#but yet again that could just be the drug

[killerelysia]

Pardonnez-moi, Monsieur!- Solivan brugmansia x Yan!G.N Reader! (Part 2!)

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

Words:9000

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

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

( Reader is a g.n!)-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee.

DAY 1: The Beloved

“I will not accept one paragraph! I need two whole pages filled with words. Everyone got that?”

The teacher’s voice grated on your ears like nails on a chalkboard. Not that the assignment was hard—you could churn out two pages in your sleep if you wanted to. Writing wasn’t the issue. No, the real problem was the waste.

Two pages of meaningless drivel on some boring topic when you could be filling those pages with him. Words dedicated to Sol, the way his green-streaked hair falls just so, the sharpness of his jawline, the way he speaks as if he’s barely trying and yet every word hooks you like a line to the heart. Two pages about Sol? Easy. Two pages about anything else? Insulting.

You shift in your seat, feeling the familiar burn in your chest. It’s not anger exactly—it’s this gnawing, this aching thing that starts deep inside you every time someone pulls your focus away from him.

And your journal. Oh, your journal. You’d filled its pages with his name, over and over again. Sketches of him, even ones of the two of you together—his hand in yours, his lips grazing your cheek. Perfect. You flip it closed quickly, sliding it under your textbook as a passing student glances your way. No one gets to see those. They wouldn’t understand.

You glance at the clock. The rooftop. You’re running out of time. You bite your lip and glance at the book again. Just one more sketch… no, focus!

The doodle of you and Sol holding hands stares back at you. It’s so cute, you can’t help the small giggle bubbling in your throat. What would he think if he saw this? Would he call it pathetic or perfect? Would he notice the details? The way I drew him smiling?

The smile falters. No.

Not yet. He doesn’t get to see this yet—not until it’s perfect. Not until you are perfect.

With a deep breath, you slam the book shut and stand, forcing the manic swirl of thoughts into a neat little box in the back of your mind. Control. Stay calm. Don’t let anyone see.

There’s plenty of time to admire him later. For now, you’ll play along, just like always.

But inside, your thoughts swirled, chaotic and relentless. You could feel the edges of your obsession creeping in, clawing at your composure.

Why Sol? Why does he get to me like this? Is it his smile? The way his voice sounds like music when he talks to Hyugo about me? Maybe it’s his obesseion Or maybe it’s because I’m just...

You paused, staring blankly at the paper in front of you. Messed up. Rotten. Broken. No wonder I’m drawn to him. He’s the only one who makes me feel like I could be fixed.

You shook your head, banishing the thought. No time for self-pity. You had to get to the rooftop soon, and you couldn’t go up there acting like some lovesick fool.

Standing up from your seat, you were about to grab your bag when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you saw Brittney—the Chipette—no, Crowe’s friend. Her. You pause, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she’s trying to talk to you, pretend to be friendly. It must be Crowe’s idea. Of course, it is. Brittney doesn’t do anything without some ulterior motive, right? Sharp tongue wrapped in hard words. But… maybe she’s different. she’s kind. Sometimes, she actually tries. It's just she's bad at talking.

A fallen angel in disguise.

You tilt your head slightly, watching her fumble. She doesn’t know how to approach you. Does she think I’m some kid who needs to be scolded? Her nervous glance tell you that. She’s probably going to say something about how wrong it is to obsess over Sol. Does she know? She doesn't know. No one knows.

And Sol isn’t a “kid.” He’s perfect. He’s 6’ of celestial art, every inch of him carved like he was meant to be worshipped, adored. He’s everything. You feel your pulse quicken just thinking about him.

“Hey, you’re going to lunch with us, right?” Brittney starts, pulling you back. “I mean, you should. I don’t usually see you in the cafeteria nowadays, so you must not be eating properly…”

You blink at her. Lunch? The cafeteria? You don’t go there anymore. Not since Sol.

Because Sol hates it. He hates the noise.

He didn’t say it outright, of course. He doesn’t have to. You know it. You feel it in the way he moves, in the small looks he gives the space, in the way he brushes off people there. It’s loud. It’s annoying. He doesn’t like it. So you don’t like it either.

It’s one of the small ways you show your love for him, even if he doesn’t know. Even if no one knows. You don’t need their approval. You don’t need their judgment. You learned to cook, after all! Sol likes to cook too. Isn’t that just fate? It’s like the universe tying you together, thread by thread.

You learned to decorate your food everyday so when he sees he can smile. You made sure to change your wallpaper to a pumpkin so when he might try to check, he will think you like them..

Its all for him..

You always come early, leave your food on your spot on the rooftop so you can watch him later. Just watch. When he’s with Hyugo, you catch glimpses of their meals. Sol always seems to cook for him.

Sol cooks for Hyugo…

Your chest twists. Your grip tightens on your bag.

You wonder when it’ll be you. When will it be you he cooks for? When will you be the one he eats with, laughs with, looks at? Domestic, happy, married—together, forever.

"We will be a happy family together, right Sol? Don't we be together forever...?"

The thought makes your stomach flutter, your lips twitch into an almost-smile. You’re almost dizzy with it. Wouldn’t that be perfect? Wouldn’t that be just right? Sol and you, a home, no one else, just the two of you…

Your breath catches. Stop. Not here. Not in front of her. Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it—

“Hello? You okay?” Brittney’s voice pulls you back.

You blink. Smile. Tilt your head like nothing’s wrong. “I’m fine,” you say, even though you can still feel that wild, spiraling need thrumming in your chest.

Sol would be proud of how well you can hide it. Don’t you think?

You were about to refuse politely, maybe even brush her off, but then Brittney added something that made your blood freeze.

"How can you keep up with classes looking like that? You look like you haven't slept in months. You almost look like a crazed person."

Excuse me?

The words hit like a slap, a harsh reminder of how others saw you. You felt your skin flush, the urge to lash out simmering beneath the surface. No one, no one, was supposed to notice that. Not her. Not anyone. She didn’t know what you were really up to—how could she?

But you caught yourself, staring at her without blinking, trying to suppress the bitter taste in your mouth. You had to hold it together. She was just… clueless. Clueless in the same way everyone else was. She didn't know what you did, how you spent your nights, how you fed your obsession, how you kept everything in line. To her, you were just the weird, sleep-deprived kid who could barely hold it together in class.

You blinked slowly, trying to keep your expression neutral. Don’t let her see how much her words hurt. No one was supposed to see that. You felt a little… off, but you didn’t let it show. You were in control, at least, on the outside.

She realized, too late, that she'd crossed a line. The awkwardness in the air was thick, and you could almost see the regret flicker behind her eyes. Maybe she felt sorry for you? But no, it wasn’t pity. It was something else. Something… less clean.

In truth, you felt a small pang of something almost like guilt. It was strange. You felt… bad for her? You knew Brittney had no idea what she was stepping into. How could she? She wasn’t part of this world you had so carefully constructed, a world that only you understood. She was just someone who thought she was being kind, trying to make conversation.

You sighed softly, resisting the urge to show any emotion. She didn’t deserve to feel bad about it. No, she didn’t deserve that.

"That's really insensitive of you! Imagine if someone else told you about how you look," Crowe’s voice cuts through, a protector once again.

You glance at Brittney. Ugh, such a showoff, trying to play the hero. You barely let it phase you, though. You’re above this.

"Brittney’s just trying, Crowe, I don’t really take offense,” you say, smiling sweetly, but it’s more for your own benefit than anyone else’s.

Crowe looks at you, clearly taken aback. Oh, poor Crowe, so clueless. He thought you’d be hurt? You almost giggle at his innocence.

“Well, you’re the one who insisted on me initiating talk. If you really want to rescue them, there are better ways to be their prince charming, Crowe.” You throw a playful smirk his way. This game’s so easy. He’s trying so hard… for what?

You snicker, watching his face twist in confusion. God, he’s like a lost child when their momma takes away their candy. It’s almost adorable…

"You could’ve done it more nicely, you know. A simple invite would’ve sufficed,” he murmur, you still have the sweet smile plastered across your face. He’s pushing so hard for attention. What’s he trying to prove? You don’t need more friends. Friends are just competition… people getting in the way of your Sol. It's a distraction.

You glance over at the three people you know in the circle—one of them, Subaru. The thought of him nearly makes your stomach churn. Such a fool. You shake your head.

Love is what makes a Subaru a Subaru

You choke on your own thoughts, trying to push the smile from your face. Shut up, Y/n. Just shut up for a second. That quote doesn't deserve Geo

“Damn Brit, you sure are bad at socializing! Hey, Geo! Looks like you’ve got competition!” Deryl’s voice cuts in, a stupid grin spreading across his face.

Brittney’s face turns red. You feel your lips curl into a soft, dangerous smile. Time to save the poor thing.

"At least she tries something," you say, cutting into the moment. "Unlike Mr. Scaramoose over here… Mister Deryl Helianth. It’s okay…"

Deryl’s eyes widen. "You know my full government name?!?" The jock is practically bouncing with excitement. How cute. He thinks it matters.

You smile sweetly. "No, not at all." You really didn’t need to know anything about him. You’ve just been collecting information on everyone. Your eyes flick over to the name data you’ve carefully pulled from the class roster. But Sol’s name isn’t on there… why isn’t his name listed? The thought itches at the back of your mind. I’ll check the Art class today.

Sigh…

"They must have gotten it from the student council. You helped me a lot that day, Y/n. Thanks," Crowe says with a soft smile. Oh, how genuine. How sweet.

But you did it for yourself, didn’t you? You did it to make sure you knew everything about him. To see if Sol was in the same room. Same class..

Any class...

Crowe’s obliviousness is almost painful, but you don’t let it show.

You shake the thought away. Sol, Sol, Sol. There you go again, thinking about him. You feel a silly, wild smile threatening to take over your face. Great job, Y/n. You almost look like a crazy person again.

“Shut the fuck up, Deryl!” Brittney screeches, saving you from your own spiraling thoughts.

You sigh in relief. Finally, a distraction.

While they bicker, you look at Geo, sticking your tongue out. You know it’ll annoy him, and that’s just too fun to pass up. His angry gaze snaps to you. You flash him your sweetest, most angelic smile in return.

Oh, Geo… you think, enjoying his discomfort just a little too much. You turn your gaze to the meek girl beside Brittney, Jess, who’s been silent the whole time. Poor thing. Probably doesn’t even realize how much you hate her existence.

“Sorry,” He says putting on a sympathetic voice. “They’re kind of a rowdy bunch, huh?”

Crowe laughs, scratching the back of his head. “You’re the most normal person I know, Y/n.”

Normal? Oh, if only you knew. If only he could see the things you hide. The way your mind swirls with dark thoughts. The plans you’ve already made.

"Normal?" You smile sweetly again. "Yeah, sure!"

Normal? Sure, if that’s what they want to think. But behind those eyes of yours, it's a whole different story. Behind those closed doors, in the stillness of your room, you sit there, mapping out every move Sol makes. Watching. Waiting. Planning.

You’ve got this figured out. It’s mutual craziness, isn’t it? Stalking is just a step closer to true love, right? After all, Sol’s already there, watching you too.

Crowe introduces Jess to you, and you can’t help but pinch her cheek. Just like Sol would. Your heart skips a beat at the thought, the way you’d touch Sol the same way, so tenderly, so possessively.

You smile, your eyes glazing over, lost in the fantasy.

"Thank Beyonce," you think, when Brittney screams again, snapping you out of your daydream.

"Are you coming with us or what?" Brittney asks, her voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts.

Geo and Deryl exchange whispers. You don’t hear the words, but the feeling between them is thick, charged. Geo glances at you, his eyes narrowing, an intensity behind them that makes your stomach twist in knots.

You just smile and shrug. “I’m not coming. I’ve got to do something about the assignment.”

Crowe furrows his brows, unsure. “Are you sure?”

Geo pushes him out of the way, throwing a glance at you. His eyes are cold, pissed off. But why? Why would he be mad?

You don’t care. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want to see how the show plays out today, just like yesterday. Like the day before. And so on.”

You giggle, the insanity behind your eyes barely concealed. “Thanks, George of the Jungle!”

Geo hisses under his breath, storming off. Good riddance.

Finally, you’re alone, the game once again in your hands.

You approached the usual vent that led to the rooftop, your thoughts on the familiar, quiet solitude awaiting you there. You needed it more than ever. But as you got closer, your heart sank. The vent… it was blocked. A large metal panel, freshly installed, covered the usual opening.

You froze for a moment, blinking in disbelief, your mind racing. No, no, no… This was your only escape. Your only way to break free from the suffocating weight of everything. You reached forward, pressing your hand against the cool metal, but it didn’t budge. It felt like the world itself was closing in around you.

Your gaze shot over to the construction worker nearby, the one handling some tools by the wall. You quickly approached him, a sense of urgency bubbling in your chest. "Hey, what's going on with the vent?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

He looked up, wiping his brow before answering. “Oh, that? A tall student, Subaru, complained about the vents being damaged. The university decided to get it fixed right away. They’re installing some new system to keep people from sneaking up through there. Too many people have been climbing in and out, I guess. They said it needed to be blocked off.”

Your blood ran cold as the realization hit you like a sledgehammer. Subaru. That tall, irritating… Scaramouche wannabe.

Damn it.

You almost couldn't breathe, the frustration building inside you so quickly it hurt. You clenched your fists so tightly, your nails dug into your palm. It was him. That bastard had complained about the vents just to block your access. He knew! He knew how much you relied on that small escape, that bit of freedom. And now it was gone—ruined because of his petty complaint.

“Wait," you snapped, your voice dangerously low, "Can you fix it? Please. I need to get through." You could feel the heat rising to your face, a mix of anger and panic. You had to get up there. You had to see Sol. There was no other way.

The construction worker shook his head. “Sorry, kid. They’ve already decided to seal it up. The system’s being locked down. No going through there anymore. If it's rooftop just use the damned stairs. Even then, kids are not gonna listen. Even grownups like you are idiotic."

But you use it for...Rooftop so they can't see

Your world tilted, your vision narrowing. No… no! You could feel your chest tightening, the walls closing in. You were so close. You were this close to seeing him, to feeling something again, but now it was slipping through your fingers.

Geo, that fucking prick! Your heart raced with frustration, your mind spinning. Why did he have to ruin everything?

You bit your lip hard enough to taste blood, the urge to scream rising inside you. It wasn’t fair. You couldn’t even reach Sol now, because that damn fool had gotten in the way. You paced in front of the blocked vent, your mind unraveling. You tried to breathe, tried to think of something—anything—but all that came to mind was the surge of anger that made your head spin.

You turned away abruptly, fist clenched tightly at your side, barely holding back the raw frustration that threatened to burst out of you. "Fucking bitch," you muttered under your breath. You didn’t even realize the words had escaped until they echoed through the air.

You cursed under your breath again, letting the anger rage inside you like a storm, unable to quell it. All that rage, all that tension was boiling over, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

You stood there, Your fingers trembled as you tried to think of another way. The stairs, you thought. The staircase that led to the rooftop—it was a long shot, but maybe you could get up there without anyone noticing.

You glanced around, hoping no one was watching. The stairway to the other side of the rooftop was a bit more hidden, so if you were careful, maybe—just maybe—you could sneak your way up without anyone spotting you. Your mind raced, trying to calculate the risks. There was a chance they’d notice you going up, but you didn’t care. You had to see him today. It wasn’t a choice anymore—it was an obsession, a need, a desperate craving.

You made your way toward the stairwell, a strange mix of hope and anxiety flooding your chest. Just be quiet, don’t get spotted… you repeated to yourself like a mantra.

But the moment you stepped into the stairwell, you felt something shift inside of you. What if they catch you? What if they find out? The thought of someone seeing you make your way to the rooftop, of someone witnessing you sneak away like this, made your stomach churn. The fear crawled up your spine, but you couldn’t stop now. You had to do this for yourself.

You tried to silence the little voice that whispered doubts in your ear. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about being caught.

But the stairs—the stairs were the wrong ones. You turned the corner too fast, your heart pounding louder with every step. You’d entered the wrong pair of stairs, a different exit leading to an entirely different side of the building. A side where the students could see you—where he could see you. The panic rose in your throat. No, no, no… You cursed under your breath.

The walls felt like they were closing in around you. Your hands gripped the railing tightly, trying to steady yourself as your chest tightened with dread. It’s too much. It’s too risky. You’ll be caught.

The weight of it all hit you then, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. Sol… you can’t even see him anymore. You’re losing everything.

A soft sob escaped your lips, quickly smothered by the desperate need to control yourself. You wiped your eyes, but they wouldn’t stop, your tears betraying you. Why was it so hard? Why did everything feel like it was slipping through your fingers?

You felt small, insignificant, lost in a world that was spinning too fast. Why did it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t you just have a simple moment with him? To see his face, to be near him, to exist in his world for just a little while.

Your breath hitched again, sobbing softly to yourself, trying to stifle the noise. You hated how weak you felt, how exposed you were. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You weren’t supposed to be crying over something so ridiculous, over something you couldn’t control. But in that moment, you didn’t care. You just wanted to see him.

You needed him.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? you thought bitterly, wiping your nose as you swallowed the lump in your throat. Why did it have to be so complicated? Every day felt like a fight—a fight against yourself, against your own cravings, against everything pulling you toward him.

The sobs were quiet, but they felt so loud in the silence of the stairwell. You felt pathetic—helpless, even. But there was no turning back now. You had to get to the roof. You had to see him.

You blinked hard, forcing your tears to stop. It was time to take action. Be sneaky, be careful. You can do this.

You wiped your face, sucked in a breath, and kept climbing the stairs, hoping that just one more turn would lead you to him.

You couldn’t stop the tears from falling as you reached the rooftop, your breath shaky and uneven. The cool breeze barely brushed your face, but the overwhelming sense of sadness flooded your chest, crushing it under its weight.

