#if anyone wants to make a guess at whats happening go for it

[doomdoomofdoom]

So like. Fun fact.

Most countries actually focus on their own history and culture in the school curriculum. unless they're directly affected by other countries in their history. For example, I'm not french, but I still had to learn about Napoleon. That guy was everywhere.

The US stands out because it's a very new country (not even 250 years) and doesn't have much history beyond that, because they were pretty insistent on genociding those who did have history in these lands. On that note, the US doesn't really teach about inside the US either, but that doesn't make you shut up about it, does it?

I'm almost tempted to read the above as satire because. You don't watch foreign films?? Did you think Squid Game being about Koreans was a DEI measure? No foreign books? I mean even putting aside the semantic arguments of most "classics" being british and the bible technically being the bestselling book of all time while decidedly not originating from America, I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you've never met anyone who read manga. You're not exposed to foreign cultures??? Motherfucker you literally called your country a melting pot. (Or a salad bowl, depending on your cultural philosophy) Over 15% of people residing in the US are immigrants by the most strict definition of Not Being Born In The Country. This doesn't even account for any second, third, or subsequent generation immigrants. (Bonus fun fact: Descendants of the original Colonizers would be up to 12th generation immigrants but the definition of a generation is flighty)

Do I look like I want to know all sorts of shit about the US? okay so im actually an american studies major so im an outlier adn shouldnt be counted but for the sake of argument, pretend that im not.

No!! But that shit happens to be relevant because we live in a globalized world. So i went ahead, looked it up, and fucking educated myself. I'm literally writing this in a language that's foreign to me and I had to learn first.

And yeah, that's not always easy. And yeah, it's a bit scarier now. You're going through some shit politically that's very concerning. But so are other countries. There's been a pretty much global shift to the right in recent years. Every country has some group hellbent on attacking civil rights. Yours just loves being in the global spotlight and has the geopolitical power to make it so. You have an insanely strong propaganda machine, but guess what!! Whining about the propaganda machine keeping you from learning about other cultures is literally the propaganda machine at work!! You're just gonna sit on your ass and stay culturally isolated because the big guys said there's nothing you can do about it??

Do better. Watch a K-Drama or something. Read something on wikipedia. Try figuring out why OP mentions being hungarian. Might be a bit of an eye opener.

"you don't get it, the usa is a fascist country full of government propaganda, and our rights as women and queer people are constantly attacked!! you have no idea what that's like!!" i'm hungarian 👍

[kittsuneriyu]

For a while I really wanted to make my own designs for a "role swap" AU.

The idea is that characters change roles, not in between, they change sides but still have their own unique quirks to hunt or survive.

007n7 basically goes insane after losing both Noli and c00lkidd, turning back into his old hacker persona, he decides to make his sorrow into everyone's problem. 007n7's actions are way more destructive and reckless, with nothing else to lose, why should he fear getting hurt or punished? This mentality is what pushes him further into keep living to make hell break lose.

Elliot is still a worker on Builder Brother's Pizza's, the best as always. But sometimes you never felt like making some jerk pay for his actions? That's Elliot's mindset, using his freetime to hunt down anyone that dared to mistreat him or other employees. Having a twisted kind of satisfaction on making "justice" with his own hands. Of course, he would never let it affect the Pizzaria's service.

Chance is a thrill seeker, to achive it he always took the most risky choices. It lead him into involving himself with some shady people. Now working as some hitman, Chance uses this title to coerce his targets into gambling with him in change of their mercy. But somehow Chance always wins either way.

The rest of the survivors aren't as elaborated as those three.

Noob is just some generic killer, the kind that looks like an average person but later shows themselves as some maniac.

Guest 1337 as stated on the drawing works like Fliqpy, genuinely feeling guilty for hurting someone, his flight or fight reaction really blinds him when something triggers him.

Two Time achived a very high connection with the spawn after a bunch of sacrifice's. One life in change of a extra one, this allows them to insta-heal a deadly injury an keep going, of course it doesn't comes without consequences. Each scar and rebirth disfigure's Two Time's form further and further.

Builderman alongside Telamon started an iron fist moderation, punishing and banning anyone that broke rules or defied their ideals.

Builderman didn't changed much design wise, glasses to only focus on their ideals, headsets to not hear their pleas or opinions and a hardhat to protection of course.

Telamon never gave up on his hatred, some still spilled over his creation but most of it still with him.

Dusekkar never agreed with this nonsense, and the two Admins didn't took it lightly, now Duse doesn't mind that much, afterall he doesn't have a thinkng mind at all anymore.

Taph would do anything for builderman, so they hopped along with the two Admin's, Taph happened to mess up a few times but now that they got the message they're not going to fail Builderman anymore.

And of course we have our survivors.

"Poor kidd there's something about us people never really liked." Not sure about what happened to c00lkidd for him to disappear. Up to you I guess.

1x a vessel for the admin's experiment, nothing but that. And when falling purposeless they felt anger, a powerful need for revenge. 1x and 2x never happened to become sepparated entities.

John Doe a mere moderator, only wanting to ensure that robloxia's problems were solved, too good for his own sake. This was his ruin.

Noli since the start aspired that one day he would reach out the starts, but now that he has them in hands theres no one left to share their glimmer with.

Guest 666 was just some rebel, a trouble maker as people say. Unable to properly speak without an account, but also unnable to be properly punished. Not sure how his relation with Noob could go.

Azure was, alongside his partner, one out of the most faithful ones of their cult. This feat led him and Two Time into a huge sacrificial rabbit hole. After being killed Azure turned his back to anything related to spawn or cults in general.

[erodasfishtacos]

The Bikini Top That Started It ||FWB!H ||

prompt: a look into h and yn's relationship/ how it started

word count: 4.5k

warnings: body shaming, bullying/teasing, toxic relationships, infidelity

PART ONE

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---

YN didn’t know why she felt so off the entire next day at work.

There was no specific trigger she could point to—no hangover, no fight, no tangible reason for the discomfort prickling beneath her skin.

But she could link it to knowing that she felt it instantly after getting her own car after saying ‘goodbye’ to Harry. 

The moment she stepped into the office that morning, everything felt... misaligned.

Her usual rhythm was gone. 

Tasks she could normally do with her eyes closed took longer, her mind drifting constantly, and her body felt disconnected, almost like she was watching herself go through the motions from a few feet above.

It didn’t take long for Georgia to notice.

After her own presentation mid-morning, Georgia made a detour into YN’s office. 

She leaned casually against the doorframe, but there was a suspicion in the way she was looking at YN.

“You’re not hungover, are you?” She asked, tilting her head slightly, “You alright?”

YN managed a quick nod, followed by a small, forced smile,“Yeah. Just… tired, I guess.”

It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. 

She was tired—but more in the emotional, soul-crushing way than physically. 

She was exhausted by the whirlwind of last night, the closeness, the intimacy, the thrill—and now, this strange emotional hangover she couldn’t seem to shake.

She wished she could tell Georgia everything. 

She always told her everything. 

Georgia was her best friend, her rock, her sounding board through every high and low. 

Maybe if she shared what had happened, what was happening, Georgia could help her make sense of why she felt like this.

But it was too deep now. 

Too far gone.

What she had with Harry didn’t feel like something she could hand over for analysis just yet. 

It was special, wrapped in something soft and untouchable. 

So she kept it quiet, close to her chest.

Part of it was selfishness. 

She wanted to keep it hers for just a little while longer.

And another part—the bigger one, maybe was fear. 

Fear that once other people knew, once it left the cocoon of secrecy, it would change.

Shift and maybe even end.

Because if she admitted it out loud, it would suddenly feel real.

And if it was real, it could break.

The restlessness hadn’t left her all day. 

It sat in her chest like an itch she couldn’t reach, an unsettled fluttering that made her check her phone more often than she should, hoping for a text, a message, anything. 

She felt like she couldn’t breathe properly until she saw him again.

Did he enjoy their night?

Did she do a good job?

It was all this anxiety spurring around whether or not she had pleased him when she knew she did, she had clear evidence dripping down her thighs on the drive home that he had but it was still eating at her because she just wanted to be good for him and she hoped that she had been.

Georgia wouldn’t tell anyone if YN asked her not to.

 That wasn’t the issue but Georgia—subtle as she could be was always observant.

Always catching things others didn’t. 

If she knew, even subconsciously, she’d start noticing things. 

Little glances, lingering touches, moments where Harry and YN looked at each other for just a second too long. 

She’d piece it together, not because she meant to but because she couldn't help it.

And YN didn’t want anyone looking at them like that.

Especially not Georgia.

Because Georgia would remind her that this might not be a good idea. 

That despite all the chemistry, all the history, there were things at play here that could make everything fall apart.

Georgia knew YN had always had a little thing for Harry.

It was an old joke among their group, really—a harmless little crush that had bloomed years ago when they first met. 

Back when Harry was still dating Lauren, and YN was still tangled up in things with Ben. 

She never admitted the depth of it, how often he crossed her mind, how her stomach flipped every time he smiled in her direction.

It faded in and out, when things were going alright with Ben - she thought much less about him, maybe fleeting or admiring how pretty his smile is from afar but nothing more than that.

When things were going poorly with Ben, that’s when she would be hyper aware of what a gentleman Harry was.

The way Harry would pull out chairs for Lauren, the way he always seemed to be attuned to her needs—refilling her drink without being asked, checking on her without being annoying. 

The way he touched her, casually but consistently, that steady arm around her shoulders, the quiet presence at her side. 

YN found herself wondering what it felt like to be in her place.

Not to be Lauren.

Just… to be his.

She told herself it was normal. 

Everyone had crushes.

But there was one night, one very specific night, that changed everything.

It was almost five months ago now.

A week before Harry and Lauren split up.

About a month before she and Ben finally fell apart completely.

They were at Jessa’s parents’ vacation home on the lake, just a few hours out of the city. 

It was a stunning place—, big windows overlooking the water, and a wrap-around deck where the group gathered for drinks most nights. 

YN just wanted to go home.

The whole thing was supposed to be carefree -swimming, drinking, boating, lazy afternoons in hammocks and loud, wine-drunk dinners.

A friend group reunion where everyone could unwind. 

But all YN could feel was the constant pressure in her chest—the heaviness that came from being surrounded by happy, touchy couples while her own relationship teetered on the edge of collapse.

Ben had been picking fights since they pulled out of the driveway, and YN was no longer biting her tongue. 

She was too tired to pretend anymore, every word between them was tinged with irritation. 

Harry, though… Harry was different.

He had a calmness to him that put her at ease, over the last couple years, they'd gotten close in a quiet way— just shared conversations and glances that lingered too long. 

They didn’t text every day, didn’t hang out one-on-one, but when they talked, it was deeper than anything she ever managed with Ben. 

Their conversations felt safe and real, like being seen without having to ask for it.

It was the first night at the lake house.

A big drinking game had started on the back deck—flip cup, then beer pong—but YN and Harry had quietly opted out after the first round, drifting away from the table. 

It wasn’t intentional. 

Their seats were just next to each other. 

Then one topic turned into another, and the game quickly became background noise.

He had a few beers in him. 

Not drunk, but loosened enough to speak more freely than usual.

They started with her promotion—she was newly promoted at work, and Harry was genuinely interested, asking thoughtful questions about what it meant, what she wanted to do with it. 

Then the conversation shifted, he admitted, almost shyly, how overwhelmed he was with his business, how being self-employed, with no employees, meant that every responsibility was his—and that sometimes, the weight of it crushed him a little.

He got quieter, more serious, as he spoke about his mom, about how she couldn’t afford a medication she needed a few years back, and how that moment lit something in him. 

That was when he knew he needed to build something sustainable—not just for himself, but to be able to take care of her.

The way he talked about her was so soft, protective, grateful—it nearly undid YN. 

Her eyes prickled with tears she didn’t want to explain.

It was rare, so rare, to see a man speak so openly and lovingly about his mother.

The game was wrapping up, noise and movement shifted their way. 

Ben was slowly stumbling toward her, drink in hand. 

Lauren was making her way toward Harry, too, giggling and clearly far too drunk, her voice shrill even before she got close.

And that’s when Harry said it—quiet, like it slipped out without permission.

“Thanks for listening. I can’t talk to Lauren like this.”

YN blinked at him, caught off guard, a  response was forming on her tongue—What? Talk about your feelings? but she swallowed it. 

Instead, she leaned over and squeezed his knee gently, a reassurance, “You can talk to me anytime, Harry.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her. 

There was a sadness there she hadn’t expected. 

His hand, warm and steady, wrapped around hers, “You're too sweet, you know that?”

She barely had time to process it before Lauren practically collapsed into his lap, laughing and wrapping her arms around him. 

YN pulled her hand back immediately, heart skipping.

Lauren didn’t notice—too drunk, too loud, too focused on getting Harry’s attention.

But YN noticed. 

And so did Harry.

+

The next day, the heat was vicious.

Most of the group had migrated down to the lake to cool off, but the core crew—Mitch, Hailee, Georgia, Jessa, Niall, Harry, and Ben—had stayed back at the house pool. 

Lauren had tried to coax Harry to join her and her friends at the lake, but he’d refused, gently but firmly.

YN had watched the tension build in Lauren’s posture before she stormed off with a passive-aggressive comment under her breath.

Harry’s jaw tightened, she saw the way he stared after her like he wanted to shout something—but didn’t.

Instead, he just turned back to the pool and slipped into the water like nothing had happened.

YN and Ben hadn’t been having a good morning.

He’d woken her up—twice trying to initiate sex even after she told him no. 

She was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and had made a snide comment about his "functioning hand" and the lotion in the bathroom which sparked a meltdown. 

He slammed the bathroom door, only to storm out moments later, furious that she hadn’t chased after him.

It was always like that—she was either cruel for ignoring him or manipulative for engaging. 

She was so tired of the drama, of walking on eggshells, of being made to feel like she was impossible to love.

She didn’t want to be here.

No, she would much rather be at her own apartment and away from all the alcohol, all the mean girls, and most importantly she wanted to be away from her own boyfriend which was pathetic.

She didn’t want to think about how he'd casually mentioned engagement the night before, and how she’d had to fight the urge to physically gag at the idea.

YN was at the point of knowing that she needed to break up with him, she thought about it everyday but hesitated constantly because she didn’t want to do with the meltdown that he would have, the messiness that would be their breakup because he was convinced that they were going to get married.

But it was fine. 

