#bold survey | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

megan-loves-surveys · 4 months ago

Text

#53.

PART ONE: You and Your Life

Were any other names considered for you at birth? I know my name would have been James if I was a boy. Not sure about other girls' names.

What was the day, date and time for your birth? July 13th, 1987. It was a Monday around 8:45pm.

So how old will you be this year? I turned 37.

Where do you dwell? Auckland.

What is your astrological sign? Cancer.

Do you check your horoscopes regularly, and do you believe in them? I check it sometimes for fun, I don't really believe in them but they're cool to read.

What are your typical [starsign] qualities? Not sure.

Who are you compatible with? Not sure.

What kind of house do you live in? I live in a gated complex with 21 houses, mine is the very last one on one side, it's two storeys.

What’s the name of your street/close/road? Not saying.

Who do you live with? My Mum.

What rooms are in your house? Our downstairs is one big room - the lounge, dining room and kitchen are all in one. Upstairs is my room, my Mum's room, the bathroom and a few cupboards.

Where is your room? Upstairs.

How is it decorated? It's grey, but I have loads of posters everywhere.

Did you decorate it yourself? No.

What kind of furniture do you have? I have my bed, a bookcase, three sets of drawers (one with my TV on top of it), a huge shoe rack for my Converse collection, DVD racks, a desk and these cube things that I store stuff in.

Did you set out to decorate it with a certain look? -

Do you have posters on the walls? Yep - most of them are of The Shield guys, both as a group and solo. The star attractions are two big PPV posters - one of Mox on his own, and one of Mox & Seth.

What is your calendar this year [if you have one?] Corgis!

Are your parents still together? No, my Dad remarried.

So what kind of person are you, in the good ways? I'm kind, I'm loyal, I'm funny, I'll have your back, I like to go out and do fun things etc.

And in the bad ways? I can proscrastinate and I don't shut up lol xD

In what ways do you annoy people? I get obsessive about things I like and never stop talking about them hahah and I can be clingy.

What are your strengths? Typing, knowing random useless facts and I keep a clear head in a crisis and think rationally instead of freaking out.

What are your weaknesses? Basically my physical strength, I have none especially in my upper body.

Are you easily depressed? No.

What makes you depressed? That depends.

Are you easily paranoid? Again, depends.

What is your current mood? I'm pretty good, excited about getting my hair done on Thursday!!

Who are your close friends? They know who they are.

Who are your favourite friends to talk with when you are upset? Depends why I'm upset.

Who do you share most in common with? All of them in different ways.

Do you have a journal/diary? Yep.

PART TWO: Appearances

Insert a picture of yourself here: Look at my PFP, that was taken about 10 years ago but I still look the same, I basically haven't aged at all in the last decade xD

How important is the way you look to you? Pretty important, I do all the stuff - I dye my hair, get my nails done, get waxed, wear cute clothes, go to the gym etc.

How self-conscious are you when it comes to your appearance? I try to hide my stomach while I work out to get rid of it.

How tall/short are you? 5'3".

What colour hair do you have? Currently it's growing out purple.

Is it dyed? Yep. I'm getting it dyed blue in a few days!

If so, what is your natural hair colour? Blonde.

How long is it? Past my shoulders, I'd say it's at boob length now xD

Are you growing it? Always.

What would you call your body shape? Mostly slim, except my stomach needs to go.

Are you happy with it? Mostly.

What colour eyes do you have? Green.

How do you dress, and why? I mostly wear wrestling t-shirts, short shorts, tiny skirts, playsuits, tiny dresses, tank tops, yoga pants and hoodies. For shoes, I mainly wear Converse and jandals/flip flops, and heels for work.

How long ago did you start dressing this way? It's been my wardrobe for years hahah, pretty much since I became an adult.

Do your friends dress similarly to you? Not really.

How is the way you dress reflective of your personality? Dunno xD

What parts of your appearance do people compliment? My boobs, my legs and my hair.

What parts of your appearance do people insult? None, if they know what's good for them :P

PART THREE: Hobbies

What do you do for a living? I'm an admin assistant - I do all sorts of stuff like data entry, reception, note taking in meetings and doing odd jobs for my boss.

Are you happy with what you do? Yep, my job is great cos it's not samey, every day is different.

What are your hobbies: Watching wrestling, attending wrestling shows, video games, music, traveling, writing, reading random websites, shopping etc.

Name everything you love: Here's just a selection - my boyfriend, Jon Moxley, Seth Rollins, Roman Reigns, music, my laptop, my phone, food, wrestling, traveling, going to the gym, Converse etc.

Name everything you hate: Migraines, humidity, when my internet is slow, when it rains and ruins your plans, being broke, when my phone battery is low and I forget to charge it, hypocrites etc.

What kind of people do you love: Lots.

What kind of people do you hate: Murderers, sex offenders, rapists, child abusers, animal abusers etc.

PART FOUR: Music

I know it’s a chore, but list your favourite bands and musicians here: Ayumi Hamasaki, Five, Blue, Girls Aloud, Namie Amuro, Little Mix, Madison Beer, Taylor Swift, Britney Spears, Sugababes, Atomic Kitten, Adam Lambert, Spice Girls, Koda Kumi, Melanie Martinez, Charli XCX etc.

What are your favourite genres: Pop, J-pop, K-pop, rock, dance, electro, classical, new age etc.

Any particular favourite songs? Loads, but my fave at the moment is Zolita - Shut Up And Cry

Albums? So many I can't say.

Insert some of your favourite lyrics? ^

What band do you listen to when you want to feel happy? Depends.

The most depressive music? None.

Do you have any favourite music videos? Don't really watch them anymore.

Are you in a band? No.

If so, what’s it called? -

If you’re not in a band – do you want to be? No, I have no musical talent at all lol.

PART FIVE: Love and Relationships, etc.

Seeing anybody right now? Yep.

The obvious question: Straight/bi/gay: Bi.

Do you have crushes: Everyone does.

If so, do you like them for their personality, or for their appearance? Both.

Celebrity crushes: Mox, Seth, Roman, Drew, Ritchie, Duncan etc.

Ever been in love? Yep.

Are you now? Yep <3

How confident are you when it comes to relationships? Depends.

Do you know of anybody who likes you? Well, I hope so lol.

What would be most important to you in a relationship? Loyalty and likes to have fun.

Your ideal guy/girl, personality: Funny, loyal, protective, loves to go out and do fun things, likes wrestling, shares some of my hobbies, dominant <3

Your ideal guy/girl, appearance: Tall, dark haired or a silver fox, blue eyes, big muscly arms, big hands, nice ass, nice smile, well built. I basically described my boyfriend, lol.

What’s more important to you, appearance or personality? Both.

What are your turn ons: LOADS.

Turn offs: Loads.

Fantasies: I would get banned if I listed them, trust me.

How dirty-minded are you? So much so, it's scary lol.

What would you rule out in relationships: Younger men, I do not date younger, only my age or older.

What kind of things would you like to share in common? Good sense of humour and love for wrestling!

Does any particular dress sense turn you on? I love a man in a uniform or a suit.

Do you remember your first boyfriend/girlfriend? Yep.

The most romantic songs you can think of? Hmm.

The sexiest bands? Every group has sexy members tbh.

The sexiest singing voices? Duncan, I love his husky voice.

PART SIX: Movies, TV, etc.

What are your favourite movies? I'm not a big movie fan so I'll just say Simpsons Movie and Cagefighter, Mox's movie.

What kind of movies do you love to watch, and why? Action, comedy or horror.

What kind of movies DON’T you watch, and why? Romance. So fucking dull.

Favourite actors: Johnny Depp <3

Favourite actresses: None.

Most romantic movie you’ve seen and one of your favourites: I hate those.

The most sad movie you’ve seen and one of your favourites: Not my thing.

If you could have starred in any of your favourite movies, which one would it be, why, and what character would you have played? No clue.

If you could take any song and place it in a movie, what song and movie would it be? ^

TV Shows you watch: WWE Raw, WWE Smackdown, AEW Dynamite, Big Bang Theory, Friends, Simpsons, Shortland St, Emmerdale and I watched both seasons of The Mole on Netflix the other week.

PART SEVEN: The End

So, how was it? Not bad.

Did you enjoy it? Sure.

What’s the time now? 10:55am. But you didn't even ask the time at the start, lol.

What was your favourite section? The first one.

Any last words? Nah.

BOLD SURVEY

I had a party on my 16th birthday. My name ends with a consonant. I have a middle name, and I don't hate it. I've been told that I suck at life. My best friend is/has been my significant other. I am in love with someone right now. My jewelry is all silver. My favorite color changes with my mood. So does my eye color. I've dyed my hair black before. I have screamed like an emokid. My GPA is above 3.5. I've dated an older man/woman. My favorite color ink is red. I've written a note to someone in class. Forget school, I hate work! Wintertime sucks major amounts of ass. I live for football. I have friends in Texas. My mother tells me I don't know the first thing about love. My parents are still married. I have an air freshener in my car. Candy is my favorite dessert. Taking pictures is fun. I masturbate, and I don't feel guilty about it. Someone I know is fighting for my country. I drink diet drinks, and it bothers the people around me. I am diabetic. There is food within three feet of me at this moment. I have written in purple ink. My birthday is in February. Chemistry was/is my favorite Science class. I was the fat kid who used to hate gym. The rollercoaster of my life never stops. I know more than five people named Mike. My boss hates me. My father doesn't know anything about me. Yoga is fun stuff. I have more than 200 dollars in my wallet right now. I've used a credit card. Riding dirtbikes is one of my favorite things to do on my days off. Oprah is my hero. I am a fan of punk rock. Concerts are the best thing since… well, something awesome. KoRn is GOD. I like cows. I have more than one poster of my favorite band in my room. Golf doesn't thrill me. I have dated someone for over 6 months. I actually watch Survivor, and I like it! My IM screenname has X at the beginning. I wear lots of pink and purple. I have over 150 people on my buddylist. My favorite day of the week is Thursday. I like ice in my soda. I wrote in a diary when I was younger. Being a kid was really the best part of my life. Homecoming this year really sucked ass. I miss my significant other. The weathermen here don't know what the hell they are talking about. I live for good TV shows! This survey is too long. My best friend is female. There is a highlighter on my desk. I have taken Trigonometry. Mirrors amuse me. Guitars are better than drums. "Piano Man" is a really awesome song. I've learned something new in the past 24 hours. I know what my first name means. Surveys are made because people have too much time on their hands. Going to funerals makes me feel sad, but at the same time happy. Driving in the snow is tons of fun. Reading 8 point font makes my eyes hurt. I have dubbed myself a pyro, not because it makes me feel cool, but because I really do love fire.