Sol… Sol… where are you? Your heart hammered painfully in your chest as you looked around, searching desperately. But the rooftop was empty. No sign of him. Not a shadow, not a glimpse.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

A high, sick laugh that made your stomach churn. You couldn’t even believe it yourself, but there it was—uncontrollable and desperate.

"Ha…ha…haha…" you whispered to yourself, almost crazed with it, your tears mixing with your laughter in a strange, disorienting way. It wasn’t normal. It wasn’t healthy. But it felt right. It felt like it made sense in some deranged, twisted way.

And still, you looked around, trying to get a glimpse, even just a hint of him. But there was nothing. The emptiness was deafening.

.

You felt a sob tear through your chest, the tears flowing freely as your eyes glazed over with an almost feverish kind of longing. Why isn't he here? you thought with a sort of irrational desperation. But deep down, you knew. It wasn’t about finding him here on the rooftop. It was about needing him so badly that it felt like your insides were turning to ash.

Your vision blurred with the endless cascade of tears, and your head dropped, defeated. A few soft sobs escaped you, echoing in the emptiness. Why did it hurt so much? You didn’t care that the tears were endless, that the ache in your heart was growing. It felt both agonizing and strangely satisfying.

Your eyes were wide, lovesick and sad, the desperation leaking out of every pore. You couldn’t stop the thoughts from spinning. I need him… I need him so badly… It hurt, but the hurt was like some sick form of comfort. Every pang of longing, every tear that slipped from your eyes only added to the twisted ache that thrummed in your chest.

You wiped your face, but it didn’t matter. The tears kept coming, flowing out like some uncontrollable river.

Sol… you whispered softly to yourself, your voice trembling.

You felt so small, so lost in this need for him, yet at the same time, you felt alive. Alive in a way that only came with this kind of madness. This kind of longing.

And it felt so good.

The rooftop’s chill stung your tear-soaked cheeks, and you were ready to leave with a heavy heart when an unfamiliar voice caught your attention. It wasn’t Sol’s—no, you’d know his voice anywhere—but someone else entirely. You walked fo the sound of the voice cautiously, you spotted Hyugo.

He stood a few steps away, holding a phone to his ear, speaking in a language you couldn’t quite identify. His tone was firm, measured, but whatever he was saying wasn’t your concern. You were only focused on how this wasn’t Sol.

Still, you watched for a moment longer, curiosity briefly flickering through your sadness. You took a step back, intending to leave unnoticed. But just as you turned, a hand clamped down on your shoulder, freezing you in place. Your heart jumped to your throat as you felt his breath near your neck and something cold—too cold—pressed against your skin.

A knife.

"Who are you? Speak, unless you want to get yourself into big trouble," Hyugo said lowly, his voice sharp and unforgiving.

"I’m—uh, Y/n L/n of class 4-B! Please don’t kill me!" you stammered, panic slipping through every word. You couldn’t help but hope—no, pray—that he’d recognize your name as someone Sol would vouch for, even if it was just in your own delusional mind.

The grip on your shoulder slackened slightly. Relief bloomed in your chest, though it was short-lived as Hyugo shifted, striking a pose that reminded you of Sherlock Holmes—a pose you knew he adored. You’d overheard him ranting about it to Sol once, and that memory made you laugh internally. Sol’s pained expression had been adorable.

But now wasn’t the time for that. You were trapped here, and Hyugo seemed more amused than threatening at this point. His eyes narrowed as he muttered, “Y/n L/n… Why does that sound familiar? Class 4-B too…”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath, “Probably because you won’t stop teasing Sol about me.”

Foolishly, you threw a punch in frustration, aiming for his smug face. Hyugo caught your fist with ease, still holding that ridiculous Sherlock pose. The corner of his lips twitched in amusement as he tightened his grip on your hand, making you wince.

"Sol, save me from this bitch," your thoughts screamed as you glared at Hyugo, who seemed all too entertained by your antics.

Hyugo clapped his hands together in mock prayer, bowing with theatrical flourish. “I remember now! What impeccable timing, Y/n!” he said, his voice dripping with faux gratitude.

You stared blankly. What was he doing?

“I need your help,” he continued, straightening up dramatically. “You see, I have a familial emergency and can’t attend my next class. I promised my partner I’d be there, though, and since you’re from the same class… could you take over for me?”

You blinked, incredulous. “What kind of person are you? You just threatened me with a knife, and now you’re asking for favors? What are you, some yakuza kid?”

Hyugo’s smug smile faltered for a moment before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh,” he muttered, fixing his posture. Then, as if nothing happened, he threw you a wink and a thumbs up. “The name’s Hyugo Sugimoto! From class 4-A!” he declared proudly. “But I take mixed classes with Mister Allan to catch up on some, uh… subjects I missed last year.”

You folded your arms, unimpressed. His attempt at charm wasn’t working, especially when he pulled out his knife again, dangling it casually. “It’s for self-defense,” he explained, launching into an unnecessary monologue. You stopped listening entirely, your mind already halfway to its breaking point.

But then, something in his tone shifted. The goofy grin fell from his face, replaced by a much more serious expression.

“Do you have friends, Y/n?”

You recoiled slightly, the question catching you off guard. “Yes, I do,” you shot back defensively.

Hyugo tilted his head. “Yeah, but don’t you ever feel like… you’re doing too much for them?”

The words struck a chord, silencing you. Was he talking about Sol? Your chest tightened, but you refused to let it show.

“He’s not the best guy out there,” Hyugo said, and you winced. You knew Sol wasn’t perfect. His methods were unconventional, his actions borderline obsessive—but that was fine. You loved him. You understood him. Your relationship thrived on the kind of chaos no one else could grasp.

“But you…” Hyugo continued, his gaze unwavering. “Maybe you’ll be the one who understands him.”

Your breath hitched. “I do,” you murmured, so quietly you weren’t sure he even heard.

You smiled faintly, a flicker of something almost kind crossing his face. “I’m sure Solivan Brugmansia appreciates what you do.”

The mention of Sol’s full name sent your heart racing. You froze, staring at Hyugo, trying to process the weight of his words.

Hyugo clapped his hands suddenly, breaking the tension. “So please, be his partner in Art Appreciation!” he pleaded, his dramatic energy returning full force. “He needs someone who gets him! He needs someone like you!"

Your mind spiraled. Was the next class Sol’s? Could it really be? Your lips parted in shock, but before you could speak, Hyugo’s expression darkened. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Did you just say his name?”

You blinked, regaining some composure. “What? No. You misheard me,” you said, feigning calmness. Manipulation came naturally to you, and you knew how to keep your face unreadable. “I never opened my mouth."

It was weird.

Hyugo dropped to his knees in a dramatic, pleading pose, resembling a pitiful clown more than the dangerous man who had just threatened you moments ago. His serious tone dissolved into a mess of blubbering theatrics.

“Please! I’m begging you! Be his partner!” he wailed, hands clasped as if in prayer.

“Alright, alright! I’ll do it! Just get the hell up already!” you snapped, exasperated.

Hyugo’s eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “You mean it? Thank you, Y/n! I knew you were the right person for this!” He shot up, nearly knocking you over in his enthusiasm.

“His name is Sol! Solivan Brugmansia! Don’t worry, you won’t miss him!” he said brightly, grinning ear to ear.

Your heart stopped. Sol. It was Sol. A jolt of electricity shot through you like the world had just revealed a cosmic secret. This was how you were going to meet him for the first time? Your head spun, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to scream, laugh, or cry.

Without waiting for a reaction, Hyugo gave you a firm pat on the shoulder, his demeanor softening just enough to catch you off guard. “Crying doesn’t suit people like you, Y/n,” he said, his voice oddly sincere. Then, just as suddenly, he turned on his heel and sprinted off, leaving you stunned in the middle of the rooftop.

Your thoughts swirled, tangled in emotions you couldn’t even name.

You felt the tears still clinging to your cheeks, but instead of sadness, an uncontrollable smile spread across your face. The weight of earlier despair evaporated as Hyugo's words echoed in your mind. Solivan Brugmansia… you’ll be his partner…

Your heart leaped as you imagined him, the way his name rolled off your tongue like a song written just for you. “Ahhh… Sol!” you squealed softly, bouncing in place like an overjoyed child. You hugged yourself, spinning in a circle with daydreams overtaking reality.

This was better than any rooftop sighting—this was fate pulling the strings of your love story! Your knees wobbled as you imagined what it would be like sitting beside him, sharing notes, the way his hand might brush yours while pointing at something in a textbook. Your daydreams spiraled into a symphony of possibilities, each one sweeter than the last.

You clutched your chest dramatically, the hopeless romantic in you fully awakened. “He’s perfect,” you murmured, giggling as your face burned with a lovesick blush. You jumped again, unable to stop yourself from squealing, “I love him!”

Lost in your swirling thoughts, you didn’t even notice the bell ringing in the distance.

There's still. Time. I'll head to Library...For.. Maybe assignment.

You stepped into the library, the comforting mix of coffee and aged books wrapping around you like a soft blanket. Normally, this was your safe haven—a place to sketch and dream without interruption. Your perfect little corner, tucked away from prying eyes, was waiting.

But today… everything shattered the moment you saw him.

Your heart came to a screeching halt, and your lungs forgot how to breathe. There, sitting at one of the tables, completely absorbed in his book, was him. Solivan Brugmansia.

Your legs locked in place, and every gear in your brain shifted into overdrive. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think—just stare. His long fingers lightly turned the page, the soft motion oddly captivating. His sharp jawline framed his face, leading up to cheekbones so defined they looked like they were carved from marble. His dark, slightly wavy hair fell messily over his forehead, catching the faint sunlight streaming through the window.

His lashes were long, casting delicate shadows over his cheeks as his eyes—those intense, unique hues you couldn't forget—traveled across the words in his book. The air around him felt magnetic, an invisible force pulling you closer, drowning you in admiration. His lips moved faintly as if he were silently mouthing the words, and you almost melted on the spot.

It hit you all over again. This is him. This is Sol.

You felt like a mess—your clothes felt wrong, your hair felt wrong, you felt wrong. Why now?! Why does he have to look like an angel when I look like this? You were so close to running out, but your feet stayed planted, refusing to move.

You drank in every detail, heart hammering like a lovesick fool. The way his shoulders leaned slightly forward as he read, his posture casual but refined. The faint scuff on the corner of his book as if he had been reading it everywhere. Even the small crease in his brow hinted at his concentration.

Your fingers itched for your sketchbook. You wanted to draw him again, every line and curve, as if your pencil could capture even a fraction of what made him so perfect. But then your gaze shifted—there were other students around, eyes occasionally darting toward him. Of course, you thought bitterly. How could they not?

The idea of pulling out your sketchbook felt risky, almost too obvious. And yet the urge to immortalize this moment, this sight of him, was clawing at your chest.

You swallowed hard, stepping back toward the corner, hoping he wouldn’t notice your frantic gaze. But even as you moved, your eyes refused to leave him. So close, yet so far... you thought, feeling every bit the love-drunk, hopeless fool you were.

Oh, how my heart shivers, lovesick and wild, Caught in your gaze, like a star-struck child. Your eyes, deep constellations, chart the skies, Pulling me closer with each soft sunrise. Your hair, dark rivers where the moonlight dips, Your name a melody upon my lips. I see you in whispers, in shadows, in dreams, A presence that wraps me in love’s silent screams.

You took a steadying breath, willing yourself to act composed, to not let your trembling hands or lovesick expression give you away. Solivan Brugmansia—your Sol—was sitting in your seat. That sacred corner, your little world, now graced by his presence. The thought made your pulse race, equal parts thrill and terror.

You couldn’t help it; your eyes roamed over him, absorbing every detail like a parched soul drinking in the rain. His hair caught the faint library light, the strands gleaming like silk. His posture was casual but poised, one hand flipping through a book while the other rested lazily on the table—oh, that hand, the one you’d heard was hurt recently. He punched a guy for you.

You bit your lip, an involuntary whimper catching in your throat at the thought of his pain.

He hadn’t noticed you at first, but your dazed stare must have drawn him in. Slowly, his gaze lifted, those striking heterochromatic eyes locking onto yours. The air felt electric, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

“...?” His expression was unreadable, but the subtle furrow of his brows suggested mild curiosity—or was that amusement? You couldn’t tell. Either way, it made your knees weak.

“You’re, um... in my seat,” you managed, the words stumbling over each other like a desperate escape. “Can I have it back, Mr. Solivan Brugmansia...? Also, I, uh, heard about your hand. Are you okay? I hope you’re not overdoing it. And, uh, your partner—”

You froze mid-ramble as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. He looked surprised for a brief second—had you actually caught him off guard? But just as quickly, his expression smoothed into that same cold, enigmatic mask. It was like looking at a wall of ice with flames just barely flickering underneath.

“You... know my name?” he asked, his voice a soft drawl, laced with something you couldn’t quite place. Control, maybe? Suspicion? Whatever it was, it sent a shiver down your spine.

You exhaled, trying to suppress the ridiculous giddiness that threatened to bubble over. Stay cool, stay cool, you reminded yourself, even as your heartbeat rivaled a drumline.

“I know your name because Hyugo told me. He said you needed a partner in art class,” you began, keeping your tone casual, though you were certain your cheeks were giving you away. “And one time, when I went to the nurse, she mentioned feeling bad about a student named Solivan who’d been injured. That’s you, isn’t it?”

His eyes widened for the briefest moment, and then he averted them, his fingers tightening slightly on the edge of his book. Was that... a blush? You almost squealed internally, but you swallowed it down like a pro. He didn’t respond, clearly not used to being read so easily.

You leaned in slightly, your voice dropping to something soft and steady. “I was worried when she said that,” you admitted. “But hey, a student is a student. Don’t overthink it. Now... can I please have my seat back?”

For a second, you thought he might actually listen. His eyes flicked to yours, a rare vulnerability peeking through before it was swallowed up by his usual mask. But instead of moving, he arched an eyebrow, glanced under the desk, and then back at you.

“I don’t see your name on it,” he said flatly, his expression neutral as he turned back to his book like you weren’t standing there, brimming with barely-contained exasperation.

You blinked. Oh, hell no.

Your jaw clenched, and a vein in your forehead might’ve popped. What was this guy’s deal?! Soulmate or not, your seat was sacred. You puffed your cheeks in frustration, unintentionally looking like the most adorably indignant person in the room. Not that Sol noticed—he was already back to reading.

Unbelievable, you thought, your inner monologue screaming .

"So cute..." It was silent but you heard it/\.

Your whole system short-circuited. Did you just hear that? Did he really say that? If it were possible to combust on the spot, you'd already be a pile of ashes.

HE CALLED YOU CUTE?!!?

Your brain spiraled into chaos. Your inner monologue devolved into nothing but incomprehensible shrieks: "IDIOEYDOWEOHCOWEODHEHUFEWFE8FR80EG8YE!!!!" Words were officially out of service, leaving you stranded in a whirlpool of overwhelming emotions.

He was blushing too, barely visible but undeniably there. His cheeks held a faint dusting of pink, and his lips curled into a barely-there smile—just enough to devastate your heart completely. How could someone be so effortlessly adorable and infuriating at the same time? Someone save you from this man, please!

But wait—did he notice your cheeks puffing up in anger? Was that why he smiled? No, no, no. If being an angry little cutie made him smile, then you’d be doomed to accidentally fuel his amusement for eternity. Yet the thought of making him smile set off a whole new wave of screaming in your head. Wahhh, he's so cute! Why does he have to be like this?

You couldn’t decide if you were furious or lovesick. One thing was certain—you were absolutely doomed.

Sol tilted his head, a sly smirk playing at his lips. "Tell you what," he drawled, looking entirely too smug for his own good, "you get me a cup of coffee, and I'll give you your seat back."

You froze. Was he serious? Coffee? For a seat? You locked eyes with him, giving him your best unimpressed glare. So what?!?! You don’t just barter seating arrangements with caffeine!

But before you could even voice your protest, your brain betrayed you.

He’ll drink it... That means he’ll touch the cup... Oh no, oh no, OH NO.

Your inner monologue kicked into overdrive, spiraling faster than you could keep up. "AN EMPTY CUP HE TOUCHES WILL BE MY SHRINE!!! I’LL FRAME IT. PUT IT IN A GLASS CASE. AHHHH!!!" You were practically vibrating with joy.

And then it hit you. Wait. Wait. I know his favorite drink. Latte. You knew it because you may or may not have totally-not-suspiciously stalked him during lunch breaks, one time even spying on him while he hung out on the rooftop. It’s fine. It’s research. You’re not weird at all.

Your face lit up with an almost chipmunk-like grin, your mood swinging like a pendulum.

It’s okay. You’re buying him his favorite coffee. Totally normal. Not because you’re secretly losing your mind over his cute smirk or planning to preserve the cup for eternity or anything. Yep. Totally normal.

Sol's silence was maddening, and you were done with his smug attitude. Crossing your arms, you let out a huff, glaring down at him as he coolly flipped another page in his book, pretending you weren’t there.

"Do I look like a servant to you!? Just move already!" you snapped, trying to keep your frustration in check. He barely glanced at you, letting out a tired sigh before returning to his novel.

Oh, no. That was not the reaction you wanted. You wanted him to look at you—to really see you.

Fine. Two could play this game.

Without a second thought, you stomped around to his side, his gaze flickering up just slightly to follow your movements. He was clearly unimpressed. That was fine; you had something planned. Gripping the back of the chair he was sitting on, you gave it a firm pull, causing him to wobble precariously.

“Whoa, what the hell—” His voice cut off as you smirked, satisfied with his startled reaction.

Before he could reprimand you for your actions, you cut him off, effectively shocking him into silence. By settling yourself on top of his lap.

He froze instantly, his book forgotten, his breath catching in his throat. He swore to whatever god looking down on him right now to take him. His ears were burning red, his entire body tensed under you, and yet… he didn’t move to push you off.

