain.

Hyunjin was a fan of rain, loving the silence and how the whole world seemed to slow down and hurry home. He could be as silly as he wanted and nobody would judge him, too busy to remain dry to care about anything else. You, on the other hand, hated rain. It usually ruined all of your plans and kept you stuck inside, depriving you of sunlight and everything you loved. Including seeing your beloved and going on cute dates, holding hands throughout the day while exploring new and exciting places neither has seen before.

And now it ruined another one of your plans because things could never go your way, now, could they?

“I’m so sorry, Hyun.” You sigh, playing around with the food on your plate, absolutely dejected.

Hyunjin shakes his head and tries to hide the smile threatening to stretch across his features, freshly dried hair bouncing with his every move. “You’re sorry for what exactly?”

Thunder interrupts before you can even begin, souring your mood further as Hyunjin reaches for your fork, twirls it around expertly and brings it to your mouth to eat before it gets cold. You’ve worked hard on this pasta, letting it go to waste would be a shame.

“The rain.” You mumble before chewing, pouting. He waits patiently for you to finish before leaning over the table to wipe some sauce that has somehow landed on your chin.

“You can’t control the weather, baby.” He smiles, fondness spilling from his eyes as he watches you reach for your drink. Your apartment was no longer bright, engulfed in this darkness that would fool anyone into believing night was about to set at any moment. Fortunately, you managed to prepare everything before the power went out so at least your lunch date wasn’t completely ruined.

To set the mood and try to lift your spirits, Hyunjin has lit a lone candle between you on the table – a romantic till the end, you’re convinced your boyfriend would shrivel up and die if he couldn’t spoil you somehow.

“Well, I want to control it all to make you happy!” The statement is a bit childish but not far from the truth. For Hyunjin, you would do anything to see that beautiful smile of his lighten up every room. Control the weather, move mountains and even give him the moon which he embodied without even realizing. As bright as he was, Hyunjin was the moon in your eyes, illuminating every dark corner of your world with his ethereal glow that left every passerby in awe.

Breathtakingly beautiful, both from the exterior and from within. There was no other person like him in this universe.

This time, he laughs, eyes turning into two crescent moons as if to prove your previous point. “I’m the happiest as long as I’m with you, no matter the weather, time or place. I thought you knew that?”

You’re aware yet your heart still skips a beat, as it always does whenever he opens his mouth and hits you with such a line. Hyunjin wasn’t shy in the slightest when it came to you and the love that was overflowing out of him. All of it was yours, of course. He could never love another in the way he loved you for as long as he lived.

“Doesn’t matter.” You still shake your head, deciding to be stubborn. “It still ruined our plans. I was looking forward to finishing that show together and now we can’t.”

He takes a sip of his wine, the condensation on the glass proof of the warmth in the apartment. “It’s not like we can’t watch it another time, baby.”

“I guess.”

“Don’t pout.” His bigger hand settles on top of yours on the table, bringing it to his plump lips to plant a lingering kiss on the smooth skin. “I came over to see your beautiful smile and talk each other’s ears off. Don’t make me sad.”

Hyunjin makes a face, dramatizing his sadness and you finally laugh, returning to your meal with newfound vigour. He always managed to make even the gloomiest days happier, and you suspected your boyfriend might actually be an angel in disguise, sent from above to watch over you.

“So,” he starts, happiness radiating off of him at the delicious food, his hand still holding onto yours, “did you finish that new book you were telling me about the other day, yet?”

The rain was hitting your windows heavily, creating a curtain of sorts that kept you and Hyunjin separated from the outside world, protected from all evil in your little love bubble that continued to grow with every moment spent together. Excited, with your whole face lighting up, you stand abruptly and make your way over to plop yourself onto his lap without shame, just so you can snuggle while granting his wish. You were about to talk both of his ears off until he begged you to stop. And knowing Hyunjin, he might actually like that.

Time flies as you’re having fun with your other half, while he listens attentively to your every word, so drawn to you and the way your mouth moves that he can barely look away as he remembers to keep feeding you and himself until both of your plates are empty. If it were up to him, Hyunjin would glue your hands together so you’d never have to be more than a foot apart at all times. But reality is cruel, and spending all your time with your beloved was not socially acceptable – for some reason, you couldn’t make money this way. He really hated capitalism for keeping you away from him.

After a while, you both stand to wash the dishes, with him on your trail and being assigned to drying duty.

You’re laughing together as Hyunjin tells you more stories from work, something that happened the other day at the company, not leaving anything out. He was so honest and open about his feelings that nothing he said surprised you anymore.

Your back is to him as you wash the last glass when you feel strong arms pulling you to a sturdy chest, wrapping around your middle to ground the man as he leans over to hug you with all his might. You smile, genuinely, and rest your head on his shoulder just to plant multiple kisses on his cheek. He giggles, and you quickly shake the water and bubbles off your hands to turn around in his embrace and face him.

“Hi.” You smile, briefly kissing his nose. Thanks to the smaller windows, the kitchen was even darker than your dining room, creating a cosier, more intimate atmosphere one could only dream of basking in. Romantic with a pinch of tension neither could shake off - the pleasant kind.

The rain showed no sign of stopping any time soon so for the time being, you were the only two people in the world.

“Your smile is my favorite.” He’s staring deeply into your eyes, strong hands following the outline of your body downwards to rest on your hips and bring you closer, wanting to make you one. The butterflies start going crazy, flapping their colorful wings against your ribcage in a desperate attempt at being let out, longing to be touched by him just like you were.

Your arms come around his neck, and you’re nose to nose now. “You’re my favorite.”

Hyunjin breaks into a grin, one he can’t contain before closing his eyes and burying his face in the crock of your neck, hugging you close.

“You know what I really want right now?” His voice is low, the vibration against your skin sending a shiver down your spine as his hold on you tightens.

You shake your head, one of your hands moving to tangle into his hair and massage his scalp. “Tell me, so I can make it happen.”

He chuckles, thumbs drawing random shapes on your sides you could make out if concentrating on anything else other than his voice was possible. “You don’t even know what I want to ask for yet.”

“It doesn’t matter.” You respond a little too quickly, tenderly coaxing his head out of hiding just so you could see his eyes again and marvel at their beauty. “I’ll do anything for you.”

“Anything?” Hyunjin leans closer, trapping your body between him and the sink as he towers over you, few strands of his hair tickling your forehead. Your breath catches in your throat and you try shallowing, anything to get rid of this sudden lump that’s preventing the oxygen from reaching your brain.

When you nod, his eyes soften, warm hand sneaking beneath your shirt to feel skin, needing this contact to remind himself you are real and the possibility of you disappearing right before his very eyes were slim.

Then, without waiting for his next line, your hand grasps at his fluffy sweater and yanks him forward to connect your lips in a sweet kiss, one that has you both releasing a relieved breath, that acts like the lifeline you need to cling to, to survive.

His lips are soft and warm, and you can faintly taste the wine he indulged in, lingering on his skin. The hand that isn’t under your shirt finds solace at the back of your neck, gingerly deepening the kiss as thunder strikes once again. Not like you care anymore; not when he’s kissing you like he’s trying to burn to memory every nook and cranny of your physical existence.

Heads tilted, his tongue sneaks in to greet yours for the briefest moment before Hyunjin pulls away with great difficulty, chest heaving as he struggles to regain his composure.

“A blanket fort.” He almost croaks out, voice raspy and heart very much disappointed when he tears himself away from you to make some room.

You blink, confused and a little dazed, hands darting to latch themselves onto his sweatshirt so he won’t go too far. “What?”

With a laugh, he throws his head back for a moment, calming down before clarifying. “I want to build a blanket fort. Since the power isn’t back yet, I thought we could have some fun doing that.”

You’re bamboozled, almost spinning around in search of the hidden camera that will confirm this is all a prank.

“But I thought…” You trail off, arms falling to your sides as you look down in embarrassment.

Hyunjin is quick to raise your head, with a finger under your chin and another dazzling smile. “Didn’t you just say you’d do anything for me?”

What a fucking tease. How were you ever supposed to say no to that smile?

[olderthannetfic]

Ok. Dumb question incoming, but I'd much have a 'conversation' than try to read fanlore or watch video essays or something because I want to hear individual people's contributions.

Why Star Trek?

Don't get me wrong - I like the franchise! I'm not super duper familiar with it, but I do enjoy the bits and pieces that I do know. But I am wondering why that in particular is hailed as the grandmother of all fandoms? Obviously people were fannish before Trek, but I don't think anyone can deny the impact that OG Trekkies had on fic, zines, and eventually on the internet.

I know that it's always been popular and well-liked, but it's not as if there was NO SUCH THING as popular culture/fan culture before that (I mean, come on, the term "parasocial" predates the first Star Trek episode by 10 years!) . Was it just a perfect mix of timing + popularity + etc? Is there something in particular about ST that "hit different" than other series at the time? Or is the fandom really really just that mighty and it's almost "luck" in a way? I guess I'm wondering what particular dominoes cascaded in a line in order for Star Trek to have the impact on fandom that it does today.

or am I wrong? were there just-as-big fandoms before and I simply overhype Trekkie power in my head / happen to see more talk of that than I do of other fandoms? It could definitely be a social circle bias thing.

Ugh. Asking OTNF why Star Trek is so important to fandom history feels very much like asking a Russian History major why War & Peace is so important to literature - hence why I warned you that it'd be a dumb question! But I am just so damn curious what sort of crack was in early ST fandom that made it SO widespread and SO strong.

Like, I guess the TLDR is: what was particularly 'different' about Star Trek, either as a fandom or as a franchise or both, that made it Theeeeee OG fandom, rather than something, like, i dunno, LOTR or the earliest versions of Marvel/DC comics or General Hospital or something else like that?

--

I await the hordes of angry Man from U.N.C.L.E. fans eager to prove that they were first.

And, no, it wasn't that popular. Hence the aggressive Save Our Show campaign and explosion of fan culture when it ended after three seasons.

Part of the answer to your question is that there were like three things on TV at the time. What big fandoms? 'Parasocial' was about non-subculture people feeling warmly towards news anchors or hosts of variety shows or something, wasn't it?

LOTR got rediscovered in the 60s or 70s from what I hear, but science fiction and fantasy books were for fringe weirdoes. SFF was not mainstream for the most part. There are a bunch of History of Book SF Fandom things on Youtube, and you should consult them on the complex role of LOTR in that space. LOTR wasn't a mainstream thing until there were live action movies a billion years later.

The key about Star Trek is that it was a hit with the pre-existing book SF crowd. They were an organized subculture. Some of their favorite writers wrote episodes. Other shit on TV was for people who did not form subcultures in that way. Other shit for SF fans had an audience 1/10,00th the size.

MFU was insanely popular. Illya Kuryakin was the heartthrob of a certain era of girl and inspired many a Russian major. (Seriously, there are soooo many Russia-boos of a certain age who probably still have a poster of him somewhere.) The actor set a record for fanmail. The show may have more influence on fandom history than we think now, but it also didn't rerun the way Trek did, at least in some eras, and it didn't have sequel series in a franchise. I'm always finding 2015 movie fans shocked that there's a still extant and semi-active fandom—or even shocked that the movie is based on something.

Starsky & Hutch was also hugely important and is the moment slash fandom and "Media Fandom" really split from book SF fandom. As Trek fans moved on to buddy cops, they were into a completely mainstream show but in a non-mainstream way. Trek was an awkward bedfellow at SF cons, but S&H just didn't fit at all.

Of course, while Trek is the grandma of AO3 type fandom, don't forget that a shitton of modern fans who are doing "research" just look at the same few sources. Enterprising Women is great and all, but even other fans of the same stuff are like "Oh, that was just X's friends. Where's [thing] and [thing] and [thing]?" Ditto Textual Poachers and the other scant early sources that people think have academic weight.

While Trek would still be central, the picture of what was going on in the late 60s-early 80s would look a bit different if you just found a bunch of 70-something nerds and asked them than if you regurgitate other people's research, you know?

If you want an idea of what else was going on in SF fandom back in the day, check out Galactic Journey, where they roleplay that it's 55 years ago and review SF things "as they come out".