At some point while everyone was chatting, Harry swam up beside her, casual, but with serious eyes—as he asked, “Alright?”

YN nodded subtly, but she knew it didn’t match her demeanor—her body was tense, her jaw tight, and she hadn’t managed even the faintest smile.

Harry’s frown deepened, eyes narrowing slightly, “What’s wrong?”

But before she could answer, Niall was yelling something at Harry, pulling his attention away, and by the time he turned back to ask again, YN had already swum off—wanting to avoid the conversation entirely.

-

Someone decided that it would be a good idea to play chicken.

YN was perched on Ben’s shoulders, legs wrapped around his neck awkwardly for balance.

Hailee was on Mitch’s.

It was chaotic and loud—everyone laughing, cheering, the water sloshing around them in waves. 

YN was laughing too, even if it felt a little forced, until suddenly—she toppled off Ben’s shoulders. 

One second she was upright, and the next she was plunging under the surface, her mouth open in a surprised gasp that filled with water.

She came up sputtering, blinking chlorine from her eyes, heart pounding.

Something didn’t feel right.

Then the cold hit her chest, bare skin where there should have been fabric.

Her bikini top was gone.

Instinctively, her hands flew to her breasts, trying to cover as much as she could.

And there was Ben grinning like an idiot, waving her neon pink bikini top in the air like it was some kind of sick trophy.

He let out a loud, mocking catcall, “Wooo! There are the girls!”

YN flinched in horror, the noise drawing attention to her. 

When she turned toward him, she saw the glint in his eye—playful, smug, and entirely unkind.

“Ben, stop,” She squeaked, voice cracking as she reached for the top with one hand, still desperately trying to shield herself with the other,  “Please, give it back.”

Her chest was half-exposed, at least one nipple visible, and the realization made her stomach turn.

“What do I get for giving it back?” Ben teased, his voice boyish and cruel. 

He laughed as he held the top just out of her reach, standing a head taller than her in the water.

It was the kind of joke a schoolyard bully would make—mean-spirited, immature, humiliating.

Tears prickled at the corners of her eyes.

She felt small. 

Exposed. 

Powerless.

Her boyfriend—the person who was supposed to protect her, make her feel safe was the one putting her through this. 

He didn’t care that other people could see her, didn’t care that she was clearly distressed.

And then, like the final punchline to his awful little joke, he whipped the bikini top out of the pool and flung it toward the grass, where it landed in a limp, fluorescent pile.

That was it.

Tears were streaming freely now—hot with embarrassment and shame.

No one was laughing anymore.

She heard someone mutter under their breath, quiet but cutting. 

“That’s kind of fucked up.” 

It was Niall.

And then, everything happened fast.

Water splashed violently as Harry stormed across the pool, his expression thunderous. 

His jaw was clenched, chest heaving slightly as he shoved Ben back with both hands, nearly knocking him off balance.

“What the fuck is your issue?” He roared, loud enough that it echoed.

Ben stumbled, caught off guard, arms flailing for balance, “Jesus, relax—”

But Harry was already turning away from him, walking through the water toward YN.

She froze.

She’d never seen him this angry—never even close.

 It was intense, nearly frightening in its rawness but when he reached her, his expression shifted—anger still simmering beneath the surface, but his voice was calm and firm.

“Get out of the pool,” He said, not a question, “Walk in front of me.”

She knew she looked pitiful—her soaked hair clinging to her cheeks, red-rimmed eyes, lips trembling as she tried to keep her arms folded tightly over her chest.

“Look the other fuckin’ way!” Harry snapped over his shoulder at the group. 

His hand pressed gently to her lower back, guiding her forward with quiet urgency.

Her cheeks were hot and flushed, not just from shame, but from the self-consciousness she’d carried for so long—her chest was small, her nipples puffy in a way Ben had often joked about. 

She hated that people had seen her like this, hated that it had happened in front of him.

Harry  steered her to the side of the pool where the lounge chairs were, grabbed his crumpled t-shirt from a cushion, and without a word, pulled it gently over her head. 

He held it carefully so that she was covered the entire time, only letting go when her arms were through the sleeves and the oversized fabric draped over her hips.

“Thank you,” She sniffled, voice shaky, weak.

Her cheeks burned hotter. 

She didn’t know if she was more embarrassed that people had seen the most insecure part of her body… or that her boyfriend had been the one to expose it, to ridicule her when she was vulnerable.

It was overwhelming.

It was shameful.

Harry’s voice was soft again, quieter now. “I ca—”

“I’m, uh…” She cut in, shaking her head, trying to keep her voice even, it cracked anyway, “I’m just going to go to my room for a bit.”

He didn’t get a chance to respond. 

She was already scurrying off, the hem of his shirt clinging to her wet skin as she fled.

-

Ben followed eventually.

His apology was weak at best. 

More of a backhanded dismissal—mumbling things like, “You can’t take a joke,” and “Sorry you don’t have a sense of humor.”

The cherry on top: “They’re just tits.”

YN kicked him out twice. 

She didn’t show her face the rest of the day.

By the time Ben returned to the room to get ready for dinner, she hadn’t moved from the bed. 

Her back was to him, knees drawn up toward her chest beneath the covers, the TV playing some trashy reality show on low volume.

This wasn’t how she’d imagined her vacation.

Ben came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and an annoyed scowl on his face.

“Why aren’t you getting ready? The dinner reservation’s at seven. Everyone’s going.”

“I don’t feel like it,” YN said softly, voice flat. 

She didn’t look at him.

Ben huffed like he was the one being inconvenienced, “Are you seriously still throwing a temper tantrum about earlier?”

She swallowed down the hurt, tried to steady the anger swirling just beneath her skin, “I said I don’t feel like it.”

“Whatever,” He muttered, grabbing a shirt from his suitcase, “I don’t want you to come if you’re going to have a piss-poor attitude anyway. Fucking bullshit. You always manage to find something wrong.”

-

The house was empty.

Everyone had gone out to dinner.

YN stayed behind.

Eventually, after some mindless comfort TV and a generous handful of junk food, she started to feel the tight grip on her chest begin to loosen.

One of her favorite things to do was go for a night swim—when the sun was setting, and the sky turned neon orange and pink, and the air was still warm but quiet.

So she changed into a fresh bathing suit, assuming her old top was still out on the grass where it had landed, and made her way outside.

The pool was still.

Peaceful.

Exactly what she needed.

She brought a book with her, propping her elbows on the edge of the pool as she read.

“S’that book any good?”

YN screams, a girlish high-pitched yelp because when the fuck did Harry appear?

He was standing towards the shallow end of the pool, still in his short swim shorts and a fresh shirt.

“Jesus,” YN puts a hand on her chest, “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Harry’s mouth curved into a soft smile, eyes crinkling with amusement. 

“Sorry, darling,” he said gently, voice teasing but careful, his steps slow as he approached the edge of the pool.

His voice was warm—teasing, but careful.

Darling.

He’d called that a few times when they’d have private conversations but never in front of others.

“What are you doing here? Why didn’t you go to dinner?” YN asks with confusion, she does a quick glance around and doesn’t see Lauren or anyone else for that matter.

Harry eased down beside her, slipping his feet into the water. 

“Lauren and I weren’t getting along,” He admitted, watching the ripples curl away from his ankles, “I needed a break. She wasn’t too happy about earlier.”

YN wanted to point out that he hadn’t even spent any of the day with her and he needed a break already.

YN’s brows pinched. “Earlier?”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh and shook his head, “Yeah. Georgia told her what happened. She told me I overstepped, that I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Then she asked if I saw your tits.”

YN rolled her eyes, the sound more tired than annoyed, “Did you tell her not to worry? That there’s nothing to see anyway?”

Harry’s eyes snapped to hers, his jaw tightening, “Why would you talk about yourself like that?”

She glanced away, shoulders shrinking in on themselves, feeling put on the spot suddenly, “It’s just the truth. I already feel insecure about them on a good day. And today…” She trailed off, swallowing hard, “It felt like Ben was trying to humiliate me on purpose. Like he wanted to spotlight what I hate most about my body.”

Harry snorted—a sudden, unexpected sound and it made her eyes narrow.

“You think that’s funny?” She asked, the tension in her chest tightening with anger.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head, his grin still faint, “I think it’s ridiculous that you don’t see yourself the way everyone else does. I’m not trying to be crude or cross any lines, but I did see them—and I was impressed. Genuinely. They’re the prettiest pair I’ve ever seen.”

And just like that, YN’s whole world shifts on it’s axis.

It was inappropriate.


They were both in relationships. 

She wasn’t supposed to like hearing that but the words sank into the cracks Ben had left in her, spreading warmth where there had only been cold, embarrassed silence earlier.

“Okay, Harry,” She bleats , trying to deflect but also maybe fishing for some more compliments.

“What’s wrong with ‘em then?” Harry presses, she swears either she’s drifted closer or he’s scooted towards her subtly because her shoulder was bumping his calf now.

YN flushes at having to point out exactly what was wrong with them,, “I don’t know. I never minded them but Ben always teases me about how small they are, how small my nipples are, how puffy they are.”

Harry brow furrows, “Your own boyfriend is criticizing your body? He’s fucking blind and a douchebag. I’m not saying it just to say it. I’m a man and I can appreciate a nice pair of tits. And I am fully certified to say that.”

YN can’t help but giggle, easily when a wider grin breaks out on his face like he was pleased with himself for being able to make her laugh.

To hear that her crush thought she was attractive, at least that her breasts were, did something crazy with boosting her ego.

And then, without warning, he tugged off his shirt and slipped into the pool. 

The water rose and shifted around him, glinting in the sunset light. 

He carefully closed her book and set it aside so it wouldn’t get wet.

The quiet intimacy of it made something twist deep in her stomach.

“Why are you with him?” Harry asked after a long beat, moving further into the water. 

His voice was low, thoughtful—but there was a thread of tension under it.

YN’s taken back by the question, “I…What?”

“He treats you like shit, YN. You should break up with him over what happened earlier, let alone all the shit I’ve seen in the past,” Harry tells her with seriousness, “You deserve a million times better than a prick like him. Seriously, fuck him. No one here likes him.”

And YN…well no one had told her that before but she kenw that her friends only put up with Ben because they loved her but otherwise, he wouldn’t be a part of their friend group.

“No real man would’ve let you stand there like that, exposed and crying,” Harry continued, his voice rising just a touch, “And no decent man would say something cruel about your body.”

“He can have an opinion about how he feels about my ches-”


“No, YN. No, he really fuckin’ can’t,” Harry says firmly cutting her off, “He should love every part of you, puffy, small, or elsewise.”

Something hot and sharp flared in her.

“You can say that because your girlfriend has like perfect boobs,” YN points out, nose scrunching with frustration.

Harry shakes his head, “Did you not hear me earlier? I told you that you have the prettiest pair I’ve seen. It’s not a god damn competetion but I’m actively telling you what Ben said isn’t true.”

She rolled her eyes, muttering, “You’re romanticizing them. You saw them for all of two seconds.”

“Then show them to me again.”

Their eyes lock, YN is trying to play the words again and again because what the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck?

Time stopped.

Her brain scrambled to process what he just said, but her hands were already moving, her thumbs hooked under the cups of her bikini top.

She should stop. 

She should stop.

But she didn’t.

She pulled the fabric down.

The sun had dipped just low enough to cast everything in soft, pink-orange light. 

The water shimmered against her skin, droplets clung to the curve of her breasts, and her nipples, tight from the cold, pebbled beneath Harry’s gaze.

“Fuck,” Harry curses as he comes towards her, his hand reaches out but he stops himself, his voice hoarse and raspy in a way he’s never heard, “Can I?”


And YN finds herself nodding with a dry throat, watching him carefully as his hand comes up to cup one of them, and it is fully engulfed by his palm, and he squeezes.

YN can’t help the slight gasp that leaves her lips when he thumbs over her nipple.

She jerked away, yanking her top back up like it burned her, “I can’t—fuck, we can’t do this.”

Harry froze, instantly sobering. 

His expression crumpled slightly, regret written all over his features, “Shit. YN, I didn’t mean to—can we just—”

But she was already moving, already climbing out of the pool as fast as she could, water sloshing at her knees, heart pounding in her chest like it was trying to warn her:

Too far.

[biteyoubiteme]

You dont get how excited i was seeing that you posted this fic ive read it like three times and i realized i never reblogged it im sorry ;--;; but i LOVE this fic okay i love it sm you have no idea The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result: Second. Fucking. Place. Like just from the start im so hooked- 

“Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.” Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. When i tell you i giggle and love love love love love rivals to lovers so much like the cockieness that can only be reached with rivals just heals something in me and this did just that i love it uuuuuggghhh

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.” “Yeah, like a nasty mould.” im giggling and kicking my feet over this i love them ><

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night. Jumping around my room rn you cant see it but believe it- 

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club. How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes. I LOVE HOW YOU WRITE ABOUT HOW PRETTY BEOMGYU IS 

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before. Okay but im on the edge of my seat over this race like its irl and i dont know whats going to happen like i love it sm

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest. He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him. THE RIVALS ARE BEING RIVALS AND I LOVE IT ITS MAKING MY BITE MY FIST AND KICK MY FEET BEHIND ME LIKE IM SO SAT AND OBSESSED WITH THEM- 

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands. And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal. EEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKKK ><

but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face. APOLOGIZE TO HIM AND ME FOR THIS ENDING EVIL!!! (i love this fic sm) 

☆ Drive you mad !

genre: racer au, smut, e2l, rivals , crack

Pairings: sub ! race car driver ! beomgyu x dom ! gn race car driver reader (afab when comes to smut)

Warnings: kinda public sex, bratty beomgyu, sub beomgyu, grinding/palming, edging, creampie, riding, hand job, degrading, sex in a car, clubbing, alcohol, hair pulling, tit sucking, use of names ‘good boy’, ‘whore’

Word count: 4.7k

The engine roars in your ears as you bolt across the finish line, your car skidding and screeching to a halt. The cheers and claps of the crowd rise to an almost deafening crescendo, and you grip the steering wheel tight with furrowed brows, being able to feel how sweaty your forehead had become, adrenaline still surging through your veins as you pant heavily. A quick glance at the leaderboard tells you the result:

Second. Fucking. Place.

You grit your teeth, rather aggressively slamming the door shut, and getting out of the car. Yanking off your helmet, you storm over to where Kang Taehyun, your ever-calm, teammate, was leaning casually against the pit wall, sipping on his water bottle from the last round he had just raced himself. You on the other hand, are seconds away from combusting.