You, on the other hand, acted as if nothing was amiss, casually pulling your bag onto the desk as if this was just another day. But inside, your thoughts were spiraling out of control. Your love-struck gaze lingered on him as you rested comfortably, your heart pounding in time with the storm of emotions threatening to spill out.

What are you, Solivan...? you wanted to ask, your fingers itching to reach out and touch him. Why does everything feel so good when you’re near me? Is this how you feel when I’m around? Why are you making me feel like this?

You bit back a grin, feigning indifference even as your cheeks warmed. Sitting on him like this… felt normal, almost natural. You weren’t even processing the fact that you were quite literally perched on the lap of the boy you’d been stalking—er, admiring—for weeks now.

Sol, on the other hand, looked like he was about to combust. His hands hovered awkwardly at his sides, unsure where to go. His mind raced with a mix of flustered panic and something darker—something possessive. His beloved was teasing him, and every ounce of self-control he had was being tested.

For now, he stayed silent, his face flushed and his heart hammering so loudly that he was sure you could hear it. But the way your smug expression softened with the barest hint of affection made his resolve waver.

You had no idea what you were doing to him.

Sol’s heartbeat quickened, a low curse escaping his lips as he tried—and failed—to compose himself. Meanwhile, you continued your work as if nothing had happened, utterly unfazed by the situation. Or at least, that’s what you wanted him to believe.

Oh, sweet, naive you—you couldn’t help yourself. With a small tilt of your head, you gave him a quick glance, the corners of your lips curving into a subtle, teasing smile.

It was driving him insane.

Inside, though, you were a chaotic mess. YOUR ASS IS ON HIS LAP?! HOLY SHET! You could barely hold back the urge to laugh or scream—or maybe both. What’s worse, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that a few students were starting to notice. Some rolled their eyes at the scene, while others moved away entirely. Sol must look like a total pervert with his flushed face and the way he seemed frozen in place.

His cheeks burned an even deeper red. The sheer embarrassment almost had him wishing for the ground to swallow him whole. But despite it all, his gaze lingered on you, his chest tightening at how adorably unbothered you looked, simply focusing on your work. He couldn’t see the lovestruck expression on your face, though—thank god. You were practically drooling as you scribbled away, overwhelmed by the proximity and the faint scent of his cologne.

Sol inhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. It was no use fighting it. It’s my lucky day, he thought with a bitter sweetness. My pumpkin— No, no, that sounded weird. My beloved—better—is sitting on me. This is fine.

Gathering what was left of his composure, he hesitated before placing his arm next to yours on the desk, trying to act like this was completely normal. He stared down at the pages of his book, though none of the words made sense anymore. You had completely fried his brain.

You, meanwhile, decided to make yourself more comfortable. A subtle shift in your seat elicited a low groan from him, one that sent a shiver up your spine. It was clear you were doing this on purpose, and the realization made his jaw clench. You bit your lip to suppress a grin, your thoughts wandering to the way his lips looked. Soft, kissable, and so, so tempting.

Your heart thudded at the thought.

A minute passed, the tension slowly dissipating, but your heart was still racing. You could almost taste the calm, but it wasn't the peaceful kind. Not when Sol was so close.

He muttered something under his breath, and you perked up, curious. “Seldom we find,” he quoted. You tilted your head, watching him closely. Was he really interested? His voice sounded serious, focused.

You gave him space to read the rest of the stanza, allowing the silence to linger, but inside, you were buzzing.

"Half an idea in the Profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once..."

You couldn’t help but lean in a little closer, your eyes flicking to him as he was so absorbed in his book. Could you feed him this poem, like feeding him words? No. You were supposed to focus, act normal. But it didn’t matter because he was so... charming. And it wasn’t just the poem—it was him. The way his voice softened when he read, the intensity in his eyes. God, you wanted to be the one to impress him.

His eyes didn’t stray from the page as he continued. “As easily as through as Naples bonnet—An Enigma by Edgar Allan Poe, huh? Not a bad choice."

A small smile tugged at your lips. Does he like poems too, or is it just him?

You could practically feel his presence wrapping around you, the air thickening as you tried to focus on the text. But the more you looked at him, the more the words blurred. You felt drawn to him, closer and closer...

"Do you know this poem has a puzzle?" he asked suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts.

"What...?" You blinked, unsure at first.

He smiled—God, that smile—and pointed at the first line, then the second. "Yes, a puzzle. This is one of the few works of his that I find quite charming..."

Charming? He's the one who's charming, you thought as you looked at him. You could barely keep your thoughts in check, wanting to record everything about him. This was... this was it. He was it.

You stared at the poem again, pretending to think. The truth was, you were just trying to keep yourself from throwing yourself into him completely. You needed a reason to stay calm. But his finger was still so close, his breath just slightly grazing your ear as he leaned in to guide you.

“Is it Sarah Anna Lewis?” you whispered, not wanting to say the wrong answer.

The shock on his face was enough to send a thrill down your spine, but he recovered quickly, sighing in defeat. “You got it right,” he whispered back, the words almost sinking into your skin.

Your heart fluttered wildly, as if you'd just won a game... his game.

You were... so happy. You couldn't hold back the soft giggle that bubbled up, your pride shining through. Your smile grew, unable to hide how pleased you were.

"I deserve another pat!" you exclaimed, pride spilling from you. "I got it right, yeah?"

Sol chuckled, but it was a hesitant sound—something almost shy. His hand brushed against your head again, giving you another gentle pat. And fuck, you couldn't help but close your eyes and savor the moment. You were addicted to the way he touched you. You’d never get enough.

"Just happy to see someone likes his poems, or at least deciphers them," he murmured.

I like you, you wanted to say. I like you so much...

But you couldn’t. Instead, your body betrayed you. As you leaned forward in excitement, you accidentally pressed your front against his chest, causing him to freeze.

Shit.

Before you could even process it, his hand shot out to grab your waist, holding you in place. Your heart skipped a beat as the room felt too small, as if everything around you was fading except for the pressure of your bodies being too close. You didn’t even care that it looked like two lovers in a moment.

Two lovers... just like in the novels.

You looked up, ready to joke about the situation, but his relaxed posture had vanished. Sol was tense, his face flushed a shade of red you had never seen before. He was literally trembling now, his eyes wide as dinner plates. His breath quickened, and before you knew it, he was leaning forward and gently—gently—placing you back down on the table.

"I’m sorry! I forgot I was sitting on you!" You scrambled to get off him, your hands shaky from the sudden shift in the situation.

But the truth was—you loved it.

You giggled, a deep, warm feeling spreading in your chest as you realized how easy it was to fluster him. But as soon as your feet hit the ground, you saw it—Sol was already up, clutching his book like it was his lifeline.

Without a word, he hurried to the exit, his pace like that of a speed walker, trying to escape from what you both just created.

And you, standing there with a blush on your face and your heart still racing, knew one thing for sure:

You trudged down the hall, your footsteps slow and reluctant. Sol was just ahead, but there was a slight distraction—Crowe. Damn it, you thought. You didn’t need this right now. Sol was slipping away, and you needed to be with him.

But then, you saw Brittney—her uniform a disaster. It was a mess of ketchup, mustard, and oil, a perfect blend of clumsy chaos. Jess was trying to help, but nothing seemed to work. What did happen? You were so relieved you hadn’t been involved in that mess. The last thing you wanted was to be caught up in that.

"Y/n! I was about to check up on you, how are you feeling?" Crowe’s voice cut through your thoughts, and you tried to keep your frustration in check.

"Good, better..." you muttered, though your mind was still on Sol. You couldn’t care less about the unfolding drama; it sounded ridiculous, but you had to admit—it was probably fun. Geo wasn’t around, thank God.

Then there was Brittney’s confused face, looking at you as you handed her the key to your locker.

“I have some fresh button-down shirts. You can wear one of them—or just keep it. I didn’t even get them properly, but I got both male and female sizes... You can have the female one. Just give the key to Crowe. I’m heading somewhere.”

She looked at you quizzically, but you didn’t have the patience. “Move, Ichabod...” You practically hissed the words, a tone of warning in your voice. You didn’t have time to explain further.

Crowe seemed taken aback, his expression faltering. “Where...?”

You didn’t answer directly. You just felt this desperate need to be elsewhere, away from everything, toward Sol.

And then you were gone.

Crowe stood there, confused, staring after you as you ran. “What am I doing wrong...?” he murmured to himself, probably wondering why you were so distant.

You didn’t care about that, though. Sol was what mattered.

And there he was, rushing toward the restroom. Your heart skipped a beat—Oh no. You couldn’t follow him there. That restroom? It was infamous. You'd heard the rumors. It wasn’t the place to go if you wanted to avoid strange giggling. But the pull to be close to him was strong, almost overwhelming.

You had no choice but to head to your next class. You could still feel the electricity in the air as you walked, a tight knot in your chest. You took your usual seat and pulled out your journal, your fingers grazing the pages. But then—Stop. You couldn’t focus. You couldn’t draw. You wanted to, but everything felt... alive in a different way.

You stepped into the classroom once again, your eyes scanning the room. There, at the back, was the tuft of black hair with striking green highlights—Solivan Brugmansia. It was him. But... was he always there? How had you missed him before? You’d never noticed his presence in the past. Was it always this obvious? Had you really been so blind to his existence?

The realization hit you like a wave. You couldn't believe you'd overlooked him all this time. Solivan... Sol... He was always there, sitting at the back, focused on his own world. You had never seen him, and yet now, it felt like you were noticing everything about him. How had you been so unaware?

Your heart raced. Thank gods you were here now. You could hardly keep your eyes off him. You moved to the seat directly in front of him, pulling the chair close and sitting down. Your gaze was fixed on him. There was a grace to the way he drew, a certain elegance in the movement of his hand. His pencil glided across the page effortlessly, each stroke precise, as if it was second nature. You couldn’t help but lean closer, your curiosity getting the better of you.

You had to know—what was he drawing? You craned your neck just enough to catch a glimpse of the paper.

you leaned over to get a closer look at his drawing, you suddenly caught Sol’s attention. His pencil froze mid-motion, and his wide, startled eyes snapped up to meet yours. His face turned an instant shade of red, and before you could even react, he quickly slammed the book shut with a soft thud. He glanced away, clearly flustered, his cheeks burning from the unexpected attention.

You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, but you quickly tried to smooth over the awkwardness. “I’m sorry, it’s me from the library... I hope we can get along,” you said, your voice softer than usual, almost a little nervous. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and you immediately regretted not sounding more casual about it.

He kept his gaze down, still blushing furiously, and didn’t say anything for a moment. He just turned away slightly, his fingers gripping his book tighter as if trying to hide behind it. You could almost feel the heat radiating from his face.

Not wanting to make it more awkward, you hurried back to your seat, but you could feel his eyes following you. As you settled in, you risked a glance at him, only to find that he was already staring at you. Both of you yelped in surprise, quickly turning your heads in the opposite direction, your faces burning in sync. The air between you was thick with unspoken tension, neither of you daring to meet the other’s gaze for more than a split second. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach and the heat of embarrassment prickling your skin.

This... was going to be interesting.

This is rushed im sorrry! Its a small fic so! dw ill update it!

[livbedum]

i would love to learn more about maybank!reader being kidnapped by rafe like what happened? why’d he do it? when did it happen? how did his family react? did they know? how did jj and the pogues react?

GIVE ME A MINUTE

WE ARE SO FUCKING OVER!

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ summary requested!

warnings 18+ minors dni , profanity , kidnapping / drugging , violence

rafe had the fucking cross. after all that you had gone through in the day with pope nearly dying , crashing kie’s dad’s truck , john b fighting a gator , finding out jj ran into your dad , you were tired. but the night wasn’t over until you got the cross back for pope.

your eyes stayed on sarah and john b , who were clearly having a moment after their somewhat breakup. “you seriously think now is the time to talk about this?” sarah whisper yelled at him , giving him a look that called him stupid.

before jj could stop you , you headed in her direction and yanked her with you. “we have things to do. come on,” you grunted , heading towards tannyhill. when the two of you were far enough away from the boys you looked at sarah with a small smile. “he really does love you. enough to make him stupid,” you chuckled , making your way to the truck.

“i know,” she sighed , peeking into the driver’s seat, “we gotta find the keys though,” she added , getting back to business.

you nodded , not seeing them in the truck like you were hoping. “looks like we have to go inside,” you grimaced , knowing rafe was in there , knowing he would not be happy to see you like he usually was.

sarah looked over her shoulder to the boys quickly updating them that, “we’re going inside! we’ll be right back!” before ushering you into the house with her close behind. you both kept a lookout before moving too far into the foyer. “okay , i have to go find wheezie really quick— she’ll help us distract rafe. you find the keys , okay?”

you watched sarah plot for a moment on the situation before nodding in agreement. “just be safe. don’t want rafe flipping out on you again,” you warned her , holding her hand before letting go and rushing away.

the first obvious place to check was rafe’s room. you had been there so many times , it was easy to avoid the creaks in the floor on the way to his bedroom door. you had been lucky not to see anyone yet. so , quietly your hand twisted at the golden knob before cracking the door open as slow as possible.

after the copious amount of times you snuck into tannyhill , you knew better than to let rafe’s old door creak when you opened it. as soon as the opening was wide enough for you to slip in , you did , closing the door softly behind you , shutting yourself inside.

and that’s when you heard the shower stop running , making you blood run cold. now was not the time to bump into rafe. not when the boys were outside , not when sarah was upstairs , and not while he had the cross you were absolutely trying to steal back from him. that wasn’t an option.

your eyes darted around the room you were so familiar with , catching a glimpse of the nightstand that had the keychain sitting on top of it. you could still hear rafe in his en suite bathroom , so you rushed to grab the keys. they clanked against the wooden stand , causing you to cringe at the disturbance of quiet. “shit,” you cursed as they slipped out of your hand and into the floor , making even more of a ruckus as the bathroom door opened wide.

there was nothing else to do in that moment other than freeze. caught like a deer in headlights , you looked up and saw rafe standing in the doorway , towel around his hips , chest heaving and already looking down at you. you were crouched down , actively reaching for the keys again.

“what are you doing here?” oh. he’s playing it safe. he raised his eyebrows at you as he bent over , slowly grabbing the keys from the floor. he stayed low , looking into your eyes for a moment before rising completely and taking the keys with him to his dresser.

you took a deep breath and stood up , trying to gauge how this was going to go. “sarah was complaining about missing something the other day , so i thought i could come by and grab it,” you lied , watching him as he got dressed, “heard you in the shower and stopped in while i could. missed you,” you added , stepping closer to rafe before reaching out and touching his damp back.

his skin twitched under the contact. “yeah?” he chuckled , turning around with a smile, “came in here just for me?”

“what else?” you asked , matching his smile as you leaned up to press a kiss into his cheek before retreating back a few feet.

“you’re not here because you know i have the cross?” rafe questioned , stepping forward , effectively forcing you back toward his bed, “not here to steal my fucking keys? and take off with the cross that i found!” he shouted , trapping you where you were pressed against the edge of his bed frame.

your eyes betrayed you , flashing a vulnerable fear in them when he yelled. “no , baby,” you shook your head quickly just like your voice, “no , of course not.”

“stop lying to me!” again , rafe’s voice practically rattled the window panes, “you shouldn’t have fucking come here , y/n! you’re so fucking stupid. should’ve just minded your business! constantly forcing my hand to do things i don’t want to do!” he continued getting dressed , throwing a jacket on.

“rafe , you’re scaring me,” you admitted , sinking into the mattress in an attempt to get away from him.

a low chuckle came from his throat as he turned and looked at you. “this isn’t my fault,” he started, “you—“

“rafe! can you come help me pack my bag?”

wheezie.

your chest deflated , finally able to catch a breath when rafe moved his eyes to the door where wheezie was bound to walk through in a moment. “here , baby. you can have the keys to the truck,” rafe smiled , tossing the keys at you before going to the door and stepping into the hallway before wheezie got to you both.

you caught the keys , pushing yourself up off the bed and rushing to the door. the knob giggled in your hand as you tried to open it , but the locked clicked into place on the other side. “have to do everything for you people,” rafe grumbled to his little sister before you could hear his footsteps getting quieter.

“fuck! fuck , fuck , fuck,” you grumbled , hand hitting at the door, “rafe , let me the fuck out right now!” you yelled , banging against the door even harder , keys still jingling in your hand.

“y/n?” sarah’s voice came out worried and rushed through the door, “y/n/n , are you in there?” her hand tapped against the wood on the other side of yours.

“sare? sarah , i can’t get out. you have to pick the lock or something,” you explained , turning to look for something on your side of the door to help.

“okay , it’s okay,” sarah assured you, “i got you.”

you could here some sort of rattling on her end , assuming she found something to jam inside the lock to get you out. “i got the keys!” you smiled with a sniffle , trying to look at the bright side , but you knew it wasn’t long until rafe returned to his room and caught sarah this time.

the lock clicked , sliding out of place before sarah pushed it open. “oh , my god!” she breathed out , yanking you in for a hug before you both ran out of the room, “gimme the keys , and let’s go.”

you tossed her the key chain , following her out of the house and back to the truck. “what’re you doing?” you whispered when sarah kept moving to the back.

“i wanna make sure it’s still in here,” sarah explained , fumbling with the keys before finding one that fit into the lock on the back door.

“okay , well hurry it up before rafe finds both of us,” you urged her , checking over your shoulder for any sign of him. as if your words triggered the reaction , the lock undid itself , and sarah pulled the door open before stopping. “what is it?”

you moved to take a look yourself only to freeze just like sarah did , keeping eye contact with the man you saw in the truck with rafe earlier. he laid lifeless on the ground next to the cross , eyes boring into your own. “what did he do?” you sighed , assuming rafe was the one who killed the man. who else would’ve?

“you guys really shouldn’t have done that.” it was rafe’s voice that came from behind you just before you felt his arms wrap around you and a sharp pinch in the side of your neck. his hands released you , letting you stumble away as your hand reached up to you neck.