If you want to understand MFU, here's a vid of Illya:

--

What say you, readers?

What have acafandom and fandom history and meta left out?

[archiveof22048]

there she goes | rin itoshi

sfw | fem!reader with she/her pronouns

there she goes again.

she passes by him, as she tends to do when she's helping out all the athletes on the field. she walks with a purpose, a quick gait, and it almost seems like she's marching. with one water bottle in her hand and a case holding five others, she's doing her best to hydrate everybody, making sure no one ends up passed out.

what he seems to notice before all else is her big smile, like she enjoys being here in blue lock. it's a kind smile paired with gentle eyes, and if he takes just a second longer to stare at your face he might in fact get completely lost in thought.

then, a water bottle appears before him.

"itoshi, water?"

there you are, standing right in front of him. he looks up at you from his place on the bench.

he takes the water, meekly. "... thanks," he says. "and i told you to call me rin."

while maintaining eye contact with him, you giggle as you reply, "ah, my bad. i'm a bit forgetful outside the field."

you then do something unexpected as he drinks his water– you lean down and grab the towel that rests around his neck. then, you gently pat dry his neck, jaw, and forehead. "you're getting a bit sweaty," you comment. "make sure you dry yourself off once in a while so your skin doesn't get irritated."

you smile at him, a beautiful, bashful one at that.

then, you continue your rounds with your quick stride and exclaim, irritatedly, "igarashi, are you trying to get yourself hurt? stop trying to dive on the turf, you already have a bunch of wounds that are healing on your knee! let me take a look at them!"

rin looks down at the grass.

maybe he'll play just a little bit more aggressively for the rest of practice.

he does so, unsurprisingly, yet unintentionally. he swears he was being careful as he was doing his shuttle runs across the field, but he catches a glimpse of you in his peripheral vision. he really wants to think you were watching him, but he can't be so sure. even so, he runs just a little bit faster. the persistent thought remains in his mind, it consumes him so, and he ends up face-down on the ground as he trips over his own feet.

immediately you rush over to him and set him on his side to keep him from choking on the blood of his epistaxis. in quick and concise movements, you plug up his nose with a cotton ball and you ask him, "are you okay? do you know where you are?"

no.

"yes."

in your arms.

"at blue lock."

you sigh in relief. thankfully, rin seems to be oriented. you sit him up and hold onto his shoulders as you tell him, "we're going to take you to the medic so you can rest. you haven't been playing well all day."

to anyone else, he would have popped a vein at that. but since it is you, all rin can do is resign and pull himself up.

as the two of you walk out the field, all of the blue lock eleven team along with the bench exchange odd glances at each other, as if they've come to a unanimous conclusion.

then, it is the two of you in the hallway. walking side by side. silently. alone.

"sorry..." you start. rin glances over at you, who is looking at the ground in discomfort.

he slows in pace, and you do the same. soon, you both come to a full stop, looking at each other.

"i didn't mean to say you weren't playing well, not in that way, at least," you clarify, clasping your hands together in sheepishness. "i usually am watching you, and you looked a little... distracted?"

rin takes a moment before he replies. you are usually watching him? you?

well, of course you are, he thinks to himself, you're the assistant medic for blue lock, after all. of anybody that should be kept in the most pristine, healthiest condition, it should be him. there is definitely no other reason that you should be keeping your eyes on him only.

though, as he quickly files through all of the interactions he's had with you in the few weeks that you've made yourself known in blue lock in his memory, they all seem to show the same thing– your gentle smile, your kind eyes, the soft touch of your hands. you are clearly nothing like he's ever known during his time at blue lock; you're someone who looks beyond his talent, someone who seeks for the humanness of rin itoshi.

for once, rin is rendered speechless, nor can he simply scoff and brush off your apology like it's nothing. he stares at you with slit eyes, trying to come up with a semblance of a reply.

so, he decides to be truthful.

"i was distracted."

"why?" you ask. "if there's something on your mind, we can talk about it. is it the upcoming game?"

rin hesitates. "no," is all he can say. how can he talk to you about what's on his mind, when you're the one distracting him in the first place?

"rin, i can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong."

his gaze softens. whatever was tense in his body ultimately relaxes, and rin feels at ease.

"you called me rin," he says.

you let out a humored exhale, and you give him a bashful smile. "yes, i did call you rin. you told me to."

rin licks his lips out of habit and turns his gaze downward, towards the ground. for some reason, he can't look at you.

he feels like a boy, a child free of hatred and grudge.

what have you done to him?

[some-stars]

not sure what this is or if it's part of an actual story but here, have 500 words of soft poolverine co-sleeping, why not.

--

The first night Logan shares a bed with Wade, he sleeps like the dead out of pure exhaustion. So does Wade, as far as he can tell, because when Logan stumbles dry-mouthed and confused into consciousness well past noon the next day, Wade's still passed out and drooling onto his pillow. It's not until the second night that things get back to normal--normal, in Logan's case, being the nightmares that rattle him awake every couple of hours, every muscle in his body clenched tight.

He hasn't given any thought whatsoever to what normal might be for Wade, but lying there soaked in sweat and trying to breathe his pulse gradually back down to something that doesn't hurt his chest means he has a front row seat to Wade twitching, muttering, jerking, and generally seeming to have a pretty shit time. After a minute or two, watching him like that starts to feel uncomfortably like none of Logan's business, so he rolls over and tries to fall back asleep. It's hard to ignore, especially when Wade lets out a low whine like a hurt dog right as Logan's on the edge of drifting off again. But he manages eventually.

It happens again the next night, and the next, so it's clear that this is just a fact Logan knows now about his new roommate, among the other facts he's accumulating. Wade watches cartoon porn in the living room in the middle of the day; Wade asks for "Thai hot" when they order takeout and actually likes it that way; Wade's liquor cabinet is stocked with two dozen flavored vodkas and three kinds of Kahlua and nothing else; and Wade sleeps bad. He never seems to wake up from whatever bad dreams he's having, though, or at least Logan never sees it happen. He wishes Wade would wake up. Logan knows how much worse it is to be trapped in the nightmare.

It gets harder and harder to ignore. A couple weeks in, after jerking awake from his own dream to find his left claws halfway out and buried in his pillow--if they'd come out all the way they'd be stuck in his own fucking face, so at least he's not dealing with that--Logan finally snaps. Wade's mumbling something incoherent that sounds from the tone like a plea, and his face is streaked with tears, and Logan's too tired to think about what he's doing when he scoots over next to Wade and wraps his arm around him, pulling him in close. 

Wade does wake up then, lifting his face from Logan's chest and meeting Logan's eyes with his own, wide and worried. "What--" It comes out as a hoarse whisper. "What are you...are we cuddling?"

He sounds genuinely confused, not even awake enough to make a joke. "Go back to sleep," Logan tells him, and closes his eyes.

After a couple seconds, Wade relaxes against him. "Okay," he says, agreeable and content like Logan's never heard him when he's awake. Maybe ten seconds later he's out again, breathing deep and even, soft in Logan's arms. The easy rhythm of it is hypnotic. Logan falls asleep and stays that way until morning.

--

tumblr hid the first version of this post because apparently i used a Naughty Word in the tags, but they refused to tell me WHICH word and just suggested i "change the tags around a bit" and see if that helped. which i can't even do, because of course a post from seventeen hours ago isn't going to show up in the Recent Posts view in the tag whether or not it's tagged with the Forbidden Term. so here are the original tags and if anyone is still giving any money at all to tumblr, i am BEGGING you to quit.

#the original plan was porn but i realized i'd need more groundwork for that#if this does turn into a story it's going to lead to logan offering to get wade off to help him get back to sleep#and wade who is still fuzzy and dumb from nightmare-brain agreeing to it#so logan spoons him and jerks him off and when wade comes he kisses the back of his neck and they both fall asleep very quickly and easily#then the next morning wade wakes up with his dick out and logan (still asleep) rutting lazily against his ass#and then. idk tbh. haven't gotten that far

[mooki3-bear]

Who wants the drama (babydaddy!Chris sturniolo x black!fem!reader

Summary: A look into the morning with Chris as the father of your child

Warnings: None

“Chris, what are you doing here so early? It’s not your week,” you say as you open the door in nothing but a bonnet, plaid pajama pants, and a fresh love sweatshirt, to see your daughter's father.

“Why do I need an excuse to come and see my favorite girls” He leans in to kiss you on the cheek. As you push his face away with an eye roll you hear your three-year-old running around the corner. 

“Hi Babygirl” Chris exclaims as your daughter, Isa, runs into his arms. “You spending the night” your sweet, curly-haired, girl asks him.

“No, I'm sorry honey! Mommy doesn’t let me do the anymore” With that comment, you hit him on the arm as you make your way into the kitchen.

You and Chris decided to co-parent a year ago after a particularly bad falling out about how each of you wanted to raise Isa. You also just had different goals in life that just didn’t meet each other's so you decided to call it quits and just live separately. Besides all of the disagreements, you both still find a way to get along and raise a beautiful little girl.

Chris follows you into the kitchen with Isa in his arms. As he sets her at the table for breakfast he notices a big bouquet lying on the counter.  “Where’d you get these from, Trader Joe’s,” he says with a giggle.

“No, you fool. I got them from…someone”  You say, putting eggs on your daughter's plate. 

Chris’s smile instantly falls from his face as you look at the big smile that just appeared on yours. “What do you mean? Like, you went on a date with someone” he says as he circles the counter to stand next to you. 

“Why do I have to go on a date to get flowers? Maybe he gave them to me just for fun”

“He? What the hell do you mean he”

“Chris! Don’t curse in front of my child” You whisper, waving a spatula in his face. You both turn to see Isa staring at you both, eggs stuffed in her mouth.

You both mentally agree to go into the guest room to argue while she finishes eating.

“What’s his name”

“None of your business Christopher”

“Does Isa know about him?” he said, crossing his arms with furrowed eyebrows.

“No Chris! I went on one date with him and I'm not just gonna let her around anybody” Chris lets out a sigh as he sits himself on the bed.

“It’s been a year man. I need to get some too”

“What makes you think I'm getting anything” You quirk your eyebrow at the boy as he sits up on the bed.

“I'm serious y/n! I haven’t been with anyone since we broke up” he explains as he walks closer. He looks deeply into your eyes, waiting for a response from you. You by instinct put your hand on his arms as you lean in closer to him, inches away from his face.

“Aww…that sounds like a huge you issue” With that being said, you walk away to go get Isa ready for daycare.

After what felt like an hour, Chris follows you to meet you in the kitchen.

“I can take her today,” He says as he notices you packing the rest of Isa’s lunch. “You don’t have to do that Chris,” You say as you put the glittery lunch box into her purple backpack.

“Of course I can! I didn’t get my license for nothing” he states, standing proudly.

You roll your eyes as you shove her backpack into his hands, before bending down to tie Isa’s shoes.

“Have a good day princess! Make sure daddy walks you in ok” Isa nods her head as she gives you a kiss on the cheek.

“Aw damn, I forgot something,” Chris says as he pretends to look around.

“What is it” Before you can say anything else Chris sneakily gives you a quick kiss on the cheek before grabbing Isa and running out the door, the little girl giggling in his arms.

You yell Chris's name with a giggle before running behind him to see him putting Isa snug in her car seat.

Watching him, you couldn't help but think that there is no one else you would rather have to be your baby daddy.

[dissapointu]

ur writing is so amazing! u write the characters so well and in so little time! seriously you’re so amazing!! can you write how arcane characters would react to seeing their partner with tattoos and piercing but also wears very feminine clothes? lol im a fem and i have too many tattoos and a nose piercing 😊! i love ur writing and i hope u take care of urself! we all love you!

Thank you so much for your kind words! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing, and I really appreciate you sharing that with me!

————————————————————————-

Jinx

Jinx would be absolutely in love with your style! She adores anything that stands out, and your combination of tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes would make her eyes widen with excitement. She’d want to examine every tattoo closely, asking all sorts of questions—what it means, how it feels, if you can get matching ones. “You’re like a walking masterpiece!” she’d exclaim, running her fingers over your tattoos and being completely in awe. She loves how your look expresses your personality, and it makes her feel even more drawn to you.