“Fuck him.” You seethe and grumble, arms crossed as both of your gazes switch to focus on Choi Beomgyu in the centre, soaking up the spotlight a few metres away, gesturing animatedly for the cameras with sparkling eyes, a stupid smirk and very satisifed look on his face as he tucked his helmet under one arm. He’s surrounded and swarmed by reporters with god knows how many microphones shoved in his face who hang onto his every single word like he was some goddamn deity.

He basks in it, always loved the attention. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to win every race solely for the purpose of being met with cameras and praises at the end. It’s like he got off on that shit. Attention seeker.

“What a fucking nepo baby.” You scoff and taehyun laughs, always amused for your hate towards Choi Beomgyu. But it was true, he was only here because his father was a famous legendary racer back in the day, his racing career practically gift wrapped by him at a young age. Choi Beomgyu had everything handed to him on a silver platter whilst you had to claw your way through to get where you are now. But, it seems to be that you’re the only one who has a problem with him. Everyone else adores him, the 'golden boy'.

“Oh—hehe. Stop it. Thank you! Yeah, honestly it’s all about hard work.” You hear him gush and chuckle in faux shyness and humbleness, waving his hand dismissively, eyes shaped into little crescent moons and running a hand through his long soft brown hair. “But I don’t think I’m that good personally heh.”

You can’t help how hard your eyes roll at that, muttering more insults under your breath only taehyun can hear who's certainly more than entertained. “Hardwork, my ass. His daddy got him connections and sponsorships, that’s why. He thinks he can just waltz in with that stupid smile and—oh my god, he’s winking at me. I’m going to fucking kill him.”

Sure enough, Beomgyu catches your eye roll and winks your way before saying something to the reporters that makes them hysterically laugh. The audacity. You have half the mind of walking over there and strangling him right in front of the cameras. That surely wouldn’t end your career right? Or worse yet, put you in prison.

As the crowd around him finally disperses and fizzles out, Beomgyu confidently saunters over to you and taehyun, helmet still tucked under his arm and still grinning annoyingly.

“Oh no.” Taehyun chuckles, throwing a knowing look your way and nodding to the direction of beomgyu, “Incoming.”

“Fuck my life.” You mutter, taking a big breath in, bracing yourself for the worst.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favourite fan.” Beomgyu’s grin widens as he reaches you, snickering. He ignores your scoff in return, turning to taehyun instead with a smile and clapping his back. “Hey, Tae. Drinks after this? A bunch of us are going.”

“Yeah, I’m in. Congrats on first place today by the way.” Taehyun replies giving him a bro hug. To this day, you still can’t understand how taehyun can stand him. But Beomgyu has a lot of friends, and like you said, you really are the only one who dislikes him.

“How can you even hang out with him?” You make the most disgusted face you can muster towards Beomgyu to show the pure utter hatred you feel to him.

Beomgyu practically puffs out his chest, already expecting to be backed up and stood up against by taehyun.

Taehyun shrugs, “He grows on you. I guess.”

“Yeah, like a nasty mould.”

Beomgyu deflates, taking great offence, mouth hanging open and frowning, pouting at the both of you now laughing and high-fiving each other.

Beomgyu’s intense gaze then returns back to you. Taehyun, addressing the situation, and knowing how both your bantering can escalate, sees it’s best to leave, walking away to leave you alone with the cockroach. “Right, so as entertaining as this has been, I’m going to go now…preferably anywhere else...”

“What about you, y/n? No congratulations?” Beomgyu mocks and sighs boastfully once Taehyun has left. His voice dripping with that sickeningly playful lilt that always makes your blood boil. “No heartfelt speech on how I inspire you to be better? But hey, second place isn’t so bad.”

You narrow your eyes, standing up straight. “You won by, like,” you scoff, “a millisecond at best. Don’t get all cocky. It was just pure luck.”

He laughs, raising an eyebrow at you. “Oh, come on, I didn’t think you were such a sore loser. It’s called strategy.”

“Strategy?” you repeat incredulously, “The only strategy you have is relying on your last name to get you ahead.”

“God, you’re still on that? I feel like you’re just using that as an excuse to use still. Just admit I’m as good as you. Better, even. I’ve won one more race than you now~”

The two of you kept a tally of how many races you both have won, you’ve had the same exact score as him for ages now, obviously, not anymore. But you’ll win next time, just he waits.

He takes a step closer to you, waiting and expecting you to make a snarky comeback at him like you always do as you angrily stare him down and he does the same.

For a second, just one second, your eyes flicker down to his lips and suddenly, you’re brought back to an incident that occurred a few months ago. A memory you’ve tried—and failed—to forget.

There is one thing you’ve never told anyone about. Not your teammates, not taehyun, and that is when you, of all people, made out with Choi Beomgyu one awfully unlucky night.

⸝⸝

THE SAID AWFULLY UNLUCKY NIGHT YOU AND CHOI BEOMGYU MADE OUT:

The nightclub was packed with racers, sponsors, and fans celebrating the after party of a big end of season race, air heavy with the scent of alcohol and sweat. You nursed your drink, leaning against the bar.

Of course, Beomgyu was at the centre of the dance floor, surrounded by a group of admirers, his laughter ringing out over the music. He was never hard to spot, the centre of attention always.

"Ugh," you muttered under your breath, taking another sip of your drink.

“And you’re still staring?” Taehyun had teased, sitting beside you.

"I’m not staring.” You snapped, rolling your eyes. "I’m wondering how he manages to be so insufferable and stupid all the time."

“Sure,” Taehyun stifles a laugh, raising his glass to you. “Just don’t kill each other before the next race.”

You down the last of your drink, slamming it on the bar counter and ordering another, “Can’t promise that.”

The rest of the night is a blur to you. Too many drinks, too many spinning lights, and far too much proximity to Beomgyu.

You’re not one to get shitfaced drunk. You prefer the comfortable state of slight tipsiness and anything other than that is not fun for you, because why would someone want to be so drunk off their ass to the point of throwing up and not being aware of their surroundings? Usually, you’d chastise people like that, wondering how they can’t even manage how much they drink. But on that night, you’d had one too many to count, you were drunk, too drunk. Not the comfortable tipsiness that you’re used to.

You know that at one point, either you or Beomgyu had come up to the other and the normal bickering had ensued. You know he was just as drunk as you so whatever you both were arguing about probably made no sense at all.

What you do remember though was looking at him, really looking at him, in the shifting, almost epileptic lights of the club.

How big and brown his eyes were, how long and thick his eyelashes were and how they fluttered like a doll every time he blinked. How plump and pouty his lips were, especially now that he was drunk, he just kept on pouting his lips and his cheeks were flushed all rosy from all the alcohol he’d had. His long wolfcut was messy by now, bangs falling into his eyes.

He looked different that night, too. Not the usual racing suit and helmet, but a stylish black suit with his shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a silver necklace glinting against his skin.

All in all, beomgyu was a pretty boy. You get why he had a lot of fans.

He was still going on about something to you, slurring his words, probably insulting you, and the only logical solution to shut him up in your inebriated state at that moment, was to kiss his pouty lips. Luckily, you both were at the very corner of the nightclub shrouded in darkness, everyone else too busy dancing and whatnot to see you both.

You remember him gasping when you grabbed the collar of his black shirt, yanking him down and pressing your lips aggressively against his, but he kissed you back almost instantly, without a second thought.

You weren’t very gentle with him, pushing him forcefully against the wall even further and tugging at his necklace. The way you were making out with him was just pouring out all your anger you’ve felt towards him for years. But, he just let you. He let you do anything to him and you were surprised, so different to the cocky and confident beomgyu you knew. And that sheer control he let you have over him for once felt so good, you didn’t want to stop.

That, and the fact Choi Beomgyu was also just really good at kissing, he made it so difficult to pull away at all, lips so soft and plump and addictive, making you want more and more and more.

But, you never spoke an utterance of it afterwards, he never brought it up, neither did you. And honestly, it felt so surreal, making out with the Choi Beomgyu, the one who you no doubtedly hate his guts and him kissing you back so pliantly? You’d believe it more if it was all just a hallucination. You were so drunk you wouldn’t be surprised if you made it all up, dreamt it even. Maybe it was someone else you made out with and you were so drunk you can’t remember. It’d make more sense than Choi Beomgyu.

Although, you do find yourself thinking about the makeout session often times than not, his lips on yours just felt so good. Too good. It was like, the best makeout you’ve had in your life and you curse it for being him. Why he had to be the one whose lips you still thought about? you don’t know. You’re certain he had forgotten and you wish you could have just like he seemed to.

But anyway, fuck that and fuck him.

⸝⸝

"What? Cat got your tongue?" Beomgyu is still sneering at you, awaiting your comeback but you can’t think well at the moment.

Your face heats, and you shove past him. “Go to hell, Choi.”

And his laughter follows behind you as you walk away. Oh, how he infuriates you.

You have one goal: beat Choi Beomgyu. Today is the day you finally get to race against him again. He’d held that last victory over your head, taunting you endlessly, with that invigorating, stupid smirk of his and you’d had more than enough. Today was your chance to shut him up and kick his ass. You’ll put him in his place and win. You’d been waiting for this.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to another thrilling showdown! All eyes are on the two front runners y/n and Choi Beomgyu. These rivals have been neck and neck all season. Beomgyu won the last race but will he win again? Will today decide who’s truly on top?” The commentator’s voices boom over the loudspeakers.

The flagman waves the green flag, you slam on the gas pedal and you’re off, surging forward.

It wasn’t an easy race, beomgyu seemed motivated to win too. He was always either just ahead or just behind, not far enough for it be satisfactory, but nail bitingly tense, as anything could happen any moment. And right now, ahead, just barely, was him, blocking every attempt you made to overtake him.

“Y/n’s looking for an opening,” the commentators shout. “But Beomgyu’s defensive driving is flawless so far. Look at that precision!”

Loud noises of the engines are all you can hear, filling your ears as you manoeuvre around sharp turns, tires screeching against the asphalt. The laps all blur together but you’re nearing the end now.

You managed to get alongside him on the straight, your cars almost touching, crowd going wild as you both enter the next corner side by side, dangerously close.

“Neither driving is moving an inch!”

Suddenly, beomgyu’s car swerves towards yours, bumping and hitting at yours with such force, a dirty, blatant attempt at running you off the track and then he overtakes you. You gasp, fighting to stabilise your car, narrowly avoiding a spin. That was a new low, even for Choi Beomgyu. He’d never cheated like that before and you’re absolutely enraged.

The final lap is chaos, the audience on their feet now. You’re so incredibly angry, but you can’t let that get to you and hinder your focus, you clench your teeth, gripping your steering wheel so tight your knuckles are white, you’re even more determined to win than before.

The last stretch looms ahead and he’s just razor thin ahead of you, in the last second, you see your opening. Beomgyu had oversteered slightly on the turn, just enough for you to slip past him, you speed ahead.

“AND Y/N TAKES THE WIN IN A SPECTACULAR FINISH! THEY’VE DONE IT! WHAT A RACE!”

You crossed the line first. By a hair.

Everyone erupts, but your satisfaction is short-lived. Beomgyu’s cheating had completely soured your victory. The fucking nerve of him.

You barely register the reporters swarming you, bombarding your face with microphones. “Y/n! how does it feel to take first place?!”

“An incredible performance today, what was going through your mind?!”

The post race interview is a haze of forced smiles and generic answers. You’re barely listening as the reporters barrage you with questions. You’re still so pissed off at Beomgyu.

When it’s finally over, you make your way to the garage and that’s where you spot him leaning casually against his car, arms crossed in a nonchalant way. You clench your fists, blood boiling as you storm over to him. He’d crossed the line, well, not literally this time, but definitely fucking figuratively.

"You fucking cheated!" You shout, jabbing a finger at his chest.

He blinks innocently, tilting his head in a puppy like way. "Me? Cheat? That’s a very serious accusation to make. I’d never." There’s a slight smugness to him, almost mocking, he’s not even pissed he didn’t win like you’d wanted him to be, just calm and collected and being a bitch. It makes you even more livid with him.

“You intentionally tried to cause a collision with me. You should have been penalised. I don’t know how you weren’t!”

“Yeah, and you still won. So why are you even mad?” He crosses his arms and shrugs, ridiculing you. “If you can’t handle that maybe you should switch to something lighter like go karting instead.”

"Can’t handle?!" You splutter, looking at him in pure disbelief, your voice rising. "You arrogant, nepotistic, spoilt brat!-” Each insult punctuated with a sharp poke to his chest and, yet he still finds it all funny, bursting out into laughter at you.

Something inside you just snaps. It infuriates you how you’re the one who won and yet, you feel small. Why is he the one sneering at you? That should be you! You want to have the upper hand over him, some semblance of control— just like that night again when he was putty in your hands.

And so, before you can even register what you yourself are about to do, you grab him by his jacket, smashing your lips against his. He melts almost instantly, kissing you back so fervently and eagerly, as if he’d been waiting this whole time for this to happen. And you can’t lie, it felt almost euphoric to have his soft lips back on yours again. Almost like an addict getting their fix after a long withdrawal.

The kissing becomes heated fast, sounds of your mouths smacking filling the echoing garage as he lets you take over his mouth completely, letting you bite and pull at his bottom lip, emitting soft little gasps at this.

Even for the second time, it was disorienting seeing Beomgyu like this, nothing like the beomgyu you knew on the track or in the spotlight, and now with no alcohol in your system, neither of you could even blame whatever was going on right now on that. It’s all too intoxicating. It takes everything in you to pull back for air.

You push him against his car with more force than necessary, and Beomgyu stumbles slightly before sitting down on the top of the hood. His eyes are blown wide, flustered as you stand between his splayed legs, cupping his cheek and kissing him again, him responding immediately. This is how you like him. Your kisses trail down his jaw and the column of his neck, when you suck on his adam’s apple, he lets out a sharp intake and gasp, tilting his head back to give you more access, he already seems worked up from just a few kisses. Was his neck really that sensitive?

When your hand slides down to palm him through his trousers, his breath hitches and his jaw goes slack. “Oh…b-but we’re in public…” his cheeks flush a deep red and he protests weakly, plump lips all swollen and glossy and wet from the intense making out.

You raise a brow. “So you want me to stop?” You keep grinding your palm against his very hard length now, sucking on his neck and he shudders and whines cutely, very clearly enjoying it.