“rafe?”

he didn’t bother looking at you , only dropping the now empty syringe to the ground and grabbing sarah. you could only watch as sarah struggled against her brother’s grip , feeling time slow and your heart beat much harder than it was before. “rafe , what are you doing?” she kicked at him , but it wasn’t a fair match.

the last thing you saw was rafe dragging sarah back inside before you stumbled back and tripped. your arms flew back , trying to catch your fall , but there you laid on the ground almost as lifeless as the man in the truck.

you don’t remember anything as you wake up , but the moment your eyes open , you know where you were. the way the mattress sank beneath and around you , the feel of the silk pillow case under your head. you were in rafe’s room. again.

you sat up quickly , looking around to see if sarah was locked in with you , but you were alone. throwing the comforter off of your body , you swung your legs off the edge of the bed. “rafe?” you spoke quietly but loud enough to where he would hear you if he was in the area, “babe? what’s going on?” you called out a little louder but sweeter when you didn’t get a response.

“rafe!” your voice was louder this time , a little angrier when you realized he had left you in the room alone. “rafe cameron , let me out of this room! help! wheezie? rose!” you roared , running to the door to try and open it. you shoved your body against the wood , trying to break it down as if that would ever happen. “rafe!” you called out again far weaker than before.

catching your breath , you moved back to the bed to stabilize yourself. your head was still fuzzy with whatever rafe shot you up with. you sat down , head hanging low as you tried to think everything through.

rafe gave you a shot.

he took sarah inside.

you woke up in his room.

you were alone.

sarah wasn’t with you.

you steadied yourself again before standing up from the bed , moving to the door the bang on it more. “sarah! sarah , where are you?” you shouted , the door muffling your cries, “sare?”

there wasn’t a response. only the quiet hum of the air conditioning filling the heavy space around you. you slid down against the door , falling to the floor in defeat. you couldn’t get out of rafe’s room by yourself last time ; sarah helped you , and where did that get her?

your eyes scanned the room , catching sight of the flowers you had brought rafe not that long ago as an apology for your last fight. you apologized to him , and this is what he does next?

pushing yourself up , you move to the fireplace and grab the vase before launching it at the bedroom door. that would cause concern if your yelling hadn’t already. “rafe , let me out of here before i keep going!” you screamed , grabbing the next thing you could grab and throwing it the same direction as the broken vase and flowers. “we are so fucking over!”

by the time rafe was ushered away from sarah in the basement , you had already destroyed half of his valuables. the laptop he had on his desk , photo frames of his family and even some of you , his cologne bottles in the bathroom , and all of his watches had been thrown across the room as well.

“what the fuck!” rafe barged into the room , slamming the door behind him as he took in the sight of the floor and you, “what the fuck are you doing?” he yelled , grabbing you by the shoulders, “what the actual fuck , y/n?”

“you drugged me!” you argued , shoving at his chest, “you drugged me , rafe! and locked me in your room!” you kept shoving , hitting at him before he had enough and grabbed you. his grip forced you into the bed face down as he held you in place.

“stop fucking yelling , and stop fucking shoving me,” he grunted in your ear , pushing your body down again to get his point across, “calm the fuck down and we’ll talk.”

“get off of me!” you cried , trying to fight him , but his weight alone was enough to keep you down.

“not until you calm down , baby,” he replied, “you keep making me do shit i don’t wanna do. how is this my fault?” he asked you , lifting up enough to let you take a completely breath.

you looked up at him from the bed , eyes wide and tear filled. “you— you killed that guy,” you muttered, “you killed that guy , and you’re going to kill me and sarah , right?” you couldn’t help but let the absolute worst thoughts bubble to the surface.

rafe heard the words you spoke despite being coughed out through your tears , and he softened entirely. “what?” he moved , letting you go and sitting down next to you , but your body couldn’t move. you were frozen on the bed , terrified of what would happen if you tried to run. the only movement you could make was flinching away when rafe’s hand came up to gently move the hair out of your face.

“i didn’t kill anyone.” he said it like a fact , when you knew it wasn’t. peterkin. he killed peterkin , but you knew better than to bring that up ever again. “well , at least not that guy,” he added with a soft laugh, “and i wouldn’t do that to you , y/n. i love you ; don’t you see? i’m doing this all for you!” your eyes followed his movements as he got on his knees by the bed and laid his head by yours to look you in the eye. “we’re going away. i got the cross and sarah and you. okay , we’re leaving tonight. i just gotta take care of some things , but in the meantime you and sarah are going to go with rose and wheezie to the wharf.”

you felt his hand crawl up your back , stopping on your neck and holding you down without any force— just a precaution. “i love you , and i’m sorry , but you gotta come with. cuz i gotta go , and i can’t leave without you,” he continued , and you nodded , going along with whatever he was saying , none of which you understood.

“okay,” you croaked , nodding again.

“just need you to go back to sleep for a bit , ‘kay?” he had tears in his own eyes. he hated seeing you look so afraid of him. that’s the last thing he wanted. he was doing this all for you. he convinced his dad to let you come with because he loved you so much he couldn’t live without you. and you looked at him with fear. “love you , princess,” he whispered , kissing your forehead before standing up and grabbing something from the nightstand you hadn’t seen before.

“wait , rafe. no , no , no. please—“ your pleas were cut off by rafe covering your mouth and inserting another needle into your skin.

“okay , john b , you need to get sarah. me and pope will just y/n/n,” jj planned , huddling up with his boys before they stormed the cameron castle. only before they could break , rafe came waltzing out of the house and into the truck once again before taking off.

pope didn’t hesitate to run after the truck , hiding in the blind spot to hop on the back. jj and john b scrambled in place , not knowing to go after pope or the girls in the house , but the brake lights disappearing made their decision for them. pope could handle his own.

“wait— b , look,” jj hit john b’s arm , pointing at the scene happening in the cameron’s driveway.

rose was busying herself with shoving you in the backseat of the car , not understanding why on earth you were tagging along , but not wanting to push rafe even further tonight. wheezie followed behind , struggling to move sarah’s drugged up body by herself.

as soon as you were properly buckled and locked away in the back , rose moved to help wheezie , lying about how you and sarah wasn’t feeling too good.

“okay , well we gotta get them,” john b stated , already running after the car that had started to pull out of the driveway.

the boys banged on the windows , begging wheezie to unlock the door or for one of you to wake up and do it yourself. Rose just sped off , leaving the boys behind.

“twinkie! get the twinkie! we gotta go!” jj shouted , sprinting off towards the van so they could follow rose’s car across the island.

if you didn’t feel like shit waking up in rafe’s room , you definitely did now. your entire body was sore , head spinning , and for some reason you felt like you were swaying even as you laid down. despite not knowing where you were exactly at this time , you could figure it out if you took a moment to.

the bobbing , the salt air , the horn in the distance.

you were on a fucking boat , but you didn’t get much time to stress about it before you heard people outside your door arguing.

“rafe , you drugged her. that is kidnapping! and you made me an accomplice! for a pogue? who even is this girl?!” rose , if you assumed correctly , was clearly on your side of the kidnapping , not so much for you but for her.

you could practically see rafe roll his eyes from this side of the door. “dad , you said she could come. she’s here. she’s coming.” if the circumstances had been different , your heart would’ve swelled with pride at the fact that rafe was standing up to ward , especially when it came to you.

“not like this , son!” ward’s voice powerful as ever argued.

wait— ward?

you pushed yourself up from the couch you were laid on and moved to the door , stumbling with the waves beneath the ship. cautiously , you turned the handle and surprisingly pushed through. “rafe?”

your voice was softer than the three that continued arguing , but it still pulled them out of their conversation. all eyes were on you instantly. rose was the first to speak up. “y/n , sweetie , why don’t you go lie back down? rafe said you hit your head earlier. you must need rest.” it all sounded sweet in theory , but you knew it was all a story and fake concern.

“my head feels fine,” you snipped quickly , looking to rafe again before moving your eyes to the undead, “was hoping you were actually blown up by that boat , ward.” as much as you hated rafe for what he had done to you in the past however many hours , your blood boiled at the sight of ward. you were there for rafe when he died ; you picked up the pieces ; you encouraged him to keep going. even before his fake death , you had to be there for rafe when ward flipped out on him. every. single. time.

ward only spared you a glance before pointing at rafe and muttering a “clean this shit up , boy,” before walking away with rose.

“why the fuck did you wake up with an attitude?” rafe cursed , ushering you back into the room you were just in.

you crossed your arms and stared at him indifferently. “maybe because you drugged me , rafe. again,” you stated like he was an idiot for asking , despite knowing he hated when people spoke to him like that. you didn’t exactly care about his feelings in the moment. “you have done a lot of things to me that are awful , rafe , but this— wow , this takes the cake.”

“i did what i had to do to get you here,” rafe groaned , stepping towards you with open hands. you backed away , instinctively. “oh , my fucking god! you’re so dramatic , y/n!”

“and you’re psychotic!” you quickly yelled back , hugging yourself with your arms as you kept your distance from him, “where’s sarah? i want sarah.”

rafe sighed , running a hand down is face. “she’s with our family right now. she doesn’t feel good.”

“i want to see her.”

“she’s busy,” rafe simply denied your request, “do you want a water , baby?” you flinched as tried to step closer to you again. “y/n , seriously , knock it off,” he grunted , getting more irritated by your lack of willingness to just fucking comply with what’s going on, “everything’s going to be fine. i have it all handled. i just needed to get you here.”

you shook your head , slowly crossing the room. “no. i don’t want to be here. i want to go home , rafe. i want to call jj. please,” you asked him , tears filling your eyes at the beginning of accepting that you were in a situation you most likely weren’t getting out of, “rafe , look at what you’ve done,” you started, “look what you did to me.”

rafe didn’t listen though. he turned his head , not wanting to see the truth. he got you here. that’s what mattered. “you can call jj when we dock,” he muttered , trying to reach his hand out to you again before dropping it to his side, “but you’re not leaving until then.”

“we are so fucking over , rafe.” it was said definitively.

and it was like you were living in a loop when rafe slipped out the door and closed it behind him , when you heard the sound of a lock being put in place , holding you in the room you woke up in. your eyes stared blankly at the red , painted metal before you fell back into the couch. “i’m so fucked.”

at least that’s what it felt like.

a/n holy shit this took a minute and it isn’t proofed or anything so ignore any typos

taglist @maybankslover @annatartastic @maroonz @ravenmedows @yootvi @icaqttt @inlovewithmorales @spoiledbratspostsblog @heartsforandrewgarfield @stoned-writer

[sturnina]

Rule number one

Dealer!Chris x Fem!reader

— tags;; drug use, a lot of curse words, no use of y/n, arguments, angst

— wc;; 1.7k

— author‘s note;; my take on dealer!chris since I find it concerning that people think it‘s a good idea for him to be a druggie, hope you enjoy <3

Rule number one is clear. You are aware of it, Chris is aware of it, everyone knows. The dealer does not take their own stuff. Because what happens then? It goes down way too fast. It is too dangerous.

Everyone knows. With an almost infinite supply of more, always more, it is a risk you cannot take.

And yet, you’re here. Standing in front of Chris, with a deep and dark pit in your stomach. Fuck. His eyes are clearly dilated, and his heart is racing—you can feel it through his shirt when you press your hand against his chest. He mutters something incoherent, a smile dripping from his lips.

“What was it?” you mumble, more to yourself. At least you’re alone with him, away from his brothers or customers. “What did you take?” you ask again, louder this time while gripping his chin and forcing him to look at you.

No. Wrong approach. Violence doesn’t help. But fuck, you need to know what it was.

“Was it K? Ketamine? Chris, did you take Ketamine?” you ask, slowly rubbing his shoulders. Oh, please let it be Ketamine.

He laughs and launches forward, embracing you tightly. “Shush Ma, you’re making me all worried,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head. “It’s alright. It will be alright, trust me.”

The pit in your stomach deepens while the machinery in your mind runs at full speed. Racing heartbeat. Emotional closeness. Dizziness maybe? From the way he is swaying, you can tell he is more than a little lightheaded. **

“What do you feel?” you ask him, pulling away a little to look at him. “How are you feeling? Are you disoriented? Drowsy?”

Chris shakes his head, sighing deeply. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice getting a slight slurred edge.

“Do you have a headache? Or an increased appetite?”

“No?” His voice is disinterested—he clearly could not care less. Unfortunately, this is all you care about at the moment. Increased body temperature, sweating, slurred speech…

“Chris, did you take MDMA?”

“Mmh…” he says, pulling you close again and peppering kisses to your head. “No, it was a longer name…”

“Ecstasy, Chris.” A slight undertone of desperation lies in your voice. How does he not remember the simplest things? “MDMA is Ecstasy. Did you take it or not?”

“Why does it matter?” he asks, pulling away to look at you. His movements are unpredictable and confused—clearly, he does not see the way you do right now. Even if just through his energy. “Come on, let’s go back inside and have fun. Dance with me, pretty girl, yeah?”

He grabs your hands, but you refuse. “You can’t go back in there,” you say sternly.

“But the party isn’t over,” he complains. “I still gotta dance… and deal.”

“You can’t. Deal, I mean.” A lump forms in your throat at the confused look he shoots at you through half-lidded eyes.

“What? Sure I can! Look, I still have-” The second he pulls out a small bottle of pills, you snatch it out of his hand. And you were right—it’s X, MDMA, clarity, whatever you want to call it.

“Chris you have to stop dealing.”

“I know you’re always worried about me, Ma,” he says with a sloppy grin. “But you know I have everything under control. No one’s going to get too dangerous.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you sigh, stepping closer. “Chris, you have to stop dealing. You broke rule number one. You have a practically infinite supply of drugs, and you just started taking them. What do you think is happening now?”

He frowns, clearly having difficulties concentrating. Fuck, how long does Ecstasy last? You go through your memory, trying to find anything about it. From one up to… was it five? Six hours? Fuck.

“We’re going,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room you searched for shelter from the party.

The second you step outside, into the main area, the music clogs up your ears. Smoke burns in your lungs, mixed with the smells of alcohol and sweat. You’ve never been a fan of parties like this, but you came with Chris more and more often, wanting to look out for him—even though you wouldn’t be able to do anything in an extreme case.

But today, you’re infinitely grateful for having come with him. Who else would force him to go home and not take another pill? His brothers don’t even know what’s going on behind the scenes, he’s taken care of that.

Back at your car, you force him into the passenger seat. Now looking at him, restlessly playing with the decoration on your glovebox, you’re almost relieved he did it. Just because it means he has to stop dealing. As soon as he’s sober, he’ll realise that too.

After getting into the driver’s seat, you lock the doors and reach out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” he asks, pulling out his iPhone.

“Not that one. The burner one.”

Frowning deeply, he crosses his arms. “No.”

“Yes. Chris, do it.”

“No way. That’s the only contact I have with customers and the supplier,” he protests.

“Exactly. Hand it over, I’m not asking you again.” Your fingers move twice in your direction, a sign everyone knows. Come on, you think, don’t make this more complicated.

“A’ight,” he mutters, pulling it out of his back pocket and going back to fiddling with something he found in your car. You couldn’t care less what it is.

“Good,” you mutter, quickly chucking the phone into the backseat from where you’ll pick it up later. For now, you need to get Chris home.

The drive back is silent, except for when he occasionally starts humming a melody and then abruptly stops, grinding his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” you mutter, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop telling me what to do,” he replies, staring ahead like a pouty kid. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you scoff, a wave of anger bubbling up in your chest.

How could he be so careless? How could he possibly have thought that taking drugs as a goddamn drug dealer is okay? That it works? He knows the dangers of every drug. He’s seen people get completely wasted, slowly destroying their lives and the ones of the people around them.

Why would he do this to you? To his brothers? His friends and family?

Tears are burning in your eyes and you blink rapidly to focus your gaze on the street.

“Ma? ‘re you crying?” Chris asks. His voice is softer but clearly slurred now. The drug seems to be kicking in.

You open your mouth to say something, but not a single sound escapes your lips.

“Why are you crying, love?” he whispers.

“Why would you do that?” you finally ask. “You know drugs. You know what they do. You know they destroy lives. Fuck, Chris, what’s going on? Why did you take it?”

The car is silent, and nervosity settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Chris…?” you ask again. “Why did you take it?”

“I js wanted to try,” he mumbles. It’s clearly not the only answer, but now is not the time to figure out what exactly led him to be so stupid.

After stopping the car in front of your house—you won’t let Nick and Matt see him in this state—, you force Chris outside, into the cool air. He doesn’t react, even as you start shivering. You quickly fetch the burner phone from the backseat and lead Chris inside, pushing him through the front door and to the couch. He seems restless and refuses to sit down, so you let him wander around.

While he’s still in his drug-induced haze, you sit down at the kitchen island and open the flip phone. The first number is his suppliers’, you know that, saved simply as G. It rings only once before he picks it up.

“You run out this quickly?” he asks. No greeting, no nothing.

“No,” you reply. The tension is palpable, even through the phone.

“Who are you?” G asks cautiously.

“You will not supply C anymore,” you say, careful not to use Chris’s name. “Do you understand me?”

“Tell me who you are and I’ll consider,” he repeats.

“That’s none of your business. If you sell to Chris-” Fuck, fuck fuck. “If you sell to him again, I will find out and send the police after you.”

The guy chuckles. “Easy. I’m sure we can talk about this. You his girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand over your face.

“You worried about him or something?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. “I don’t want him to become an addict. That’s normal, I fear.”

“He wouldn’t. I’ve been supplying to him for a while, he does it for the money, not the drugs,” G says, apparently unimpressed. “Just stay out of his business, yeah? This is no place for little girls.”