*Current… mood: Hungry. music: Nothing rn. taste: Nothing in particular. hair: It's up in two long ponytails cos it's warm and I don't want it to get wrecked by sweat. dress: Blue summer dress. annoyance: The humidity and the fact that the J key on my keyboard has come off lol. smell: Nothing in particular. game: I played 2064: Read Only Memories last night. thing I ought to be doing: Nothing. windows open: Brave and Discord. favourite artist: Ayumi Hamasaki. favorite group: Five. favorite book: Weather Warden series, always. cds in stereo: - colour of nails: My nails are black and white at the moment, black on my left hand and white on my right. refreshment: Water. worry: Nothing. crush: Jon Moxley <3 favorite celeb: Ayumi. time wasting wish: Hmm. hate: Humidity.

*Today Have I… Smiled?: Yep. Laughed?: Sure. Cried?: No. Bought something?: No. Were sarcastic?: Yep. Talked to an ex?: No. Watched your favorite movie?: I don't even have a fave tbh.

*A Last time for everything…. Last book you read: Reach For The Stars I think. Last movie you saw: No idea. Last song you heard: Ayumi Hamasaki - BRILLIANTE Last thing you had to drink: Water. Last time you showered: Yesterday. Last thing you ate: A mince pie xD

[Who was the last person you talked to on the phone?] Someone at work.

[Who was the last person you talked to in person?] My Mum.

[Who was the last person you talked to online?] Friends on Discord.

[Who was the last person you hung out with?] David.

[Who was the last person you seen in person?] My Mum.

[Who was the last person you took a picture with?] My boyfriend.

[Who was the last person you danced with?] My bf.

[What was the last thing you ate?] Mince pie.

[What was the last thing you drank?] Water.

[What was the last thing you did?] The survey before this one lol.

[What was the last place you went?] The gym after work.

[What was the last movie you saw?] No idea.

[What was your last phone-call about?] It was a work thing, some client ringing up enquiring about what would happen with their case cos of Christmas coming up - we close over the holidays so I told them they'd have to wait till January cos we close on the 23rd and don't reopen till January 6.

[What was your last Instant Message about?] It was Robert, asking me about what I thought of a WWE show.

[Where did you go yesterday?] Work and the gym.

[Where are your parents?] My Mum is in bed and I don't know about my Dad.

[Where do you keep your diary?] It's on my laptop.

[Where are you at now?] My room.

[Where were you last week at this day and time?] Probably here cos I don't work Tuesdays.

[Where were you the day 9-11 accured?] I was asleep in bed cos it happened overnight for us.

[Where do most of you relatives live?] NZ, but some live in the UK and a few in Australia.

[When was the last time you showered?] Yesterday.

[When was the last time you hung out with your cousins?] I literally haven't seen any of them in years lol.

[When was the last time you took a bath?] I have no idea xD

[When was the last time you brushed your teeth?] This morning.

[When was the last time you were at the mall?] Saturday.

[When was the last time you were absent?] I haven't missed a scheduled day of work since I was sick about 3 months ago.

[Why are you takin this survey?] Cos I like to take them.

[Why are you online?] Cos I am.

[Why did 9-11 happen?] Terrorism.

[Why did they invent pencils?] So you don't have to draw with pens lol.

[Why are most things made in China?] Cos that's where all the factories are.

[Why are there such things as "magnets"?] How should I know.

[Why did they come up with school?] So you can learn and not be fucking stupid.

[How old are you?] 37.

[How many siblings do you have?] None.

[How many rooms are in your house?] Depends if you count our downstairs as 1 big room or not.

[How many pets do you have?] None.

[How many TVs do you have?] Two.

[How many computers do you have?] One.

[How many friends do you have?] Enough.

#survey #surveys #personal survey #random survey #bolding survey

0 notes

serpentinegraphite · 2 years ago

Text

Okay, I'm having trouble matching sources for all of OP's claims.

I'm certainly not calling OP a liar or claiming that American Education Is Good, Actually, because I'm pretty familiar with the commonly cited statistic that American adults can't read above a 5th grade level (here's a snopes article sourcing some Gallup data and the linked PIAAC data that's a little more readable especially if you're on mobile), but it's worth emphasizing here that:

The PIAAC skills results (i.e., proficiency levels) do not specifically correspond to measures such as grade levels at school. The PIAAC proficiency levels have a use-oriented conception of competency and focus on describing what types of tasks adults at each level can typically do and their ability to apply information from the task to accomplish goals they may encounter in everyday life; for example, identifying a job search result that meets certain criteria.

The PIAAC does test comprehension and proficiency for interpreting data (not just vocab, as many of the replies and reblogs first expected), and while the US is decently behind the top two countries measured this way (Japan and Finland), it's ahead of the international average for this metric.

The second source link also suggests some heavy deficits in how US education teaches children to read (and makes what seem to me compelling arguments for improvements, though I don't specialize in early childhood education and am not familiar enough to judge their relevance), but does not contextualize this or compare it to any kind of international average.

I understand the initial distress of OP's claim that Americans can't read above an elementary school level, but journalists and publications are fully aware of this, and many have guidelines and standards for writing that take that into account (e.g. in my journalism classes, I was told to aim for a 6th grade reading level or lower and shown specific guidelines for how to make information accessible and minimize jargon. The US government and CDC aim specifically for 3rd–5th grade reading levels. The NYT aims higher, and your local publications may vary, but news is meant to be accessible, so the range could be closer to a 5th—9th grade reading level on average). Therefore, it's not at all accurate that people below a 6th grade reading level only have access to TV and video.

More accurately to the PIAAC data, 18% or so might have trouble with being able to read simple articles or web pages, but once again the US meets the PIAAC international average here (23% at literacy level 1 or below).

I've done my best to review the PIAAC data, but I'm simply not finding any backing for the claim that 55% of US adults cannot read long texts at all.

This appears to be a pretty clear misinterpretation of the data.

Quick question, genuine question:

Why on earth does "more than half of US adults under 30 cannot read above an elementary school level" not strike horror into the heart of everyone who hears it?

Are the implications of it unclear????

I'm serious, people keep reacting with a sort of vague dismissal when I point this out, and I want to know why!

If adults in the US cannot read, then the only information they have access to is TV and video, the spaces with the most egregious and horrific misinformation!

If they cannot read, they cannot escape that misinformation.

This obscene lack of literacy should strike fear into every heart! US TV is notoriously horrific propaganda!

Is that???? Not??? Obvious???????

I know this sounds sarcastic, I know it does, but I'm completely serious here. I do not understand where the disconnect is.

#this was a fun research rabbit hole. I think it's not always constructive to take US education as a whole monolith either.#Literacy and education rates can vary pretty severely by region so ymmv pretty severely #and the PIAAC data does go as specific as US county averages #it's also relevant to note that the PIAAC data for the US does go back years—but they changed methods a few times #so most of what's on their website is the 2012/2014 and 2017 surveys and is not reflective of the entire history of their data #because the older data might not compare as smoothly given the change in methodology. so I only looked at the recent data.#also the PIAAC website isn't really geared for readability esp on mobile. it's a lot of research jargon so like.#might not be the most accessible reference for trying to share info on tumblr?#also PIAAC being kind of the Big Source for this it's relevant once again that OP clearly wasn't using them as the primary source for #'adults under 30' as their data is divided into 16–24 and 25–34 age brackets.#once again while the PIAAC's info was used to find the elementary school level reading statistic that's not ACTUALLY what they measure #all this to say that the constant barrage of misinfo and poor media literacy is definitely a problem #but it's uh I think a little more complex than 'US early childhood education about reading sucks'#I couldn't find an international statistic or average comparable to the 'below a 6th grade reading level' stat so lmk if anyone has one #6th graders are 11–12 years old on average so that's probably how OP came up with the 'can't read chapter books' line #it's pretty common for US school libraries to sort books by reading level by grade and from my experience #there were definitely chapter books below a 6th grade reading level. e.g. by my school's AR metric PJO was like 4.7 #so like. a fourth grade reading level (for ages 8–9) based on difficulty of plot/syntax tho they're obvs marketed to 6th grade or so #american education #not trying to like start a fight with OP or anything but these are very bold claims and they're getting a lot of notes so.

21K notes · View notes

fangdokja · 3 months ago

Text

In a world where no one cares, he’s the one who notices you… and that’s frightening.

❤︎ Synopsis. A twisted game of cat and mouse unfolds where a girl is hunted by a predator who revels in her fear; until another unexpected force enters her life, threatening to shatter his control—and everything he’s built around her. In his world, escape isn’t just impossible; it’s forbidden.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured (AHD) : A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! College! Bully x Fem. Reader

♡ Novella. Torn Between Us - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 7,105

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, general non-con, possessiveness, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non-con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats, social isolation, bullying

He watches you, always. You feel his eyes long before you catch his face in the crowd, their weight pressing against your back, your shoulders, your neck, until the hairs there stand on end and your stomach knots itself into a mess of nausea and dread. It isn’t paranoia. It isn’t your mind playing cruel tricks. No, he is always watching.

He makes no effort to hide it. Why would he? You’re not his equal; you’re his prey. A mouse scrabbling through the shadows, hoping the hunter won’t see you scurrying between cracks, hoping the cat will grow bored. But he doesn’t grow bored. Not with you.