She might even get a little possessive, making sure everyone knows you’re hers, but all in good fun. Expect lots of love and playfulness as she showers you with affection.

Vi

Vi would be really impressed and maybe even a little turned on. She’s a bit of a tomboy, but she loves anyone who can rock a style with confidence. Seeing you embrace both feminine clothes and tattoos would make her respect you even more. She loves the way your tattoos look, but she’s equally fond of how the softer clothes contrast with them. She’d probably chuckle and say, “You’re a total badass, and you know it, don’t you?” while running her hands over your tattoos.

She’d definitely show off how proud she is to be with someone who has such a strong, confident style. Expect her to playfully tease you, especially about how you manage to be tough and soft at the same time.

Sevika

Sevika would love your edgy style. She’s a woman who commands respect, and seeing you with tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes just makes her even more attracted to you. She might admire the way you carry yourself with confidence, not caring what anyone else thinks. Her admiration would be evident in the way she watches you, and she may comment, “You wear your skin like armor, but you still have that softness about you.”

She respects your strength and finds the contrast of your look intriguing—especially if you’re intimidating on the outside but soft with her. She’d definitely hold you close in private, not caring who sees.

Silco

Silco would be both intrigued and impressed. He’s all about control and self-expression, so seeing you balance tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes in a way that screams confidence would make him admire you even more. He might give you a quiet, approving look and say something like, “You know how to make an impression.” He appreciates strength, and your look tells him you don’t need validation from anyone else to feel powerful.

While he wouldn’t outwardly show it, he’d definitely feel a deep respect for you, and your style would only make him more possessive and protective of you.

Vander

Vander would be charmed and a bit protective, but mostly he’d be filled with pride. He loves the balance you strike between being strong and soft, and your tattoos and piercings only add to your unique beauty. He’d smile warmly and tell you how much he admires your confidence and how you wear your style so naturally. “You’re a beautiful combination of strength and grace,” he’d say, his voice filled with affection.

Expect a lot of sweet compliments and moments where he simply pulls you close, admiring how you carry yourself.

Ekko

Ekko would be all about it. He loves people who express themselves, and your tattoos and piercings only add to how you stand out in a crowd. He’d probably ask a million questions, like, “What’s this one about?” or “Does it hurt?” and maybe even joke about getting matching tattoos with you. He finds your mix of toughness and femininity incredibly appealing.

Expect him to show off how proud he is of you, constantly touching your tattoos or taking little photos of you. He’s into your individuality and admires the fact that you’re unapologetically yourself.

Jayce

Jayce might be a little taken aback at first, especially if he didn’t expect such a strong combination of tattoos and femininity. However, once he sees how effortlessly you carry the look, he’s absolutely smitten. “You look amazing, truly,” he’d say, a little awestruck by how beautifully you manage to blend both worlds. He’s a sucker for elegance, but he also appreciates someone who’s bold enough to be themselves, so your confidence would be a huge turn-on for him.

He might even get inspired by your boldness and ask you if you’d design a tattoo for him.

Viktor

Viktor is the type of person who appreciates uniqueness and personal expression, so seeing you with tattoos, piercings, and wearing feminine clothes would only intrigue him more. He loves the contrast of tough and soft, and the way you balance both in your appearance makes you even more captivating to him.

He’d ask about the stories behind your tattoos and piercings, genuinely fascinated by the meanings behind each one. Viktor respects individuality, and your confidence in your style would only draw him closer to you.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn would absolutely love your style. She’s elegant and refined, so seeing you blend femininity with tattoos and piercings would make her respect you even more. She’s all about self-expression and would adore how you use your appearance to make a statement. Caitlyn would likely compliment you frequently, saying things like, “You’re a work of art,” or “I love how you make that look so effortless.”

She’d also be protective of you, not letting anyone make rude comments about your appearance. She’s proud to have someone so unique and beautiful by her side.

Mel Medarda

Mel would be fascinated by your style. She appreciates power and confidence, and your tattoos and piercings tell her that you know exactly who you are. She’d love how you’ve curated such an intricate, bold look and how it pairs so well with the softness of your feminine clothes. Mel would often compliment you, saying, “You’re a vision of both strength and elegance,” or something to that effect.

She’d love how your individuality shines through and would always support you in embracing your own sense of style.

Ambessa Medarda

Ambessa would be impressed. She’s used to commanding respect, and your tattoos and piercings would immediately catch her attention. She admires strength and doesn’t shy away from showing it, so seeing you carry yourself with such confidence would only deepen her respect for you. Ambessa might quietly observe you for a while, but when she speaks, she’d make sure you know how much she admires you. “There’s power in your appearance, a statement in every detail,” she’d say.

Her attraction would be deep, knowing that you’re someone who is not afraid to express yourself—physically and emotionally.

Maddie Nolen

Maddie would be immediately impressed by your boldness. She’s used to the power dynamics in Arcane, so your ability to balance femininity with tattoos and piercings would strike a chord with her. She’d admire how you embrace your unique style and carry it with grace. “You’re the perfect mix of beauty and strength,” she’d say, thoroughly enchanted by the way you rock your look.

She’d love being seen with you, proud to be with someone who isn’t afraid to stand out.

Lest

Lest would adore your combination of tattoos, piercings, and feminine clothes. They have a soft spot for those who embrace their identity fully, and you do just that. She would be deeply fascinated by the meaning behind each tattoo and would always take time to admire your piercings. Lest would also love that you can wear feminine clothing while still owning your tough look, making her feel incredibly proud to be with you. She might even give you a compliment like, “You’ve got the kind of beauty that stays with people.”

I hope you love how I wrote each of the characters’ reactions! Thank you again for your kind words 💖

[lazy-gyu]

tags: nsfw , dom!top reader , sub!bot yandere , yandere fae , soft yandere , kinda long , mdni

The forest was silent, save for the rhythmic sound of wood splitting under your axe, until a soft, heart-wrenching sob drifted through the trees. You followed the sound cautiously, the vibrant green canopy above casting dappled light on the ground. There, slumped against a moss-covered tree, was a man—no, something more, with his otherworldly beauty marred by a deep gash along his arm. His shimmering eyes, pools of sorrow and desperation, met yours, and for a moment, it felt as if the forest itself held its breath. “Please,” he whispered, his voice trembling like the wind through the leaves, “help me.”

you lifted the injured man into your arms, his weight surprisingly light, as though the forest itself eased your burden. As you brought him to your humble home nestled among the trees, his gaze never left you—soft, curious, and tinged with an unspoken gratitude. The gentle touch of your hands as you cleaned and bandaged his wound sent unfamiliar warmth coursing through him, a sensation both foreign and intoxicating. His heart, usually calm and steady like an ancient river, now raced wildly, each beat a whisper of a feeling he couldn’t yet name. Watching you work so tenderly, he thought, Is this what mortals call love?

___

As you slept soundly, he watched you, his heart racing with an unfamiliar warmth. The memory of your gentle care left him shy and overwhelmed, unsure how to face these strange feelings. When dawn broke, he quietly slipped away, the rustle of leaves the only sign of his hesitant farewell.

___

For weeks, the fae's quiet gifts continued, baskets of fresh fruits appearing like clockwork, always left in the same spot, always followed by his unseen gaze. His presence lingered in the air, a soft tension that both comforted and confused you. One afternoon, unable to bear the silence any longer, you tracked him down, cornering him in the dense forest. When his wide, shimmering eyes met yours, a wave of fear washed over him, his voice trembling as he whispered, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…” The sight of him on the verge of tears softened your heart, and instead of anger, you pulled him into a gentle embrace, the scent of wildflowers and magic enveloping you both, as you held him close—no words needed.

___

After that moment, the fae became more present than ever, his shadow always trailing you, his steps quieter, yet more frequent. Every time you worked or rested, he would appear, lingering just a bit too close, his eyes never straying far from you. You couldn’t help but find it amusing, teasing him lightly. "You know," you said with a smirk, "I might start calling you my personal shadow at this rate."

His face turned a shade of crimson, eyes darting away, but he didn’t deny it. "I... I just like being near you," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

___

As you laughed and chatted with your friend, accepting the small bundle of loot they had brought, you caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of your eye. There, hidden in the trees, the fae stood—his eyes locked on you and your friend, a storm of emotions swirling in his gaze. When your friend’s hand brushed yours, his usually calm demeanor faltered, his eyes narrowing slightly, a flare of jealousy flashing across his face before he quickly masked it with a cold silence.

You could feel the change in the air, the once gentle atmosphere now thick with tension. Smirking, you turned to the fae, who had stepped forward, still trying to keep his composure. "What’s this?" you teased lightly. "Are you jealous?"

His cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson, his voice betraying his frustration as he muttered, "I-I’m not... jealous. Just... concerned." The possessiveness in his tone was unmistakable, though, and the intensity of his gaze made it clear—he didn’t like seeing you with anyone else.

He's definitely jealous

___

The room was bathed in soft, golden light as you and the fae stood close, the air thick with unspoken emotions. Slowly, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a gentle kiss, the warmth of his touch making your heart race. His hands trembled slightly as they rested on your shoulders, as if he were afraid this moment might slip away. When you pulled back, his shimmering eyes locked onto yours, and a tear rolled down his cheek.

"I... I don’t know what’s happening to me," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I’ve never felt this way before—jealous... scared..." His gaze dropped to the ground, his vulnerability raw. "I don’t want to lose you. I don’t know what I’d do." His words, filled with both sorrow and longing, made your chest tighten, his raw honesty stirring something deep within you. Slowly, you cupped his face in your hands, wiping away his tears. "You won’t lose me" you promised softly, your heart beating in time with his.

Without a word, he pulled you closer, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and fierce, as though he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go. His hands roamed over your skin, tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every inch, every sensation. You could feel the weight of his emotions in the way he held you-his love, his fear, his desperate need to never be apart.

His creamy legs spread for you, his delicate hands holding up his legs to his shoulders. Soft, shimmering eyes gazed up at you lovingly, his gaze filled with adoration, as if you were the only thing that mattered—his human, his everything. Your possessive and rough hands holding his waist as you sank your cock on his pretty pussy. A whine left his throat as your cock stretched him, you can't help but notice how his pussy leak so much slick for your cock. Sweat dripping your forehead as you focus on his pleasure. Carefully and gently thrusting to him sweetly. His eyes tearing up, mouth agape and moaning your name softly. Your cock slides in and out of his pussy so gently making lewd noises for both of you to hear. He used to only watch you in the shadows and now both of you are connected and making love in your humble home.

His hands trailed gently down your arm, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. Slowly, they moved up to your chest, then to the nape of your neck, where his fingers tangled in your hair. With a quiet, desperate need, he pulled you toward him, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was anything but gentle, full of longing and intensity.

He pulled away just enough to gaze into your eyes, his breath shaky as his hands held you close, as if afraid to let you slip away. "You're mine" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't let anyone else have you—not when I know how it feels to have you all to myself." His fingers gently caressed your cheek, his gaze softening with affection. "Please, don’t ever leave me."

[jaegeraether]

Sunsets and footballers (Part 99)

Lucy Bronze x Reader (75) / Alexia Putellas x Character (51) & Jordan Nobbs x Leah Williamson (28)

Masterlist (other parts here)

((5k))

Apologies for the delay. Appreciate you all!

ALEXIA POV

Everything faded around her. She couldn’t see anything but Ridley’s limp body lying several metres away. She didn’t care about a gun. About the security fighting the man into restraint. Into Blau crying out, or Lucy yelling.

There was only her.

She felt herself moving, scrambling over anything and everything to get to her.

Please no. Please. Please!

Her vision blurred with tears.

Please. Anyone but Ridley. I can’t-

Ridley had collapsed face down, the bloodied side of her face hidden against the floor, though the amount of blood was confronting.

“Lee? R…Ridley?” She managed to stutter out as she arrived at her. She patted over her still warm back as if to wake her. Ridley didn’t so much as flinch. The tears were falling in streams now. She slid her hand up her back like she had the night before, her fingers tangling themselves into the soft hair at the nape of her neck. The hair that was getting too long. Alexia knew it’d been annoying her, and was going to insist after the event that she cut it for her.