“W-wait no….” So you continue, he’s panting as you palm him, rutting into your hand himself. You pull back just enough to look at him, so dumb and lost in pleasure, lips parted with soft breathy moans and gasps as he chases the small friction you give him, his brows knitting together.

You roll your eyes at the sight of him, “Trying to run me off the track? You’re pathetic, beomgyu.”

“Pathetic?” He scoffs, still having the nerve to act like a brat when it’s all crumbling. “h-hah, if anyone’s pathetic it’s you—s-shit y/n—please. I need more, please.” Completely contradicting himself, because if there was only one word to describe him exactly right now, it would be pathetic.

“Admit it. Say you’re nothing but a dirty cheater first.”

“You wish.”

“Okay. I’ll leave you like this. All hard and horny.”

He hesitates, scowling, debating whether or not to challenge you, but when you stop all contact of palming and kissing his neck, starting to step away, he caves in.

“Wait!” He blurts, grasping at your wrist, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m…fine. Fine! I’m nothing but a dirty a cheater...” His face burns, embarrassed, humiliated, his pride hurt. The admission sends a thrill through you, he’s always been so full of himself, but now he’s just a needy pathetic mess for you. You’re having so much fun.

You grin. “Aw. What a good boy.” You coo sarcastically. The words have an instant effect on him though, whole body tensing and cheeks blooming into an even more impossibly vivid red and he whines, hands clutching at your hips to bring you back as he still sits pliantly on the hood of his car.

You unzip his pants, flushed pretty cock already leaking, slapping at his tummy and you brush your thumb over his sensitive tip, spreading the bead of pre-cum that gathered there slowly, watching his reaction and he looks down at the action himself, drawing out a helpless shudder and whimper from him. He groans, eyes half lidded when you wrap your hand around his cock, moving up and down with a deliberate slowness that makes his breath hitch every few seconds and whine.

“God, you’re so easy, beomgyu. Are you this much of a whore all the time?” You murmur and tease, dragging your teeth over his cute earlobe, ears all red, feeling him shiver.

“Shut”, he whimpers cutely, “up. I-i could…ah…fuck you stupid right now.” He retaliates or attempts to, but his hands grip the edge of the hood like he’s barely holding himself upright.

You laugh. “Oh, really? Because you look pretty wrecked already.” He was so fucked out right now, you wonder if he’d even be able to take it when you actually fuck him.

He’s still trying to keep up the pretense of resistance. “I’m not wrecked. You’re—” You pump his cock at a ruthless pace, jerking him off fast, occasionally toying with the slit on the head of cock and his body goes limp under you touch, moaning out prettily and loudly, eyes squeezing shut and panting, chest heaving. He clings to you now, head buried in your neck, practically drooling, body jerking with every stroke. He still attempts to bite back at you but they come out as dumb babbles and mumbles of nonsense, mewling and gasping, completely at your mercy.

Beomgyu whines and moans deliriously. “F-fuck! Oh—need to cum. C-can’t.” He removes his head from your neck to look up at you with glossy doe eyes, so wrecked and hanging on by a thread. You move your hand up and down his dick unrelentingly and before he’s just about to cum, you pull your hand off him.

The pained, frustrated cry that escapes him is deliciously pathetic. His hips jerk into the air desperately to chase the sensation, but it’s long gone now. He looks at you in shock, eyes wide in utter betrayal and devastation, and now wet with tears of frustration. But then he frowns and scowls, annoyed he didn’t get to cum. “What the fuck was that for?” He pouts.

“I could think of a lot honestly. But, don’t you want to cum inside me?”

His jaw hangs open. “Please. Yes.” Beomgyu breathes out, nodding fervently and looking at you with puppy eyes, pupils dilating and dazed at the thought alone.

Sliding off the hood, beomgyu takes your hand like an obedient puppy, and you open the car door. He sits in his driver’s seat, his flushed face tilted up to watch you as you climb onto his lap. You rid yourself of your own clothes, watching as his gaze drops immediately to your bare tits, breath catching and lips parting as he stares, seemingly captivated. He’s so stupid.

You grab his dick and use the head to rub your clit, making him let out little stuttered gasps, sliding him over your entrance and folds a few times before you sink slowly down completely. The feeling of your warm tight pussy making him go cross eyed as he groans, sucking in air and throwing his head back, grasping at your waist, furrowing his brows and mouth in an ‘o’ shape, you beginning to ride him.

It’s so hot and cramped and sweaty in the car now as you bounce on his dick continuously, being able to hear the obscene slapping and sticky noises so loudly. Beomgyu looks in a state of absolute, pure bliss, moaning like a bitch, mind all fogged up and mushy at the feeling of your pussy, his messy damp bangs falling into his eyes so all you can see is his very glistening round lips, still in that sustained ‘o’ shape, just so dumbed and fucked out.

He’s a gorgeous wreck, thick doll-like lashes fluttering. If only everyone else could see Choi Beomgyu like this right now. It feels so empowering and satisfying after all these years of him being so infuriating. You love how, despite his attempts at being bratty, he’s so docile and such a simple whore.

You tangle your hands in his hair and tug and pull every so often, which he clearly very likes if the high and strained moans are anything to show for this. His hands squeeze at your tits when it feels too good for him. His lips latch onto one of your nipples, tongue flicking over it and sucking and kissing as he looks up at you with his big brown eyes. When you deliberately clamp your pussy tightly around him, he moans out your name in response, muffled from him still sucking your tits needily, body slightly jerking.

“You remember, don’t you?—at the club?” You ask, although it was probably obvious by now.

Beomgyu pauses for a moment, popping his wet droolly mouth off your boobs, eyes darting away for a moment before returning to look at you, nodding vigorously, “of course I remember…l-liked it.” You cup his cheek again, kissing beomgyu hard, hands still tangled in his hair, tugging, fucking him mercilessly as he moans softly against your lips. “Oh god, m’ sso close. Can I cum?”

You nod, kissing him some more, “Cum for me, beomie.”

“Holyy s-shitt—” Beomgyu’s eyes roll to the back of his head, squeezing one of your tits as if for support, his back arches, his tongue lolling out dumbly, whole body trembling and shaking. You bring one of your hands to your clit, rubbing and riding yourself on him harder. With a choked off scream, he spills so much of his cum inside you, and the gorgeous sight brings you over the edge too, cumming as well.

He doesn’t pull out though, burying his face in your neck, gasping for air, groaning and clinging to you tightly, he’s still shuddering and you can feel little spurts of his cum still dribbling in you, pussy completely milking him.

The two of you sat in the car still afterwards in a slightly awkward silence. Both of you panting, trying to come down from your highs, left to fully take in what had just happened and also how thoughtless it was. Fucking Choi beomgyu in the garage? You’re incredibly lucky no one walked in. It wasn’t even like both of you were trying to be quiet either, none of that running through your mind at that moment. What if someone had heard?

Beomgyu, for once, was quiet, his usual smirk replaced with a dazed expression, so far gone. He leans slowly towards you though, looking as if he was about to kiss you again.

“This…this doesn’t mean anything by the way.” You mutter, beginning to button up your shirt.

Beomgyu scoffs, running a hands through his hair. “Doesn’t feel like nothing.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. At all.” You roll your eyes, trying not to freak out, you open the car door, wanting more than anything to just get out. You walk away, leaving him there, disheveled and barely clothed, still slumped in the driver’s seat. And you don’t see it, but there’s a look of almost, somewhat hurt on his face.

A/n: happy new year !!<3 please give this lots of love it was such a bitch to write idk why but I really struggled with this 😭 also I’m so sorry to all the racing fans if makes no sense, I just made up my own kind of racing competition thing. Also the cars do not look anything like f1 cars 😭 more kind of like the nascar ones so they can actually fuck in it 😭 idk bro. I know no nothing about cars or racing. Also I’m sorry if the smut seems rushed and messy, I haven’t edited it and I was lowkey rushing to get this out

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️👎🤨. At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

[starkeymeow]

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT part thirteen, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, continuation of enobaria talking to reader, heavy emotions, president sn*w

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous next

you can’t move much, still strapped down in some places, still healing in others, but you’re sure your body reacts anyway. something in your face must shift, because enobaria doesn’t speak right away. she’s watching you, arms folded tight around herself, like she’s cold even though this room is boiling.

you don't know what emotion you’re feeling. you don’t even think there’s a name for it.

you should be happy. you should be relieved.

rafe is alive.

you glance at enobaria, and she takes the look as permission to keep going.

“look, you don't have to say anything right now,” she starts. her voice is quieter than you remember. it’s less clipped, more like . . . like a person, and not a trainer or a warrior or a capitol cog. “i just— i thought someone should be the one to tell you. properly.”

you blink slowly. the lights above sting your eyes. your throat itches. there’s an ache in your arm where you think an iv is buried deep.

“you’ve been asleep a long time, kid. we weren’t sure you were gonna wake up.”

your mouth stays shut. you can’t even part your lips. they feel too dry. you just breathe through your nose.

“they kept you under, said your body needed to recover, and it did. barely. you were . . . torn up pretty bad. worse than i thought anyone could survive. honestly, they didn’t think you’d make it past the first night.”

her eyes are glassy.

“rafe?” is all you manage, and it doesn’t even sound like a word, more like a breath escaping.

she knows what you’re trying to say. she expected it honestly, so she nods. “he’s alive. in another room. been healing too. he’ll ask about you, once or twice. every damn day until they told him to stop talking.”

you swallow around the lump in your throat. you don’t know what you’re supposed to feel. your face twitches once, but you don’t know what expression it makes. something like guilt or maybe fear.

“they didn’t know what to do,” enobaria says, folding her hands in her lap now, leaning forward like in her seat. “no one expected it. you were too far gone, and he . . . i mean, he should’ve died with you. or before you. that’s how it’s supposed to work.”

you flinch.

“you were raised to believe the games were glory, right?” she says, almost gently now. “you win, you bring pride home. your district puts your face on posters. your name gets whispered like legend.”

you look at her, blank.

“that’s what they teach us. it’s what they taught me, too. but you know what they don’t teach?” she looks at you with guilt, almost like she doesn’t even want to be the one to tell you and make you face the harsh reality, “what happens after you win.”

your stomach twists from the way she’s behaving. you feel like scooting up higher on the hospital bed.

“you think the arena was bad?” she goes on, eyes fixed to the floor now like she’s ashamed of what she’s saying. “that was the easy part. this? what’s coming next? this is gonna be the real game for you.”

you’re breathing hard again.

“snow’s not happy,” she says finally. “you probably already guessed that. but it’s not even just snow. it’s the capitol, panem. no one knows what to do with you two.”

she starts to wring her hands in her lap. this is the first time you’ve seen her look nervous.

“two victors? it’s not just . . . rare, you know. it’s unacceptable. you changed something. and i mean, you didn’t even mean to, did you? you just wanted to keep him alive. or yourself. or both . . . but this isn’t what i meant by start a romance if things turn out for the worst.”

you close your eyes, just for a second. this obviously isn’t what you meant to do either.

“you kissed him.”

your eyes snap back open.

“and that—that—is what they’re going to use.”

you stare.

“it wasn’t even that romantic,” she says, frowning, almost a bitter smile. “you looked like you were both dying. which, i mean, you were. blood everywhere. but the camera caught it. just one kiss. just one moment. and that’s all they needed.”

she exhales.

“you know what a love story does in panem, y/n?”

you barely shake your head.

“it saves lives.”

your brow furrows.

“it gives them something to root for, something to cling to. because otherwise they’d have to see it for what it is: a system that lets kids tear each other apart and call it entertainment.”

you blink. she’s still going.

“so now they want you. both of you, all cleaned up, all shiny and tragic and perfect. they want a narrative. and you gave them one, without even trying. two victors, a surprise kiss, and a bond they can’t explain.”

you’re shaking. you only realize it now.

“you didn’t mean to rebel,” she says, voice quieter now. “but you did. and snow? he’s deciding what to do about it.”

you don’t ask what that means. you already know.

“he hasn’t asked for you yet,” she continues. “but he will. you’ll be called to meet him. maybe both of you, maybe just you. and whatever he says, you’re gonna listen. you’re gonna smile. you’re gonna play the part. because if you don’t—”

she doesn’t finish that part. she doesn’t need to.

you understand the risk, even if your brain doesn’t want to fully accept it yet.

you breathe out, shallow and strained. “so is rafe okay?”

her expression softens. she nods slowly. “you’ll see him soon. not yet. but soon.”

your eyebrows furrow. your lips part. “how soon?”

“depends on snow.”

depends on snow? what he says?

you don’t want to cry. you already have, maybe in your sleep, maybe when you were unconscious, maybe during the games. you don’t want to give them more.

“i’m sorry,” enobaria says, again.

you stare at her. you don’t know what to say. you don’t think there’s anything left to say, so you just lie there, still and aching and confused.

and for the first time since waking up, you want to go back to sleep.

when you meet president snow and you see rafe for the first time.

you’ve been told it’s the day. the day you’ll finally get to leave.

the day your body, still bruised and bound with healing flesh, gets to leave behind the antiseptic rooms and sealed windows. they tell you your family has been notified, that preparations are being made for your return, that soon you’ll be going home, back to district two, back to your worried parents.

when the nurse helps you out of your hospital gown and into a soft grey set of capitol-issued clothes, she brushes through your hair slowly, avoiding the scabbing at your temple.

you don’t speak much. your throat still feels like it’s full of blood sometimes. your body has stopped aching the way it used to, though your legs don’t hold you like they did before the games. everything inside you still feels raw but . . . dulled.

the nurse offers you a smile as she finishes, tucks a strand of hair behind your ear like you’re a child, and says something quiet you don’t quite register. you nod anyway, and she leaves.

the door closes.

you wait, hands folded, eyes on the window that doesn’t open. but when the door opens again, it’s not her that returns.

it’s peacekeepers.

not just one. but three.

your heart skips, not out of surprise. there’s been protocol, always guards posted, always quiet footsteps and mirrored glass. but this is different. they’re facing you, and they don’t speak.

you stare at them.

one of them gestures, not unkindly, just expectant. so it takes a second to move, but you do, slowly. you think at first they’re just escorting you down to the lobby to make sure you get on the train-ride home until you realize you’re in an entirely different wing of the building.