He is the center of the universe here, on this sprawling, ivy-covered campus. Everyone knows him, fears him, reveres him. Professors bow beneath his arrogant charm, students stumble over their words to impress him, even the ones who whisper about his temper lower their voices to a terrified hush when his name is spoken aloud. He walks these hallways like a king surveying his kingdom, a smug glint in his dark eyes that speaks of entitlement, of invincibility.

And yet, it is you he sees. You he hunts.

It doesn’t matter how small you make yourself. He’s always there: a towering figure, a shadow in your periphery, a cruel smirk that promises nothing good. There’s no corner of this campus you can run to, no hiding place where you can escape the sound of his boots—those heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing in the cavernous library, the quiet art studio, the desolate courtyard at dusk.

You don’t understand it. Why you? You are nothing here, a speck in a sea of better, brighter, bolder people. You’re not popular or pretty or smart enough to draw his attention. You’re not rich, like the trust fund kids he drinks with at off-campus parties. You’re not bold, like the girls who hang off his arm in the hallways, laughing too loud at jokes he doesn’t even bother to finish. You’re not even lucky enough to blend in. No. You’re just there. A loser. A target. A trembling little thing caught beneath his thumb.

He knows it, too. He sees it in the way you duck your head when his voice rises behind you, the way you stutter when he corners you in the cafeteria, in class, in the lonely stairwell where no one can hear the venom in his whispers. He thrives on it, on the way you flinch from him, on the tears that well in your eyes when his fingers curl too tightly around your wrist. His laughter, soft and derisive, sends shivers skittering across your skin.

“You’re pathetic, you know that?” he sneers, looming over you, his shadow swallowing the flickering glow of the stairwell light. “The kind of girl no one would notice if you disappeared. No friends, no boyfriend, nothing. Makes it so easy to…” He pauses, tilting his head as if considering his words carefully, then leans in close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your cheek. “…take what I want.”

You can’t speak. Your throat tightens around the lump of panic lodged there. He chuckles when you don’t respond, his hand sliding from your wrist to your jaw, forcing your gaze upward. His grip is firm, his thumb brushing the soft curve of your cheek, deceptively gentle.

“I mean, who would care?” he murmurs, his voice low, silky, dangerous. “Who would notice if you didn’t show up to class tomorrow? If you just… disappeared one night? No one’s looking for you, sweetheart. No one cares.”

He grins as he says it, sharp teeth bared like a predator savoring the fear in his prey’s eyes. His other hand reaches out, plucking a loose thread from the sleeve of your sweater. He twirls it between his fingers, his expression unreadable, almost distracted.

“But I care,” he continues, his tone softening into something almost tender. “I notice. Every time you try to avoid me, every time you run and hide like a scared little kitten, I notice. And it drives me crazy.” His grip tightens on your jaw, his thumb pressing harder until the edges of your vision blur with tears. “Don’t you get it yet? You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And you’ll never get away from me.”

The tears spill over, hot and silent, but he only smiles, wiping them away with the pad of his thumb as though he’s doing you some kind of kindness.

“Good girl,” he whispers, almost sweetly. “Now, let’s try this again. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

His command is impossible to disobey. You can’t run. You can’t fight. All you can do is look into those dark, unyielding eyes and wonder if this—this suffocating torment, this inescapable hell—is all your life will ever be.

────────────

The day you stepped onto campus, wide-eyed and clutching your second-hand books, was the moment everything began to unravel. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. College was supposed to be your chance at reinvention—an escape from the relentless mediocrity of your hometown and the suffocating monotony of high school. But reinvention had never been an option, had it? Not when he decided you were his.

You first noticed him during orientation week. He wasn’t like the others. While the other upperclassmen handed out flyers for clubs and fraternities, wearing easy smiles and calling you “fresh meat” in jest, he lingered on the edges of the crowd like a wolf circling its prey. His eyes found you in the chaos, and in that moment, you felt something ancient stir—a primal, bone-deep warning to run.

But you didn’t run.

You stayed, rooted in place as his gaze burned through you. His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. It wasn’t warmth or welcome. It was possession.

———

By the second week of classes, he’d learned your schedule. You weren’t sure how—he wasn’t even in the same program as you, yet there he was, leaning against the wall outside your early morning lecture.

“Freshman,” he’d said, blocking your path. His voice was a low rumble, and you hated how it made your stomach twist. “You’re in my seat.”

You’d stammered something incoherent, clutching your notebook like a shield.

“In there,” he clarified, gesturing lazily toward the lecture hall. “Third row, second seat from the left. That’s mine. Don’t sit there again.”

It wasn’t a request.

———

He began to haunt your life.

You’d hear the low thud of his boots echoing behind you in the halls. His shadow seemed to stretch impossibly long, a dark stain trailing your every step. You’d catch him in the library, standing at the end of the aisle you’d chosen, his head tilted as if he were appraising you. The first time you’d thought it was a coincidence. The fifth time, you knew better.

He’d make himself known in subtle, insidious ways. Your hot choco cup would vanish from the table while you weren’t looking, only to reappear minutes later, the lid slightly ajar and the contents ice-cold. Your dorm door, once a sanctuary, became a battleground. Books you swore you’d left locked away would be sprawled open on your desk, pages dog-eared in ways you never would have done.

“You’re paranoid,” your roommate had laughed when you tried to explain. “Maybe you’re just tired.”

But you weren’t tired. Not yet.

———

It escalated.

The first time he left bruises, it was almost clinical. A firm grip around your wrist as he pulled you into the shadows between two buildings, his body trapping yours.

“Don’t ignore me,” he’d said, his breath hot against your ear. His tone was calm, but his grip tightened until you whimpered. He released you with a satisfied hum, the imprint of his fingers blooming purple on your skin. “Good girl,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the mark before disappearing into the night.

You stared at the bruise for hours after, your stomach churning. You told yourself you’d go to campus security, that you’d report him, but you never did. You knew better. He was a senior, a campus legend. People liked him. Feared him.

Who would believe you?

———

The rumors started soon after.

“You hooked up with him?” a girl in your class whispered, her voice dripping with mockery. “Didn’t peg you for the type.”

When you’d asked her what she meant, she just smirked.

“You’ll see,” she said.

And you did.

Someone—he—had slipped a note into your bag. It was a scrawled love confession in your handwriting, complete with embarrassing details that only you could have written. It was passed around, dissected, and laughed at until you couldn’t walk into a room without hearing snickers.

You confronted him in the quad, your voice trembling with fury.

“Why?” you demanded, your hands shaking as you held up the note.

He looked amused, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You’ve got nice penmanship,” he said, plucking the paper from your hands and tucking it into his jacket pocket. “I might keep this.”

———

You tried to avoid him after that. You changed your route to class, skipped meals in the dining hall, stopped going to parties. It didn’t matter. He always found you.

“I didn’t think you were a quitter,” he said one night, cornering you outside the library. His broad frame blocked the lamplight, casting his face in shadow.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Just leave me alone.”

His laugh was low and dangerous, curling around you like smoke.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, stepping closer until you could smell the faint hint of cigarettes and leather. “You think you get to decide when this ends?”

His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was deceptively gentle, but it left a shiver in its wake.

“This is just the beginning,” he said, his voice a promise and a threat.

────────────

You’d never expected anyone to step in for you.

Your existence had been shaped by silence, by the quiet endurance of pain, by the dull weight of dread you carried every moment he was near. You’d never cried—not once—because crying would have meant accepting it, acknowledging how small and helpless you truly were. You couldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not him, not anyone.

And then she came into your life.

Domo was everything you weren’t: confident, poised, a force of nature with a voice that carried across crowded lecture halls. She walked like she owned the ground beneath her feet, her gaze sharp enough to cut. A 4th-year academic powerhouse, she had no patience for weakness, no tolerance for injustice, and no problem putting someone in their place.

But she didn’t pity you. That was what surprised you most.

———

The first time Domo spoke to you, it wasn’t out of kindness or curiosity. It was boredom.

You were hunched over in the corner of the library, surrounded by loose papers and coffee-stained textbooks, scribbling notes with a pen that looked one click away from breaking. She wasn’t even there for you; she was looking for an empty spot, carrying her usual mountain of books. But her eyes fell on you, this pitiful figure with dark circles under your eyes and a haunted look that even the dim library lights couldn’t hide.

“You’re in my spot,” she said flatly, arms crossed over her chest.

You blinked up at her like you’d forgotten other people existed. For a moment, you thought she might be talking to someone else, but there was no one behind you.

“I didn’t know this was reserved,” you muttered, pushing your things into a haphazard pile to make room.

“It’s not.” She set her books down anyway, sliding into the seat across from you without asking. “But you look like you’ve been sitting there for a decade. Don’t you have a dorm or something?”

Your instinct was to shrink into yourself, to avoid answering, but something about her presence was overwhelming, like trying to look away from the sun.

“I… don’t really like my dorm,” you admitted.

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, sharp and appraising, before she snorted softly. “Figures.”

And just like that, you became her pet project.

———

At first, it was transactional.

Domo wasn’t someone who did things without purpose, and you were no exception. She dragged you into her whirlwind of a life—helping her with club activities, carrying books, sitting with her during committee meetings where you barely understood a word being said. She was bossy, sharp-tongued, and unapologetically demanding, but she never once treated you like you were less than her.

“Well?” she said one day, shoving a stack of papers in your direction. “You’ve been sitting there doing nothing. Read these and tell me if they’re garbage.”

You stared at the printouts, confused. “Why me?”

“Because you look like someone who’s seen too much shit to care about sugarcoating anything,” she replied, already moving on to the next task on her endless list.

She wasn’t wrong. You skimmed the articles, found half a dozen mistakes, and when you told her as much, she didn’t get offended. Instead, she grinned.

“See? Knew you’d be useful for something.”

———

Somewhere along the way, it changed.

She started asking questions, prying into the corners of your mind no one else had ever cared to explore.