“You listen to me, you little fuck,” you hiss, jumping up from the chair. “I know who you are and from where you supply. I know the faces of all the little dealers around here, and they’re all connected to you. I know what parties you go to, and what people you know. I’ve seen you. And I will get you if you deal with my boyfriend again. He took Ecstasy today. And trust me, I know what happens next. I’ve seen it happen. So if one of us ever hears from you again, you will be caught, I promise.”

A stunned silence fills the phone. The only sounds you hear is the clock on the kitchen wall ticking… and heavy breathing behind you.

You whip your head around. Chris stares at you with confused eyes. He reaches out for the phone, but his movements are too uncoordinated, and you dodge his hand.

“Is that G?” he asks, slurring his words more than before. “Why would you- what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t go down that path,” you say sternly.

Since you have no more to say to G, and you don’t care to hear his answer, you hang up the phone and guide Chris upstairs, leaving the burner phone on the kitchen counter.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“But ‘m not tired,” he protests, still energised from the Ecstasy.

This is going to be a long night.

masterlist

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and In Death

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 3

CW: mentions of death, whipping, drugs, human trafficking, gambling, human hunting and murder.

WC: around 2k words

A/N: I have finally finished potion number 3 in this series!

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Your eyes flutter open. Once you glimpse the sight of your all-too-familiar ceiling, you deadpan. What do I have to do to stop this? You sigh and cover your eyes from the onslaught of the sunlight. 

You're so sick and tired of it at this point. Waking up, working and spending so much effort to survive, only to fail and end up dead in the end.

You groan and turn on your side once you remember the date. You're starting to hate this number. No matter what you do, you pick up the calendar to see it there, in its black, bold glory.

Aida should be coming in anytime soon. You sigh when you hear the well-timed knock on your door.

“My lady?” Aida opens the door carefully, scared of waking you up. “Are you up? It's time for breakfast.”

A puff of air escapes you again. “I'm up, Aida.” you invite the maid inside your room.

“Oh, good. Let's get you ready for breakfast.”

“Do I have to, Aida? Can't I just have it in bed?” you plead.

Aida’s brows furrow in confusion, “ Well, I guess you could miss. However, may I ask, is there a particular reason?”

“I'm just tired,” of life, of death. Of everything really.

Aida nods in understanding and leaves to fetch your breakfast.

Aida pins the last decoration in your hair and steps back, “Ta-da! What do you think, my lady?”

You glance at yourself in the mirror, uninterested. You've been through this so many times that the glamour of dressing up has lost its allure.

You hesitantly walk down the stairs, reluctant to see your father. If you didn't already hate him, you downright loathe him now.

Everything plays exactly as you recall. Yet when your eyes meet Lucca's, you're hit with an idea.

Why didn't you think of this before? Instead of taking care of Lucca now and letting him die later. Why not make him indebted to you? Thwart your father's plans so Lucca can keep his life and you can keep yours.

With this new drive fueling you, you approach him, “Hello. Are you alright?”

Lucca watches you in silence. You reach out to him, “Are you alr-”

Lucca smacks your hand away. The sound echoes throughout the entrance hall and you cringe in pain.

The noise turns the count's attention towards you. He smirks at the scene in front of him. You pale under his scrutiny and cold gaze. 

“Well, well, well, I see that you dared to injure a Balcom, boy.” The man takes sick pleasure in watching both children cower before him.

“For injuring my precious daughter's hand, you will receive 15 whips.” a creepy grin creeps onto your father's face.

Little tremors shake your body. Lucca did nothing wrong. He doesn't deserve this. “W-wait! It-it wasn't his fault!”

“I see,” your father nods in consideration. “You have a compassionate heart, daughter of mine.”

Your father pats you, “But,” his voice turns cold, “Compassion gets you nowhere in life. Do you still want to stop his punishment?”

Your father's pats turn into an iron grip on your head. He tilts his head, prompting your response, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-its's the Balcom way, right?” the automated response rolls off your tongue while you shake in fear.

Your father smiles, “Good job.” he gives you one final pat and turns to a maid, “Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.”

With that, your father departs, leaving deadly silence in his wake.

◇◇◇

Who knew that standing in front of an office could be so nerve-wracking? After taking another deep breath, you hesitantly knock on your father's office.

The door cracks open to reveal your father’s loyal aide, “My lady? What do you need?”

“Can I see father?” you mutter out.

“Let me ask the count,” the aide turns around, leaving you in front of the door.

He returns shortly and ushers you in. “So, what do you want?” your father asks without looking up.

Gathering your courage, you say, “I want that boy.”

Only then does your father look up, “That boy?”

“Yes. The boy you brought in this morning.”

Your father scratches his chin in thought, “And what will you give me in return?”

You gulp. You expected him to say that. Your father is known for not giving without taking. “I'll give you information about House Devoy. Pivotal information.”

“Oho, and is this information credible?”

You nod. “Very well. When will I receive this information?”

“I will have it ready in two days,” you confirm.

“Alright,” your father's gaze turns into a glare. “But if your information turns out to be wrong, you won't escape punishment.”

“Understood.” you bow and leave.

Once the door to your room closes behind you, you collapse in relief. Let's hope that the information you remember from your past lives is enough to save your neck.

You bring double the amount of bandages and ointment on your nightly trip to the dungeons. With the extra abuse Lucca went through today, courtesy of yours truly, you certainly needed more.

After bribing the guard and gaining access to Lucca's cell, you get to work on treating his wounds.

As soon as Lucca feels the cold, stinging sensation of the ointment, he opens his eyes. You make eye contact. He glares at you. You shake your head, ignoring him and continue working.

Once Lucca's last wound has been patched up, you leave the bread you got him and stand up to leave.

You feel his gaze on you the whole time, trying to size you up. “Why do you care?” you barely hear him whisper.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care.” you firmly say.

Lucca scoffs but makes no further comments. You shrug, used to his apathy. This time you were able to leave without any incidents.

◇◇◇

The next morning, you hand a list of everything you remember about Count Devoy to your father. You pray that the information is good enough to keep you and Lucca alive.

You were informed by your father's aide that processing and proving the intel you gave will take some time. Three days to be precise. But you weren't allowed to have Lucca till after. Bastard. You were sure your father took pleasure in tormenting his kids.

Whatever. It was nothing new. It was well-known that your father was a repulsive man. At least to people with a strong sense of justice.

Your father sickened you. He doesn't hesitate to dabble in the illegal. Unlicensed auction houses, drug selling and human trafficking are just some of the things that your father does.

The problem is that he enjoys doing these things. His hobbies are no less disgusting. He enjoys gambling, the company of many women and hunting.

Not your typical animal hunting. He hunts slaves. Buys them then releases them into a forest on the territory to be hunted.

Yet, somehow, his reputation is still intact. Your father spends lots of money to keep his activities under the rug. In fact, he's so well regarded that if someone speaks up, they'll be immediately ignored and silenced. Voluntarily or forcefully.

You shake your head in loathing. Dwelling further on this will only cause a bad mood.

Instead, you opt to go for a walk in the hope that the wind blowing through your hair will calm your turbulent thoughts.

At dinner, you were surprised to find yourself seated to the right of your father. You can practically feel the hatred rolling off your half-siblings.

According to noble etiquette, during a meal, the household's head sits at the head of the table. Dubbed as the seat of honour.

The next most important person is seated to the right of the seat of honour. Then the third most important to their left, then the fourth on the right and so on.

In a highly competitive family like yours, getting the seat on the right of the head’s seat essentially means the favour of the count. Not a position you necessarily want.

The meal proceeds in suffocating silence. The only sounds are the clinking of plates and spoons echoing in the room.

At the end of the meal, your father makes a comment that you wish he never uttered, “I'm very pleased with you.”

As soon as he leaves, your half-siblings look at you with obvious murderous intent. Bastard. You were convinced that your father thrives on the discord between his children.

As the fifth daughter, your chance at succession is practically non-existent. Sitting at the right of the seat of honour and getting a compliment from the head suggests that you're participating in the fight for succession.

So all in all, your father raised the risk of your death. Not a good thing.

◇◇◇

You were incredibly relieved when your father finally handed Lucca over to you. You hope that avoiding your father from now on will reduce the attention on yourself.

While Aida and the family doctor gave Lucca a checkup, you gave orders to other maids to set up the room beside yours for him.

You make sure the room is immaculate. The last thing you need is Lucca feeling compelled to kill you over an improper room. With instructions in place, you meet up with Aida in front of the infirmary. 

“How is he?” you ask, once you reach her.

“The doctor said he's severely malnourished and suffering from multitudes of wounds.” Your maid dutifully replies.

You grimace, “Is it serious?”

“Some of them are,” Aida says, sullen.

You frown, “Let me see him.”

Aida nods and opens the door to let you in.

You blink your eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the window across the room. Shielding your eyes, you notice that the whole room is made from walnut. The desk and chair to your right are cluttered with paper and books. The left side of the room houses a table and a modest library. The table has what you assume to be a mix of herbal plants and medicine concoctions on it. A small table and seats are tucked at the back of the room. Overall, it has a warm vibe to it.

You turn to the bed sitting in the corner beside the window. Lucca sits on it, white sheets tucked around him, staring out the open window, the white sheer curtains fluttering around him. The wind flows through the window, taking his silver strands for a ride. He looks dwarfed in the bedding, his arms look scrawny and pale against the white of the sheet. His body is littered with bandages. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. While nothing justifies him killing you over and over again, you realize that he was just a kid. Is a kid. He lost his family overnight, endured abuse from the Count and fought demons as the Divine Warrior. It was no wonder how the kid ended up the way he did.

“Are you done staring?” Lucca speaks without turning around.

You answer his question with a question, “How are you feeling?”

Lucca shrugs and you sigh, exasperated at his non-answer.

Pulling up a stool beside the bed, you stare at his small frame again. A child should never have to undergo such hardship.

Another breeze streams through the open glass panes, ruffling your hair and blocking your vision for a moment. Moving your strands away, you notice that Lucca has finally faced you. You grin, loving the feeling of the air in your hair and the fact that he’s finally looking at you.

It feels somehow freeing to feel the flutter of the wind caressing you. You hold Lucca’s gaze, smiling, hoping that he shares (or at least) feels your joy.

When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to face the lush green visible through the window. Lucca doesn’t turn away, keeping his eyes on you. The silence feels liberating. Now, at this moment, you aren’t a murderer and his victim. You are just two children enjoying the wind. So you don’t say anything, content to watch the birds drift from branch to branch while Lucca watches you.

[kngrose]

Could you do yandere head cannons for Caitlyn from arcane?

yandere headcanons: caitlyn, jayce, victor, vander

WARNINGS: implied stalking, implied drugging, infantilization, coercion, general unhealthy behaviors

AN: sooooo many requests for these guys ^^

caitlyn protective type

She wasn’t always this way. It was an accident that caused something in her to change.  The bullet had just barely grazed her, a close call, but one that made her realize just how fragile everything could be. It wasn't the pain that lingered in her body, but the sense of terror that gripped her heart when she thought she might never see you again. What if it were you instead– what if the bullet didn’t just graze you? What if it went through you instead?

She was already drawn to you, but after that brush with death, Caitlyn’s feelings became something she couldn’t ignore anymore. The idea of losing you—someone who had become her rock—became a constant, gnawing presence in her mind. She had survived countless dangers before, but the thought of you slipping away was far worse.

It wasn’t long before Caitlyn started showing up more often. She would check in on you regularly, whether you were in the office or just at home, her presence now a familiar yet unspoken thing. "I just wanted to make sure you're alright," she’d say, though you couldn’t recall ever needing to be checked on. At first, it seemed like genuine concern, but soon, you began to notice how her eyes would linger just a little too long, and how her posture seemed tense when you weren’t near. 

Her love, while seemingly genuine, would feel smothering at times, as if she can’t let you out of her sight for too long. She might start showing up unexpectedly, always with an excuse, but slowly turning up at your most inconvenient times. Caitlyn might resort to more extreme measures. She might manipulate situations to make you think you're in danger or that you can only trust her. She’d plant lies, create paranoia, and twist things so you decide to seclude yourself more. 

Caitlyn can’t just simply be a part of your life—she’d want to control it. She would subtly start dictating where you go and, who you interact with.  You’d feel like you have no room to breathe without her approval. 

 The near-death experience had cracked something inside of her. Caitlyn needed reassurance—not just that you were safe, but that you weren’t going anywhere. She began to ask, almost obsessively, if you were sure you were happy with her, if she was doing enough for you, if you felt as though you were being properly protected. Her doubts about her own ability to protect you made her needier, more insistent on showing that she could keep you safe from the chaos that threatened your world.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” You’d awoken in the middle of the night to her staring down at you in the dark bedroom. It was weird— had she been watching you sleep? Her voice was soft but heavy with something unspoken. The question hung in the air, and you could see the hint of panic in her eyes. She had always been so composed, so controlled, but this new Caitlyn—this Caitlyn who had almost lost you—was breaking down those walls.

 Her jealousy would flare when she saw you interacting with others, especially anyone who showed a hint of interest in you. Caitlyn couldn’t help it. Her need to keep you safe extended to wanting to keep others away, ensuring that no one else would get too close to you. Her envy would manifest in small ways—like an extra long hug when you returned to her side, a slightly tighter grip on your hand in public. When someone else laughed with you, Caitlyn would withdraw slightly, her smile turning into something forced. “Don’t get too close to them,” she’d murmur later when you were alone, her tone carrying a mix of fear and a protective sharpness. It was as though her love for you had warped into something far darker.

She’d say things like, “You don’t need to do anything without me. I’m here to help you,” and you’d find it difficult to refuse, because behind her words was a certain pleading—an unspoken desperation for you not to pull away from her.

Her emotional dependence on you grew stronger with each passing day. Caitlyn would assure you that she wasn’t trying to control you, but her actions spoke otherwise. She couldn’t stand the idea of you slipping away from her, of you finding comfort in anyone else. You were hers to protect, and no one would ever take you from her.

On the flip side, Caitlyn's loyalty would be unwavering. If you ever found yourself in danger or in need of help, she’d stop at nothing to make sure you were okay, even if it meant making dangerous choices or going against her moral compass. In her mind, you're hers, and she'll do anything to keep you safe, even if it’s at the expense of others.

 The first time she almost lost you, Caitlyn had been ready to tear the world apart to ensure it wouldn’t happen again. Now, her obsession had grown to the point where it wasn’t about safety anymore—it was about ownership. You had become her entire world, the one thing that mattered above all else.

The question was no longer how could she keep you safe. It became how could she keep you with her? She couldn’t bear the thought of you slipping through her fingers.

“Promise me you won’t leave me,” she whispered one night, her hand trembling slightly as she held you. Her eyes searched your face, looking for something that would assure her, reassure her, make her believe that you wouldn’t leave her alone in a world that felt far too dangerous without you.

You could see the vulnerability in her gaze, the fear, and the obsession lurking just beneath the surface. Caitlyn had changed. Her love for you had become a tether, a need, a consuming thing that had overtaken every part of her. And now, she needed to make sure you would never walk away.

It wasn’t just about love anymore. It was about control. It was about keeping you close, locked in her world, never letting go.

jayce fixating type

After the breakup, Jayce’s world shattered in a way he had never anticipated. For so long, he had been consumed by his work, his passion for Hextech and its potential to change the world, that he hadn’t noticed the growing distance between him and the one person who had once been his emotional anchor. His heart had been so tied to his inventions, to the pursuit of progress, that he never imagined he could lose the one thing that mattered to him more than anything—her.

When you broke up with him, it felt like the ground beneath his feet had crumbled away. The calm, steady hand that had always guided him through his struggles was suddenly gone. He tried to reason with you at first, to explain that Hextech was not just a project, but a vision—a chance to make the world a better place. But as your eyes turned away from him, he began to realize that it wasn’t just about the work. It was about him. And his focus, his obsession with Hextech, had taken him so far away from you that he had lost sight of what truly mattered.

That realization consumed him. In his mind, he couldn’t accept it—couldn’t accept the idea that it was his own blindness to your needs that had driven you away. He had never truly seen it before, but now that it was gone, he saw it everywhere: your absence, the way his lab felt colder, how every success in his work now felt hollow without you by his side. The weight of your rejection clung to him like a shadow.

And so began his obsession.

Jayce’s need to fix things started as an impulse—a desperate attempt to prove he could balance both the future of Hextech and the future with you. But as days turned to weeks and you remained distant, his obsession grew darker. He started showing up at your door, uninvited, his gaze intense, almost pleading. He would try to convince you that things could be different—that he could change, that he could be there for you. But in truth, it wasn’t about change. It wasn’t about improving himself. It was about keeping you close, where he could protect you, where he could ensure that you never left again.

Jayce had always been a man of intellect, but now, logic and reason had abandoned him. He couldn’t fathom the idea of you being free from him, of you moving on. The thought made him sick, twisting in his gut. He began to manipulate your conversations, pushing boundaries, trying to create situations where you would need him, where you would have no choice but to return. He would remind you of all the moments you had shared, the promises he had made to you, all the things that had once made you believe in him. But none of this was genuine anymore—none of it was the person he used to be. He was no longer trying to rebuild a relationship. Now, he was trying to reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The obsession deepened. He began showing up at places he knew you'd be, lingering in the background, watching you as you went about your life without him. If he couldn’t keep you at his side through words, he would make sure you couldn’t escape through actions. In the quiet moments, Jayce’s mind would race, imagining the worst—what if you found someone else? What if you grew stronger without him? What if, one day, you were truly gone?

His need to keep you close became all-consuming. Jayce started to twist the very things he loved about you into weapons for his obsession. He’d tell himself he was doing this for you, for the future of both of you. He’d tell himself that he wasn’t controlling, that he was just keeping you safe from the world outside. But deep down, he knew the truth. He was terrified. Terrified of losing you. Terrified that his obsession had driven you to a place where the only thing left was distance, and that distance was now a gulf he couldn’t cross.