“Please no..” she sobbed, leaning down to press her lips to her exposed cheek. There were more gunshots. More shouting. Loud, banging noises. She ignored them all. “Lee, please wake up. I need you.” She cried against her soft skin, and then even quieter she made her admission. “I can’t live in a world without you in it.”

“Lucy!” Blau yelled through the haze of grief.

Two strong arms wrapped around Alexia and dragged her back against her will. Away from Ridley. She fought against the arms, shooting her hands and elbows back and hearing a grunt. She protested in a scream as she watched Ridley getting further away from her.

She felt the person holding her hit the wall, but hold on strong. She hadn’t taken her eyes off her, just waiting for the slightest form of movement… anything. Anything at all. And suddenly a figure stepped across to block her view. He crouched down directly in front of her, studying her face with hatred in his eyes. She watched his mouth move and as he spoke an unrecognisable language. His eyes flickered to Blau and back, his finger pointing them both out to the four others.

She had no doubt in her mind who this was.

But, given the circumstances, she couldn’t seem to care.

Instead, she found herself staring through Bashir, trying to see the body of her girlfriend.

RIDLEY POV

Ridley sucked the sweetness from the pineapple while she waited for the English and Spanish games to download. She knew Alexia had been thinking about them, though she’d never complain, and Ridley was excited to see her reaction when she brought it to her.

Alexia’s smile could light up the world.

“He’s smarter than his father.” Duce said, snapping her from her thoughts.

“You don’t think he’ll take the bait?”

“It is very well-hidden bait,” she murmured. “I think it’s 50/50. We don’t know enough about him. From what I do know, there’s a chance he does something else entirely.”

“Like attack us before.” Ridley said, echoing the thoughts of the group.

“That’s an option. Otherwise he’ll watch from afar to see if it’s bait, and get us as we exit.” Fuzzy suggested.

“Or go for Alexia.” Becks murmured quietly. Ridley twitched.

“It’s not unrealistic.” Duce supported. “By now he’s realised that you’re keeping her safe. That means she’s the most important person in your life.”

“Blue-”

“Blue isn’t the one you’ve flown to hide away. In reality, he’ll want Blue and Alexia in the same place. Limit exposure.”

Silence while they thought.

“So,” Wombat said, serious for once, “it’s just a matter of – will he go after Ridley, or after them?”

Ridley landed as the sun was just rising high enough to clear the cliffs. She taxied in, her heart calming at the sight on Alexia and Chiquito waiting for her on the shore, kicking around her football.

She quickly hooked up to the buoy and drove the dinghy across to land. A football flew at her just as she’d dragged it up, and she’d managed a nice touch, kicking it straight back.

Still thinking about her conversation with the team, she walked over, took Alexia by the waist and kissed her as if it were the last time.

JORDAN POV

Jordan gripped tightly onto Leah’s shirt. Even with Leah’s back pressed up against Jordan’s front, her arms extended to physically protect her, she didn’t feel safe. One bullet would tear through them both.

Like it had to Ridley.

She couldn’t look at her body on the floor when it had dropped, because she hadn’t wanted to know. But Alexia’s screams were something straight from a horror film. They sent bone-chilling shivers through her body that she hadn’t been able to stop since.

She tightened her grip on Leah.

Alexia scrambled forwards amongst the chaos and landed somewhere near Ridley.

The two security guards held the man down, attempting to restrain him again.

Jordan looked everywhere but her body.

She looked over at Katie’s body in front of Caitlin’s, not dissimilar to Leah.

The Lumos workers shuddering amongst them.

One girl vomiting at the sight of Ridley.

Blue’s face turning paler than she’d ever thought possible.

The sobs as tears fell down her cheeks.

The anger in Lucy as she ripped the gun from the man’s hands.

The pain in Lucy’s eyes as she looked around, trying to find a way to control any part of the situation, from Blue’s grief, to Alexia’s.

The panic from Blue as more men entered the room, shouting.

The yelling at Lucy to grab Alexia.

The fight in Alexia towards Lucy as she dragged her away from Ridley.

She still didn’t look at her body.

Leah had pressed herself hard against Jordan’s front, in between her legs and she knew nothing would move her from that spot.

Ridley’s body.. it was so much more confronting that the others strewn around them. She could look at them. But not her. Not Blue’s family. Not Alexia’s person. But she couldn’t avoid looking at all of the evidence… the bullet had travelled upwards from the man on the floor, and so she couldn’t miss the chilling sight of Ridley’s blood sprayed onto the roof above them.

Jordan swallowed, but her mouth was dry. She held her grip tightly and turned to see Blue alone next to her, still weeping, her lips parted as her eyes flickered between Ridley, and the armed men coming toward them.

Reaching out, she held her hand.

RIDLEY POV

It was impossible to put into words just how good Alexia’s body felt against her own, their heads leaning together as they swayed. She wanted to stay in this happy bubble together forever, but that sick feeling in her stomach was still there.

Her smell.

Her touch.

Her warmth.

She was the first thing Ridley had ever done right.

Ridley felt someone staring and turned to lock eyes with Becks. He looked from her to Duce and back.

There was an update.

"What is it, little one?" She heard Lucy ask. "Is it your leg?"

Ridley turned to look at Blue up and down, assessing her discomfort.

"It's getting sore." She admitted, though she always understated. Getting sore meant she was in quite a bit of pain she refused to show. She looked around them nervously, and Ridley knew exactly what she was thinking. Of course she did. It was her baby Blue.

Before she could help, Alexia tightened her grip to allow Lucy to get there first. Ridley kissed the Spaniard’s temple in thanks.

"Come here." Lucy cooed. She gently hoisted the smaller woman up onto her and cradled her as if she were the most fragile thing in the world.

"Luce.. your knee." Blue protested, but alas, Lucy was nothing if not stubborn.

She carried her from the dance floor, trying to cover the pain in her own knee as she did so. Blue locked eyes with Ridley over her shoulder and she immediately felt herself moving towards them, only to be stopped by her gesturing otherwise.

Blue gave her that understanding smile of hers and rested her head against Lucy’s as she was carted away.

She didn’t think she’d ever get used to not being the person to take care of her.

Blue studied her face and gave Ridley a wink which she responded to with the best smile she could give her at that point.

She didn’t need a mirror to know how unconvincing it was.

“She’s okay..” Alexia murmured in reassurance.

Ridley hummed, watching them at the table as Lucy gently sat her down, and Jordan went over. “I know..” she murmured softly in response.

“We’re all okay..”

Ridley tensed at those words, because she couldn’t be sure. He could be anywhere. She scanned the room automatically, comfortable being amongst people in a public place, yet uncomfortable at the few random people in the room who were not footballers, and obviously not with anyone.

Alexia’s fingers gently began to massage the stress from her neck.

“Hey, look at me Lee.”

Ridley did so immediately, and happily. She loved to fall into those comforting hazel eyes of hers.

“I’m right here..” she whispered, waiting for Ridley to relax a little.

Only when she relaxed, did Alexia lean forward slowly and kiss her so gently, it could have been a dream.

Alexia was never one for public affection.

This was important.

The Spaniard’s fingers slid up into the hair at the nape of her neck and she shivered.

The feeling that she was slowly growing accustomed to spread throughout her body, to each and every one of her cells. She held Alexia closer as she kissed her, soft lips on soft lips, tongues brushing ever so gently against each other, just to taste.

She was consumed by her.

Ah, fuck. Alexia.

She ran the flat of her hand from her ass, over her hip, waist, breast, collarbone, neck, right up to cup her cheek and stroke her thumb across it.

Just as she reached her cheek, Alexia’s phone rang. Ridley groaned internally but from the entertained look Alexia gave her, it was obvious.

She looked at the phone and tilted her head, answering it.

“Hola, Ona.”

As soon as Alexia was with the group, Ridley left to wander over to the Becks and Duce.

She read through the intelligence, and once done, her eyes flicked up to meet Alexia’s. She was standing with the group, though her body was facing towards Ridley. That longing feeling returned.

“There’s one more piece of information you should know.” Duce said.

“What is it?” She murmured, tearing her eyes away.

“The ace up our sleeve.” Duce replied. A face flashed onto the screen and Ridley memorised it.

“This is Reynold. He’s one of ours.”

She tilted her head, looking at the codeword next to his photo. “Who chose the Beetlejuice reference?”

YFN POV

The word grief felt like an understatement. It was far, far worse than that.

She felt sick.

Empty.

Alone.

She felt like she could feel her own heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

All at once.

She struggled to breath, instead gasping as her body shook. The only thing to distract her was to protect the rest of them.

She watched Lucy grab the gun, and flinched as she did so. Had she even handled one before?

She watched Alexia scrambling towards Ridley’s body and the blood seeping from her head.

She watched her try to wake her, to get her to move. Anything at all.

Another group of men entered the room, armed, and she yelled towards Lucy.

“Lucy!”

Lucy looked to her, to the men, and then to Alexia and understood. She shoved the gun into her hoody and hurried towards the grieving Spaniard. Knowing she’d be trouble, she bear hugged her arms around her body and dragged her backwards.

YFN watched as Alexia fought, swinging and protesting, even managing to connect her elbow and nails into her at points. But Lucy was always so noble and determined.

She dragged Alexia back next to YFN and eventually her protestations dulled into lifelessness as she stared towards her unmoving body.

Even with the men yelling at them in another language, she stared straight at her.

YFN felt Jordan take her hand and she squeezed it, not knowing how good it would feel to have that.

YFN looked to Lucy and wanted to cry even more at the expression on her face. She couldn’t protect anyone. She couldn’t control anything.

She saw a little cut on her cheek from where Alexia had managed to scratch her, and wished she could reach over and wipe the blood away.

But they dare not move. Not with these men in front of them.

She blinked the never-ending tears away to try and see them better. The main figure crouched down spoke, his eyes flickering to Alexia and YFN, pointing to them both.

But he wasn’t smiling.

His eyes were dead, and his face was neutral.

This was revenge. This was Bashir.

Gunshots rang throughout the building which built some sort of hope, but he ignored them which sunk her heart. They must have been his men.

He stood and walked over to Ridley. Using his foot, he rocked her body and it did so, limply. YFN felt sick but knew better than to say anything. She looked to Lucy whose hand had come over to cover Alexia’s mouths from any protests she may have.

Bashir stood back, watching to see if she would move.

Nothing.

He struck her in the ribs, hard with his foot.

The sound of flesh on flesh and ribs breaking was disgusting.

Alexia began to fight against Lucy again and the Englishwoman whispered in her ear. “Please don’t.”

Lucy was begging. For all of them.

Alexia ignored her and managed to free her mouth and yell towards Bashir. “Don’t you fucking touch her!” She yelled in English. “You want someone to hurt? I am here!”

YFN flinched.

He stared at her, his expression remaining neutral. Did he understand English?

Surprisingly, he ignored her and gestured to the security guards and then the door. Two of his men stood and dragged the pleading security guards to the door.

As if he had known, banging sounded on the door as people tried to get through. But his men had barred it shut.

One of Bashir’s men shouted in English. “We have hostages. Do not enter or we will kill them.”

The banging stopped.

“We need confirmation of life.” Beckett’s voice.

One of the men hit his gun against the head of one of the security guards.

“Y…yes…I…. I’m alive. My n..name is Greg. I.. I work h… ere.”

“Greg, how many people are in the room?”

Greg didn’t answer. The man with the gun nudged him again.

“Uh..” He looked around the room. “D…dead or alive?”

The gun hit again.

Silence behind the door. And then: “Both.”

“Nineteen alive… eight dead.”

“How many hostages?”

“Uh..”

“We have hostages. That is all you need to know.”

The taller man, the one who’d shot Ridley stood now, grinning towards Bashir.

“I did it. I got her for you.”

Without blinking, Bashir lifted his hand and shot him in the chest, watching as fell backwards, hitting the leg of a table and gasping for breath. YFN closed her eyes as his body fell.

“She was mine.”