“where are we going?” you ask, voice quiet, barely used.

no answer. no need, apparently.

you walk. the hallway is unfamiliar, and that’s what makes the fear start creeping up again. the walls are too quiet and you swear the doors you pass look more sealed than open. you swallow, but the dryness in your mouth makes it harder to breathe.

you think of your parents, the promise of seeing them again, the idea of falling into their arms, or hearing your name spoken with warmth again. are they here, or?

you’re about to ask again, panic starting to swell, when the hallway bends, and you stop.

because up ahead, standing in front of a set of tall, dark doors, is someone you haven’t seen since the arena.

you don’t realize how tightly your chest is pulled until you see him and everything inside you lurches forward. your legs want to run before your brain even catches up. it’s instinct, it’s him and he really is alive. he’s real.

“rafe,” you breathe, like his name alone could close the distance.

his head turns slowly, and it takes only one look.

his posture doesn’t change, but his eyes meet yours and something behind them tightens. he lowers his chin just slightly, and shakes his head. sort of like a warning, and you feel it immediately. it’s like not here. not now.

you stop yourself as your lips press together.

you feel your face fall, just for a second, brows twitching in confusion. you want to ask why. you want to reach. but there are guards behind you, guards beside you, and rafe’s gaze tells you all you need to know.

you walk until you’re beside him, both of you facing the doors now.

you’re standing still, shoulder to shoulder with him but not touching, not speaking, not even breathing too loudly, because the peacekeepers are behind you like stone statues.

your eyes are just fixed on the wood. rafe’s head stays low, chin dipped like he’s glaring at the seam between the two doors. he looks carved out of stone, honestly unreadable and serious. you don’t dare look at him too long.

your chin is lifted slightly, but your fingers begin to tingle. they’ve done that on and off since you saw the peacekeepers. it’s like pins and needles, it’s anxiety. so you move your fingers just slightly, shifting them where they hang at your side.

then something brushes your hand. you almost flinch.

your first instinct is fear, it always is now, but then you recognize it. that warmth.

the kind that found you before the interviews, when you were being pushed into heels and corsets and coached to smile in front of thousands. that small, wordless gesture that had steadied your pulse when you needed it most. you remember how his fingers had ghosted across yours then, and how you’d leaned into it like it was the only real thing in the room.

now he does it again.

he moves slowly, subtle. it makes you hesitate. your hand hangs loose at your side, and you don’t dare turn your head, but you feel his knuckles brush yours again. it’s light, like a question or like a check-in. you don’t answer for a beat.

then slowly you move your fingers toward his, inch by inch. you feel him still, feel him hesitate the same way, feel him breathe through it.

your pinky bumps his, he doesn’t pull away, so you press again, and finally, finally, your hands find each other in the middle, barely touching at first, then his hand shifts open and yours slides into it like it was always meant to be there.

his palm is warm. your fingers tighten, and so do his.

the last time you felt his touch was when you thought you were aboit to die.

but this, it’s in a way to connect after the games. you want to think it’s rafe’s way of telling you it’s going to be okay, or maybe it has something to do with his thoughts from the arena. maybe a thank you? you aren’t sure actually if he’s appreciative that both of you are alive right now, at least to an extent.

but still, it’s comforting knowing he still wants to show this to you, despite everything. he’s just glad you’re okay.

you exhale just a little in a quiet, shuddered sigh as if you’ve been holding that breath for years. but rafe doesn’t move. he doesn’t even look at you. doesn’t wanna give anything away. he just breathes through his nose, spine straight, shoulder brushing yours.

the doors groan open.

your hands let go instantly, your fingers aching at the loss of his. your stomach flips at the sound of the hinges.

your eyes lift, and there he is.

sitting at the end of the room like a ghost in a throne, a single red rose gleaming at his chest, and that smile stretched thin across his face like it’s barely hiding the rot beneath.

president snow.

and he’s looking straight at you.

you glance sideways, and the peacekeeper closest to you jerks his chin forward, a silent command. your stomach turns.

your gaze flickers past him and lands on the table. a chair waits for you at the opposite end of snow, another one for rafe beside it.

your feet feel heavy, like they’re tethered to the floor, but you make yourself move and you sit.

a second later, rafe’s shadow shifts beside you. he’s slower, heavier in his steps. before he even reaches the table, you see the sharp tilt of his chin, the way his head turns ever so slightly toward the peacekeepers who flanked him in. there’s a glare in his eyes, but they don’t even blink at him.

he eventually turns and lowers himself into the seat beside you. no touch, no glance. but you can feel him. he’s tense.

your eyes finally lift.

president snow is already watching you. not rafe, but you. like he’s been waiting for you to look up. like he knew you’d try not to, but in the end, he always gets what he wants.

he doesn’t smile. but there’s something in his expression that just fucking chills you. there’s no warmth or welcome. more like interest maybe.

you swallow again, throat dry.

his fingers tap lightly against the armrest of his chair, knuckles ringless, nails neat. every movement is careful, precise. he’s not here to rant or rage. he’s not that kind of monster. no, snow studies his prey first.

“well,” he begins, voice low. he leans forward just slightly, folding his hands together atop the marble. “this isn’t quite how the story was supposed to end, is it?”

your hands are in your lap, fingers tangled, knotted tight. you don’t answer. neither does rafe. silence is safer. always.

snow lets the pause stretch a few seconds too long, like he enjoys watching you squirm.

“you believed, as victors, you’d be discharged back to your districts with some grand speech and a warm meal, a parade, a new house, a fresh start.”

his eyes harden.

“but that’s not what you earned.”

you blink, unsure if you heard him right. your eyebrows pull together, not quite angry, but confused.

snow turns his gaze fully to you now, and it pins you in place like a needle through silk. “you didn’t just win the games,” he says. “you rewrote them.”

your confusion only deepens. you feel your breath catch as he continues.

“your stunt in the finale,” he says, eyes flicking between the two of you, “has become more than just a tragic little act of desperation. the world saw something else. they saw love. devotion. defiance of death for the sake of another. it’s poetic. it’s dangerous . . . it’s useful.”

useful.

“and now,” he says, “that image must be maintained. not just for the sake of the capitol’s narrative, but for the stability of panem.”

you open your mouth, voice catching as you finally whisper, “what?” you stare at him like he’s speaking another language. “maintained?” you echo.

“from this moment on, the two of you will live in the public eye. you’ll smile at galas. you’ll sit side by side in interviews. you’ll hold hands, exchange sweet words, indulge in romantic gestures that reaffirm what the world already believes.”

he tilts his head slightly, like he’s giving you a gift. “you will be the capitol’s golden couple.”

you just . . . stare.

it doesn’t register at first. it sinks in slowly. it’s not like the plan itself is the worst thing in the world, it isn’t hell to pretend to be in love with someone like rafe. it’s just control.

you feel rafe shift beside you, not dramatically, just a subtle inhale through his nose. there’s another clench of his fist.

he finally speaks, and his voice is flat. “we already gave you what you wanted. we won.”

snow raises an eyebrow. “you won wrong.”

you swear the air in the room turns to ice.

“do you understand what your actions caused?” snow ask. “two victors walking out alive was not a triumph. it was a complication. and now i have to clean it up. i have to shape the outcome into something palatable. something inspiring.”

you don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until your chest tightens.

“and the only way i could do that was to turn your little . . . suicide pact . . . into a grand, star-crossed victory,” he says it with disgust. “a romance so moving that it eclipses the rule you broke.”

“we didn’t do it for a narrative,” you whisper, anger threading under your voice now. “we did it because we didn’t want to die.”

snow gives the softest nod. “and yet here you are. alive. which means, from now on, you’ll live exactly how i tell you to.”

you glance at rafe again, and he’s already looking at you. there’s something in his expression that wasn’t there before. it’s not just anger, not just fear. it’s the crushing, soul-deep exhaustion of someone realizing that no matter how hard they fought, the game never really ended.

you feel like crying, but you won’t. not in front of him.

“and if we don’t go along with it?” rafe says.

snow’s smile is thin, like a slit in paper. “then perhaps the next year’s victors will be told a different story. one about two ungrateful champions who couldn’t bear the weight of their own fame. a tragic ending, of course. the kind that keeps the people on edge.”

your stomach flips.

you know what he means. what he’s not saying.

he’s threatening your families.

he’s threatening your lives.

snow watches you both with vague interest, the pads of his fingers resting thoughtfully against his cheek, elbow perched on the arm of the chair. there’s something leisurely about him now, like a man who just finished winning a game of chess and is wondering if he should give you a second chance, just for fun.

then he speaks again.

“let’s see it.”

you blink, unsure if you misheard. snow’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“go on,” he says smoothly, his eyes trained on the two of you. “hold hands. right here. on the table.”

your stomach turns.

you’ve been fiddling with your fingers this entire time, pressing your thumbnail into your palm, rubbing the ridges of your knuckles to keep from shaking. your hands are clammy.

you glance at rafe but he’s already looking at you. and he doesn’t move, but you can see the hesitation in his eyes. he doesn’t want to do this either.

it’s just holding hands. that’s all. but suddenly it feels like the worst thing he could’ve asked of you.

your breath hitches as you tear your hand out of your lap and, despite the shame, you reach across the table and slide your fingers into rafe’s.

his hand closes around yours. he moves slow, reluctantly, but it’s solid.

you stare down at them—your hands, intertwined on the wood surface like a staged photo, and something in you curdles. it’s not rafe’s touch that makes your heart pound. it’s the context, the control, the fact that nothing you’ll do anymore feels like your own decision.

you don’t look up. you can’t. but snow forces you to.

“look at me,” he says. you do. your spine straightens like a string’s been yanked.

“i see potential in you both,” he says, lifting his chin like this has all been so very civilized. “that’s the only reason you were allowed to win. but that win is conditional. it always was.”

his eyes meet yours one last time.

“make it worth it.”

@nicholaschavezslut69 @iissza @snowtargaryen @yootvi @ariiwritess @spideysimpossiblegirl @skyslowalking @adribarbie @obsessionsarenotfortheweak @0-tatiana-0 @beebeerockknot @rafestar @drewstarkeyzwhore @drewsephrry @annaconscience @writtenbyhollywood @yourtypicalteenagegirl @daisydark @v4mpscrms @issahruiz @ilovefictionallmenn @derpjungkook @vanessa-rafesgirl @sunny1616 @alphabetically-deranged @nrmlgirl @supercxnt @xoxosblogsblog @rafegetinmybed @siyahmoonlight @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @d-daxx @tsumudoll @ogcrashout @jjasmiineee @loverliner @ailimedae @belle101200 @hiimbrina @nomup @ayy1234567 @girxwrp @k4yr14 @amterasuu @theteenagementality @maggscr @hey-you22w @delilah22pbp @hayleynott @silkenthusiasts ++

[humpster35]

“My baby’s, having a baby.”

Chratt finding out you’re pregnant

based on this

|contains: fluff, anxiety, guilt, crying, soft!bf chris, soft!bf matt, slight angst and decison making.

It was around 3pm when Matt and Chris left to go pick up some groceries for the house. I stood here in one of Matt’s old oversized shirts, Chris had teased us about this—saying how much better I looked in his clothes instead.

I watched as Nick heads back upstairs to his room, this was my time. With a whisper of my feet—I grabbed the bag on the sofa and ran to the bathroom.

“Please, please please.”

My words came out muttered. I don’t know what exactly I was asking for, or wanted. The pregnancy test in my hand made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. This was all happening too fast—I know starting this relationship up with the two brothers would lead to other things, but I guess I didn’t think about if a child would be coming into this world or not.

I inhaled one more time before going to pee on the stick. Good thing Chris gave me his last two pepsi’s to drink today—I had been having so many weird cravings all week. I don’t even think the boys recognized it as anything else but me being close to my period.

After I finished peeing, I sat the test on the bathroom counter. My anxiety was starting to spike at this point—I heard Nicks footsteps coming back down the stairs and he was gonna get suspicious sooner or later.

‘we didn’t even tell him’ I thought as I imagined how Nick would react finding out that not only his brothers were dating the same girl, sleeping with her—but they could’ve potientally gotten her pregnant.

As ten minutes past—I could heard the voices of Chris and Matt talking to Nick. ‘shit.’ They were back and I haven’t even looked at the test yet. My shaky hand reached out slowly—I didn’t wanna make any noise, my breathing stopped for a moment as I brought it close to my face.

‘positive’

The test read positive. I didn’t even know I was hyperventilating until Chris knocked on the bathroom door.

“Y/n, you okay?”

My voice couldn’t make any sound—it felt as if all the words I wanted to say, ran away from me, from this. So instead, I closed my eyes. I grabbed the test—putting it behind my back, then I slowly opened the door.

Chris’s face was bright—he’s always so bright and beautiful. He looked at me with such love, I watched as he softly pulled my arm—he led me out of the bathroom. My feet didn’t wanna move as he obliviously held onto me.

“Chris—I think, I think i’m tired.”

I watched as he chuckled. He let go of my arm—I was now standing in the middle of the living room. Nick was on his phone, as Matt put away the rest of the groceries.

“You think you’re tired?” Matt turned to me, his eyes giving me a knowing look.

I knew that he knew—Matt knew me much better than anyone else did. He could catch onto my moods before I even know something was wrong with me. Chris pulled me out of my thoughts—he led me to the couch.

“Baby what’s wrong? Was it something I did?”

I watch as Matt continues looking over at us, Nick stops scrolling on his phone—secretly listening in.

“Chris…..” My voice comes out in a whisper as I show him the pregnancy test.

Chris’s face dropped. He took the rest from my hands and immediately ran to show Matt.

“Matt—MATT LOOK.”

Matt rolls his eyes and snatches the test from Chris’s hand. I get up and move away from Nick—heading to the kitchen area where the boys are.

“Guys it’s not a big deal.” I quietly state. My face began to redden.

Chris started to opens his mouth—smiling while doing so. Matt put the test down on the kitchen counter, his hands going to his sides as his eyes brighten.

They both smile at me for a minute—not saying anything until Nick speaks up.

“Why the fuck are you guys yelling?” He walks over to us and basically pushes Matt to grab the pregnancy test.

“Ohmygod.” Nick said more so to himself—than us.

I watched anxiously as Nick looked at Chris. I don’t know what he could possibly be thinking right now—but I know it wasn’t good.

“Why are you both so excited that Y/n is pregnant? Firstly who have you been sleeping with, you didn’t tell me about anyone—.”

Matt stopped Nick from talking, his hand slowly took the test from his brothers hand. Chris let out a low sigh as he walked to the sofa.