Jayce had always been a man of vision, but now that vision had warped. He couldn’t see a future without you, and he couldn’t accept the possibility that you had chosen a life without him. His desire to protect, to build a better world, had been replaced by a singular focus—keeping you from slipping away. And with every attempt, every plea, he could feel his grip on you tightening. But what he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled you in, the more he suffocated what little remained of the love you once shared.

In his obsession, Jayce had lost sight of the one thing that could have healed them both: the space to breathe, to be free, to make choices. Instead, he was creating a prison of his own design, and with every day that passed, he was sealing both of your fates in it.

victor savior type

Victor had always been driven by the idea of progress. From the moment he first set foot in Piltover, he had envisioned a future where technology and science could heal the broken, the sick, and the flawed. His dreams were grand—of perfecting the human body, of eradicating weakness and suffering. But after his experiences in the Arcane, that ideal evolved. It wasn’t just about saving others anymore. It became about creating something that could be truly perfect—and, somewhere along the way, you became the focus of that vision.

At first, Victor admired you from afar, intrigued by your brilliance and passion. You were like him—a seeker of knowledge, a person striving for something more. But it wasn’t long before he began to notice the small things about you, things that most people wouldn’t see. The subtle hesitation when you looked at your reflection, the way you seemed to fight against something within yourself that you couldn’t escape. It was there in your eyes, in your posture—this quiet dissatisfaction with who you were. Victor saw it as weakness. A flaw. Something that could be fixed.

In the beginning, it was just a passing thought. A small seed planted in the back of his mind: “What if I could help them?” But as the days passed, that seed grew. Every interaction you had with Victor became tinged with this idea, this possibility that he could take you, just as he had taken his own body and reshaped it, and bring you to a higher form of existence—his vision of perfection.

He became obsessed, not with curing illness or repairing his own mechanical body, but with fixing you. Every glance, every word you spoke, was studied carefully. He began to analyze you, to understand what made you unhappy, what flaws you perceived in yourself. He noticed how you would sigh when looking at your reflection or how you’d become withdrawn after difficult interactions.

And, somewhere deep inside, Victor felt a rush of excitement. I could fix this, he thought. I could make them perfect.

Victor began to put his plans into motion. At first, it was subtle—small changes. He'd offer you assistance, claiming it was for your benefit, your health. Perhaps it was a supplement to help with fatigue, a mechanical adjustment here and there, things that would seem innocuous. But all the while, he was slipping things into your life, gently guiding you toward the idea that something needed to change—something big. He began talking more about his own work, his experiments with biomechanical evolution, how he had perfected his own body through the use of Hextech technology, how he had become better. He spoke of it with such enthusiasm, such conviction, that you couldn’t help but listen.

And you began to listen more closely, to wonder if he was right. Could you truly evolve into something better? Could you become free of the insecurities that haunted you? Victor’s words were so convincing, so filled with promise, that the idea began to take root. But even as you were drawn deeper into his world, you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was off. His gaze lingered too long, his smile a little too knowing, as if he saw something in you that you didn’t see yourself.

Victor was careful, patient. He needed you to want it, to believe in the perfection he promised, because that was the only way his plans could truly succeed. He began to subtly manipulate your environment, ensuring that you’d be isolated from others, making it more difficult to question his intentions. You would be so wrapped up in his ideas of progress, his vision of perfection, that you wouldn’t even think to resist.

His words became more frequent, more insistent. He’d talk about the benefits of his work, of how it could be applied to you, how much better you could be with his guidance. You’d hear him speak of the “improvements” he could make—subtle at first, but gradually escalating. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself considering the idea, wondering if it could really work.

But in Victor’s mind, this wasn’t just about improving you. It was about control. It was about making you into something that could never reject him again. Something perfect. You’d be his greatest creation—your flaws erased, your body transformed, your mind reshaped. In his mind, he was offering you salvation, even as he slowly ensnared you in his vision. You wouldn’t have a choice in the matter; the idea of perfection, of becoming whole, would consume you entirely. And when the time came, he would reveal his true intentions.

There would be no turning back.

Victor’s obsession grew with every passing day. He watched you carefully, analyzing how you reacted to his suggestions. Every word he spoke was another piece of the puzzle, another step toward his goal. He was a patient man, and he would wait until the perfect moment arrived, when you were so entangled in his vision that you would beg him to make you perfect.

By then, it would be too late to stop him. His arcane technology would transform you, reshape you, into something that could never reject him again. And once you were his creation, the perfect version of yourself, you would belong to him—body, mind, and soul.

vander infantilizing type

Vander was always a protector. He’d spent his life making sure the people of Zaun, especially those close to him, stayed safe from the dangers that loomed over the Undercity. To him, protection was everything—his family, his crew, and you, the person he cherished most in his heart. But over time, something shifted in his mind, a shift so gradual that neither of you noticed it at first.

It started with small acts of kindness. When you were out, Vander would show up unexpectedly, insisting on walking you home, even if it was just down the block. “Zaun can be unpredictable,” he’d say with a smile. “I just want to make sure you’re safe.” It seemed harmless at first, but there was a subtle urgency in his words, a note of unspoken control hidden beneath his seemingly loving gestures. He never directly told you what to do, but you began to feel his presence more and more, often when you least expected it.

 At first, it was innocent. He would casually ask about your day, making sure you were staying out of trouble, always with a smile and a reassuring hand on your shoulder. But then the questions became more frequent. “Where were you?” “Who were you with?” “Did you get home okay?” He never seemed satisfied with a simple “I’m fine,” needing the specifics of every encounter, every moment you spent away from him.

Vander never outright said he didn’t trust you, but the way he’d check in felt more like a constant inspection, as though he had to make sure you were always on the right path. He would often show up at places you didn’t expect him to be, seemingly out of nowhere, with that protective smile of his. It wasn’t out of malice, but of love, or so he told himself. The idea that you might stray from his care, even accidentally, made him uneasy.

Vander had always treated you like an equal, someone who could handle themselves in this chaotic world. But slowly, as his protective instinct overpowered his rational thinking, he began to take over more of your responsibilities. At first, it was small things—offering to take care of errands or tasks you could easily do yourself. “You don’t need to worry about that,” he’d say, brushing it off as no trouble at all. You were busy, after all, and Vander was happy to lighten your load.

But as time went on, the things he took over grew bigger—decisions about your personal life, where you went, what you did. “I don’t think you should be hanging around them,” he’d say, and suddenly your plans for the evening were altered without so much as a thought. At first, you were grateful for his care, thinking it was just his way of protecting you. You didn’t realize that it wasn’t about care at all—it was about removing your ability to make your own choices, piece by piece, until you weren’t sure where his influence ended and your own will began.

 You had always been capable of making your own decisions. But gradually, Vander began offering advice with a weight that felt more like instruction. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to go there today. I heard things aren’t safe around that part of town. You’d be better off staying in.” His words weren’t demanding, but they carried a subtle pressure. The more you heard his concerns, the more you started to question your own decisions, second-guessing yourself.

Soon, you found yourself deferring to him more often. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do things your way, but the more he guided you, the more you felt that maybe he was right. That maybe he knew better. His opinions began to overshadow your own, and with each piece of advice, his grip on your autonomy tightened without either of you realizing it.

Vander never directly tried to pull you away from your friends or your life outside of him, but little by little, he began to discourage it. “You know, they don’t always have your best interests at heart,” he’d say with a concerned look when you mentioned spending time with someone else. He’d never speak ill of your friends outright, but his warnings always lingered in your mind.

You began to notice that you didn’t hang out with your friends as much anymore. His presence seemed to always loom, and when you tried to make plans without him, you felt guilty. His protective smile would reappear whenever you suggested a solo outing, and he’d suddenly have a reason why you shouldn’t go. “I just think it’s better if you stick with me for now. Just to be safe.”

Over time, the lines between his care and his control became blurred. You started to spend more time with him, less with others, and you began to depend on him more than you realized.

Vander’s concern turned into something more infantilizing. He would no longer treat you as an equal, but as someone who needed constant guidance. Every decision you made seemed to be followed by him taking over or offering advice that bordered on patronizing.

“You’ve been through a lot today, you should rest. I’ll take care of things,” he’d say, trying to get you to step back from your own responsibilities. He’d make you feel like you didn’t need to handle things on your own, and that, in itself, became his way of asserting control. You began to rely on him more and more for even the smallest of tasks, from taking care of your finances to managing your relationships with others.

He would smile and say, “I’m just looking out for you. You don’t need to worry about these things, I’m here to handle them for you.” At first, it seemed like an act of kindness, but over time, it felt like your independence was slipping away. Your world became smaller, controlled by the boundaries he’d created, and you found yourself feeling like a child, helpless to make decisions without his approval.

Vander’s control was insidious. His intentions were good—he wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harsh world of Zaun—but in doing so, he lost sight of the balance between care and domination. His protection slowly became a cage, and what was once a bond built on mutual respect began to feel more like an overbearing relationship.

“You know I’m only doing this because I love you, right?” he would say, when the tension between the two of you grew. His eyes, full of affection and pride, would hold you in place, as if to remind you that he was the one who knew best. He wanted to protect you, but in his mind, protecting you meant controlling your life, even if you didn’t see it at first.

The more he infantilized you, the more he believed he was doing what was best. After all, he was the one who had been through it all, the one who understood the world better than you ever could. And you, in turn, began to wonder if he might be right, and you started to lose sight of who you were before he came into your life.

Vander had built a world around you—one where you needed him, one where you couldn’t escape. And you began to wonder: had you been protected… or trapped?

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[whumpsoda]

Oh please write a snippet of Florence being put on the drip, knowing that his mind is being wiped and there's nothing he can do about it

@oliversrarebooks

Masterlist

Man do I hate him <3

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, wru facility, drugging, impending doom

——————

This was the end.

He could now say that he had experienced how it felt to contemplate death, not that he could never really tell anyone, now could he? That was basically what it was, the death of his mind. The death of a person, the person he was, brain turned to the mush that was a pet’s.

He swallowed, shaking. He wasn’t supposed to be shaking, never before would he have ever been fucking shaking, yet he couldn’t stop himself.

There was a muzzle covering a majority of his face, padded and black to match the mitts tied around his hands, to keep him from biting. Or maybe from screaming. Maybe both.

He was restrained to a table, similar to one in a doctors office, but - and of course - fucking white. He’d never really thought that much about it as a handler, when his life didn’t revolve around it - the white walls, white lights, white shirts, white uniforms - but goddammit everything was white. It made him sick to his stomach, a burning throb that seeped into his head.

This whole room was the same - white tile, white walls, white furniture, white cabinets - save for the metal machinery that provided no solace.

An itch blossomed in his outgrown, frizzy curls, one he couldn’t move to reach, forcing him to rub his head to the surface of the table. Making him look like the animal they would turn him into.

A snap in his face, catching his attention. Like a dog. “You ready? Or are you gonna struggle like you always do, even to your last moments?” Handler - God no, Everett - chuckled, stood right beside him.

His last moments. How laughable was it that he was spending them tied down to a table about to be plugged into the same substance he’d put so many boxies’ through? How fucking funny would he have found that if it was someone else on the table instead of him?

He wanted to sock Everett right in the face. He would’ve, if not for the restraints. Still, he struggled - banging, kicking weakly, snarling wildly - face beating red as Everett began to laugh.

“Isn’t that just a sight?” Everett leaned over his trainee, grinning with that stupid look on his face. A growl rolled out from under the muzzle, muffled and nearly unheard. “Man, I’m so excited, you have no idea. I’m so done with your antics.”

Anger fired up a flame in his chest, binding over his lungs as his cheeks boiled. With a clunk his fists fell to the table, over and over again in the attempt to make as much of a ruckus as he could. Anything to irritate his captors more than he already had. Anything to bring him any semblance of satisfaction.

“Hrgh-!” His eyes practically burst from their sockets as electricity exploded around his kneck, a squeal crackling from his throat as the shock seemed to stretch on and on.

Before, Everett would have thought the sight was the funniest thing he’d ever seen. Now he sat their straight faced, looking as bored as if he was any other trainee. “Don’t make me use the shock collar, ‘065, you know it’s already gotten old.”

The muzzle did it’s very best to constrict his hoarse, shallow breathing, the edge scratching over the skin of his throat. Everett patted his shoulder, comforting if not for the circumstances, calling his attention back.

“Don’t you worry one bit, ‘065. Everything’ll be a-okay once you’re off the drip. You’ll see.” Everett couldn’t even put in the effort to hide his smirk, one he so very much to wipe right off. “You want me to hold your hand?”

Everett was taunting him. Taunting him. Like they did to trainees together, except this time he was the trainee.

What would he even be after this? As a real trainee, head knocked empty?

A boxie. He’d be a braindead, obedient little boxie.

He’d have an owner, someone whose every word he would hang from, drooling to serve them.

His stomach churned, bile bubbling up with heat from his belly. He was going to puke just thinking about it.

What a joke.

The click of the door, steps parading the edge of the room. The doctor had arrived, the same one he’d worked with several times previously on other boxies. This time though, that doctor would be working on him.

“You guys ready to get this party started?” Everett asked - hands on his lap in an anticipatory stance - giddy almost, to no response.

The doctor was on the other side of his table then - he’d never cared to remember her name - audibly flicking switches, turning knobs.

“And we’re on.” Everett sneered, plopping himself into a white, plastic chair across the room. The perfect view, staring straight at him.

This was-

This was it.

He could feel his lungs growing and depleting, breath sucked in and out faster and faster every nearing second. The muzzle wasn’t doing him any good, only furthering his struggle for air.

He gripped to the walls of the table as best he could with mitts around his hands, wriggling weaker and weaker against the restraints with every passing moment. The drip was already getting to him, quicker and quicker.

He shrieked, quieter than expected but still a decent sound. The doctor was unmoved, Everett giggling from his seat.

How dare they.

How fucking dare they.

He was a person, not a boxie. He wasn’t like them. He was someone who had a family, friends, a real fucking future ahead of him, one they swiped away just like that. One that, this time, he couldn’t see any way to get back.

He couldn’t struggle. His limbs were numb, falling limp as something dead, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. What could he have?

The air was hot in his mouth, sweat dribbling over his top lip and onto his bottom. Already he felt himself drifting, like he was floating almost, unable to grab back on.

Maybe-

If he could just-

If he-

he…

His head filled up with a sensation of suffocatingly air, as if going in for surgery. He caught Everett flash him a small, glittering wave. “See ya soon, ——,”

Only white, hearing fading out to a buzz.

Only white, thoughts washing into the abyss.

Only white, vision clearing to a stinging brightness.

Only white, memories flushed to emptiness in the blink of his eye.

Wiped.

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

@whump-till-ya-jump

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[caramelt4me]

Secret. - Part IV

(Yandere Idol X Kidnapped Reader)

Trigger warning: mention of sexual themes, gaslighting, manipulation, implied violence and mental health ab*se

·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Prologue Part I Part II Part III Part IV

𝕋he muted hum of the TV filled the quiet living room as you aimlessly scrolled through the endless list of movie options, each flick of the remote accompanied by a restless sigh. Your eyes strayed repeatedly toward the guestroom door—still closed, much to your disappointment.

You glanced at the clock, taking note of the time once again.

Thirty-seven minutes.

Thirty-seven minutes had passed since Asher excused himself to check on Nex—a task that shouldn’t have taken more than twenty. But he seemed to break his own record each time.

It had been three days since your lover had dropped the bomb on you that the maknae from his work would be staying at the cabin for a while to recover from a near-fatal overdose.

Of course, it was understandable. You recalled the worried look that would occasionally cross Asher’s face when he mentioned the youngest’s spiralling addiction. Still, you couldn’t help the guilt-ridden frustration gnawing at you.

The cabin was supposed to be your sanctuary—a private retreat for just the two of you.

Or so you had thought.

Shouldn’t he have at least discussed this with you?

You didn’t like the idea of another man in your space, a space that was meant for you both. As much as you understood the need for confidentiality, you couldn’t fathom why Nex couldn’t be placed in a top-notch rehab facility that could handle both his recovery and the secrecy.

Sure, your selfless lover knew a thing or two about caring for those with psychological needs, thanks to you. But that thought only fuelled your irritation.

Were you just another charity case to him?

Was there no distinction between Nex and you in his eyes?

With a huff, you let the remote clatter onto the coffee table, abandoning your futile search for a film for your seemingly ‘postponed until further notice’ movie date.

But then, a wave of guilt washed over you as the intrusive thoughts spiralled.

When had you become so selfish?

Just a while ago—if you remembered correctly, you were the one urging him not to give up on Nex, to not let the drug scandal ruin his life—You had whispered words of encouragement, pleading with the silent disappointed Asher to give the youngest one last chance to fight his demons.

But that was then.

The last chance was over the moment he tried to overdose.

Your bitter inner voice justified the thought as you shut your eyes, attempting to will away the irritation and guilt with an angry nap. Asher wasn’t coming out of that guestroom anytime soon, and you knew it.

Your thoughts drifted back to the day five days ago when you had fainted—recollecting the time Asher had excused himself to take the call. It was definitely about Nex. It had to be. He didn't want you to feel guilty for trusting the maknae, you reasoned. But your mind wouldn’t let it go, dragging you even further back into memory.

You recalled a seemingly ordinary night, curled up in Asher's arms.

As your lover spooned you in his arms, his husky voice teased in your ear about how softer and cuddlier you had gotten while he had been away.

You nudged him sharply with your elbow—looking annoyed yet flustered as you warned him to not fat-shame you. But on the inside, you didn’t need an introduction to his azure love-stricken eyes as they lingered on your figure; nothing too remarkable or noteworthy apart from the self-doubt that stemmed from it—yet to him, it was an epitome of human perfection.

He kissed your neck deeply, his lips making sure to leave a visible mark—as in the meantime, his one hand gently unbuttoned the top of your nightdress, while the other tugged your hair behind to prevent it from getting in his way. Once he had free access to your cleavage, his lips moved to taste the soft subtle skin of your bosom—earning a little gasp from your bashful lips. Your little protests were as insincere as your blushing cheeks—unable to hide how enticed you were by the raw primal look in his icy eyes, as he nibbled on your flushed skin.