The man with the gun hit it against the security guard’s head again.

“E…eighteen alive.. nine dead.”

She looked at the man who’d shot Ridley as he sat leant against the table, gasping for breath. If there were an ambulance nearby, he’d surely live. And yet – she knew Bashir wanted him to suffer.

There was silence again for a period.

“I believe you have one of ours?” Beckett asked.

YFN looked to Ridley who still hadn’t moved. Bashir kicked the gun away from where she’d dropped it and shook his head towards his man by the door. When the security guard went to respond, he hit him hard in the temple and responded in his place.

“We have one of yours.”

“I’d like to speak to her.”

Bashir fired his gun towards the door, but not at it. “You will clear us a path to the roof, or we will kill the hostages one by one. You have 10 minutes.”

He looked back at Ridley, his jaw twitching, and then he turned to the group of terrified people huddled against the wall.

“She killed my father, and my men.” He said, with a strong accent. “So I will kills hers.”

He pointed Alexia out to his other two men. “I want her partner first.”

There was no way YFN would ever let the person Ridley loved to be hurt under any circumstance. She went to move and was distracted by something in the corner of her eye.

Did Ridley just move?

RIDLEY POV

Her head felt swollen. Sore. Pounding. Like a nail to the brain.

Shouting penetrated the ringing in the ears, though she couldn’t hear what it was.

Screaming.

Ridley knew better than to move. She’d been in similar situations. She knew why what had happened, happened. She would have been killed straight away if Bashir and his men had entered with just her there. They’d needed the element of surprise.

She made herself limp, trying to ignore the pain in her head.

She felt hands touching her. Tangling into the hair at the nape of her neck.

Alexia.

It was harder to suppress a shiver than it was to suppress the blinding pain.

“Please no..” she heard Alexia sob, followed by the feeling of her lips on her cheek.

More gunshots.

More shouting.

Loud, banging noises.

“Lee, please wake up. I need you.” She cried, breaking whatever heart Ridley had. “I can’t live in a world without you in it.”

Someone shouted. Blue?

The hands disappeared.

More yelling, though in Somali. She heard the heavy footsteps of men entering the room and counted them.

There were 5.

More talking, quieter now. It was Bashir’s voice.

Gunshots rang throughout the building. Her team was here.

The feel of a foot rocking her body. She remained limp.

A foot connected suddenly, and violently with her ribs. She felt the break, felt the blood pooling in the area and yet still, remained limp.

“Don’t you fucking touch her!” She heard Alexia yell in her broken English. “You want someone to hurt? I am here!”

Ridley tried to not react.

Silence.

Movement.

Two security guards protesting as they were dragged.

Banging on the door.

An exchange of words. She recognised Beck’s voice.

Becks wanted to know if she was alive, and she knew that. But there was no way for her to signal him. Instead, it was done for her.

More movement, followed by the sound of Reynold’s voice, loud enough for Becks to hear. “I did it. I got her for you.”

A pause. A gunshot.

She heard the bullet hit, and from the gasping sounds as he fell backwards, it was in his chest.

From the lack of a second bullet, she knew that Bashir couldn’t tell the difference between a bullet hitting flesh vs hitting a vest.

“She was mine.” Bashir hissed.

“E…eighteen alive.. nine dead.”

“I believe you have one of ours?” Becks asked.

The sound of her gun being kicked further away from her. Fuck.

“We have one of yours.”

“I’d like to speak to her.”

Gunshots towards the door. “You will clear us a path to the roof, or we will kill the hostages one by one. You have 10 minutes.”

Silence. And then the sound of movement behind the door.

“She killed my father, and my men.” He said, with a strong accent. “So I will kills hers.” A pause. “I want her partner first.”

Ridley’s breath hitched and she tried to suppress it. Obviously it was noticeable as Reynold created another distraction.

“Hostile times 2, two metres, 4 o’clock.” Reynold began telling her aloud. It was such a random thing, that Bashir paused to try and understand. “Bravo is mine. Split the last two.”

She heard Bashir raise his gun again. Reynold spoke again and she could hear the grin in his voice. “Look over here, boys… it's showtime!"

At the sound of the codeword, Ridley’s eyes opened just as she spun on the ground, kicking the legs of the two men out from under them. She grabbed the gun from one and shot the two standing by the door before it was knocked from her hand as a man grabbed her arm.

It was almost impossible to see with the blood running down one half of her face, and she was barely able to open her left eye, but the pain didn’t matter at that moment.

Next to her, she could see Reynold struggling against Bashir for the gun in his hand. Worried it would go off towards the group, she pulled herself against the man and kicked at their hands, the gun flying away to safety.

She managed to lock eyes with Alexia for only a split second, wide-eyed and shoving herself away from Lucy’s bear hug. An arm came around her neck and pulled her backwards, falling onto the man. The other raised a knife to get her while she was vulnerable, and Alexia slammed into him using her body, just as Ridley had taught her.

She shot a high elbow backwards and felt the man’s orbital socket give way. Spinning, she grabbed the knife from his own belt and plunged it into his chest.

Without waiting, she looked to see the other man sprawled on the floor, reaching for the knife he’d dropped when Alexia had knocked him over. Prioritising, she slammed her foot down onto his leg and as he screamed, she grabbed Alexia around the waist and picked her up, suppressing a groan for her broken ribs as she set her down where she was before. Alexia looked up, her mouth opening to protest but Ridley got there first.

“Stay, la Reina.”

She didn’t even want to know what she looked like with the blood dripping down her face.

She turned to see what remained of the two men. One was on the floor, a knife in his chest and the blood dripping from his mouth a good indicator that he was deceased. The other was now charging towards her with a knife. She managed to dodge and grab his arm, twisting it behind his back as she dropped him to the floor. She held her weight down on his body and her arm came around his neck, squeezing tightly. Face on the ground, he struggled against her to no avail.

Suddenly a sharp pain hit her outer thigh and she groaned, looking down at the knife. Rolling her eyes and swearing under her breath, she ripped it out and saw the blood begin to flow. She rocked the man under her sidewards just enough to slide the knife under before pressing his body down on top of it.

He gasped and shuddered, unable to escape until he went limp entirely.

She sat up just as one of the doors on the opposite side of the room burst down, more of Bashir’s men running towards. She watched as she approached with guns raised, yet before they reached them, her team entered and shot them down.

Her team breathed a sigh of relief when they saw her, their eyes widening at the bodies strewn around. She looked to Reynold who was standing opposite Bashir, though she was uneasy that he was so close to the group. To Blue. To Alexia. Ridley stood.

He looked at the bodies of his men around the room, then to Ridley. She didn’t need to wonder what his next move would be.

Bashir began to turn his body towards Alexia and Ridley snapped.

“Take one step towards her and I’ll break your fucking neck.”

He paused his movement, thinking.

She felt dizzy from the blood loss. She was weak. Tired. Bruised. Beaten.

Bashir also knew this. He turned back towards her. “I challenge you. You and me. I die, or you die.”

“Dumbest decision of the year.” Wombat muttered.

Her body was weak, but not enough for that. She had to think it over.

“Ridley..” Becks murmured. She turned her head, though her eyes were still on Bashir. “It’s your choice.”

He would never stop coming for her. For her loved ones. But she couldn’t agree with the unnecessary killing. The fact that she’d shed blood in front of them all. Killed in front of them. In front of Alexia. And Blue.

She gestured for her team to lower their weapons.

She took one step forward, locking onto those angry eyes of Bashir’s and murmured lowly. “You will not coerce me into an ultimatum. You want to die? That’s your choice. We are done.”

Just as she went to turn away from him, he did exactly what she’d expected and swung his knife.

“Ridley!” Alexia yelled.

Ridley ducked under his arm, snatching the knife from his hand and plunging it exactly where she was aiming. It hit with a loud thud.

A gasp of breath left his body and he stumbled backwards into one of the chairs at the table.

She crouched before him, gesturing to the knife. “I leave you with your choice. That knife is currently severing and blocking your aorta. You can live. Or you can die. But the choice is all yours.”

Before he could respond, she walked away.

ALEXIA POV

She’d been watching her from across the room since it had happened.

The authorities had arrived. People she knew held high offices. Politicians, military and such. The bodies were removed, starting with Bashir’s.

Many, many statements were taken. Photos. Injuries. Camera footage. Apologies. Explanations. A specialised team talking to the group about how to address the event in the media.

Blau managed to gain some powerful friends with what happened. And she even admitted that what happened would give Lumos a lot of publicity, though that’s not where her head was at. Most of her was trying to come to terms with everything they’d just seen.

They all were.

“It is not something anybody should ever have to see..” they were told repeatedly during the apologies.

They were offered all of the psychological help available, and she was pretty certain that it was more than just requested.

But amongst the chaos, Alexia couldn’t keep her eyes from her.

She was alive.

Ridley had been over the far side of the room in an intense debrief while her injuries were treated. Her ribs were broken. Her thigh was stitched and bandaged. Her head was also treated, stitched and bandaged until she could get proper care for it. As her shirt was removed, the military medics did seem a little startled by the amount of scars riddling her body. She lifted her arm tenderly, her torso on full display and still very much sun-kissed from their time on the island, while they bandaged her bruised ribs.

She wanted to give her space, but she also knew she needed it too. What happened had been… confronting. And not just the violence. But the feeling of having lost her. She wouldn’t wish that upon anyone. She didn’t even know if she’d be able to survive that if it had been true.

Alexia needed space to think, but she also just wanted to be close to her. To reassure her. The few times they locked eyes, she could see the shame there. The knowledge of having done such horrible things in front of her. Blau. Lucy. Everyone.

But Alexia had already understood the world she lived in. And if anything, it just made her feel even safer to see that side of her.

But amongst all of her feelings, Alexia was worried more than anything. Worried that Ridley would feel so ashamed that she’d push her away. She was terrified of that. Because after what had happened, it was clear that she couldn’t live without her.

When most of the people around her had disappeared, Alexia approached her warily, hearing her conversation as she approached.

“I am sorry again. I needed to help you before he arrived, and it was the quickest option… I’ll work on my aim a little better, huh?” Reynold chuckled, tapping her forehead.

She smiled and joked. “Very quick thinking, my friend. You saved my life by shooting me in the head.”

“Ohhh well.” He grinned as he gave an exaggerated shrug. “Looks like you owe me one.”

Ridley took his extended hand. “Thank you for your service.”

“The honour is mine. I’ll see you around, Commander.”

He turned to give Alexia a polite nod as he left, walking away from the pair.

Ridley and Alexia stood opposite each other just… looking. Not talking. She looked at the bandage on her head, the bruise on her jaw, the fatigue in those dark eyes of hers.

“Please don’t leave me...” Alexia whispered, catching her sob.

Ridley’s eyebrows came together in confusion. Her lips parted, and then closed. Her face relaxed.

“There are so many thing I have to say… so many apologies and regrets. So much shame.” She said with a voice that broke.

Slowly, and tenderly, she fell to her knees in front of Alexia. “But beyond all that - I love you, Alexia. I’m not going anywhere. I’m yours… if you’ll have me.”

She leant forwards, pressing her forehead to her abdomen, putting herself entirely at the mercy of the Spaniard.

And that’s the exact moment Alexia knew that Ridley was hers.

[whentherewerebicycles]

my baby is six months old today!!! he’s been alive for half a year!!!!! it somehow feels both like he's been in my life forever and like i just gave birth days ago. I love him so much it makes me feel a little frantic sometimes. he is down for his first nap now and I can hear him in his crib grumbling to himself about the terrible indignities they subject sweet little babies to these days (chief among them being wrapped in blankets in a soft little sleeping bag in a cozy warm room for a nice restorative nap).