I followed after him, not wanting to be seen by Nick right now. Nick has always been so protective over me—so if he was going to find out this information I just knew that he was gonna need time—a lot of time to process this whole situation.

“Nick, let’s go to the sofa.” Matt softly spoke.

“Why am I going to the sofa? Why is everyone being so weird?” Nick started to speak with sass, his wrist being held in Matt’s hand.

Once they sat on the sofa next to us—Nick was sitting on my left side, Chris was on my right and Matt was sitting on Nicks left side.

“Nick…we’ve been meaning to tell you something.”

Nick rolled his eyes. He nodded and motioned with his hand to continue.

Chris rubbed my back softly as he spoke. I looked at his face in admiration.

“Three months ago Y/n and I kissed—this led to us confessing our feelings for eachother. But it wasn’t enough, she didn’t fully commit. Matt was still a factor in all of this.”

I watched as Chris glanced at me, then my lips. He licked his lips then gestured to Matt to speak.

“So when Chris told me about the kiss, I was pissed at first sure. I did always like Y/n, but—we both did.”

Chris smiled softly at me, his eyes were so kind. I felt Nick take my hand into his—he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Y/n, you’re dating—you’ve been with both of my brothers?”

I didn’t know how to respond to him. My head hang low as my hair covered any emotion that was starting to show on my face. Nick gently rubbed his thumb over the top of my hand.

“Nick I know—I know this can be a little weird.”

Nick cut my off my dropping my hand. He knew that what I just said, confirmed his suspicions. As he stood up he looked down at all three of us.

“You guys have been fucking behind my back!?”

He was speaking a bit louder now as Matt and Chris studied my reaction. They knew how easy it was for me to become anxious and, with me being pregnant—Nicks temper tantrum about a secret relationship, wasn’t helping.

“Nick shut the fuck up, you’re overreacting.” Chris’s voice was protective. He didn’t yell, simply spoke sternly.

Matt got up and placed his hands on Nicks shoulders. Nick started to tear up, feeling overwhelmed.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Y/n i’m your bestfriend. You guys are my brothers—we, we’re supposed to tell each other everything.”

Nicks blue eyes were glassy. He stared into my eyes—waiting for an answer. I couldn’t do anything but start crying, this day has been all too much for me. As I stood up, I started to walk away into the bathroom. But Nick stopped me.

“Y/n please, i’m sorry—i’m so sorry.”

He pulled me in for a hug. His hand would go up and down my back—which helped ease my nerves. His tears felt wet against my back, I didn’t care though. Nick was my bestfriend and we had hidden this for so long from him.

“Nick we’re sorry. We don’t even know why or how it got this far. We never intended on keeping you in the dark at all.” Matt spoke up, he wrapped his arms around both Nick and I.

Chris pouted, he also wrapped his arms around us. He wanted to make everyone go back to being happy—he hated whenever I would cry, especially his brother.

“I’m gonna be an uncle.” Nick chuckled as s tears spilled from his eyes.

He smiled down at me, hand on my belly. I nodded and hugged him even tighter.

“My baby’s, got a baby.” Chris laughed.

Matt sighed in annoyance at his corny joke. Once we all let each other go—Matt pulled me in for a hug.

“I love you so much baby.”

My lip couldn’t stop quivering, I felt so many emotions at once. It was so nerve racking to experience this—I was just so glad that I had these guys here with me.

“Heyy I love her more.” Chris whined which made me chuckle.

I looked at everyone, then starting talking.

“Guys, i’m really grateful for you. I uh—I wanted to say that because.” I placed a hand on my stomach and rubbed it.

“This is all so new for me…I don’t know if i’m gonna be a good mom—.”

Matt and Chris cut me off.

“You will. You’re gonna be a great mom.” They say in sync.

I laughed and nodded. Nick snapped a picture of us as they stood beside me. Chris smiled softly at me, his hand rubbing my stomach while Matt rubbed my back.

“Wait.” Nick pulled our attention back to him.

He was making a puzzled expression as he sat his phone down. He pulled my arm gently and stood me in front of him.

“So whose baby is it?”

My heart dropped. Nick saw my eyes widen in fear and anxiety. He quickly looked behind me to see what Matt and Chris’s expression was.

“It’s mine.” They both said.

Nick threw his head back—while closing his eyes and groaned. I sighed and then sat on the couch—cradling my knees to my chest. I was in my comfort position.

Chris walked up to me, he sat down.

“We didn’t use a condom.”

Nicks eyes shot open and he instantly stood up. He grabbed his phone.

“No no nope—talk about this when i’m out of the room.” Nick said as he walked upstairs—practically tripping.

“Chris I know we didn’t but—.”

Matt sat down on the side of me. He tucked some hair behind my ear. His voice cutting me off.

“—We didn’t use one either.”

Chris groaned. This was a discussion that none of us planned on having. I put my legs down and grabbed both of their hands.

“Guys we can just go to the hospital and get a dna test.”

Matt and Chris glanced at each other. They were communicating telepathically about something before they turned to me, then nodded.

1 Month later

After doing a dna test on finding out whose sperm actually reached my womb, today was the day we got the results in the mail.

Chris paced back and forth, Matt bit his fingernails even more—while I chewed on some oranges that Chris had bought me. My head rested on the living room pillow as Matt gave me Mr Wrinkleton to hold.

“Guys don’t be scared okay?”

Chris stopped pacing and looked at me. His body immediately became more calm—his eyes softened at his two favorite people on the couch.

Matt turned towards me and opened his mouth. I fed him an orange while Chris brought us the letter.

“Okay guys, remember it doesn’t matter whose actual kid it is—we’re gonna take care of it. Right Matt?”

Chris looked at Matt, who nodded and i smiled at the two boys.

“Okay im gonna open it.”

My hands took the letter from Chris’s—he sat next to me, while removing the orange peels. I then opened it. The paper was thin, it didn’t have many words on it just the usual scientific aspect of the dna test.

“The sperm that has reached the inside of Ms. Y/n L/N….”

I begin slowly. I look at Matt and Chris’s nervous reactions. Nick was at a space camp meeting, but he told me to tell him about it later on. I wish he was here right now.

“Belongs to….”

Chris squeezed my thigh, Matt stared intently at my lips as I spoke. The next words could change everything—every friendship and relationship we’ve built. They say they would raise the baby anyways but, how would they feel if it didn’t technically belong to them???

With a deep breath, I read the next words in my head. It left me shocked.

“—.”

Oh noo I wonder whose baby it is🙈🤭

tag list💌

@mattsweethart @mattspillowprincess @mattswrinkleton @angelcake-222 @chrissonnyangel @chrissleftshoe @chrisbratt333 @chrismalfoy @chrissfavgirlie @eeyoresturnz @eyesonmattyb @chrattvibe @chrattho1 @lyingonchris @liaisbroke @lezleeferguson-120 @passionfruitchris @lifecansmd @whore4chris @owensbabygirl @obsessedwiththesturniolos @theyluvivi @dolliraez @nickssidewitch @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @stvni0l0 @sturniolofruitloop @sturnispider

[thevoidstaredback]

The entire team on the case, minus Phantom, was gathered in the Watchtower once again, each team debriefing. They’d waited all of ten minutes for Phantom to show, but Batman considered the matter too time sensitive and moved forward with the debriefing.

Deadman, visible to the whole team thanks to a spell from Constantine, reported about the hauntings they found near each of the victim’s homes, conveniently leaving out the animosity between the group. Though, he did offhandedly mention that they work too fast to catch details. He also shared his suspicion about a Realms Being working with whoever they were working for.

Wonder Woman reported for her own team. She presented the files they’d found and printed, as well as the things they hadn’t printed. She let Batman take over the explanation about Amity Park’s lack of ruins.

“That’s because it’s not there anymore,” Deadman explained, “Because there were two portals in it for so long, and especially because it’d been pulled into the Realms before, it’s stuck going between Earth and the Realms. There’s nothing to be done about it. The magic the Ancients cast over it prevents anyone from getting in, so everything’s pretty safe.”

Batman hummed, but let the matter drop for the moment.

When it was his group's turn, Constantine was the one to give the report. He’d insisted that Red Robin would be too stiff about it. He got some stern reprimands from the heroes, minus Batman, when he mentioned pushed the al Ghul’s into the Lazarus Pit, though he ignored them all. He said he didn’t know what happened to them, only that they didn’t resurface. Zatanna spoke up to say that the Waters were drained and ready for Phantom to dispose of it.

Just as the last of the reports had been given, the back wall opened green and Phantom walked out. He ignored their looks as he walked to the front of his room. “Ra’s al Ghul has been imprisoned and will serve his sentence for his crimes within the Realms’ Prison. Talia al Ghul has been returned to serve her parol in Gotham under The Lady and her Knights.” He locked eyes with Batman, Red Robin, Zatanna, and Constantine. “I thank you for your assistance with them. What of the Lazarus Waters?”

Zatanna handed him a thermos from her bag. “We didn’t know what you wanted to do with the stuff, so we gathered as much as we could to see what you wanna do with it.”

He nodded in thanks. “The Coma patients?”

Deadman said, “We split up to cover more ground faster. There were traces of Realms Magic and hauntings near all their homes.”

Sadly, Phantom looked at the table and inhaled deeply. Then, he looked at the last group. “The G.I.W?”

“Absorbed into the DMS,” Raven answered, “They were possibly working with the LoA, though I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that any longer. We’ve got all their files for you to look at.”

“Good. And the portal?”

“Incomplete,” Wonder Woman said, “Though they seem to be quite far along in the planning process, but there’s been no actual building being done.”

He nodded again. “Thanks for your help, guys. I trust you can handle the rest on your own?”

“‘The rest’ being..?” asked Zatanna.

“Handling the G.I.W, making sure those people get the care they need.”

“And the Realms Being that was here?” Superman asked.

“She won’t be a bother any more.”

“Oh?”

“She Challenged, she lost. You don’t need to worry about her. There shouldn’t be any lasting effects from her possessing those people, but you can call for me if there is.”

“Hold on,” Red Robin spoke up, “They were possessed?”

Phantom shrugged. “There’s really not a way to tell, other than the Realms Magic Deadman mentioned, but it’s a pretty good guess. If not that, then it was Shade Magic, but the only lasting effect from that is stronger emotions for a bit.”

Deadman tilted his head. “A Shade Challenged you?”

“Yes,” Phantom repeated, “She lost.”

“Got it, boss.” The ghost mimed zipping his mouth closed.

After a moment, Captain Marvel raised his hand. At Phantom’s nod, he asked, “Are you okay?”

Phantom inhaled shakily. “No, but there’s nothing you can do to help, so don’t worry about it.”

The magic user nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.

“Anything else?” When no one spoke up after a minute, Phantom nodded once, and then let a portal open below him. On the other side, he let himself turn back into Danny before hiding in his pillow fort in the basement of the House of Mysteries.

Part 29 Storyboard

[frost-eyed-autumn]

He gives a small, helpless shrug.

"Well you've got me there," he says about the first line that appears. "You're right. You are more capable than I think you should be, and I really don't like it."

It's a small bit of honesty in place of what he doesn't want to talk about. Not directly, at any rate, until he knows more. He's not exactly someone who likes to show leeriness, but in this case, he thinks that maybe its advantageous to wear some of his tension on his sleeve. If she's genuinely not here for dubious reasons she's pretending not to have, he thinks -- or maybe just hopes, at least -- that it'll sway things, but that's a gamble regardless of why she's actually here.

"The fact of the matter is, I keep my secrets for a reason, and I can't very well go spouting them off to any random I barely know who asks. But, let's say that my assumptions about where you come from are correct. That significantly raises the chances that this is all a pointless conversation and a farce that you already know more than you're letting on, which would be a problem for me and my organization. Moreover, that would make you a threat, and I think I've already made it pretty clear how I deal with threats."

Of course, he's not suddenly become unaware to the fact that he's subtly making his own while his old wounds haven't yet fully healed, and whether she knows it or not, there's also the fact that the last time he went toe-to-toe with a Transcendent, the only reason he wasn't dead and turned into a literal puppet under control of that Ability was because he had Dazai there to help get him out of that bind.

And all things considered, he wasn't going to put it past her that Neo might have more to her Ability that she wasn't showing, the same as Rimbaud had many more tricks than anyone knew about until the day he tried to kill Chuuya. Even the vague possibility of a repeat attempt on his life, or capture, didn't appeal to him in the least.

(Neo might think his paranoia was unreasonable after working together so well, but Rimbaud had likewise seemed very meek and unthreatening -- until he wasn't.)

Still, whether she thinks it a bluff or not, he still had enough confidence in his own skills to make veiled threats at all, something he was sure she was sharp enough to weigh.

Another sip of his drink, he sets the empty cup down and crosses one leg over the other.

"Of course, if you don't want to tell me, it's not like I can just force it out of you, but..."

He trails off for just a split second with a brief flash of distance, before he can complete that thought, because he knows there are some questions he'd been asked when he was younger that he hadn't appreciated in the least. Very simple questions, as innocuous as where were you born? He had thrown a man off a third floor balcony for that, at one time, because the question pissed him off so much, before he knew anything beyond waking up as a lab rat that had been set loose.

The thought that maybe he's treading into similar, dangerous waters with her is enough to make him hesitate, internally fighting over whether he's personalizing the exchange too much.

Finally, he gives another helpless shrug that they've just circled back around to another impasse, reaching to refill his tea cup.

"Well, tell me or don't. I guess it really doesn't matter in the end. If you're not a threat, then it's a moot point, and if you are, it'll be dealt with, same as any other. Whatever will happen will happen, regardless."

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓, 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 this question, of all things. Honestly, she thought it would take him a lot longer to want to ask this again. Mostly because of how he's still so dead set on keeping his own secrets. It's a little funny, in a way; he wants to know, but he doesn't want to be known. Nakahara Chuuya wants to keep all his secrets, including the one about whatever it is that has his boss so certain he'll be fine within the week, when Neo's come to find that the expected healing time in this world for something like that is far, far longer.

Setting down the teacup she's picked up after taking a sip, Neo gives him a very mild look, and then tilts her head. Words appear like subtitles as she looks from her plate to him, pressing her lips into a thin line of- not disapproval, but tension. A clear indication that as Chuuya predicted, she's not exactly happy about the way he's chosen to start the conversation.