“So, what’s with the obsession with serial killers?” she asked one day, raising an eyebrow as you absentmindedly rattled off facts about a particularly gruesome case.

You blinked, unsure how to answer. Most people avoided you when you started talking about these things.

“I guess they’re… interesting,” you mumbled. “People don’t usually see it coming. The violence, I mean. It’s always hidden under something ordinary.”

She stared at you for a moment, then snorted.

“You’re a freak,” she said, shaking her head. “But at least you’re honest about it.”

———

Then, she started noticing things about you no one else bothered to see.

You had a habit of tugging at your sleeves when you were anxious, your fingers worrying the fabric until it stretched. You mumbled when you spoke, as though every word was an apology for taking up space. You avoided eye contact like it might burn you.

“You’re like a sad little kitten,” she said one afternoon, handing you a cup of tea she’d picked up from the café on campus.

You blinked at her, unsure whether to be offended or grateful. “I’m not a kitten.”

“Oh, you are. Wet, bedraggled, and hissing at anyone who comes too close.” She smirked, leaning back in her chair. “But you’re my kitten now, so get used to it.”

It should have been patronizing, but coming from her, it wasn’t.

———

She became your tether.

Domo didn’t care what people whispered about you—or about her for taking you under her wing. She treated you like a stray cat she’d decided to adopt, alternating between bossy commands and begrudging affection.

“Drink this,” she ordered one evening, shoving a steaming cup of tea into your hands after a late-night meeting. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

When you hesitated, she sighed and rolled her eyes.

“It’s not poisoned, you idiot. Just drink it.”

You obeyed, and for the first time in months, you felt something close to warmth.

———

Despite her bluntness, Domo had a softness to her—buried beneath her no-nonsense exterior and razor-sharp wit. She noticed when you skipped meals and made sure you ate. She dragged you to the clinic when you came down with a fever, muttering complaints the entire way but never letting you go.

She didn’t ask questions she knew you wouldn’t answer. When you deflected, she let it go. When you got that faraway look, the one that came with memories you never spoke about, she distracted you with stories about her own life—petty grievances, triumphs, and jokes that didn’t always land but made you smile anyway.

———

And, Domo had a way of seeing through the cracks you thought you’d hidden.

“You never cry,” she said one day, out of the blue.

The two of you were sitting in her dorm, surrounded by empty takeout containers and half-finished assignments.

“What?”

“You don’t cry. Not even when he’s… you know.” She waved her hand vaguely, as though referring to the mess that was your life didn’t deserve the full weight of words. “Most people would have broken down by now. But you just… keep going.”

You shrugged, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Crying doesn’t change anything.”

“No,” she agreed. “But it makes you human.”

The way she said it made you feel like she thought you were something more—or less—than human, and the thought left a strange, hollow ache in your chest.

———

But he noticed.

Of course, he noticed.

It didn’t matter that you tried to keep your distance, to avoid drawing his attention whenever Domo was around. He always found a way to watch, to see, to know.

And he hated her.

The first time he confronted you about her, it was subtle—a passing remark that sent a chill down your spine.

“Seems like you’ve made a new friend,” he said, his voice low and quiet, his eyes fixed on yours. “She’s… bold. Thinks she can handle anything, doesn’t she?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t dare.

He leaned closer, his breath ghosting over your skin.

“Do you think she’ll still want to play hero when she realizes what you’re really like?”

———

The tension escalated quickly.

He began showing up more often, lurking at the edges of your conversations with her, his presence an unspoken threat. He watched her with a quiet, simmering rage, his jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Domo noticed, of course. She always noticed.

“What’s his problem?” she muttered one day after he’d passed by, his shoulder deliberately bumping yours hard enough to make you stumble.

“Just ignore him,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “He’s… like that with everyone.”

She frowned, her sharp eyes narrowing.

“No, he’s not. He’s like that with you.”

She started keeping you closer after that, her protective instincts kicking in. She walked you to class, sat beside you in the cafeteria, and even started inviting you to her study sessions.

“It’s not charity,” she insisted when you tried to protest. “You’re my friend now. That means I take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

———

But to him, it was an unforgivable betrayal.

You belonged to him.

He’d spent years cultivating your isolation, feeding on your fear, relishing the way you wilted under his control. And now she was undoing all of it.

She had to go.

He didn’t care how.

He’d make sure you knew—when it happened, when she fell—it would be your fault.

────────────

He’s smiling at her, but inside, his mind is a roiling storm.

On the surface, he’s the picture of charm—leaning casually against the lecture hall doorway, an easy smirk playing on his lips. He’s perfected this mask over years of navigating people, manipulating them, bending them to his will. No one suspects anything; they never do. To the world, he’s just another confident senior, a campus favorite with sharp wit and an even sharper tongue.

But beneath that polished exterior, he’s unraveling.

His eyes track your every movement as you laugh at something Domo says, the sound soft and fleeting, like a bird taking flight. It’s rare for you to laugh, and he knows it better than anyone. He’s spent countless nights pushing you to the edge, watching you crumble under the weight of his words and actions, waiting for that breaking point that never came. You didn’t laugh with him. You didn’t smile. And yet here you are—grinning like a fool for someone else.

His stomach twists, a sickening cocktail of rage and possessiveness.

You're mine.

He tightens his grip on the strap of his backpack, knuckles going white. It’s a small movement, almost imperceptible, but it’s enough to ground him. If anyone notices, they don’t say anything. Why would they? He’s untouchable here, a golden boy with an untarnished reputation. He plays the part so well, no one would believe for a second that he’s capable of the thoughts running through his mind.

———

When he thinks about Domo, all he sees is an obstacle.

It’s not her kindness that bothers him; he doesn’t believe in kindness, not really. People like her are all the same—calculating, self-serving. She took you under her wing because it made her feel good about herself, because it fit her image of being the campus saint. He can see through her act just as clearly as he sees through yours.

But what really sets his teeth on edge is the way you look at her.

You don’t flinch when she touches your shoulder or leans in close to whisper something in your ear. You don’t avert your gaze when she meets your eyes, don’t shrink into yourself the way you do with him. With her, you’re soft. Open. Like she’s peeled back a layer of you that he’s been trying to reach for years.

The thought of her taking what’s his is unbearable.

———

Later, in the privacy of his dorm, he lets the mask slip.

His movements are sharp and deliberate as he paces the room, the walls seeming to close in around him. He can still see the way your eyes lit up when Domo called you her “little project,” the way you leaned into her presence like she was your savior.

A low growl escapes his throat.

“Pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, though the word is more for himself than for you. How had he let it get this far? He’s always been in control, always known exactly how to keep you where he wants you—on the edge of fear and desperation, dangling by a thread that only he can cut.

And yet, somehow, she’s slipped into your world, polluting it with her self-righteousness and moral superiority.

You were supposed to need him. Only him.

———

He sits down at his desk, pulling out the notebook where he keeps everything he knows about you. It’s a habit he developed long before he ever laid a hand on you—meticulous, methodical, obsessive.

Flipping through the pages, he lands on a note he jotted down months ago:

“She doesn’t cry, even when she’s at her limit. Interesting.”

He traces the words with his finger, his lips curling into a bitter smile. It’s true; you’ve never cried for him. You’ve begged, pleaded, even screamed, but never once have you broken down completely. It’s one of the things that drew him to you in the first place—your defiance, your refusal to give him the satisfaction.

But now he wonders if that strength wasn’t meant for him at all.

———

The next time he sees you, he doesn’t let the anger show.

Instead, he watches from a distance, his eyes narrowing as Domo loops an arm around your shoulders, guiding you toward the library. You look so small next to her, so fragile. It’s almost laughable, the way she acts like she’s protecting you, when she has no idea what you’re really up against.

He tilts his head, considering his options. It would be easy to destroy her—to spread a rumor, plant some incriminating evidence, make her life a living hell. But that would be too quick, too obvious. No, he wants her to suffer slowly, to watch her crumble under the weight of her own self-righteousness.

And when she finally falls, when she’s out of the picture for good, he’ll be there to pick up your broken pieces.

———

For now, he plays the long game.

“Hey,” he calls out as he approaches the two of you, his voice warm and inviting.

You stiffen immediately, your body tensing like a rabbit caught in a trap. But Domo, cold as ever, gives him a curt nod.

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone as sharp as her glare.

He flashes her a disarming smile, the kind that makes people forget he’s capable of anything darker. “Just checking in on my favorite underclassman.” His eyes flicker to you, lingering just a moment too long. “You’ve been keeping out of trouble, right?”

Your lips press into a thin line, but you don’t respond.

Domo steps between you, her posture protective. “She’s fine. Not that it’s any of your business.”

He chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I’m just being friendly.”

But as he walks away, his mind is already racing, plotting his next move. Because no matter what it takes, he’ll remind you exactly who you belong to.

────────────

He watches. Always watches.

You wouldn’t know it by the easy smirk he wears in public, the charm dripping from his voice as he commands attention from everyone around him. People gravitate toward him, and why wouldn’t they? He’s magnetic—handsome in a way that feels unfair, his broad shoulders and powerful build exuding a presence that’s impossible to ignore. His laugh is rich, his confidence effortless, and his words just sharp enough to cut without leaving scars.

But under all that charm, beneath the surface of his calculated persona, there’s something festering.

Rage.

It coils tight in his chest, a burning knot of jealousy that twists every time he sees you with her. Domo. That pretentious, snobby fucking bitch who thought she could waltz into his territory and take what was his.

She treats you like a project, like some pathetic stray she’s decided to fix, and it makes his blood boil. He sees the way her hand lingers on your shoulder, the way she talks to you with that infuriating mix of condescension and care. The way you laugh at her jokes—soft and hesitant, but real.

You never laugh like that with him.

No one else sees the cracks in his facade. His grin doesn’t falter when you walk past him without looking, your head bowed, Domo by your side. He doesn’t flinch when she shoots him a glare, daring him to make a move.

But inside? Inside, he’s seething.

———

It starts small.