I think I want to journal a bit today—six things about the baby + six thoughts about my experience of parenting thus far. baby first!

well i mean. he is just perfect. he is just the best little guy ever. all babies are the best little guy ever but he is MY best little guy you know? i love him so much. what is his personality like? i would say he has definitely retained something of the watchfulness and slight reserve he had as a newborn. he has these huge dark eyes and he studies things very intently and in general likes to Observe the Situation before wading in. but he is, so far, not especially shy? the stranger danger phase has not set in yet so he enjoys being held by a wide range of people and will warm up to new faces after a bit, especially if they make silly expressions at him or sing to him. he also definitely has His People, who he is not reserved with at all. the second my sister walks in he starts kicking his legs furiously and babbling to her to get her to come over and talk to him. he looooves my mom and is way snugglier with her than anyone else. he adores his primary babysitters (his nanny + liz's husband A) and is sooo chatty with them. he was slow to smile (liz's baby was beaming at everybody from like five weeks on but i don't think O was smiling regularly until about 12 weeks) and he is still pretty selective with them (strangers do NOT get smiles unless they make a very silly surprising noise). but his general temperament is just like… he’s a calm, even-keeled, good-natured little guy who is down for pretty much whatever. this kid can hang.

he is REALLY good at independent play. if he's fed and changed he can pretty much entertain himself for 45-60 min at a time without any input from me. he just kicks around on his mat and plays with his toys. in the morning he wakes up around 6:30 but the family does not get up until 7:20 and he will just hang out in his crib making his hands dance in the air and chattering happily to himself. i think this is probably like 80% inborn temperament... my mom says i was the exact same way as a baby, just like totally content to chill and think and talk to myself. but i think maybe 20% of it is also things i consciously did to encourage this from about four weeks on and i am proud of that! i think one of the qualities i like best in myself is that i have a high tolerance for boredom because i can just get lost in my thoughts/imagination. as long as i have something to think about or some imaginary situation to play out in my head i am content. i really want that for him too! idk more thoughts about this when i journal about parenting lol. but i appreciate that he doesn't have to be entertained 24/7 (at least at this age). he is content to just be on his own or just be in the room watching people do other stuff.

obviously i adored him from the start lol but i would say that four months marked a big turning point in terms of how much fun he was to hang out with. he just started seeming so much more alert and engaged around then. and then this last five to six months span of time has just been SO fun. he's fully a little person. he has preferences and opinions and favorite toys and favorite people and favorite animals (ruthie). he is learning ALL the time. you can see him puzzling things out and beginning to develop a rudimentary understanding of cause and effect. right now, like in the past week or so, he is extremely into TEXTURES. he must scritch-scratch absolutely everything with his little baby nails. he is obsessed with his "baby paper" (crinkly paper) and he is much more open to tummy time now mainly because it allows him to scritch-scratch all the different quilts we use as playmats. he likes to scritch-scratch the glass when i take him to the window in the morning to show him his friends the trees, and if there is any kind of graphic on my t-shirts he MUST scratch the edges of it. and he does all of this with a look of total focus lol this kid is LOCKED IN on scritch-scratching.

he laughs so much these days. he also seems to have figured out that people react positively and often rush over to engage with him when he laughs, so sometimes if i'm on the other side of the room and he wants me to pay attention to him he will just do this "huh-huh-HAH-HA! HA!" belly laugh so i'll come over and make silly faces at him. i do pretty much nonstop funny accents and comedy bits for him and i'd say i get a laugh 50% of the time... the other 50% of the time he just gives me this wide-eyed look that clearly says "ok... this lady is nutso and i seem to be trapped in her care... i need to proceed carefully here..." which is also very funny.

he is really into being gently manhandled right now haha. i think it is probably related to developing proprioception? but he loves to be "flying baby" (where you lift him over your head and zoom him around like an airplane) and he loves being a pendulum in a giant clock (where you hold him under his arms and swing his body back and forth as you lift him up and down) and he REALLY loves it when you wrap him up in your arms and roll into a ball and roll over and over a bunch of times. also it delights him when you play-wrestle with him and tickle him even though he cannot yet really wrestle back lol. bonus points if you also growl at him and pretend you are going to eat him up... that's a big hit right now. when i was a kid my dad would wrestle with us all the time and pretend to be a bear chasing us around the house on all fours and let us ride on his back and stuff and it was so much fun. so far it is also pretty fun for the grownup lol i feel like it's a great way to get some silly energy out. but also i think i need to start lifting weights lol because this kid is already so heavy and i want to be able to keep tossing him around and wrestling with him when he's even bigger!!

on a related note: he is getting much stronger!! he is a big boy (as of today: 75th percentile for weight, 98th percentile for height, and wearing 12 month clothes). some of the physical milestones have been challenging for him because he weighs a lot and has a big ol noggin, so it's a lot of work to lift/maneuver his body. but he is rolling over pretty regularly and happily now, and in the last day or two he's started pushing up on his hands a little when he's on his tummy which was the big tummy time milestone he hadn't hit yet. he can also sit up with hip support and is starting to brace himself on his hands while sitting. the contrast with my nephew has been so funny to watch... my nephew is two and a half months older and is the tiniest, springiest little guy, so it's a lot easier for him to monkey around lol. but my nephew also just has this truly nonstop internal motor that seems to drive him to MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE MOVE at all times. my baby uhh does not have that motor lol. he finds my nephew's frenetic energy a little overwhelming and is like actually i would prefer to lounge around here on my mat scritch-scratching a quilt, thank you. truly my child lol. why "move around" when you could instead sit in one place daydreaming. it's funny to watch them together and just be like ohhh kids are SO different there's such a wide spectrum of normal.

ok there are six things!!! some other rapidfire facts just for my files: he is still quite gloriously bald but he's started getting hair! no eyebrows yet though lol and no sign that they are on the horizon. he loves taking baths with me except maybe "loves" is the wrong word... he takes bathtime deathly seriously because it is Water Kicking Time and he was put on this earth to Kick Water. so bathtimes are training sessions... he does not smile at ALL during baths he is too Locked In, but he screams and screams when you try to take him out because he was STILL TRAINING. his eyes still have a little bit of that newborn dark blue left but are mostly dark brown now with perhaps the barest hint of hazel. he is really into music and will go into a trance state when you sing to him or play instruments for him. he loves to chomp on his toys. he used to "kiss" your cheek but now just wants to nom nom nom on your face. his cheeks get so rosy when he's worked up or chilly or excited. he is transfixed by his own hands. he does this sharp startled little inhale when something surprises him. he can now take his pacifier out of his mouth and sometimes put it back in (i'd say we have a 20% success rate of getting the pacifier back in the right way). he is almost always a perfect sleeper although we had a little rough patch last night so i'm holding my breath hoping he's not about to have some kind of regression. he loves to kvetch and has mastered the fine art of lowgrade grumbling and complaining. he is teething and so there is a lot of drool everywhere all the time. he likes to hold his board books while i read to him i think it makes him feel important and involved lol. he is very soft and warm and smells good. he loves to snuggle in the big bed with mom. he is the best. he is just the best!!! i am the luckiest person in the world. i love him so much and i love being his mom. what a good baby!!!

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Wip Whenever

Hey guys it's 43 minutes into Thursday and i'm line arting. I managed to get some writing done too so like both? Tagged by @skyrim-forever

Tagging @nyarevar @thequeenofthewinter @saltymaplesyrup @firefly-factory and anyone else interested. Tumblr's being glitchy. 0 pressure as usual <3 Right, arts

Working on some pre-oblivion era Josh since I talked about it so much yesterday. Almost done lining. And a bit from chapter 15 of Sleepers Awake

“B’vehk! Would you calm down!” The stranger yelled, sitting up straighter, “You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself!” Teldryn yelled, “Where the fuck is my shit!”

The mer sighed heavily and pointed to what looked like a carved, Cyrodiilic-style chest in the corner, just behind where Teldryn was sitting, “Easy, easy there. I put your things in that chest there for safekeeping while I patched you up.”

“You…what?” Teldryn grumbled as he looked down at himself. He was wearing a clean, loose linen shirt that was far too big for him. A fresh bandage had been wrapped around his torso, the top peaking out from under his loose collar. He was still wearing the same trousers he’d thrown on earlier that day, though they were caked in ash…at least the sections that hadn’t been covered in armour, anyway. He was missing his shoes.

“It’s unlocked if you insist on putting that armour back on, sera,” the older mer sighed, “You will find, however, that it’s a bit warped in places. I’d suggest getting it repaired when we arrive in Ald’ruhn.”

Teldryn felt his stomach lurch, panic setting in as his heart struggled to remain steady. He was already later for this meeting than he had any right to be and now he was making the whole situation worse! Cosades would have his fucking head for sure after this!

No, no, no, no!” He found himself scrambling towards the chest in the corner, pain shooting through his side as he started frantically tossing the chest’s contents about the caravan. He gasped for breath as his heart raced, feeling like blades against his ribs as his fingertips tingled. He had to get off this fucking bug! His life depended on it.

“Hey, hey. Slow down there.”

Teldryn felt a hand on his arm and he twisted towards the mer, watching as he dodged Teldryn’s left fist.

“Hey! I’m not here to hurt you!” The other mer said, his voice painfully soothing, just as it was back on the ship, “Calm down!”

“I can’t go to Ald’ruhn, I was just coming from there!” Teldryn cried as he yanked his right arm from the mer’s admittedly lax grip and reached for his cuirass, “I need to get off this thing. Now!”

“You want me to let you off Ara in the middle of a damn ashstorm? Are you crazy?” The other Dunmer yelled in reply. Finally! He’d roused this soft-spoken fuck’s personality.

“I was already stuck in an ashstorm you stupid fuck!” Teldryn growled as he struggled to tighten the lacing on his cuirass, “I’ll figure it out!”

“You’ll figure it out. Hey?” The other mer taunted, raising an eyebrow, “You know, I didn’t take you for a complete idiot but then again...”

Teldryn stared down the larger mer, who had now moved back to his original seating position, “An what’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged and reached for what looked to be a shard of scrib jerky and took a bite, “I mean you’re planning on wandering the ashlands this close to nightfall, in the middle of an ashstorm with armour that’s too damn broken to withstand the storm. Either you’re a dim one or—”

“It’s better than the damn alternative,” Teldryn grumbled as he pulled on his boots, wincing as the thick leather rubbed against a bandage that was wrapped around his shin, “I’ll take my chances.”

The older mer reached for his arm though hesitated when he saw Teldryn pulling away from him. He exhaled, his shoulders slumping already, “Alright, where are you heading.”

“Where am I?” Teldryn shook his head, “None of your fucking buis—”

“Hey! I’m not your enemy here!” The Dunmer growled, “I am actively trying to help you! How are you not getting that?”

Teldryn opened his mouth, closing it again as he failed to think of a reply. It was true, whatever his intentions, it wasn’t to hurt him. Gods! He’d had ample opportunity and the most he’d done was touch him. If anything, Teldryn was the one who was posing a threat. He was still just as easily startled as he was on that night back on the prison ship. Just as ready to lash out. Just as paranoid of strangers when he was feeling vulnerable and by the gods, he was feeling pretty fucking vulnerable! Whatever had attacked him out by that estate had really done a number on him. His armour was warped to the point of uselessness, and he was nursing more than his fair share of wounds by the looks of it. He’d perish overnight in the wastes if he tried to brave them now, though it was likely he wouldn’t last much longer anyway with this last fuck up. He’d have to be on his best damn behaviour just to convince this contact of Zainsubani’s to still take him as a client. No one was gonna wait around for hours for him to get his shit together. Especially not some stranger who apparently took bastards like him to points in the Ashlands all the time. Zainsubani made him sound no-nonsense and like…professional. It made him nervous, this whole thing made him nervous…

“Maar Gan.”

[starlost-mochi-x]

lonely st. ✧ chapter iv : falling

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (y/n)

warnings: lonely reader, school!au, hyunjin's knees are finally healing, someone else is kinda mean to y/n, swearing, descriptions of panic attacks and forced isolation, hyunjin is the sweetest softest boy ever

a/n: ...this took a while

series masterlist | skz masterlist

"Yah, Hyunjin, what the fuck did you do to your knees?"

Hyunjin looked across at Jisung, pulling his basketball jersey on.

"Oh," he said calmly. "I fell."

Jisung tutted at him, waggling a finger in Hyunjin's face. They were the last three boys in the changing rooms, having been split into smaller teams for longer, more individualized training. Felix watched the interaction with interest, piping up.