“You taste sweeter than caramel, baby,” He cooed in between, his tongue darting out lick his lips hungrily. “Tell me, what have you been up to really these past two days to become so irresistibly delicious?”

You cringed aloud at his cheesy line, your hands diving into his thick dark hair in an attempt to push him away. But it only made him cling tighter, his arms wrapping around your waist like a vice. His angelic face pressed against your chest as he took a deep inhale of your scent, his voice dropping to a needy murmur.

“I missed you so much, baby.”

His obsidian blues sought out yours, his fingers clumsily cupping your face as he gazed at you with a vulnerability that left you momentarily stunned. His proximity made your knees weak, yet the warmth of his embrace was your safe haven.

“Did you miss me too?” he asked, his voice soft and hopeful.

“Hm,” Was all you managed to say—the words caught in your throat as you suddenly felt too self-conscious to even converse properly. But that didn’t deter your lover from trying to get the answer he was looking for.

“Did you miss me as much as I missed you?” He purred lowly, getting closer to your ear—his hot breath fanning your flustered skin.

Your breath hitched, as you watched him lean back –his lustful blue eyes eagerly waiting for the words of confirmation to spill out from your timid mouth so that he could claim it in a heartbeat, but instead you seemed to have found another loophole—and nodded in quick approval.

Asher groaned in mock despair, resting his head on your shoulder like a child denied his favourite treat. Your lips curled into a mischievous smile, but you quickly dropped it once he looked back at you.

“Why are you always so mean?” he pouted, his nose brushing yours endearingly. Yet, your nerves must have been truly made of steel in that moment—to be able to glance away from his heart-wrenching gaze.

“I can’t wait to see you again the moment I leave your side,” he murmured, his voice a mix of playful accusation and raw yearning. “And you… you probably wouldn’t even notice if I were gone for a month or two, would you?” Your silence teased him, and his dramatic sigh made you chuckle despite yourself.

Alas, if only the past Asher knew how clingy you would get after not seeing him for two weeks in the future—let alone two months.

“Be honest,” he urged, his brows furrowing. “Don’t you ever watch my performance clips when you miss me? Fancams, even?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, masking your growing smile.

“The disrespect!” he gasped, before breaking into a grin of his own as he playfully tackled you, all pretence forgotten.

Perhaps back then, you should have told him the real reason why you avoided the crumbs of his life as an idol. Maybe then, he would have understood, maybe even been considerate enough to not leave you hanging in the living room while he disappeared behind the closed door to sort things for Nex.

But what could you have said, really?

That you wished, with every fibre of your being, for him to never leave your side—not even for a second? That the sight of others touching him, joking with him, sharing the smallest parts of him, felt like an unbearable intrusion? That you purposely avoided digging into his world, avoided learning too much about his group members or his public persona, just to preserve the illusion that he was yours alone?

Could you admit aloud that you felt a near-physical urge to keep anyone, human or otherwise, from getting too close to him?

Would Asher still love you if he knew what kind of creature you really were?

The thought coiled around your heart like a vice, a twisted cocktail of insecurity and paranoia. You told yourself he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. Not if he knew the depths of your possessiveness or the shadows of your doubt.

Perhaps that was the true reason you were tucked away in the cabin—not for your sake, but for his safety.

You often thanked whatever force had granted you this gift of botched memories, your fragmented mind offering a second chance to rewrite the wrongs you were certain you had committed. In the shards of your past, there was one constant—Asher. That unshakable certainty only convinced you further that you had always been obsessed with him, long before you became his lover.

The thought haunted you—You weren’t one of his many fans.

No, at least not a real one.

—But perhaps, a stalker.

Someone who didn’t see Asher as an idol, but rather an object of obsession.

You were no muse like Mary from Guilty Files—but the depraved artist herself.

Had you wormed your way into his life, manipulated him, crafted lies so intricate that even he had believed them?

It made sense. It explained why someone as radiant as Asher would devote himself so completely to someone as unworthy as you. Surely, you had hijacked his heart, forcefully binding him to you in a web of manipulation. And now, it was far too late to undo the spell.

So, you stayed hidden. Out of sight. You told yourself it was penance, the least you could do. You convinced yourself to be content with the mere fact that he still visited you in the cabin, despite everything.

But the medicine, perhaps too effective—may have muddled your thoughts, blurring guilt and regret into anger and betrayal. A sense of déjà vu washed over you, leaving you feeling wronged, betrayed—only to come full circle as you remembered a version of the tale your fractured mind would patch together from time to time.

If only you knew that you had the whole story flipped around.

A wave of self-hatred washed over you. Guilt, the heaviest it had ever felt—settled in your frail chest—threatening to burst out and spill any moment then. The realization—even though faux, was a gut-wrenching blow to your conscience.

Panic set in as you struggled to breathe—your heart pounding in your ears, a frantic drumbeat echoing the chaos within. Hot tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. You gasped for air into the endless void, your lungs constricting with each desperate breath. But just as the darkness threatened to swallow you whole, you jolted awake from your nightmare—gasping for air, before your terror-stricken eyes met Asher’s worried-sick blues.

Without missing a beat, your arms wrapped tightly around him, instinct taking over as you panted, your body trembling and drenched in cold sweat. The frantic rhythm of your kisses—pressed sloppily against his neck and cheeks—betrayed the panic clawing at your chest. You didn’t notice the soft nonsense Asher murmured to soothe you; the only thing grounding you was his warmth.

But then the thought hit you, sharp and cruel—

A parasite.

You were nothing but a filthy leech sucking off his life.

The word echoed in your mind, making you freeze mid-movement. Your frantic kisses stopped as you pressed your face against his neck, seeking refuge, too afraid to speak or to confront the spiralling chaos of your self-loathing thoughts.

Asher’s response was immediate, his voice calm and familiar as he cooed to you, one hand gently patting the back of your head while the other traced soothing circles on your back. He didn’t need you to explain; he knew the way your mind would play tricks on you once in a while to paint you the villain—when in reality, you were right in his arms, being lulled by him.

A bittersweet pang hit him as he held you, watching you mourn for sins you believed were yours—when in truth, the guilt was his to bear. The weight of his lies, his actions, should have crushed him, but instead, he felt a strange satisfaction as you clung to him so tightly, almost desperately—making him an utter blushing fool.

He couldn’t deny it—part of him loved these moments when your self-control slipped, when your nails dug into his skin or your teeth left marks he’d savour for days after. Those fleeting bruises became his secret treasures, physical proof that he belonged to you as much as you belonged to him.

He wanted to claim your lips badly enough, but then his icy blues flickered to finally acknowledge the elephant in the room—or rather, the awkward maknae, who was contemplating where to look while you two were getting comfortable.

As the bubble of intimacy shattered, Asher sighed reluctantly. He placed a light kiss on your temple before leaning back slightly to meet your oblivious, still-teary eyes.

“Baby,” he began, his tone gentle but firm, “I want you to meet Nex. He’s feeling well enough to finally come out of his room.”

The words lingered in the air as you reluctantly turned, meeting the maknae’s hesitant grey eyes for the first time.

___

The rhythmic crash of waves against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the otherwise still evening. Damian leaned against the cool metal railing of his sea-facing apartment balcony. A wisp of smoke curled upwards from the cigarette held loosely between his fingers, disappearing into the twilight sky.

His dark chocolate eyes, shadowed by a tousled fringe, flickered over the screen of his phone. A quick text to Jay, a fellow soloist and industry friend, confirmed Theo and his attendance at the upcoming birthday bash. A brief smile played on his lips as he tapped out a message on Theo's behalf.

With a satisfied sigh, he extinguished the cigarette, the orange ember fading into the darkness. Then, he glanced at his reflection in the dark screen of his phone—running a hand through his messy hair, as a wry smile played on his lips.

“I need a bath,” He commented under his breath as he checked out his dishevelled appearance. Just as he slipped his phone into the pocket, a notification buzzed to life. It was from the group’s social media manager, a flurry of posts awaiting his approval as the leader.

He sighed lightly, a new cigarette finding its way between his lips as he ignited it with a practiced flick of his lighter and inhaled deeply.

Getting his phone out, he unlocked it with a simple touch—no password or ID to bypass unlike his industry peers.

A slight frown creased his brow as he noticed an error in one of the posts. A quick text to his manager, a concise correction, and the issue was resolved.

With a final drag, he extinguished the cigarette, the smoke swirling around him as he stepped back inside—his dark eyes flickered briefly to the clock, then darted—almost unconsciously—to the faintly blinking blue lights nestled at the back of his personal library and study table. Even hidden within a cabinet of his wardrobe, the surveillance cameras would have gone unnoticed by anyone less observant.

However, Damian’s expression betrayed nothing—his face remaining calm, almost bored. It was as though he had expected the intrusion.

Gathering a fresh pair of PJs from his wardrobe, he carried them under one arm while placing his phone on the study table. With a quick swipe, he connected it to the Bluetooth speaker. Moments later, the bathroom filled with an almost absurdly cheerful jingle—a playlist he reserved for his extremely long bathtime.

It was as if he wanted the not-so secret onlooker to lose interest over time—pay less attention to him at least during that time of the day.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him. Damian’s sharp brown eyes immediately scanned the room, scrutinizing every corner and crevice for any newly installed cameras or suspicious additions. Finding none, he let out a quiet sigh of relief.

His fingers worked swiftly, clawing at the edges of a seemingly ordinary tile on the wall. With a subtle tug, the tile came loose, revealing a concealed compartment. Inside lay a burner phone, a plain black diary, noise-cancelling earbuds, and a few essential stationery items.

He retrieved the earbuds first, slipping them into his ears to drown out the cloying, brain-rotting jingle still playing over the speaker. Once cocooned in silence, Damian powered on the burner phone and unlocked it, the screen illuminating his features as he opened his inbox under a fake email address.

He was expecting two specific emails.

The first message caught his attention, and his brows furrowed as he read its contents. A quiet huff escaped him. Just as he had suspected—there was no record of Nex being checked into any rehab overseas.

It wasn’t hard to confirm.

A pink-haired, strikingly attractive Korean male, contractually obligated to maintain his appearance until the group’s next comeback, wouldn’t exactly blend into obscurity. Moreover, Nex was scheduled to resume solo activities in two weeks—a timeline that didn’t align with a genuine rehab stint. Damian’s jaw tightened.

Nex was missing.

And, unsurprisingly, the CEO was helping cover up the truth.

Again, for Asher.

Grabbing his diary, he jotted down the key details, his pen tapping rhythmically against the paper as his mind raced to connect the dots.

But why Nex?

Either him or Theo should have been targeted, if at all by the eldest—both the younger members were silent during the tense exchange after their last tour. Isolating the maknae made no sense, Damian thought, biting his nail out of habit in deep thought—when suddenly, his eyes widened as it struck him. Unless,

Nex had been foolish enough to mention the Cabin directly to Asher.

“That idiot,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the diary aside and grabbing the burner phone again. His mind couldn’t help but expect the worst.

He scrolled to the second email; one he had initially dismissed as unimportant. Anxiety coiled in his chest as he opened the message, fingers trembling slightly as he tapped on the attached PDF.

The forensic lab report loaded slowly, each passing second grating against his nerves. When it finally opened, Damian’s frown deepened.

The blood type matched Nex’s, not Asher’s—evidence enough that the maknae had been the one bleeding. However, there was no trace of unmetabolized drugs in his system. This ruled out an overdose before the incident in the bathroom.

But the next line puzzled him further. The white, powdery substance scattered across the floor wasn’t a narcotic.

It was sugar.

Specifically, sucrose and tricalcium phosphate—common ingredients in icing sugar.

For a moment, Damian stared at the report, thinking it had to be a mistake or some sort of cruel joke. He scrolled through the document again, searching for any mention of drugs, but all the samples he had discreetly swabbed from Nex’s bathroom contained only blood and sugar.

Sugar? Really?

Damian leaned back, tapping his pen against his chin. Something didn’t add up. He replayed the scene in his mind, recalling the smeared blood and the faint trail of dragged footsteps. Nex hadn’t been conscious when he was moved—of that, he was sure. But why sugar? It felt like a bluff, almost playful, as though Asher’s initial plan was to just mock the maknae into sense—but then he ended up kidnapping the latter.

“Too sweet of him,” Damian muttered, his voice laced with sarcasm.

What was the point of it all? Torture? Intimidation? If so, why risk exposing his secret by releasing the maknae just after two weeks? Was this just another round in their cat-and-mouse game?

Or was there something far more sinister at work this time?

The question lingered, a persistent thorn in Damian's mind. His gut, ever reliable, told him that the supposed ‘Cabin hostage’ was at the heart of it all.

Asher had been “well-behaved” for too long, even helpful in recent months to uplift the group’s image—like a ticking bomb biding its time before it exploded.

What if his meddling had been the spark to reawaken the blue-eyed Devil?

The thought gnawed Damian’s mind, twisting his gut with an uneasy mix of guilt and fear. He couldn’t shake the feeling that his attempt to uncover the truth had only fed the fire lurking within Asher’s cold, calculated demeanour.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Damian shoved the burner phone, diary, and earbuds back into the secret compartment. He pressed the tile into place, ensuring it left no trace of its existence.

Then, stripping off his clothes, he stepped into the shower. The icy water crashed against his skin, a sharp contrast to the heat of his racing mind. He tilted his head back, letting the cold torrent drown out the cacophony of theories spiralling through his thoughts.

___

The car screeched to a halt at the signal, tires squealing slightly against the asphalt. A heavy silence filled the interior, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the dashboard clock. Damian sat in the driver’s seat, brown eyes staring blankly out the window, his mind elsewhere.

He was going back to the scene—back to Nex’s apartment.

Damian knew Asher and his ever-loyal right hand, Manager Baek, were fully aware of his last visit. Yet, it didn’t stop him.

Unlike his growing suspicion about Asher holding someone captive at a cabin, Damian had been careful not to let the other members catch on to one of Asher’s more disturbing habits—the on-and-off bugging of their phones and apartments. It was a relatively new development, cropping up in the past year and a half since the oldest’s long hiatus.

He had always made a point not to pry into the strange habits and obsessions of his members. Each had their quirks, their unique ways of coping with stress, and as the group’s leader, he felt it was his duty to preserve their fragile sense of brotherhood.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

But then came the overheard conversations—Manager Baek on the phone with Asher, his words dripping with secrecy. Mentions of a cabin, of “her,” and of extensive grocery lists for deliveries.

The details painted a troubling picture—Asher was holding someone hostage.

With even a child, perhaps, he thought—misinterpreting Asher’s use of “Baby”.

He tried to rationalize the rest.

They were all teetering on the spectrum of insanity, weren’t they? Obsession, paranoia, secrecy—it came with the territory of their high-stakes, suffocating lives as K-pop idols. But even in his skewed perspective, Damian recognized that kidnapping and captivity crossed a line, even if substance abuse didn’t.

That’s where he’d made his first mistake.

He had voiced his concerns to Theo in the green room, hoping his hot-headed but loyal bandmate might provide some clarity. But before he could finish explaining, the other two members had walked in, overhearing enough to shatter the tenuous silence that kept their group functioning.

Asher hadn’t been there—it was one of his rare days off—but the damage was done. Now, Nex was missing, and Damian was certain Asher was behind it.

And it was all his fault.

If only he’d turned a blind eye, like always.

If only he hadn’t interfered.

The self-recriminating thoughts echoed as Damian stepped out of the elevator at Nex’s building, moving on autopilot, spare keys in hand. But his steps faltered as he approached the door.

There, slumped against the wall, was a familiar blonde figure—dishevelled and ghastly pale, he instantly recognized. “Clade?”

·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ♡ ‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

@shadowytravelerlover

[3-2-whump]

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 3: Betrayal

<prev

Thanks again @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for beta reading the third and final part of Khaled's backstory. This particular incident takes place a handful of months before the beginning of the Eternal Story

Breaking out the fun tags again!

TW/CW: kidnapping, noncon drugging (injection), forced to hurt another, reluctant whumper, minor whump, multiple whumpees, slave whump, captivity whump

His mother raised one skeptical eyebrow as she watched her eldest son burst out of the bedroom, rush into the bathroom, and emerge into the kitchen with high spirits. “Good morning, Khaled,” she greeted, tone laced with suspicion.

“Good morning, Ammi,” Khaled yawned back.

She passed him a plate of reheated khagina with roti and a glass of milk. “Early start today?” she asked. It was unusual for her eldest to rise any time before 11:00, and here he was, practically vibrating with energy at 10:00.

Khaled nodded as he stuffed his face full of food. What had once been a one-time favor was now the third photoshoot he’d be doing. Turns out, Shazia’s agent and photographer asked him to come back for another photoshoot after the first time. The photographer said he ‘liked the kid’s energy,’ and Shazia’s agent said ‘he has a face that could sell’ (whatever that meant). All he knew is that he got to wear new clothes and shoes and pose with a football in the middle of a grassy pitch while some middle-aged guy with a camera snapped pictures. So, he came back for another, and planned to go back for another this morning.

He caught the judgmental look in his mother’s eyes. “Ammi, it’s fine,” he reassured her through a mouthful of food. “Look at the pay, huh? I make in one morning what I make after a week of work!”

“The money’s not important, you know I don’t like it!” Ammi emphasized. Khaled ignored her as he threw back the glass of milk all in one gulp. “You know this is how children like you go missing!” she warned him.

“Yet I’m still here,” Khaled shrugged, setting down his plate and glass before going to the entrance to retrieve his key and his shoes. He turned back to say his goodbyes before he left. “See you tonight!”

“Be careful, beta!” She called out as he ran out the door.