He overhears Domo assigning you to cover an event for her precious journalism committee. The task doesn’t seem like much—just snapping photos and taking notes—but it’s enough to keep you out of his sight for hours. Hours where she’ll have you all to herself, feeding you that garbage about standing up for yourself and being strong.

The next day, the event is mysteriously canceled. Something about a sudden power outage in the building.

He watches from a distance as Domo storms around campus, her frustration palpable. You trail after her like a shadow, apologizing for something that isn’t your fault.

Good. You should feel small. Helpless.

———

The next time, he’s more direct.

“Why do you hang out with her?” he asks, cornering you in a deserted hallway late at night. His voice is calm, almost curious, but the way he leans into your space makes your pulse race.

“She’s… nice to me,” you mumble, clutching your bag like it’s a shield.

He tilts his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Nice, huh? Is that what you call it when someone uses you to boost their own image?”

You blink, confused. “She’s not—”

“Oh, she is,” he interrupts, stepping closer. His shadow swallows you whole, his height and bulk overwhelming in the dim light. “That bitch doesn’t care about you. Not really. She just likes feeling superior. Likes having a little pet she can parade around.”

“That’s not true,” you whisper, but your voice lacks conviction.

He smirks, leaning down until his breath brushes against your ear. “Isn’t it?”

———

But his words aren’t enough.

He needs her gone.

It starts with small inconveniences. Her car won’t start one morning. Someone “accidentally” spills coffee on her laptop during a club meeting. An anonymous email gets sent to her professor, accusing her of plagiarism.

Each time, she brushes it off, too stubborn to back down. But he can see the cracks forming.

She’s not invincible.

———

The final straw comes when he sees you smiling at her.

Not the polite, hesitant smile you give to strangers. Not the strained, nervous smile you’ve given him in the past.

This smile is soft. Genuine. Warm in a way that makes his chest ache with something he can’t name.

He doesn’t realize he’s gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white.

———

That night, he finds himself in her dorm building.

It’s easy enough to slip past the front desk. No one questions him; he’s too well-liked, too respected.

Her door is unlocked. Careless. Arrogant.

Inside, the room smells faintly of coffee and freshly printed documents. Her desk is cluttered with papers, her laptop glowing faintly in sleep mode. There’s a photo of you on her wall—a candid shot she must have taken during one of your outings.

It’s too much.

He moves to the desk, his fingers ghosting over the papers. An idea forms, dark and insidious.

No one will ever touch what belongs to him.

────────────

The fluorescent hallway lights buzzed faintly as Domo strode toward her dorm room, her heels clicking against the polished floor with a rhythm that mirrored the irritation simmering under her skin. It had been a long day—between the sabotage at the journalism event and the strange tension lingering in your eyes, she’d barely had time to breathe.

She muttered under her breath as she fished her keys from her bag, her hand brushing against the familiar edges of her planner. “If one more thing goes wrong—”

The moment the door swung open, her breath caught.

Her room was a battlefield.

The soft lavender scent she always carried was drowned in the metallic tang of chaos. Her desk, once a haven of meticulously arranged papers and books, was overturned. Pages lay scattered across the floor, some torn to ribbons, others crumpled and smeared with ink. Her chair was on its side, one wheel snapped clean off.

Her laptop—her lifeline, her pride and joy—lay on the floor, its screen fractured like a spiderweb, blue light flickering weakly through the cracks.

But it was the bed that stopped her cold.

The neatly made covers were now rumpled, shoved to one side to make room for a single piece of paper. The note sat stark against the mess, its edges too pristine, its presence deliberate.

She didn’t want to move closer. Every muscle in her body screamed for her to leave, to call campus security, to do something. But her legs carried her forward, step by step, until she stood at the edge of the bed.

The words were scrawled in a hand too neat to belong to a careless vandal.

Stay away from her.

Her throat tightened.

———

The adrenaline hit her all at once, her hands trembling as she reached for her phone. Her mind raced, the logical mind in her trying to piece together the puzzle even as her gut churned with unease.

She dialed. First the RA—no answer. Then campus security.

“Room 417,” she said, her voice steady despite the growing dread. “Someone broke into my dorm. I need someone here now.”

The words felt hollow, too calm, as if the situation hadn’t quite settled into reality. But as she hung up, the silence in the room pressed against her like a living thing.

Her eyes darted around the space, searching for something—anything—that could make sense of this. A motive. A clue.

And then her gaze fell on the photo.

It had been pinned neatly to her bulletin board just that morning. A candid shot of you, looking shy but peaceful as you stared out across the campus quad.

Now, it lay face-down on the floor, the edges bent as if someone had handled it roughly.

She picked it up, her fingers brushing against the glossy surface. When she flipped it over, her stomach turned.

A jagged line slashed through your face, cutting clean through the image.

———

Her first instinct wasn’t fear. It was anger.

Whoever did this wanted her to be afraid. Wanted her to step aside, to leave you to whatever twisted game they were playing. And she didn’t back down from a challenge—especially not from cowards who hid in the dark.

She started pacing, her hands clenched into fists.

“That arrogant bastard,” she hissed, the image of him flashing in her mind. His smug smirk, the way he always loomed just a little too close to you. She’d seen it before, men like him who thought the world owed them everything.

She grabbed her planner, flipping through the pages as if the neatly written schedule could offer her some form of control.

“No way he’s getting away with this.”

———

By the time campus security arrived, she had already taken photos of the mess and the note.

“This isn’t random,” she told the officer, her tone sharp and commanding despite the tremor in her hands. “Someone was trying to send me a message.”

The officer nodded, scribbling notes on a pad. “Do you have any enemies? Anyone who might hold a grudge?”

Her jaw tightened. She could name at least one. But without proof, she’d be playing into his hands.

“Just focus on finding out who did this,” she snapped, brushing past him to retrieve her laptop. The fractured screen mocked her, but she held it close, refusing to let the damage sink in.

She didn’t have time to wallow. Not when you were caught in the middle of this.

———

Later that night, as she sat in the campus library—her temporary refuge while the investigation began—her thoughts kept circling back to you.

You’d been quiet lately, quieter than usual. And she hated the way her mind connected the dots.

What if he’s already gotten to her?

Her grip tightened on the pen in her hand, the plastic groaning under the pressure.

She wouldn’t let that happen.

You were hers to protect. Whether you realized it or not.

────────────

The morning sunlight spilled pale and indifferent through the campus windows, a thin blade of light carving through the cracks in the blinds. The café library buzzed faintly, conversations merging into a singular, dull hum. Domo sat at her usual spot, a cup of black coffee clutched in one hand, her other fingers lazily scrolling through her phone. The world felt distant, her senses dulled by the weight of the night before.

She hadn’t slept.

Her room was back in order—a surgical restoration of control over the chaos—but the faint, acidic taste of fear still clung to her like a second skin. The note. The photo. The implication. It swirled in her mind, toxic and consuming. She hated how much it had shaken her. Hated that he’d gotten to her, if only for a moment.

But you? You had no idea.

She watched you shuffle into the café library, your movements hesitant, almost deer-like, as though the world might devour you whole if you stepped too loudly. You scanned the room nervously until your eyes landed on her, softening slightly. You made your way over, the edges of a faint smile tugging at your lips.

“Good morning,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the cafeteria noise.

Domo glanced up from her phone, her expression perfectly composed. “Morning. You’re late.”

You fumbled awkwardly with the bag in your hands, your nervous energy radiating like static electricity. For a moment, you didn’t sit down, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as though gathering your courage.

“Uh… I-I have something for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair, the faintest smirk curling her lips. “Something for me? Should I be worried?”

You flushed, shaking your head rapidly. “No! I… I just… I remembered you mentioned your birthday… once. A while ago. I don’t know if it’s today or…” You trailed off, your face burning as you shoved the bag toward her.

She blinked, surprised.

“It’s nothing much,” you mumbled quickly, your words tumbling over each other. “I-I didn’t know if you’d even like it, but, um… I thought it might make you smile, and… I mean, you’re like a sister to me. And I just…”

You froze mid-ramble as Domo opened the bag.

Her fingers stilled when they touched the soft, handmade edges of the scrapbook.

———

The cover was simple, your handwriting slightly crooked but endearing. As she flipped through the pages, her chest tightened.

It was filled with moments. Little fragments of the last two months pieced together with care. Pictures of the two of you, some she didn’t even realize you’d saved—her laughing with a coffee in hand, you hiding awkwardly behind a textbook. There were memes printed out and glued alongside hastily scrawled captions, inside jokes and shared silliness. There was a snapshot of the rainy afternoon when you’d both gotten caught in a sudden storm, drenched and laughing despite yourselves.

And on the last page, written in your uneven handwriting, were the words.

“Thank you for being my friend.”

———

Domo didn’t cry.

She hadn’t cried in years, and she wouldn’t start now. But something in her chest softened, and she closed the scrapbook with deliberate care, her fingers brushing over the cover as though it might break.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, her voice sharper than she intended. “Do you know how inappropriate it is to give a gift like this without expecting something in return?”

Your face fell, your shoulders hunching. “I-I didn’t mean—”

Her hand reached across the table, pressing lightly against yours, stopping your words.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” she said quietly, her eyes locking onto yours. “It’s thoughtful. Too thoughtful. And coming from you…”

She smirked faintly, masking the warmth in her chest with her usual bravado. “It’s borderline suspicious.”

You blinked at her, your lips parting in confusion before you realized she was teasing. A small, shy smile tugged at your lips, and Domo felt something twist inside her—something protective, fierce, and wholly unshakable.

———

For a moment, she forgot the note. The photo. The rage boiling under her skin.

For a moment, it was just you, looking at her like she was the only person in the world who mattered.

She would burn the whole campus down before she let anyone take that look away from you.

────────────

The café library was a tomb of whispers and muffled footsteps, every sound swallowed by the weight of the silence. He lingered in the shadowed alcove on the second floor, the perfect vantage point to see everything without being seen. He wasn’t even sure why he was here. No, that was a lie. He always knew.