"You fall over a lot, you know," he observed. "Surprisingly often for the school's star basketball player."

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, turning back to his locker, tying the cords of his shorts. His gaze flitted down to his knees, where he'd stuck the bandaids Y/n had given him. They were quite sticky considering the designs; Hyunjin had seen Jisung buy colourful bandaids that didn't last more than ten minutes.

Two of the bandages were stuck to his left knee, one yellow with a smiley face across it, and the other solid stripes of light pink and purple, like a Cheshire cat. The one on his right knee was lime green, with solid black writing that detailed 'I'M OKAY' in wobbly writing. He loved them so much.

The fourth bandaid he'd stuck to his face, replacing the little chicken one that had peeled off. It was white, with a little pink and black spider in the middle, his favourite one so far. Truthfully, the little cut on his cheekbone had practically healed by now and didn't need anything covering it, but Hyunjin liked wearing the bandaids. It made him feel connected to Y/n, and he felt brighter somehow, as if he was one of her colourful keychains or pins.

Shaking his head, he turned back to Jisung and Felix with a smile. "Just a clumsy spell, I guess. It should heal before the championship."

Felix side-eyed him from his own locker. "It better. Jisung is hopeless on offense-"

"I'm not!"

Hyunjin let a small laugh escape his mouth. He looked across at his friends, neatly folding his uniform and placing it neatly on the shelf. He paused in his actions.

Jisung was holding his shirt above Felix's head, clearly attempting to hit him, the other boy's arms braced against his temples. They were both frozen, staring at Hyunjin with gaping mouths.

Hyunjin blinked, cutting himself off. "You know, I- what?"

Jisung whispered. "You laughed."

Hyunjin frowned. "What? Is it illegal now?"

Felix scrambled up from his position. "No, no, it's just- you've been so downcast lately. We thought something was really wrong."

Jisung chimed in. "Yeah. First it was the falling over at practice, then the being distracted during class. We were pretty worried, dude."

Hyunjin felt a little guilty at having worried his friends. His cheeks flushed and the bandaids on his knees and face suddenly felt like burning beacons. Jisung had promised not to tell anyone about his attempts to befriend Y/n, but he hadn't approved or disapproved of it. And Felix was a close friend too, but Hyunjin felt there would always be a possibility that they might not like it. Either that, or they would think he liked her. Most likely the second option.

His voice was quiet as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. "I just felt stressed the last few days. I've just had a lot to do."

Felix's eyes narrowed. "You're literally never busy...?"

Panic set into Hyunjin's gut, frantic and buzzing. He stuttered a little, trying to come up with a quick lie to fool his friend.

"It's because of Y/n," Jisung blurted out suddenly.

Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation. "Jisung! I told you not to say anything!"

Felix's eyes bounced between them. He walked closer to Hyunjin, his gaze confused. "Y/n? You mean the weird loner girl in our class? The one who always disappears at breaktimes?"

"She's not weird," Hyunjin snapped at him, voice echoing in the locker room.

Felix's eyes widened a little, clearly taken aback. Jisung shut his mouth immediately, his friend's unusual outburst blanketing the room in a thick, heavy silence.

"You don't have to be such a jerk, Felix," Hyunjin flared at him again, well aware of the nastiness in his voice.

"Alright, man. Sorry."

Felix's voice was quiet, subdued, and Hyunjin felt a rush of remorse settle heavily in his stomach, the feeling sour in his mouth. He exhaled and sat down on the bench, leaning his elbows on his knees.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Just- she's not weird."

Felix gingerly sat down next to him. He was shirtless, having been halfway through taping his shoulder, and Hyunjin could feel the heat radiating off his skin. Felix placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as Jisung moved to sit down on his other side.

"I didn't mean it, Hyunjin," Felix's voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Hyunjin exhaled, running a hand through his dark, sleek hair. "It's fine. Just- she's not mean and intense and cold like everyone thinks she is. She gave me the chicken bandaid after I fell that time at practice, and all of these too." He gestured to his knees.

"I was wondering where you got those from," Felix chuckled, touching the one on his friend's face. "They're cute. Did you ask her for them?"

"No," Hyunjin replied softly, the ghost of a smile on his face. "She noticed both times and gave them to me. Felix, you don't understand, she's really sweet. Maybe a bit shy and awkward, but not cold. Not at all."

Felix smiled across at Jisung as Hyunjin talked. Jisung pouted cutely, pressing a hand discreetly to his heart in an 'aww' gesture.

"I wonder if she carries them around," Jisung said thoughtfully. "Maybe she's clumsy just like you, Hyunjin."

Hyunjin nodded silently in response. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't actually recall seeing her wear any of the colourful bandaids, not even on her hands or under the hem of her skirt. He wondered what she could possibly need them for.

Jisung leaned his head against Hyunjin's shoulder as Felix spoke up.

"Are you gonna get mad at me if I ask if you maybe, possibly, sort of like her?"

Hyunjin shook his head. "No, I don't. But there's no harm in being her friend. I don't know her that well, like, at all, but if I can make her life a little easier, then I should."

Jisung smiled. "That's sweet, dude. Maybe, once you get closer with her, we could start talking to her too."

Felix grinned, agreeing.

"Thanks," Hyunjin said softly. "I'm just going to be cautious around her from now on because I don't want to scare her off again. But maybe, once she opens up a little bit."

Jisung stood up, slapping his friend on the back. "Alright, that's settled, then. Let's go out to practice now. Oh, and Hyunjin, don't worry us like that again, man... It was weird not hearing your 1000 decibel laugh."

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, Felix snickering in the background.

"Don't worry," he said. "I won't."

Y/n kept her head down as she weaved throughout the students laughing and shouting in the hallways. The corridors were always busiest at lunchtimes. She ducked her head to avoid a tall senior who was wildly gesturing his arms in an animated retelling to his friend.

Looking behind her to make sure she wasn't about to get hit in the head, Y/n came up short just as she almost bumped headlong into Yeji. Her heart sank.

"Hey!" she greeted, smiling. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Y/n's fingers tightened around her sketchbook, fingers digging into the smooth, sticker-bombed surface. She gulped, palms beginning to sweat as she stared at Yeji. She'd been friends with her for almost three years, and there were not grudges between them, but for some reason Y/n found she couldn't reply.

"Um, yeah," she replied rather stiffly.

Yeji tilted her head, waving a hand in Y/n's face. "Helloooo? Anyone home?" She giggled.

Y/n flinched as Yeji's perfectly manicured hand waved in her face. She felt a searing pang of frustration and irritation shoot through her. Stepping back, she clutched her sketchbook to her chest, not knowing how to get out of the situation. The air around her suddenly felt hotter, and her shoulders were tense, like stretched rubber bands.

"Hey, Y/n!"

Y/n let out a tiny, gasping breath as Hyunjin jogged up to them. His hair was mussed and slightly slick, his tie loose and shirtsleeves rolled up messily. He must have come straight from playing basketball on the courts. Y/n saw Yeji subconsciously reach up to fix her hair, drawing a pale, pretty hand through the dark orange locks, pressing her lips together to even out the sparkly pink gloss smeared across them.

But Hyunjin paid her no mind, his smile directing its force towards Y/n. She noticed a textbook under his arm.

He tilted his head at her, inviting. "Did you wanna go to the library?"

Y/n was taken aback. There was a look in Hyunjin's eyes, some sort of layer to them that Y/n had never seen before. They were sort of slitted, his eyebrows slightly raised.

He's trying to get me out of the situation, she realised.

"S-sure," she stuttered, cursing herself inwardly.

Hyunjin gave Yeji an effortless smile and gestured for Y/n to walk alongside him. Yeji's smile dropped as he walked a few paces past her to Y/n.

Dropping her head, Y/n shuffled to him and he began to make casual, friendly conversation as they walked down the hallway. clearly attempting to distract her.

Yeji glared after them.

Hyunjin glanced across at Y/n as she slumped down into her usual seat, the table hidden from the rest of the library by the tall, slightly dusty shelves. He sat down delicately next to her, shuffling his chair a little bit away from her so as to give her space.

Her head was down on the desk and Hyunjin sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, wondering if he'd messed things up. But she hadn't looked exactly comfortable when he'd seen her talking to Yeji. He'd calmly observed from a distance, until Yeji had waved her hand in Y/n's face.

He knew she probably meant no harm, but it was clear that Y/n was beginning to panic after she flinched, so he had jogged up to her to try and give her an excuse to leave.

Hyunjin wondered if Y/n and Yeji were really friends. He'd seen them together a few times, talking, usually in a group with Ha-eun, Aeri, and Sangmi, but for some reason Y/n always seemed like she wasn't enjoying herself, usually quietly listening to the others talk excitedly or with her face buried in her sketchbook.

Hyunjin frowned a little, running his fingertips along the side of his closed textbook. If she had friends, why did she choose to be alone? Were they bullying her?

"Hey," he whispered. "You okay?"

He could hear tiny, short gasps coming from her side of the table and he fidgeted desperately, not sure what to do. He was pretty sure she was panicking. He'd heard Jisung do the same thing a couple times, usually after really important basketball matches. But he didn't understand why it happened, or what it was. Jisung kept it quiet, and Hyunjin didn't wish to intrude, so he'd patted his friend on the back and fetched his coach.

Then he had left.

You can't do that to Y/n, Hyunjin thought. I can't leave her, but I'm afraid if I stay, I might make it worse.

He scooted his chair just a tiny bit closer, keeping note of her breathing. His hand hovered unsurely over her back, wanting to offer some sort of comfort. Jisung had told him that different people liked to be comforted in different ways. He wondered how Y/n preferred to be treated when she was upset. He made a mental note to ask her later.

Leaning down to her level, Hyunjin placed one arm on the table, turning his head towards her. He exhaled and the warm breath stirred Y/n's hair. She didn't move. Hyunjin could see one hand pressed to her mouth, covering it. The other was hidden by her blazer lapel, pressed against her chest. Her knee was bouncing up and down rapidly and Hyunjin bit his lip, reaching out a feather-light hand to gently still it. Her knee stopped bouncing.

Hyunjin whispered to her worriedly. "Y/n, are you sick?"

A slight shake of the head. Hyunjin looked around for someone who could help, but he couldn't see past the library shelves. He stood up slowly, bending down to whisper to her.

"I'm gonna go find someone, okay?" He told her determinedly. "They can help-"

"No," she whimpered, almost inaudibly.

Hyunjin's eyes widened. Sitting down again, he leant close to her. Her hand, much smaller than his, moved to grip his wrist. It didn't even go all the way round. Hyunjin blinked, taken aback, but Y/n's tiny, hiccupping voice directed his attention to her instantly.

"Don't leave me," she gasped, a tiny sob leaving her mouth. Her head was still down on the desk. "Hyunjin, don't go, please-"

Hyunjin's brow creased in worry and he couldn't hold himself back any longer. Placing a gentle arm around her, he shuffled closer and leaned his head on the table next to hers.

"It's okay," he said as comfortingly as he could. "I won't leave. Just try and breathe, okay?"

He suddenly became aware that telling her to breathe wasn't really helpful advice, but he didn't know what else to do. What were you supposed to do when things like this happened? Was he supposed to stay? What was he supposed to say to her?

Tears pricked at the corners of Hyunjin's eyes.

Help her, Hyunjin. Do something.

Not knowing what else to do, he quietly began telling her about his day. About how he had to do his homework while the teacher was collecting it because basketball practice ran late last night and he didn't have time. About how he had seen Jisung, his friend, inhale half his food the second the bell went so he could go talk to a girl he liked from his English class.

"They spent literally the whole first breaktime flirting," he told her quietly. "My friend Felix had to grab him by his collar because we all share a class. Jisung always makes us late."

Hyunjin fought a relieved smile as he saw Y/n turn her head just a little, indicating she was listening. Her breathing was evening out and Hyunjin kept talking in a low, reassuring voice until he was positive she had calmed down completely.

"We had practice again this morning, and championships are soon, so we got split up into teams. Coach also told me after practice that he liked my bandaids. See?"

Y/n turned her head a little more as he shuffled back in his chair, facing his legs towards her. He pointed to the lime green one on his right knee, with the 'I'M OKAY' wobbly black writing.