-

Something was different today. No, not different, something was wrong. Shazia met him at the football pitch in the park all by herself, with swollen red eyes and a runny nose as if she’d been crying. She cast him a wobbly smile and waved to him as he approached. “Khaled!”

He ran closer to her to bridge the distance between them sooner. “Shazia, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” He looked around, noticing that she was on her own, then back at her. “Where is your agent?”

“He’ll be here soon, it’s just-” she hiccupped on a suppressed sob. Khaled didn’t wait for permission as he gathered her in his arms and hugged her. He rubbed her back as she cried, whispering small reassurances like he would when he calmed his little sisters down from nightmares. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something behind her ear. It was a tattoo, kind of like a barcode.

A sharp, pricking pain jabbed him in the side of his neck, making him jolt in his friend’s arms. He lightly struggled, trying to pull away from her as she hugged him closer, whispering an “I’m sorry” into his ear. His confused thoughts started to muddle, then they cleared until there was nothing much in his head at all besides sensations. His limbs suddenly felt heavier. His struggles lessened and slowed down to a few involuntary twitches. His tongue felt thick and uncooperative within his mouth as he tried to ask what she had done to him and all that came out were a few stuttered noises. Everything was so heavy as he leaned into her with his whole weight. He felt tired, so tired, why was he so tired? It sounded like someone was yelling, but distantly and unintelligibly, as if he were under water. As Shazia brought a hand up to his head to encourage Khaled to lean onto her shoulder, her dupatta slipped, revealing two faint, prong-like scars on the side of her neck. Those strange scars were the last thing he saw before his eyelids shuttered closed. Tried as he might to stay awake for whatever came next, Khaled couldn’t help but give in to the blissful unconsciousness tugging him into the void.

-

He reawaked what seemed like hours later, though it was hard to tell in the dimly lit … Where am I?  Khaled thought, coming back into his body. He was laying on his side on a stiff cot. He blinked his eyes to adjust them to the darkness of the tiny unfamiliar room. There were bars where a door should’ve been, and four more kids dispersed throughout the small cell-like room. Panic surged within him, but the heaviness of slumber and whatever he’d been injected with weighed him down onto the cot. The realization that he could hardly move made his heart race even more, as he never felt so vulnerable before in his life. Distantly, he could hear whispers and crying all around him, though he could not pinpoint where it was coming from. The sounds only added to his panic. His head throbbed, and it felt as if the room was swaying. Why can’t I move? Where am I? What’s going on? Is Shazia okay? He squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. Even thinking hurt too much. So, with nothing else to do, he opened his eyes again and observed his cellmates.

A girl sat slumped against the wall next to Khaled’s cot, curled over with her head between her knees, and a boy around his little brother’s age sat next to the bars of the cell door, listlessly staring out of it. Another boy and girl were huddled in the far corner of the cell, the girl crying softly into the boy’s shoulder and the boy trying not to cry for her sake. They were about the same age as Ayesha and Yusuf. “What’s going to happen to us?” she sobbed. The idea of his younger siblings ending up in a place like this made him feel sick. “Will our family ever know?” He willed himself to sit up on the makeshift bed, with nothing on his mind but to comfort these kids that reminded him of his siblings. “Will they ever find us?”

Khaled swayed off the bed and staggered toward them. His head swam with the aftereffects of the sedative. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, placing a gentle hand on both of their shoulders. The girl sniffled as she tried to regain composure.

The boy answered for her. “She got you too, didn’t she?” he asked bitterly.

Khaled furrowed his brows. “Who?”

“Girl with the blue eyes? Great hair?” he clarified.

A magenta pink kurta flashed in Khaled’s mind. “Shazia?”

The girl next to him perked up at her name. “She told me her name was Layla.”

The other girl slumped against the wall looked up from her lap. “That’s what she told me, too.”

The other boy at the cell bars turned around to face them. “It doesn’t matter what false name she assumed! The point is, that girl tricked us!” he spat.

Khaled shook his head, despite the throbbing sensations that wracked in his skull from doing so. “What? No, that can’t be,” he denied. The dreary setting that he now found himself in contradicted him. “She’s a nice girl, this must be a mistake!” he defended, despite the fuzzy memories of her sticking him with something sharp.

A clanging noise sounded from somewhere to their right, followed a creaking sound of metal on metal. A sharp beam of light preceded a shadow stepping into their prison, revealing more prison-cell arrangements across from them within the strange room they inhabited. The light was extinguished once more as the metal door clanged shut. Stopping in front of their cell door was a familiar girl in pink, holding a lantern, looking grimly at her victims. Her dupatta was gone, revealing a series of disfiguring, prong-like scars around the circumference of her neck.

The other four cellmates merely glared at her. The boy who was sitting by the door quickly backed away. Khaled however abandoned any sense of pride he had to throw himself at the bars of the cell door. “Shazia! There you are, you’re safe!” he cried with relief. “Please, tell them it’s not true, tell them that it’s a mistake, that you’re not the reason we’re trapped down here!”

She lowered her blue eyes in guilt, her silence answering for her. In the faint glow of the lantern, her pink kurta appeared blood red.

Something in Khaled’s chest panged, as if he could feel his heart break in real time. “Shazia?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry.” Her sad blue eyes glanced at all of them, then went back to Khaled. “I had no choice.” Khaled’s eyes flitted to her scars. “I never would’ve deceived you all if I could’ve avoided it.”

The girl who had curled up in the corner now stood up and raised her hand accusatorily. “Well, an apology isn’t going to free us, is it, bitch?!”

“Hey! None of that!” Khaled snapped.

Shazia visibly flinched at the words, but she held her ground. “I’m not even supposed to be here, but I came to apologize, and to warn you. You five, as well as the groups we picked up in Mumbai and Bangkok, are going to be sold. I don’t know where, I don’t know when. My masters don’t tell me these things. Just, when they come for you, do what you’re told and it’ll hurt less” she advised.

A series of questions erupted over the five captives, each question overlapping over the other.

“What do you mean ‘they’? Who are ‘they’?”

“Why did you trick us?”

“Are you coming back?”

“Why us? What’s so special about us?”

“What did they do to you?” Khaled asked.

Shazia did not respond. She turned her back on them and retreated towards the exit, taking the glowing lantern with her. The intense ray of light that came when she opened the door to leave was the last shred of light the captives would see for a long while as they were left in the darkness with their unanswered questions.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz

@bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[mellowwillowy]

Content: Eldritch horror bs, subtle yandere, GN reader

You didn't mean to get yourself involved with a serial killer. You didn't mean to enter his unlocked hotel room. You didn't mean to catch him strangling that woman.

But one thing you really mean was pleading for him to spare your life. You'd feign ignorance if it meant he'd let you go. And he did let you go under the condition that you must never turn down his messages and calls. The two of you exchanged phone numbers with the woman choking for air while you trembled until your teeth gnawed on your mouth. The two of you were under his mercy and only one survived the night.

He ushered the drunk you out of his room, giving you one last wink. You immediately ran to the room next to his and placed your ear on the wall, the alcohol didn't hinder you from hearing the woman's groans. You couldn't have heard anything because of how thick the wall was and even if you did, you would only think of it as a loud sexual moans.

But you could hear it clearly now. The nails scratching the carpeted walls and digging inside his wrists, the gagged mouth, the frantic breathing, and the image of the woman's scared face flashed into your brain clearly for a split second.

You jumped away from the wall and hid yourself under the blanket. Was it the alcohol and drugs taking a toll on you? You squeezed your eyes tight and counted back from 100, wishing it was just a fleeting nightmare or hallucination from the narcotics.

But it wasn't. You saw the recently added contact in your phone. 'Nyarla'.

It wasn't hard at all to remember his appearance. You remembered his one-pointed fang the most.

Suddenly your phone vibrated and it showed a text from Nyarla.

'Finally awake? Make sure to check out before 2 PM.'

You looked at your surroundings, frantically searching for any sort of cameras in the room, and found nothing. There was nothing yet the room felt so cold and damp. It felt like the room was suffocating you. Your stomach churned and you rushed to the toilet, throwing up last night's remnants. Alcohol, narcotics, and guilt. You should have called the hotel staffs or the authorities.

Another text came in,

'Didn't you promise me to always reply to my messages?'

You frantically texted him back. The conversation went on until a hotel staff rang your room's doorbell. They were here for clean up. And judging from their direction, they should have cleaned the crime scene next to you. Your phone buzzed but you paid no mind to it.

You swallowed before asking the staff in a hushed, low voice, catching their attention from their phone.

"Have you by any chance cleaned the room next to me?"

The staff cocked their head to the side and glanced at it.

"Yes."

Even though you couldn't see their face properly because of their head cap and face mask, you found their golden gaze eerie. Their focus returned to their phone again and you wiped the sweat that was on your chin. Another buzz.

You paid no mind to it and asked the staff one more time,

"... has the guest next door checked out?"

Another buzz.

"I think you should check your phone, it won't stop vibrating."

You wished you could walk out of the room right now if not for the cart and them blocking your way. They showed you their phone's screen, a conversation with your name on it. They sent another text and your phone buzzed.

"Going back against your promise now?" They took off their face mask and you could see the pointed fang.

Nyarla has sent you three messages.

Just before you could make a hasty escape from him, something caught your ankle and it slammed you back inside the room. You thought you would break your tailbone but it was awfully kind of him to slam you gently on the bed.

Slam...? You peeked at the thing restraining your ankle and it was a black, liquidlike thing with eyes all over it.

You looked back at him, now dressed in the suit you saw last night.

"I suppose new things like you always need a bit of teaching to understand just how heavy the word 'promise' is."

The moment you blinked your eyes, you were already somewhere else. The bed was cold ground and the only source of light was his golden eyes. The eyes on his limbs.

"I juuuust loooooove new things like you, so fun to be played with, like a chew toy."

Apparently, this weird handsome man found you worthy of his attention and time instead of having you shredded into his dinner.

[itsalwaysforyou]

so i started sertraline (i think americans call it zoloft??) very recently & i’m having quite a social week so i’ve been researching if i can drink whilst taking it.

and the nhs website says that you CAN, but it’s wise to wait a while after you start the meds so you can differentiate side effects.

whereas all the american websites are like IF YOU DRINK ON SERTRALINE YOU WILL DIE. YOUR HEART WILL EXPLODE. YOUR BLOOD WILL BOIL.

so i drank a cider tonight,

[alovesongtheywrote]

yknow, there's something fun to me about the way reid is tortured with russian roulette in season two, and then a million years later in season eleven, morgan gets tortured the same way. there's some fun and funky symmetry there. they could start a support group.

also, guess who directed that episode of season eleven lmao

[fuzziemutt]

The fact that Fritz's hand shakes with the gun when he comes out of the casket lives in my mind

A side effect of diazepam are tremors

But they're also a symptom of withdrawal.... Alongside sweating (pale skin), insomnia, and nausea...

And sometimes numbness

[whumpsoda]

WSFSP - Chaos

Masterlist

Might delete this later!

cw: pet whump, box boy universe/bbu adjacent, institutionalized slavery, romantic whumpee, conditioned whumpees, multiple whumpees, drugging mention, abuse mention, dubcon mention

——————

“Hi.”

Joey almost didn’t hear him, ear pressed to the speaker of her radio, but she saw him. Wesley was tall and lanky, something hard to miss when he was standing right in front of you.

For a moment she wondered where Graham was, always two steps behind, but realized he was more than likely still in bed. Wesley liked to sneak out alone in the early hours of the morning.

Picking up her head and resting it in the palm of her hand, she strung up a smile. She was ever so good at pretending those. “Hello.” She lightened her voice, bubbly as her ma’am would have liked it.

He didn’t seem comfortable with that. “Can I… can I sit? Please?”

“Yes.” The rest of the sentence - whatever you like - was left unsaid, yet still there in a way, like he knew she’s gritting it back. It was probably sat right there in his throat too, waiting to be set free.

He knelt in the chair, knees bumping on the wood, sat uncomfortably. She was never like that herself, her ma’am always kind enough to allow her on the furniture, but she recalled Florence doing the same.

“Do you always listen to the radio?”

“Kind of.” She said, with a nod. “A lot of the time.”

Nicely Wesley flashed a smile, a pet smile, crooking his head in her direction. “You change the- the um… the station a lot. Why?”

“I’m just…,” biting her lip she turned away, “just looking for something.”

“What is it?” He pressed, resting his chin on his arms, crossed over the table. He seemed interested, curiosity painted over his expression. An innocent curiosity, not stemming from a rotting place of malice.

“My lady.”

“Oh.” He said, rolling that around in his head for a moment, before nodding. He refrained from looking her in the eye. “I- I kind of thought that.” Wesley paused for a moment, his lack of social skills obviously not preparing him for what to continue with. “Do you think you’ll find her?”

Tipping her head, she shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Do you want to?”

“I’d rather not answer that.” She wasn’t so sure she had a satisfactory answer, or any answer at all. Definitely not one that could be put into words.

He bit at his lip, fingers curling into fists.“Sorry. Sorry.”

“You’re fine.”

“I don’t know if I want to see my sir again.” He said, quick and nearly a mumble, working his jaw.

“Mm.”

“I miss him… a lot. A lot, a lot. I think.” Gaze glazing over, Wesley had a little glint in his eye that made him look as if he was about to cry. “Do you think he would hate me now? If he knew I let you guys take me away and… and make me this?”

“I dunno.”

“I… hope he wouldn’t. I don’t like it when sir is mad at me.” Then he sounded like a child, one wishing their parent would not be angry with them instead of a human pet with a sir.

“I don’t think any pet wants their owner mad at them.” Joey’s smile was gone then, dropped in favor of the circumstances. “My ma’am… she got scary when she was angry. Violent.”

He lit up, almost with a strange excitement. “My sir, um, he made me lick his shoes once.” Giggling at his own words, it was out of place, but she was not unnerved.

“My lady liked to force me to eat until I threw up. Like cake and stuff. I hate cake.”

“My sir,” he was chuckling just thinking about it, “he’d give me this medicine that made me feel all weird and sleepy, and then dress me up funny. I can’t remember anything after that.”

Swallowing, she curled his hand into hers. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Wesley. You didn’t deserve any of that.” She thought maybe it was something he needed to hear, sounding just like Isaac.

He was surprised by that. “But- but it’s funny… I was bad. I didn’t mean to-,” his lip trembled as he paused, holding himself back. She tightened her grip on his hand, and he copied her in return.

As he blinked back tears she said, “It’s okay, you can cry.” And he did just that.

A moment later, “Wesley?” Graham called, words shaky, rushing out from their room until he found his companion. Soon enough, he switched to Joey. “Why is he- what did you do?”

“We were just talking, Graham.” She said, as calm as she possibly could with a beast baring his teeth at her.

He didn’t believe her, not one bit. “Did you- have you hurt him? Is he hurt? What did you do?”

Rufus stood to his feet, reaching out a hand in his best attempt to calm Graham down. “She- she didn’t-,”

“Hey-!” He picked her up by the armpits, pinning her to the wall. “I didn’t-!”

“Tell me what you did!” He shouted this time, Joey blinking as bits of spittle splattered onto her scrunched expression.

Her hands were gripped to his arms, wriggling her best out of his hold. “Calm the fuck down!”

“What’s going on?” Florence entered the scene then - Otis hanging back behind the doorway - rushing in wearing pajamas, eyes falling wide as they settled on the fuss. “Get off’a her!”

Wesley looked between the group, fear clearly stuffing up his face. “Please don’t- he’s just confused-!”

“Don’t touch him!” Graham snarled at Joey, blinded by aggression, shoving Florence away and allowing her to slump to the floor.

”Don’t fucking touch her!” Florence, a good deal smaller than Graham, continued to stand his ground as the newer rescue let a growl rumble from his throat.

The front door slammed shut, bags of groceries disregarded swift to the countertop. “Hey, hey, hey! What are you people doing?” Isaac threw herself between them, both Florence and Graham backing away.

Joey bit her lip, rubbing at her shoulder. Florence and Graham were staring daggers at one another. Otis looked on the verge of tears.

“I was,” Wesley started, brushing away at his tear stained cheeks, “with J- Joey, and Graham thought she hurt me ‘cause I was crying, and-,”

“Yeah, and he fucking attacked her!” Florence threw his hands in the air, yelling.

“Hey! Wesley’s speaking, please show him some respect-,”

Isaac made a mistake. A grave one at that, palm clamping right over her mouth with a hitch of breath.

All five rescues dropped to the floor, all in the same position, each rigid and stone cold as they pressed their foreheads to the wood. Sucking in a breath, each rescue rushing through the horrors in their head, the air fell silent.

Hey, pet. You think you’re all that ‘cause my momma liked you? Do us all a favor and give me my rightful respect.

Don’t you dare ever speak to me that way, dog. You’re a fucking animal that needs to learn the basics of respect.

You don’t want to, Princey? Really? And when have I, or really anyone for that matter, ever cared what you wanted? I think you should show some respect.

You’re just a dirty mutt with rocks for brains, and I’m sure you’re aware. Do you want to go back in the dog house, or are you ready to learn to respect?

I’ve given you everything you could ever ask for, Buttons. All these sweets, a home, a name, and that is what I get? Show some fucking respect.

“God fucking dammit.”

——————

Masterlist

Taglist - @softvampirewhump @ivymyers @taterswhump @octopus-reactivated @tippytappytyping

@distracted-obsessions @starfields08000 @bitchaknso @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @scoundrelwithboba

@whumped-by-glitter @whumpering-heights @arlin-always-writing @bilightningwhumper @sharkyydoesnothing

If anyone wants to be removed or added to the taglist, please let me know! :)

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Look I don't know what the fuck antarctica is.

It's like stuff your ass ain't surviving past though

[floral-hex]

Got a month’s prescription of klonopin. Wish I could find out how other people are affected by it, but all I find are posts about getting fucked up. I mean, I guess good for y’all, but not very helpful for me 🤷🏻‍♂️

[anonymusbosch]

oughhhhh medical system.