The word 'transcendent' gets a reaction out of her though- but it's a laugh, rather than anything else. Ah, a couple of letters off, but it sounds like it could be something close enough... or nothing like what she is at all. Really, there's only one way to know for certain, and it's to find out what he means... which may be easier said, she thinks, than done.

That's a long way of saying 'you're a lot more capable than I think you should be and I don't like it'. It's also a lot of demands for me to tell you all about me while you get to keep secrets.

Leaning back in her seat, she shifts, one leg folding over the other, arms crossing, palms cupping the opposite elbows.

So tell me, how exactly is any of that fair? If you want me to trust you enough to tell you who I am and where I'm from... Then I expect a little reciprocity first. Asking a lady for her secrets is quite the impolite thing to do, after all. You should at least offer up a trade.

Not that she thinks he will- and if he doesn't, she doesn't plan on answering. The how and why of who she is and how she got where she is are complicated things. Things she can't just write down or explain with nothing but gestures. They're stories that have to be told- not because she thinks the sound is necessary, but the intent is. Not understanding that is basically missing the point.

Despite her stubbornness on the matter, there's no irritation in her face. Only a kind of weariness. A resignation that implies she knows she's not getting out of here without telling him more than she really wants to- but also a determination to not be the only one spilling her guts.

[hayakawalove]

Test of Love (Chapter Eleven)

Chapter Eleven

All Chapters

Summary: Suguru and Satoru try to locate the missing prisoners while you do some investigating of your own.

A/N: Have you guys forgotten about me yet? This chapter is short, but I couldn't figure out how to make it longer with it fitting with the story. I know people don't like short chapters, and I hope the quality isn't too bad. I don't think it is, but I don't want my readers feeling like I don't care about the story anymore because that isn't true. I would love to know your thoughts. Thank you!

CW: SFW, Descriptions of violence W/C: 3,468

Credit to benkeibear for the banner

Suguru rarely fought with anyone. In fact, he made an effort not to. It gave him an odd feeling, like a tearing in his chest. He really hated it. 

If he had to guess the reason, it would probably be due to his childhood. It always comes down to that, doesn’t it? You spend the majority of your life as an adult, if you’re lucky, yet the actions that happen in your first years can change who you are so drastically. 

He was an only child, but that didn’t mean he never was around fighting. His parents fought often. Never in front of him. 

Well, never intentionally in front of him. 

They would spend hours at night yelling at each other, but then give him a huge fake smile the next day. Suguru wonders if that’s where he got his own from. He wonders what else he might have inherited from his parents that wasn’t only surface level. 

He and Satoru had been out for hours, looking over several miles by the school to see if they could find any cursed energy that matched those of the lost prisoners. He didn’t have Satoru’s eyes, so he found the task harder than most missions he went on. He was able to look from the skies due to his stingray, but still he couldn’t find anything. Suguru watches as he scans his eyes over the city, ripping apart small details to see if he could find anything. 

He couldn’t. 

Suguru didn’t see Satoru either. Not that he needed to to know he was getting restless. Satoru was unusually quiet. Normally he would’ve called at least four times by now.  

If Satoru had his way he would be staying out for another five hours at least, but Suguru’s here to stop him. When arguing with Satoru the previous day he phrased his request in a way to make it seem like he wanted to find the curse users, which he did, but more than anything he just wanted to be around Satoru. After all this time of being a sorcerer Satoru still doesn’t know how to pace himself. Not that it’s entirely his fault. 

Suguru flips open his phone and dials his boyfriend, the ringing tone frustrating him the longer it goes on. Satoru really must’ve been focused. 

“What?” Satoru asks when he answers, voice void of any emotion. 

Suguru makes a mental note to remind Satoru of the term ‘manners’ later. He clears his throat and scans the area, his eyes fluttering about to see if he could spot a bundle of white hair. 

“I think it’s time for a break.” Suguru responds, hoping this conversation will go over easy. 

“Okay, take a break.” 

Suguru breathes in deeply and lands his stingray, jumping off. He understood where Satoru was coming from, but he would be of no use if he was exhausted. 

“For both of us.” Suguru keeps his voice strong, already attuned to the fact that neither of them back down very easily. 

Suguru reaches an arm out to stretch, biting his tongue at the shooting pain going up his muscles. He had been at this lifestyle for a decade now, but it never got any easier on the body.

The line goes quiet for a moment, lasting so long that Suguru has to check if he’s still on the phone. After a minute he hears a whisk of air before Satoru stands in front of him. 

Suguru’s lips part. He wasn’t expecting that. He was prepping for a long winded rant about how he can’t take a break, how someone needs to do it. Occasionally it makes Suguru pissed to see how indoctrinated Satoru’s beliefs are about himself. Always a weapon, never a boy. It was true that Satoru was the greatest sorcerer of the current age, but it was also true that he was utterly and completely human. 