You were a creature of habit—pathetic, predictable, easy to track. You spent your evenings in the same corner of the library, tucked away with your fraying notebooks and a nervous energy that made you chew your pen caps into mangled ruins. It wasn’t endearing. It wasn’t. But it kept him coming back, night after night, his excuse for being here as thin as the veneer of civility he wore.

And tonight, she was here too.

Domo.

Her voice carried low and soft, a balm to the otherwise oppressive silence. He could hear her laugh—short, confident, like she wasn’t trying too hard. Like it came easily to her. And worse, he could see the way it made you smile.

His hands curled into fists.

You were seated across from her at a table, your usual timid posture replaced with something lighter. Relaxed. Almost happy. You gestured clumsily with your hands as you spoke, and she leaned in, amused but attentive, her sharp gaze softening in a way he despised. She made you feel seen.

She had no right.

You pulled something from your bag—small, wrapped in mismatched paper, the kind of sloppy job that screamed you had tried. The thought of it made his stomach twist with something that felt too much like jealousy to admit.

The exchange was muted from where he stood, but he didn’t need to hear the words. He could read the scene from the way you shoved the gift across the table, your nervous energy practically vibrating through the air. The slight flush in your cheeks. The tentative smile that slipped past your usual reserve.

And the worst part—

The way she smiled back.

———

It was like a razor dragged down his spine.

That bitch. That motherfucking bitch.

She had everything. She had the prestige, the power, the reputation. She didn’t need more. She didn’t get to take you too. You weren’t hers to mold or shape or save. You weren’t hers to build up when he had spent so much time tearing you down.

You were his.

Even if you didn’t realize it.

Even if it made you hate him.

———

His vision blurred at the edges as rage twisted inside him, slow and corrosive, eating away at the last fraying threads of his self-control. His pulse pounded in his ears, each beat hammering out the same thought:

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He could picture it too clearly—the way her fingers had lingered on that pathetic little scrapbook. He could imagine her voice, all saccharine sweetness, telling you how thoughtful you were. Feeding your delusions. Making you believe you were worth something.

The room spun as he leaned forward, his fingers biting into the cold edge of the railing. Below, Domo reached across the table, her hand brushing yours lightly, a gesture so casual it made his teeth ache.

She was stealing you.

Stealing you right out from under him, and you were too stupid, too blind to see it.

———

Something snapped.

It wasn’t loud or dramatic—it was quiet, insidious, like the faint crack of ice beneath your feet before you plunge into the freezing depths.

He stepped back from the railing, his breathing slow and deliberate. His fingers uncurled, and he flexed them once, twice, as if shaking off a chill.

He’d been patient for too long.

This was her fault. She had crossed a line she couldn’t uncross.

And now she would see what happened when you tried to take something that belonged to him.

———

As he slipped out of the library, the soft murmur of your laughter followed him like a ghost.

By the time he reached the cold night air, his mind was already made up.

Domo wouldn’t smile like that again.

Not after he was done with you.

Yandere! College! Bully & Loser

Oneshots

The worst part? You’ve stopped trying to fight it.

Novella 1 : Torn Between Us

In a world where no one cares, he’s the one who notices you… and that’s frightening.

Trust no one. Not even yourself.

♡ A/N. This is part of a request, but I have to divide the work into probably 3 parts or more. The request part isn't fully fulfilled yet (hence the lack of proof of request). And, just like my other works, this serves as an intro chapter before the more explicit yandere-centric content. You know me. Gotta build up the tension or set the atmosphere first. The formatting and plot development style here is similar to the Scaramouche "Lover or Captor?" story. Fragmented and non-linear a bit compared to most of my writing. Kinda spoilers, but that tells you a bit on why the story is like this.

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “A Heart Devoured”: @definetlythinkimanalien , @floooring , @lilyalone , @theogborjie

1K notes · View notes

wellfell · 2 years ago

Text

i'm not naming names but i think ... akina and e.ren yea.ger would be the most chaotic couple ever that brings the world's doom . probably not exactly a couple bc idk . but sorry i'm jusT THINKING THOUGHTS.

#when i say chaotic i maan it .#especially if she becomes a survey corps captain and just too determined to save people #you can always count on akina to go for the worst guys so is it really a surprise #i don't think it'd be something too fancy or idk bold #but it'd be there . it'd be cute too .#ooc.#wishlist.

0 notes

gottamakesurveys · 3 months ago

Text

Have You Ever…?

A-C Edition

Bold ones you’ve done :)

Absailed?

Acted in a play?

Added a stranger who friended you online?

Read the whole terms and agreements of a site or app?

Ate all a giant pizza to yourself?

Been in an ambulance?

Played Among Us?

Answered a withheld number?

Been angry at a complete stranger?

Apologised to an inanimate object?

Applied for a loan?

Been to an aquarium?

Been to an arcade?

Asked a stranger for the time?

Attended a funeral?

Attended a baby shower?

Drove an automatic car?

Avoided going to a family event?

Won an award?

Swung an axe?

Fed a baby animal?

Been backpacking?

Had a very bad headache?

Seen a badger?

Called someone your bae?

Lost your bags or suitcase?

Blew up a balloon?

Watched Bambi?

Seen a band you really like live?

Played a banjo?

Been to a bar?

Played basketball?

Bathed in a river?

Hung baubles on a Christmas tree?

Been to a Bay?

Made jewellery with beads?

Broke your bed?

Been stung by a bee?

Had beige curtains?

Rung a church bell?

Quad a best friend?

Had a best friend that lasted over 10 years?

Placed a bet/gambled?

Met a Beverly?

Read the whole Bible?

Nodded on an item in an auction?

Forgot to pay a bill?

Knocked over a full bin by accident?

Had a bird land on you?

Had a surprise birthday party?

Bit into something you thought was food but it wasn’t?

Had blackcurrant jam?

Blasted music loud I. The middle of the night?

Bled over the carpet?

Blended up your own homemade smoothie?

Blew a job interview?

Blocked someone on social media?

Had a blog?

Dyed your hair blonde?

What a bond movie?

Left a message in a bottle?

Been bowling?

Begged about an achievement?

Made homemade bread?

Laid bricks?

Dyed your hair brunette?

Had a bubble bath?

Stayed in a budget hotel?

Been to a buffet?

Had a big infestation in your house?

Been on a double decker bus?

Been to a butchers?

Been to an up market cafe?

Had a pet that was in a cage?

Called the wrong number?

Been camping?

Been canoeing?

Bought a scented candle?

Accident split something on someone else’s carpet?

Carpooled?

Had a casette player?

Been to a casino?

Had a pet cat?

Hosted an event with catering?

Caught telling a lie

Been in a cave?

Met a famous celebrity?

Tried champagne?

Changed a tire?

Chased a kite?

Had a chemistry set?

Played chess?

Collected chicken or hen eggs?

Been in a house with a chimney?

Had a china cup?

Had a chip sandwich?

Tried chipotle sauce?

Had chocolate milk?

Been in a choir?

Tried chow mein?

Churned butter?

Been to an early release at the cinema?

Tried clam?

Listen to classical music?

Done Clayton’s?

Cleaned a car?

Clicked on spam?

Looked over a cliff and saw for miles?

Climbed onto abus shelter?

Sold clothes online?

Looked up and clouds and made out shapes in them?

Did coding?

Collected coins?

Composed your own piece of music?

Used a corkscrew?

Stage in a cottage?

Covered yourself in sand at the beach?

Beencrqb fishing?

Cracked your phones screen?

Crafted your own homemade card?

Crammed a night of exam revision and stayed awake all night?

Crashed your bike?

Created your own YouTube channel or equivalent?

Had a credit card?

Played cricket?

Wore Crocs?

Wore a crown?

Got crumbs all over your computer?

Cuddles someone’s pet that wasn’t yours?

Cut your finger open?

#have you ever #letters survey #questions #survey #blank survey #bold survey

0 notes

servin-up-surveys · 2 years ago

Text

survey #158

　PLACE IN SOCIETY

financial: wealthy / moderate / poor / in poverty

medical: fit / moderate / sickly / disabled / disadvantaged (honestly really struggled with this one and i do think technically i'd qualify as lightly physically disabled with my legs right now but with the progress i'm making i'm really not sure so yeah picking this one ig)

class: upper / middle / working / lower / unsure

education: qualified / unqualified / studying (this is... i don't like how limited these options are, like i graduated high school with a crazy high gpa and i tried hard in college, it just... didn't work, my mental health had to come first)

criminal record: yes, for major crimes / yes, for minor crimes / no

　FAMILY

married - happily / married - unhappily / engaged or betrothed / partnered / single / divorced / separated

has a child or children / has no children / wants children

close with sibling(s) / not close with sibling(s) / has no siblings / sibling(s) is deceased

orphaned / adopted / disowned / raised by birth parent(s)

　TRAITS + TENDENCIES

extroverted / introverted / in between

disorganized / organized / in between

close minded / open-minded / in between

calm / anxious / in between

disagreeable / agreeable / in between

cautious / reckless / in between

patient / impatient / in between (there are very few cases where i can be patient, but in general, i absolutely am not)

outspoken / reserved / in between

leader / follower / in between (way more of a follower, but there are certainly instances where i am not following somebody)

empathetic / unemphatic / in between

optimistic / pessimistic / in between

traditional / modern / in between

hard-working / lazy / in between (was tempted to put lazy, but i'm factually not in a number of things and i've also gotten better about it!)

cultured / un-cultured / in between / unknown (difficult ?, there are SO many cultures but a quick google search is telling me there's more to that soooo it's this or "unknown" idk)

loyal / disloyal / unknown (VERY against blind/unconditional loyalty, i'm loyal until you give me a reason to fuck off away from you; i will not follow you like a dog if you become shit)

faithful / unfaithful / unknown (assuming you mean romantically)