"That one's my favourite," he said softly, sincerely. He pointed to the pink and purple striped one. "And this one reminds me of you, because it's like your bag, all these cool, colourful pins and keyrings."

He tapped his cheek, where the white bandaid with the pink and black spider symbol was stuck. "This one's my favourite, so I put it on my cheek. The cut's actually healed now, but I like it. I feel all decorated."

Y/n lifted her head slightly, a tiny sniff coming from her. He still couldn't see her face, so he brought his arm up a little, giving her comfort. He knew people didn't like to be seen crying.

"Hey," he whispered to her sincerely. "Are you feeling a little bit better?"

She nodded, lifting her head. There were tear stains down her cheeks, and her nose and eyes were red. Hyunjin dug in his pocket and produced a tissue, handing it to her. He always carried them around, finding them useful at random times, but he'd been secretly keeping one in his pocket in case his new friend needed it.

He silently congratulated himself as Y/n took the tissue with a tiny nod of thanks.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Hyunjin met her eyes with a soft, worried gaze. "Why would you be sorry?"

"I wasted your time and now you have to sit here with me while I be a drama queen and cry-"

Hyunjin cut her off determinedly. "No, Y/n... I saw you were uncomfortable, and I did it because of that, but also..." His cheeks flushed, feeling warm. "I wanted to spend time with you." He finished quietly, admitting.

Y/n's gaze flitted to him, confused. She sniffed. "Why?"

He smiled back, a little embarrassed, but intent on telling her his intentions.

"It's actually really nice here. Besides, sometimes I don't feel like hanging out with my friends Jisung and Felix, or playing basketball, or talking at all, to be honest. Especially when I'm tired. But I always did it anyway because I didn't have anywhere else to go during lunchtimes."

He poked her shoulder gently, smiling. "And now I do, and I've got a new friend to do it with as well. Or classmate, who likes talking to me... At least I hope you do."

Y/n looked anywhere but him, feeling that strange, warm feeling settle in her stomach again. For some unknown reason it only happened around the dark-haired basketballer.

Hyunjin let out a little cheer of joy just as a tiny, reluctant smile cracked Y/n's mask.

Felix turned to Hyunjin as they walked down the little path leading to the bus stop. Jisung was walking ahead, seemingly in a better mood than usual; for Felix and Hyunjin, that meant supervising him while he bounced off the walls and stole random leaves off the trees on the sidewalk.

Felix huffed and called out a warning to Jisung who had almost tripped up ahead, before turning to Hyunjin.

"You catching the bus with us today?"

Hyunjin shook his head. "I found out that me and Y/n pretty much live really close, and we both go down the same street, so I asked her to walk with me like I did yesterday."

Felix grinned. "Seems like she's coming around."

"I hope so," he said quietly. "Sorry about leaving you with Jisung. I think he had one of those sugary energy drinks earlier between classes."

Felix rolled his eyes. "I'll be lucky if I get him onto the bus without him tripping and starting a fire of some sort."

Hyunjin laughed and squeezed his friend's arm just as the bus rolled up. He waited until Felix and Jisung had both entered and sat down, then he began turning and walking back the way he'd came. He'd asked Y/n to come with him while he walked his friends to the bus stop, but she had shyly declined, shaking her head before he had even finished his question. She seemed avoidant of being around large groups of people, Hyunjin observed.

She'd settled to wait at the school gates while he had walked the short distance to the bus stop. Looking up, she noticed Hyunjin approaching with a smile.

"Hey," he greeted. "Thanks for waiting for me."

Y/n nodded and they began to walk in silence. Hyunjin kept up a constant stream of cheerful chatter as they walked, skipping over stones. They passed the spot where Hyunjin had fallen and scraped his knees, and Y/n took his arm cautiously, eliciting a small, affectionate smile from the boy.

Reaching the willow tree, Hyunjin rounded the corner, gesturing for Y/n to follow him with a smile. She tilted her head in confusion.

"Let's go for a while longer, down to the shops," he told her. He hurriedly corrected himself at her expression. "Y-you don't have to. If you want to, though...? It doesn't have to be for long-"

Y/n nodded solemnly. "Okay."

Hyunjin let out a breath of relief as they continued walking. It felt new and different walking past the usual route to his house. He glanced sideways at Y/n, who was busy looking up at the sky. He let one of his hands fall from his pocket and dangle at his side so he could catch her just in case she fell. Looking down at the pavement as they walked towards the shops, he let his other hand fall from his pocket too, mistrusting his own steps, though he was being as careful as he could.

He had enough bandaids on his body already.

Y/n's phone buzzed. Setting her sketchbook down, and slightly jarred at the interruption, she crawled across the bed and picked it up from the bedside. Turning the screen on, and hissing at the brightness, she slammed it down on the pillow.

Staying up late at night was one of Y/n's favourite things to do. It was the reason her eyes were always dark and strained, but the night brought a peace and serenity the daylight could never give her. She'd been sketching in her pad by the light of a little pocket torch when her phone had gone off.

Sighing and turning the torch off, she squeezed her eyes shut tight, adjusting them, before picking up her phone once more. Swiping into her home screen, she noticed several message notifications. Her heart jolted unpleasantly.

It was none other than Yeji. The last message had been sent a minute ago.

yeji 🌷: you up?

Y/n gulped before texting back.

y/n ⛓️: yeah y/n ⛓️: what's wrong? it's late yeji 🌷: i was just wondering something... i couldn't sleep so i thought i'd ask you anyway. sorry if i woke you y/n ⛓️: no, it's okay. what is it? yeji 🌷: today, when we were talking... you and hyunjin yeji 🌷: are you dating him?

Y/n buried her face in her pillow, letting out a muffled groan. She knew this was bound to happen. Not that she didn't appreciate Hyunjin's help for getting her out of the situation. She had no clue why she had become so upset when she'd run into Yeji. Maybe it was the fact that Yeji was smart, pretty, funny, loved by most of the girls in their grade. She was just so normal.

Y/n was well aware that she had no reason to really hate Yeji. After all, they were friends.

Then why did Yeji irritate her so much?

y/n ⛓️: what makes you say that? yeji 🌷: you guys have been hanging out a lot lately... yeji 🌷: i didn't think he would be into someone like you

Y/n frowned, turning the screen off suddenly. What did she mean, 'someone like her'? Someone as quiet or lonely as she was? Someone who was the outcast of the school?

She turned the screen back on, flicking into the messages.

y/n ⛓️: we're not dating yeji 🌷: then why does he keep talking to you? y/n ⛓️: because he's my friend, and he's in most of my classes too. why? yeji 🌷: just wondering, haha

Huffing, Y/n glared at Yeji's reply message. Just wondering, totally. Anticipating an argument building, Y/n exhaled before typing out a final message.

y/n ⛓️: my phone's about to die. sorry.

Then she turned it off.

Hyunjin absentmindedly tossed his basketball between his hands, watching as the sunlight cast patterns across the vibrant orange material. It was pretty early, with some students milling through the halls, but mostly the corridors were empty. Basketball practice had finished pretty early that morning. His knees were healing well, and he was feeling ready and prepared for the upcoming championship matches.

Jisung and Felix had stayed behind to run some training drills. Hyunjin knew that 'training drills' meant messing around and trying to hang from the hoops by their arms while their coach wasn't there. He appreciated the opportunity to quietly walk by himself nonetheless, smiling as he thought of the way Jisung would excitedly tell him about the morning's antics in form class.

Turning a corner, he ran directly into someone, dropping the basketball in surprise.

"Yeji," he said, blinking. "Sorry, I didn't see you."

She grinned at him, teasing. "Am I that short, Mr. Hwang?"

Hyunjin chuckled. Him and Yeji were somewhat close, having been in the same inner circle of their old friend group before it had eventually split. Hyunjin went with the boys on his basketball team and Yeji stuck with the other girls, some of which he'd seen with Y/n. Or around her, to be more specific. They usually ignored her, chatting excitedly, while she was left in the dust. Maybe they thought that there was no need to talk to her unless she talked first. The thought made his fingers tighten around the basketball as he moved to pick it up.

"Haven't seen you in a while, Yeji."

She smiled back, clearly pleased to have ran into him. "Yeah. How's basketball?"

"Good." They began walking down the hallways in silence. Yeji was seemingly expectant, and Hyunjin wondered if there was a group event or hangout he'd missed that she was about to pester him about. Maybe she was just waiting for his reply.

"So," Yeji began, eyes glinting as she looked up at Hyunjin. "You and Y/n, huh?"

There it is. Hyunjin fought the urge to roll his eyes as he replied.

"No, we're friends."

"That's what everyone says. Why else would you befriend her?"

Hyunjin stopped in his tracks, basketball slipping a little under his arm. He frowned at her. "What do you mean?"

Yeji flicked a long strand of orange hair behind her shoulder, looking up at him innocently. "I mean," she said breezily, "she's kind of an outcast."

Hyunjin fought the urge to snap at her, or throw his basketball in her face, or tug her hair out. Or all three, preferably. But he kept his cool with some effort, masking his anger with the fake guise of coughing suddenly. His breath suddenly caught in his throat and he actually started coughing.

Yeji placed a manicured hand on his back in concern, leaning closer to him.

"You okay?" she said gently, in concern that Hyunjin had a feeling was entirely fake and most likely an excuse to get closer to him.

"Yeah," he said wheezily, knocking a fist against his chest. "All good."

Yeji tilted her head and they kept walking. Hyunjin wanted nothing more than to slap her in the face, but something in his gut told him to play along and see what Yeji said.

"So, about Y/n," he started hesitantly. "What do you mean, 'why else would i befriend her'?"

Yeji sighed. "Hyunjin, literally no one likes her. I'm only friends with her because she hangs around me like a fly. I was just wondering why you were friends with her."

Hyunjin's mouth pressed into a thin line. Yeji had always been pretty upfront and honest with him. But it was still jarring listening to her admit that three years of friendship with Y/n had been a lie. That she was just a pity friend. Hyunjin was disgusted.

But he couldn't tell Yeji that. Otherwise she would tell everyone and perhaps make up a few lies along the way. He'd seen her do it to another guy from the soccer team and it hadn't ended well. He'd left the school.

"It's just that I need help to pass English this semester," he said to her as honestly as he could. It was surprisingly convincing, considering it was a complete lie. "She's pretty smart."

Yeji blinked up at him through long lashes. "Is that why you keep going to the library with her? So she can tutor you?"

Hyunjin nodded.

Yeji continued, a hint of suspicion in her voice. "Y/n's pretty socially dumb, but not that much. What did you offer her in return for the tutoring? I doubt she would've done it for free."

Hyunjin blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "A date with me."

Yeji let out a short, high-pitched laugh. "No waaayyy, Hyunjin. That's so sneaky of you. I bet she didn't suspect a thing."

Hyunjin let out a short, forced laugh. "Yeah. I just really need to pass English, otherwise I might get kicked off the basketball team..."

They reached the end of the hallway. Yeji stopped and turned to him, tilting her head and smiling. "You don't have to rely on that loser to tutor you. I'm doing pretty well in English right now. I'll tutor you instead."

Panic seized Hyunjin's gut. "Oh, uhm- I'd hate to trouble you. Wouldn't wanna take up any of your time."

Yeji shook her head eagerly. "No, it's fine," she pulled out her phone and waved it in Hyunjin's face. "Text me a time and then you can come over to mine tonight, okay? It'll be fun."

Hyunjin had no choice but to nod. "Um, sure. I guess."

Yeji giggled, touching his arm. "And remember, this conversation stays between us. Don't tell your little friend Y/n, okay?"

Hyunjin nodded, forcing a smile onto his face.

"Sure, Yeji."

taglist (open) : @kozumesphone @bangchansgirlsblog @ms-flowergirl

✨ send a request or DM to be added / removed !

[aardvaark]

i was kinda hoping for mistynat to be a thing in yellowjackets because they reminded me a little of root & shaw from person of interest, but then the end of season 2 happened and they unfortunately are a bit too much like root & shaw from person of interest lmao

[19871997]

.