　BELIEFS

monotheist / polytheist / atheist / agnostic (i'm some complicated mix between this and atheist, but i think the most accurate term would be agnosticism, but i believe in more spiritual energies versus like, the hand of some actual deity)

belief in ghosts or spirits: yes / no / don’t know

belief in an afterlife: yes / no / don’t know (yeah ik i just said i believe in spirits, but i'm taking "afterlife" as like, some sort of heaven or hell-ish thing; i'm not pretending to know a damn thing about what a post-death existence is like)

belief in reincarnation: yes / no / don’t know

belief in aliens: yes / no / don’t know

religious: orthodox / liberal / in between / not religious

　OPINIONS

pro-suicide / anti-suicide / doesn’t know or on the fence

pro-euthanasia / anti-euthanasia / doesn’t know or on the fence

pro-choice / anti-abortion / doesn’t know or on the fence

pro-marriage / anti-marriage / doesn’t know or on the fence (????? this question????? none of them?????? some people want it, some don't, both are fine)

pro-death penalty (in VERY extreme cases) / anti-death penalty / doesn’t know or on the fence

pro-drug legislation / anti-drug legislation / don't know or on the fence (it's more like some drugs should be out of the question, but some i think should be legalized, but regulated)

pro-murder / anti-murder / doesn’t know or on the fence (life or death self-defense, totally okay, but i don't even consider that shit "murder")

pro-cannibalism / anti-cannibalism / doesn’t know or on the fence

left wing / right wing / middle / doesn’t know or on the fence

　SEXUALITY + ROMANTIC INCLINATION

heterosexual / homosexual / bisexual / asexual / pansexual

sex repulsed / sex neutral / sex favourable

romance repulsed / romance neutral / romance favourable

sexually: adventurous / experienced / naive / inexperienced / curious

potential sexual partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

potential romantic partners: male / female / agender / other / none / all

　ABILITIES

combat skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

literacy skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none

artistic skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none (i'm only allowing to rank myself "good" bc of photography lol)

technical skills: excellent / good / moderate / poor / none (i'm assuming you mean like, computer stuff...?)

　HABITS

drinking alcohol: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

smoking: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

other narcotics: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

medicinal drugs: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess (i'm taking this as like, abusing them, because i'm on a load of daily prescriptions, but i only take them as advised)

indulgent food: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

splurge spending: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess (as someone w/o an income this isn't really applicable to me, but living 27 years in a poor family, i am almost certain that even when i do have an income, i will refuse to splurge spend just because of my background)

gambling: never / sometimes / frequently / to excess

#survey #surveys #bolding survey #category survey

0 notes

heartsriki · 27 days ago

Text

CLICKBAIT ROMANCE⌇사진

pairing ᝰ jake x fem!reader — featuring.. sunoo

word count: 3.5k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺college au!, frenemies to lovers, fluff, bickering, teasing, cheesy.

synopsis — When the head journalist of the university magazine is paired with campus heartthrob Jake Sim for a fake dating photoshoot, the lines between pretend and real begin to blur.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊I really hate this actually but I gotta drop a fic so… BETTER FICS COMING OUT TRUST.

Your university had a reputation.

Not for its academics, not for its sports teams, not even for its prestigious alumni. No, your campus was famous for one thing—love.

At first, it seemed like a silly exaggeration, a running joke passed down from upperclassmen to freshmen. But after multiple surveys and actual research, the results were undeniable. Your university had one of the highest couple rates in the entire country.

Everywhere you looked, love was on full display. Couples held hands between classes, exchanged gifts in the courtyard, and whispered to each other during lectures. It wasn’t just on Valentine’s Day—it was as if Valentine’s Day was every day.

And somehow, you were one of the last people standing.

As the head journalist for the university’s magazine, you prided yourself on being an observer, not a participant. But when your department was tasked with coming up with a bold new feature to attract new students, the solution was obvious:

A front-page story on why this campus was the perfect place to fall in love.

No big deal. Just another article.

Except for one small problem.

You had to work with Jake Sim. The school’s star photographer.

And the one person who got under your skin like no other.

“Tell me you’re joking.”

You stare at your editor, brows furrowed in disbelief. The harsh glow of the newsroom’s fluorescent lights only makes the situation feel more like a nightmare.

“Not joking.” Sunoo, the editor-in-chief of the university’s online magazine, taps his nails against his desk, barely hiding his amusement. “The couple we lined up for the article bailed last minute, so you and Jake will have to step in.”

Your stomach drops. “Step in?”

“As in, pretend to be a couple for the shoot,” he says, grinning. “It’s just for the ‘Perfect Date Spot’ feature. We need photos, and you need a partner. Jake’s already agreed.”

Jake Sim. Campus heartthrob. Star photographer. Your walking headache.

You spin around to see him leaning against the doorway, camera slung around his neck, smirking like this is the best news he’s heard all week. “How’s my gorgeous girlfriend doing?” he teases.

You glare. “First of all, Fake girlfriend, Second of all,You actually agreed to this?”

He shrugs. “I like a challenge.”

You cross your arms. “Oh, so pretending to date me is a challenge?”

“Exactly.” His smirk widens, like he enjoys riling you up. “But don’t worry. I’ll make you look good.”

You scoff. “I always look good.”

Sunoo claps his hands, cutting through the tension. “Great! Now that we’re all on board, you two are scheduled for a shoot tomorrow evening. Candlelit dinner, cute coffee date, maybe even a romantic walk under the city lights. Not sure yet but we need variety.”

Jake chuckles. “Sounds like a real date.”

You roll your eyes. “Except it’s fake.”

He tilts his head, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Too bad, huh?”

Your breath catches for just a second before you snap out of it. This is Jake—cocky, frustrating, and way too confident. There’s nothing romantic about this. It’s just a collaboration for the magazine.

You tell yourself that as you storm out of the newsroom, Jake’s low chuckle falling behind you.

The next evening, you find yourself standing outside a charming little cafe, arms crossed as you wait for Jake to show up. The air is crisp, and the soft glow of string lights overhead makes the setting almost too picturesque.

It would be romantic if it weren’t for the fact that you were here with Jake.

You check your phone, scowling at the time. He’s late. Of course, he’s late.

“Miss me?”

You whirl around to see Jake strolling toward you, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, looking irritatingly effortless as always. His camera hangs from his neck, and he flashes you a grin like he enjoys the way your jaw tightens at the sight of him.

“You’re late,” you snap.

He shrugs. “Better late than never.”

You huff, resisting the urge to argue because Sunoo had already threatened to kill you both if this shoot didn’t go smoothly. “Whatever. Let’s just get this over with.”

Jake chuckles. “That’s the spirit.”

You shoot him a glare, but he only winks before heading inside.

The cafe is warm and cozy, the kind of place that practically begs couples to curl up in a corner and share a slice of cake. Sunoo has already arranged everything—two lattes with heart-shaped foam, a plate of macarons, and a corner table bathed in soft candlelight.

Jake lets out a low whistle as he pulls out a chair. “Damn, Sunoo really set the mood.”

You sit down stiffly, suddenly hyper-aware of how… intimate this looks. “Let’s just get the shots and go.”

Jake smirks as he adjusts the camera. “Sure. But if we’re faking a date, we might as well sell it.”

You arch a brow. “What are you suggesting?”

He leans forward slightly, his gaze playful. “Relax. Talk to me like we’re actually on a date.”

You scoff. “Why would I do that?”

“Because,” he says smoothly, lifting his camera, “a real couple wouldn’t be glaring at each other like they’re plotting murder.”

You hate that he has a point.

With a reluctant sigh, you force your expression to soften. “Fine.” You rest your chin on your hand, putting on your best charmed and totally not annoyed look. “So, Jake. What’s your biggest flaw?”

He grins, snapping a photo. “Too good-looking.”

You make a show of gagging. “Try again.”

He hums, pretending to think. “Alright, alright. I guess I can be… a little cocky.”

“A little?” you deadpan.

Jake laughs, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine. The click of his camera follows, and when he lowers it, his gaze lingers on you for just a second longer than necessary.

The moment hangs between you two, thick and strangely personal, as if the fake date has blurred the lines into something real, something you didn’t expect. But then Jake clears his throat, as if snapping out of it, and his grin returns, albeit with a little less bite this time.

“Let’s not get all deep now. It’s supposed to be a fun date,” he says, his voice light, almost teasing, as he snaps another photo.

You roll your eyes, thankful for the shift back to something familiar. “Yeah, I know. Fun.” You take a sip of your latte, the warmth soothing your nerves. “So, what about you? What’s your idea of the perfect date?”

Jake leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the table, eyes narrowing in thought. “Hmm… I’d say a quiet evening, no distractions. Maybe a walk along the river with good conversation and no phones.” He pauses, his gaze drifting to you before he adds, “And definitely some great food. Gotta have the right atmosphere, right?”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “That doesn’t sound like you at all.”

He chuckles. “I’m full of surprises.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you push it away, focusing instead on the delicate foam heart in your cup. This is just for the shoot. Nothing more. You remind yourself again, but the thought feels hollow this time.

The waiter approaches, setting down a plate of macarons with a flourish, and you both pause to exchange a few polite words. As the waiter walks away, you can’t help but notice how comfortable you’ve become sitting across from Jake, how the small moments—like the way he catches the light, or the way he holds his camera so naturally—suddenly feel like you’re seeing him in a different way.

“So, what’s your idea of a perfect date?” Jake asks, snapping a photo of the macarons.

You look at him for a moment, trying to push aside the flicker of something—something soft that you didn’t want to feel. “I don’t know. Something simple, I guess. A dinner, maybe. But nothing too fancy. I like the idea of just… being with someone, talking, not worrying about the rest of the world.”

Jake watches you closely, and for a second, you wonder if he’s actually listening. His eyes soften, and the usual teasing glint is absent. For a moment, you think he might say something else—something deeper. But then, as quickly as it appears, that thought vanishes.

He smirks again, snapping another photo. “I think that sounds like a good date. Simple’s underrated.”

The silence stretches between you as Jake adjusts his camera and you both sip your drinks. And then, just when you think the moment has passed, Jake sets his camera down and leans forward slightly, his gaze never leaving yours.

“You know,” he says quietly, “I could get used to this.”

The words hit you harder than expected. You open your mouth to say something—anything—but the words get caught in your throat. It’s not a joke. It’s not an attempt to flirt. It’s just… different.

And before you can respond, Jake’s grin returns, just as quickly as it left. “Just kidding,” he says, winking playfully. “You’re way too uptight for me, anyway.”

You blink, trying to steady your breath. “Whatever,” you say, though your voice sounds a little unsteady. You take another sip of your latte, trying to act like the crack in your composure didn’t just happen.

But Jake doesn’t seem to notice. He picks up his camera again, clicking another shot, and the air between you settles back into the familiar rhythm of a fake date—perfectly staged, perfectly managed.

You and Jake are assigned to another fake date shoot, the weather clears up, leaving behind a warm, golden sunset that makes the campus feel like something out of a romantic movie. Sunoo has yet again arranged everything—this time, a park on campus with winding trails, a small lake with a bridge over it, and a picnic setup waiting for you both by the water.

Jake meets you at the park entrance, dressed casually in a t-shirt and a hoodie, his hair still damp from a quick shower, and his usual grin already in place.

“Ready for round two?” he asks, the mischievous twinkle in his eyes giving away the fact that he’s probably already plotting how to make this shoot less of a chore for him and more of an adventure.

You shoot him a look. “You really love making this more difficult, don’t you?”

“Not at all,” Jake says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just trying to make it a little more… authentic.”

You suppress the sigh threatening to escape. “Right. Authentic.”

Sunoo’s instructions were simple: get some romantic shots by the lake, maybe catch a candid moment in the park as if you were actually a couple out on a date, and try to make it look effortless. But as you start walking toward the lake, the path lined with blooming flowers and soft greenery, you can’t help but wonder: how exactly does one make a fake date look effortless?

Jake slows his pace next to you, his camera hanging loosely around his neck. “Alright, how about this? We take a nice stroll around the lake, chat a little, and see what happens.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Chat? You mean like the last time, where you gloated about your looks?”

He grins. “Sure, but this time, I’ll be a bit more… charming.”

You roll your eyes. “Good luck with that.”

Jake shrugs, his grin widening. “You’ll see.”

The two of you walk in silence for a few moments, the setting sun casting a warm, orange glow across the water. The breeze feels nice against your skin, the peace of the park in stark contrast to the energy that Jake brings with him.

When you reach the edge of the lake, Sunoo’s setup is already in place—a picnic blanket spread out with some snacks, flowers tucked neatly beside it, and a basket filled with what looks like sandwiches and fruit. The water glistens in the fading sunlight.

Jake notices your hesitation as he sets his camera down. “What’s wrong?”

You glance over at the blanket, wondering how to keep this all casual. “It just seems a little… too much, don’t you think?”

Jake follows your gaze, then shrugs. “It’s all for the shots. We’ll be done soon, I promise.” He plops down on the blanket, stretching out his legs with a casual ease. “Besides, I think I could use a break. You should sit down, too.”

Reluctantly, you sit down beside him, your gaze drawn to the ripples on the water. For a moment, it’s quiet. You can hear birds chirping in the distance, the soft rustling of leaves, and then, Jake speaks again.

“So, have you ever been in love?” he asks suddenly, voice surprisingly soft.

You glance at him, wondering if this is part of the “charming” act he mentioned earlier. But the sincerity in his voice makes you pause.

“I… don’t know,” you admit after a beat. “I think I’ve had crushes, but love? I’m not sure.”

Jake looks at you, his expression unreadable. “I think I get it. It’s about finding someone who can make you feel like you when everything else is chaos.”

You blink, caught off guard by how real that sounds. “I didn’t expect that from you.”

Jake grins. “I told you, I’m full of surprises.” He nudges you again, this time with a little more force, making you laugh despite yourself. “But seriously, sometimes it just takes the right person to help you figure things out.”

You stare at him for a long moment, trying to decipher whether he’s being genuine or if this is just part of the act. His usual playful smirk is gone, replaced by something more thoughtful.

Before you can respond, the sound of a camera shutter breaks the silence, and Jake leans back. “Gotcha. You looked cute right there.”

You scowl, but it’s half-hearted. “One of these days I’m going to strangle you with that camera strap.”

He laughs, but there’s no teasing edge to it this time. “I think you like it, actually.”

You shove him playfully, and for the rest of the shoot, the two of you fall into a surprisingly easy rhythm. You take photos by the water, walk along the lake hand-in-hand for a few shots, and exchange casual conversation like two friends who don’t have to pretend to be anything they’re not.

By the time the sun dips below the horizon and the shoot is finally wrapped up, you realize that, despite the fake nature of it all, you’ve had more fun than you care to admit.

“Not so bad, right?” Jake asks as he packs up the camera, still holding your hand.

You hesitate, then nod. “Not bad.”

As you walk back toward campus together, the distance between you and Jake feels just a little bit smaller.

The lake near campus is calm, its surface shimmering under the warm afternoon sun. It’s the perfect spot for your final photoshoot—a peaceful location to end the “Perfect Date Spot” feature. The air smells fresh, the light is golden, and there’s a gentle breeze that adds a sense of serenity to everything.

You, however, are not at peace.

“Kayaking?” you repeat, eyes wide. “Sunoo, we’re supposed to be pretending to date, not reenacting The Notebook scene in a canoe.”

Sunoo grins from behind his camera setup, his usual mischievous energy in full swing. “It’s not a canoe. It’s a kayak. And it’s perfect! Plus, this will be your best shoot yet. Trust me.”

Jake, already wearing a life vest, leans against his kayak with a confident smirk. “It’ll be fun. Just relax.”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your nerves. Kayaking seems like an ordeal on its own, and the added pressure of pretending to be the perfect couple while Sunoo snaps away from the shore makes you feel more awkward than ever.

But, here you are.

“Alright, let’s do this,” you mutter, stepping into the kayak. Your feet are a little unsteady, but Jake steadies you with a hand, his touch lingering for a second longer than necessary.

“I got you,” he says, his voice unusually soft for someone who usually teases. “Let’s just paddle together, okay? It’s easier than you think.”

You nod, glancing back at Sunoo, who’s already poised with his camera, looking entirely too excited about the whole thing.

“Okay, ready?” Jake asks, his paddle raised in the air like some sort of announcement.

You give him a thumbs-up. “Ready I guess.”

You both start paddling, and at first, it’s smooth. The two of you glide across the water with ease, the peacefulness of the lake contrasting sharply with the nervous energy you’ve been carrying since the shoot started. For a moment, it feels almost… natural.

“See? This isn’t so bad,” Jake says, glancing over at you.

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a small smile. “Don’t get too cocky. We’re barely out of the water.”

Jake laughs, the sound echoing across the lake. “You’re just worried about tipping over. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

Of course, that’s when he does it.

With a sly grin, Jake shifts his weight and—splash—you’re thrown into the cool, refreshing water.

You barely have time to process what’s happened before you’re fully submerged, bubbles bursting around you as you come up gasping for air, blinking away the droplets.

Jake is dying in laughter, still sitting safely in the kayak, as if he hasn’t just launched you into the water. “You should’ve seen your face!” he says between fits of laughter.

“Jake Sim!” you shout, splashing water toward him with as much force as you can muster. “You are going to regret that.”

Without thinking, you grab the edge of the kayak and, using all your strength, pull it—and him—into the water with you.

Jake’s eyes widen in horror just before he plunges in with a loud splash, the kayak tipping sideways, sending both of you into the water in an awkward, laughing heap.

The world is suddenly full of bubbles and laughter as you both surface, gasping for air. Your hair is plastered to your face, and the lake water clings to your clothes. But, for once, you don’t care.

“That’s what you get!” you shout, though you can’t help the laughter bubbling up inside you. “What were you thinking?”

Jake wipes water from his eyes, still grinning. “I think I just made the best decision of my life.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, splashing water at him. “You sure about that?”

“I’m definitely sure,” he says, swimming closer, his eyes sparkling with mischievous intent. He splashes water back at you, and soon, you’re both caught up in an water fight, the laughter and splashing filling the air.

Sunoo, still on the shore, lowers his camera for a moment, watching you both with a grin. “This wasn’t what I had in mind but.. They actually look like a real couple right now.”

You pause for a moment, catching your breath between laughs. You’re soaked, your hair is a mess, and your heart is racing—but it feels good. It feels real.

Jake treads water beside you, his smile softening. “This might be the best part of this whole fake dating thing,” he says, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone. “Being with you.”

Before either of you can say anything else, you both hear Sunoo laughing from the shore. “Alright! No more mushy stuff. Get back in the kayak, we still need more shots!”

Jake raises an eyebrow, playfully sticking his tongue out toward Sunoo. “Mushy stuff? Really? I’m just trying to get my fake-girlfriend to admit we’re actually a thing.”

You roll your eyes but swim over to the kayak, feeling a little bolder than before. “Fine, I’ll admit it. This has been fun. Now, let’s finish this before we drown.”

Jake laughs and hops back into the kayak, offering you a hand. You take it without hesitation, finding your balance again, this time without the nerves. The two of you resume paddling, this time with more ease. The tension that once existed between you has melted away, replaced with something lighter, warmer.

The sun begins to dip lower in the sky as Sunoo takes his final shots from the shore. For once, there’s no pretending. No acting. Just two people—laughing, paddling through the water, and finally allowing themselves to be real.

And when the shoot is over, as the evening winds down, Jake turns to you with a grin that could light up the entire lake. “You wanna go on a real date after this?”

You grin back, feeling something shift inside you—something good. “Yeah, why not?”

With a final splash of water, you both make your way back to the shore, ready to leave the lake behind… but not the moments you’ve shared.

And maybe, you’ll get to share a few more.

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #fanfic #fluff fic #enhypen jake #enhypen sim jake #sim jake x reader #jake enhypen #jake sim x reader #jake x reader #jake sim #jake

425 notes · View notes