“Alright, but I need to make a stop first.” Satoru says, steps steady as he heads towards Suguru. 

~~~

The paper feels as though it’s on fire in your pocket. The reminder of the words that were written on the note stews in your head. You’d never heard of anything like it. Infiltrating the school and asking someone to join you? It was almost laughable. It really wasn’t, though. You weren’t laughing when you first found the note, and you certainly aren’t laughing now. You feel the need to rip the paper to shreds, if only to make yourself feel a little bit better. For now, you’d have to keep it. 

You knew Satoru said not to tell Suguru, but you didn’t like that. There was no way you would keep this a secret from your boyfriend. When you called Suguru, the line crackled. He was at home, from the sounds of it doing dishes. Once you were finished speaking, the line went quiet. Your voice filled the space, but he cut you off. All he said was quiet ‘thank you for telling me’, before he hung up. 

It felt better knowing you relayed the information. You weren’t sure if lying was common in their relationship, but you refused to do it. You check the time on your phone, noticing that Satoru and Suguru went home two hours ago. They would have told you if they found anything, so you’re thinking that must mean they hadn’t as of right now. 

Before your brain starts to race, you finally reach your destination. The records. All of the files of curse users and curses were in this room. You glanced over Kawaguchi’s file when you first started looking into this, but there was a chance you missed something. You also wanted to see for yourself that Itsuki didn’t have any records here. 

The room is empty which you’re so glad for. There was no way you could search through all of this with someone around you. Stacks of papers fill the area as you inch your way through, trying to figure out where their files would be. 

After searching for Itsuki’s file you come up empty handed, just like you knew you would. 

You do end up finding Kawaguchi’s file. Once you finally retrieve it, your fingers dig into it. It’s a big file, filled with all of his ‘endeavors’. You find a chair and start to flip through. From the age of 14 Kawaguchi has been involved with crime. It began with fires, which wasn’t all that surprising. He targeted empty homes, going after their possessions before lighting the place up to hide any evidence. Then he started to hurt people. At first he went after older women, for obvious reasons. 

A real stand up guy. 

Towards the end of his files when your eyes begin to get bleary and the words blur together you find something interesting. A few years ago he got captured by some sorcerers who then decided to further question him. In the interview he had, he mentions a tool. The knife of persuasion. You’ve heard of it before. In a way. It was only ever in passing, in hushed tones that made you doubt if you were really hearing anything at all. It’s a knife that’s said to bring out the true desires of those around it. 

One of the more notable accounts was a woman using it against her cheating husband. She had no records of being violent prior, and even still she managed to stab her husband 50 times. She didn’t even recall the incident after, not even when his blood was dripping from her hands and she was in custody. Another time it was used was by a disgruntled office worker on his boss. The knife wasn’t intimidating in stature by any means. It looked utterly ordinary, which somehow made it worse. There was a black handle that led up to the slick metal, sharpened to the best of its abilities. The sheath that covered the metal was the only thing stopping it from influencing those around it, but once it was off then it was fully capable of tearing down towns. 

It’s a special grade weapon, and is currently locked away in Jujutsu High. It should be, anyway. You feel the need to check to make sure it’s still there, if only for your own peace of mind. 

You rise to your feet, placing the folder on the chair you sat on. The room where it was held wasn’t too far away. Is it possible that that’s what they were talking about taking? Your feet carry you to the room, a pit forming in your chest. It would be there, wouldn’t it? 

Darkness was beginning to fall outside, and the dim white lights were starting to illuminate the hallway. Once you arrive at the weapons locker, your heart races the moment you reach for the handle, turning it to find a room full of cursed tools. The energy of the room makes your skin tingle as you enter, your eyes drifting across the area. You finally locate the knife, and a wave of relief washes over you. They hadn’t found it. If that’s even what they were looking for. There wasn’t any other thing you could think of. You should tell Satoru, you tell yourself as you close the door again. 

You open your phone as you begin to walk back to the records room. It rings a couple of times before you’re finally connected to Satoru. 

“Hey.” He replies, voice without any youthful joy, the kind you’re used to. 

“I think I know what they’re after.” 

You explain the knife to him, waiting for a response once you finish talking. He isn't as talkative as normal, and the idea of that causes your throat to dry. It adds up. He’s been using his technique for hours, you can’t imagine what he must be feeling like. 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. The school’s the safest place for it to be right now, let’s leave it there.” 

Is it? 

“They’ve been attacking the school and managed to escape.” 

“Usually their attacks aren’t inside the school. There’s probably something stopping that, whether it be the barrier we have or something else.”

True, but you had this nagging feeling in your brain. 

“I don’t think that’s the case anymore, Satoru. They escaped. How would they have done that? Either they used their techniques to get out, which you would’ve noticed, or someone came in to get them. Is keeping it here really the best idea?” 

Not that you knew what the best idea was. 

“That’s true. We’ll just move it constantly so they don’t learn where it is. Only first grade sorcerers and above should be the ones handling it. ” 

That’s not a bad idea. 

“I have to go, talk to you later.” He hangs up, and the quietness of the hall instantly surrounds you. 

Usually you weren’t the one on the receiving end of his short phone calls, but you understood. Hopefully he’ll  be feeling much better by the time you see him next. 

You walk back to the room where you had been for hours, feeling like you’re finally getting somewhere with the situation. Your feet take you back to the chair where you don’t find the file. 

Interesting. 

You thought you put it there. 

It’s possible that you moved it to a different location. 

When you look around you note that there were no signs that anyone else had been in the room besides you, so that must have been the case. There was still half the file left you wanted to read, but you really didn’t feel like searching for it again. There were files everywhere, and you needed a breath of fresh air. 

It would have to wait. The files weren’t going anywhere. You turn around, walking right back out. You debate calling Suguru to tell him what you discovered, but you figure Satoru would probably tell him. That being said, it seems like Satoru doesn’t want him to know everything about the case. You don't know why. 

That isn't true. 

You have an idea why, you just think Satoru’s wrong. 

Suguru may have had a moment back in highschool, but that was years ago. He seems normal now. As normal as one could be when being a sorcerer. Satoru can’t treat Suguru like this forever. You almost feel like you don't have the place to tell him that. They’ve been in a relationship for years. You’ve only recently joined. Yet still, you feel the need to say something. 

As you walk out of the room and out the door of the school you keep your eyes on your feet. You feel good about your discovery, but you also feel a little bad about how Satoru’s feeling. Ideas pop in your head about what you could do for him. Get him candy? A present? You’d have to do some more thinking. 

You weren't planning on going to their house for the night, as you hadn’t been home in a really long time. You thought it would be nice to finally be in your own bed. Your apartment looks all too small once you arrive. Everything is neat, but it was obvious you hadn’t been here in a long time. It feels lonely as you walk into your bedroom, trying to decide what you wanted to do for the night. It would be smart to go straight to bed, but your brain was too awake. You really enjoyed being a sorcerer, but sometimes it wore on you. 

Deciding that you need to get rest, you force yourself to do your night routine. The act goes by in a blur and suddenly you’re in your pajamas, your body colliding with your mattress. 

Your lids feel heavy as the blankets surround you, providing you warmth. While you were at home in your bed, your mind was still racing. There was almost no way they could have gotten out on their own. That was true, yet they still managed to do it. That or someone else snuck them out. Was that even possible? You run through all of the techniques you’ve heard about so far, thinking about whether or not they would be capable of bypassing the school's barriers. 

You remember the mission the boys went on in high school, vague details spawning in your brain. Someone did sneak on campus then, but only because they weren’t like a normal person, or even sorcerer for that matter. Could it have been possible that you were going against someone like that again? 

It seemed doubtful, considering the boys had already fought against that once. You would think they would know what to look for if that were the case. 

Still. 

The darkness in the room crawls up your skin. You had never been afraid of the dark, but lately it’s been slowly getting to you. Is it because you knew what hid in it? 

Your phone vibrates beside you, the sound making your heart skip a beat. You slap your hand around until it makes contact with the metal, and you flip it around squinting your eyes when the screen flashes.

Only one person would be texting you this late. 

Satoru: I think I might be onto something

You toss onto your back, holding your phone above you as the words slowly start to form meaning in your brain. 

You: about the case? 

Satoru: yeah

You: have you told Suguru about it? 

You were hoping the answer would be yes, but half afraid that it wouldn't be. It was hard to imagine Satoru keeping things from Suguru before this case, but now you weren’t so sure. 

Satoru: you gonna snitch on me again? 

You think the tone is meant to be light, playful even, but it doesn’t translate well over text. The moment’s making you wish he was in front of you, the scent of his cologne and his comforting presence surrounding you fully. 

You: if I have to

Satoru: relax, he was the first to know

Your lips twitch at that. Suguru must’ve been feeling the exact same. For how long they’ve been together, you imagine any large fights make them feel uneasy. 

Satoru: although I’m not even really sure myself

Well that didn’t happen often. Satoru was a lot of things, one of those things being confident. Others might mistake it for egotistical, but you knew better. The longer you worked with him the more you understood the fine line between the two traits. To the untrained eye he may seem full of himself, but the closer you look you would see the truth. He didn’t say anything he couldn’t do. 

You: what is it? 

Satoru: can you meet tomorrow? After work? 

There wasn’t anything else you’d be doing. Besides maybe looking for the curse users, but your technique wasn’t meant for locating things. You wish it was. It left you feeling nearly useless at the time you needed it most. Once you found them you’d be able to use your technique, but for now all you could do was wait and go where you were needed. 

You: yeah

Satoru: come to my place when you get off

You: will Suguru be there?

Satoru: I think he’s going to be out of the house, but I’ll tell him everything before he goes.

The bed beneath you feels slightly more softer knowing that you might finally be getting somewhere in the case. Whether that was true or not would be a test for tomorrow. It was getting strange seeing Satoru so uneasy about everything, so this made you feel a little better, even if what he found didn’t pan out. Not only that, but you might have found what they were looking for. It was one of the biggest issues about the case. 

You try to remember who had the weapon. Thinking back to earlier in the day, your brain hazy on the details. It was Nanami, you think. It made the most sense. Out of everyone you knew, Nanami was the most likely to have the least amount of ulterior motives. He didn’t like work, but he didn’t hate it enough to murder anybody. The sheath acted as a fail safe, but all it takes is one wrong move before it’s removed. It wasn’t widely known that the knife could be what the two were after, only a select few being told the news. Like Satoru said earlier, the knife wouldn't be left to one person. It would have to change hands at some point, just so they wouldn't have a lead to its whereabouts. 

Who would be next?

You really didn’t want it to be you. You don’t think you had ulterior motives, or a feeling strong enough to act on it. You didn’t want to test it. It was hard to imagine what the pull of the blade would even feel like. On the off chance that you did feel strongly about something, you didn’t want to be left with the option to hurt anyone with a knife as serious as the one in question. 

Satoru could watch it, but you doubted the higher ups would let him. He definitely had ulterior motives when it came to them, and he was already strong enough as is. Then there was Suguru. He wasn’t an employee, but then again neither was Nanami. There was also the fact of his history. Satoru said Suguru would never do anything bad now, and you believed him, but is it possible he might still hold some type of feelings towards the school? 

You didn’t want to test it. 

This was Suguru you were talking about. Loving, kind, gentle Suguru. The guy who would make you food at all hours of the day if only you asked. The guy who talked to you for hours about books. It was hard to imagine him being capable of anything harmful. 

The fact was that he was capable, more than capable. His hands had been groomed for combat since he was a teenager. You saw the look in his eyes when he thought back to his high school years. There was a chance he wanted to get back at the school for what happened. 

The uncertainty causes you to tug the blanket up further, your chin smooshing down into it. The past month has been more eventful than your entire life, you think. Two good men, two evil men, and a knife to top it all off. You turn over and feel a crawling sensation up your back, but when you turn your head around there’s nothing but your room around you. You definitely needed to rest. Pushing all thoughts aside, your eyes slowly droop closed until you fall asleep, your dreams completely blank for the first time in a long time.

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[promptfairy]

❥    𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐁𝐘   [ 𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ] .

adapted from f. scott fitzgerald’s 1925 novel. many lines have been altered to be more roleplay-friendly. change gendered language and add context to your needs. happy roleplaying!! ♡

❛  whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.  ❜

❛ i’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things.  ❜

❛ you remind me of a rose, an absolute rose. ❜

❛ i’ve had a very bad time, [name], and i’m pretty cynical about everything. ❜

❛ that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world. a beautiful little fool. ❜

❛  i like large parties. they’re so intimate. at small parties there isn’t any privacy. ❜

❛ whenever he sees i’m having a good time he wants to go home. ❜

❛ you’re a rotten driver. either you ought to be more careful or you oughtn’t to drive at all. ❜

❛ i hate careless people. that’s why i like you. ❜

❛ i don’t want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories you hear. ❜

❛ i usually find myself among strangers because i drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me. ❜

❛ you’re acting like a little boy. ❜

❛ i’m delighted to see you. i’m delighted that you dropped in. ❜

❛ by god, i may be old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to suit me. ❜

❛ if you want to kiss me any time during the evening, just let me know and i’ll be glad to arrange it for you. ❜

❛ you can’t repeat the past. ❜

❛ can’t repeat the past? why of course you can! ❜

❛ you dream, you. you absolute little dream. ❜

❛ what’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon? and the day after that, and the next thirty years? ❜

❛ life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall. ❜

❛ you look so cool … you always look so cool. ❜

❛ you think i’m pretty dumb, don’t you? ❜

❛ we’re getting old. if we were young we’d rise and dance. ❜

❛ what kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow? ❜

❛ you’re causing a row. please have a little self control. ❜

❛ i suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let mr. nobody from nowhere make love to your wife. ❜

❛ i know i’m not very popular. ❜

❛ i don’t give big parties. i suppose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends—in the modern world. ❜

❛ your wife doesn’t love you. she’s never loved you. she loves me. ❜

❛ once in a while i go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but i always come back, and in my heart i love you all the time. ❜

❛ i never loved him. ❜

❛ oh, you want too much! i love you now—isn’t that enough? ❜

❛ i did love him once—but i loved you too. ❜

❛ there’re things between [name] and i that you’ll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget. ❜

❛  i’m going to take better care of you from now on. ❜

❛ you’ve got to pull yourself together. ❜

❛ there i was, way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden i didn’t care. ❜

❛ they’re a rotten crowd. you’re worth the whole damn bunch put together. ❜

❛ you weren’t so nice to me last night. ❜

❛ you may fool me but you can’t fool god! ❜

❛ i don’t give a damn about you now but it was a new experience for me and i felt a little dizzy for a while. ❜

❛ it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. i thought you were an honest, straightforward person. ❜

❛ i’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor. ❜

❛ you’re crazy, [name]. crazy as hell. i don’t know what’s the matter with you. ❜

[runforthehillsbestie]

Broken Lullaby

Part 3 - savior of my dreams

Pairing - Brahms Heelshire x Female reader

Read the story context here Minimal proofreading, Brahms makes his first appearance!

After the incident with the cookies and the list that had been scribbled over, you'd checked the entire house with Alex. There wasn't a single hint that anyone other than the two of you had been in the house; all the windows were locked, and so was the front door and the door in the kitchen. The only explanation was that the culprit had a key. You forced Alex to leave before you called Thorton. They didn't want to go, but you didn't want him to know you'd had a guest over. You only called Thorton once they'd left, glancing nervously over your shoulder as you stood by the landline. 

"Someone was here," you had said in a rush. "And they've been messing with me. I checked everywhere, but I can't figure out how they got in unless they had a key--" 

Thorton sighed on the other end. "I know what this is about," he'd said. "I'll be over in fifteen minutes." 

You spent those minutes pacing, biting your nails, and staying on the alert for any strange noises. You caught a glimpse of yourself in that mirror on the wall, and you were a little surprised by how terrible you looked. You chanced a visit to the bathroom to wash your face and smooth your hair back so you didn't look like a complete mess. Thorton arrived as soon as he'd promised and sat you down in the kitchen, preparing a warm cup of soothing chamomile tea for you before he sat down and gave you that look that you'd come to associate with when a person was about to say something ridiculous. 

True to your expectations, he took a deep breath and said, "Do you believe in the paranormal?" 

"Please," you rolled your eyes. "Don't try to gaslight me into thinking it was a ghost or something." 

"Not at all," he said quickly. "It was Brahms." 

"How is that any better? He's been dead for years. Unless you're talking about the doll, in either case, we're still talking about a dead boy." You sigh and rub your forehead, feeling a headache beginning to build. 

"Have you broken any of the rules?" You almost choke on your tea because how the hell did he guess it so quickly? 

You look at him sheepishly, and there's no need to say anything because he can see the answer in your sheepish face. 

"Those rules are there for a reason," Thorton says. "Be good to Brahms and he will be good to you." 

"I don't believe in ghosts," you insist. "Are you sure there isn't someone doing this intentionally to try and make me feel like I'm going crazy?" 

"How about I have the locks changed?" Thorton says. "Feel free to experiment with bending the rules, but I assure you, things will be much better if you follow them." His tone is clipped, but he sounds more disappointed than angry.

You lean back in your chair, resolving to do just that. The next couple of days are filled with experiments. You skip a random rule here and there just to see what happens; some of your things go missing, only for you to find them in the strangest of places. Music plays at random times in the day, scaring you when classical music or an opera suddenly disturbs the quiet. You don't get much sleep as the house groans and squeaks at night like a living, breathing entity. Despite yourself, you're beginning to question everything you know.

Maybe possessed dolls really do exist. This one certainly seems real enough. You've kept a close eye on it, and sometimes when you look away or put your back to it for just a few minutes, it's looking straight at you when you turn around again. You've decided there's no way there's anyone in the house. It's just you and the doll. What the hell do you do with that realization? You're looking after a possessed doll. The one rule you've ignored since you got here is the last one: kiss goodnight. You've been wondering what will happen if you do everything right, if you check each thing off the damn list. So you try that too.

You even read aloud, cringing at the sound of your voice. At the end of the day, you tuck the doll into its bed. Am I really about to do this? You lean down and press your lips to the doll's forehead and promptly nick your lip on the shards of porcelain that have been glued back to its face. 

"Ouch, I totally had that coming." You shake your head and head off to clean up. 

Music comes on downstairs. You're used to it by now and refuse to let it bother you, simply humming along to the music as you scrub your hair and take a long, luxurious shower, shaving and even using a scented body lotion afterwards, because it feels good to treat yourself now and then. Afterwards, you're drying your hair with a spare towel with another towel wrapped around you, trudging to your bedroom when you notice the door to Brahms's bedroom is ajar. You always close it, but each time it finds a way to open again. You're reaching out to pull the door shut when you notice the doll is looking towards the door. You shake your head wryly. 

"Goodnight, creepy little thing." You step into your bedroom and hesitate, glancing at the closet, where you've placed your vibrator. 

You'd packed it, although you hadn't expected to get enough peace and quiet to use it. But now there's no need to be secretive, is there? You're the only one in the house. You fish it out and flick it on. It buzzes to life, promising a decent amount of pleasure. It's nothing special but you make yourself cum and lie for a few minutes in the afterglow. The house is quiet and peaceful, like whatever entity roams the halls is content for once. 

Thorton is right, you decide. Following the rules is much easier.

Two more days pass. You fall into a routine of writing and hitting your deadlines and making sure to tick things off what you’ve taken to calling “The Brahms List”. You sand the sharp edges on the doll so that you can end each day with a comfortable kiss. It's raining today, though you don’t notice until you look up from your desk because you're listening to downloaded music with noise-cancelling headphones, making the most of the no-internet situation. Your wrists ache from being held in the same position against your keyboard, and your eyes feel gritty when you blink. You save your work and turn off your laptop, folding your glasses and putting them back in the case. As you head out of your room, you step in a puddle of water, the icy temperature a shock to your foot. 

Where is it coming from? 

You follow the trail and realize it's coming from the attic. Water drips down from the seam of the trapdoor. You haven't been up there yet, but now it looks like you have to. The stairs unfold and drop down with a bang when you pull on the string hanging from the ceiling. You climb up, on high alert for spiders or bats.

Old houses like these can have all sorts of things hiding in them. The attic is cluttered and dusty, and the air is stale thanks to this room not having been aired out in years. The rain is coming through a crack in the wall where the wood has been splintered, letting the elements through. You examine the damage, which looks pretty fresh, since the wood isn't faded and discolored. That would explain why the Heelshires haven't fixed it yet. For now, you try stretching a piece of cloth over the small hole to block the rain. It's not perfect, but it's better than nothing. You turn to leave, and as you do, a picture album catches your eye. Unlike everything else, it's hardly dusty, like it was only recently placed on top of a stack of boxes. 

Much to your delight, you discover it's an album full of pictures of Brahms. You decide to take it downstairs with you, and as you tuck it under your arm, a loose photograph falls out. It's Brahms at about seven or eight, standing behind a girl who's smiling impishly at the camera. He doesn't look very happy, a distracted expression on his face as he gazes away. You find it hard to believe a child could do something so horrific. In the kitchen, you leave it on the table and resolve to look at it later. The ancient phonebook doesn't look like it's going to be much help, so you call the number Thorton gave you instead. 

"Thorton residence," a crisp female voice says on the other end. 

"Hi, I'm the babysitter for the Heelshires." 

"Yes, of course," she says. "How are you faring?" 

"Fine, thank you. Can I speak to Mr. Thorton?" 

"I'm afraid not. He had a bit of a fall just this morning, and he's currently having a nap. I don't want to wake him." 

"I'm sorry to hear that. I hope he isn't badly hurt?" 

"Thankfully no, but the doctor says he's to take it easy for a couple of days. Do you need anything?" 

"There's a leak in the roof, and I was wondering if it could be repaired? It's leaking pretty badly," you say, leaning against the wall. 

"I can call for someone to swing by sometime today?" 

"That would be great, thank you. Please tell Mr. Thorton I hope he gets well soon." 

The woman chuckles. "That's very kind of you. Will do." 

You hang up and head to the kitchen to begin cooking. As you walk through the hall, there's a heavy thump against the wall, and a painting tilts on the wall. The first couple of times it happened, it scared you witless, but you've come to realize it's just the doll's way of expressing displeasure. 

"I know, I learned my lesson," you say, straightening the painting. "No guests. But that hole needs to get fixed sooner than later, so suck it up, buddy." 

You put your headphones back on and continue listening to music as you cook. You're so engrossed in your task that you don't notice the person who enters the room and comes up behind you. Suddenly, a hand touches your shoulder, and you shriek and spin around, raising the potato peeler in self-defense. The man takes a step back and raises a hand in surrender. He's holding a toolbox and wearing a handyman jacket with a name tag that says Doug. His mouth moves, but you can't hear him. You push your headphones down, and finally, you can hear what he's saying. 

"Sorry. I knocked, but no one answered, so I came around to the back door, which was unlocked, so I let myself in." 

"Oh." Your shoulders slump, and you lean against the counter. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone this soon. Did Mrs. Thorton send you?" 

"That she did. I normally don't come this far out, but the Heelshires pay extra." 

"Yeah, they're generous people." You wash your hands and dry them. 

"Hush money, I call it," the repairman says as you lead him to the second floor. 

"Pardon?" 

"Because this place is haunted, or something. I came here with a team about a month ago to repair some broken walls. Only took a day or so, but it was enough to frighten a couple of the men." He laughs. "I don't believe it myself, but to each their own, I guess. Say, do you work out?" 

"Why do you ask?" 

"You've got nice legs, that's all," he says.

Your skin crawls as you skitter the rest of the way up the stairs. When you get to the ladder that leads to the attic you make him go first, feigning a fear of spiders. He gets all macho about it, as if that'll impress you. 

"Oh, this won't take too long to fix," he says. "Just a couple patches here and there, and it'll be good as new." 

While it's no longer raining, there's a puddle of water on the floor. You go back down to fetch some old towels from the cupboard in the bathroom. By the time you return, he's already working. You lay down the towels, letting them soak up the water before you crouch and squeeze them out into a bucket, repeat the process until the floor is dry. 

"How's it coming on?" Doug asks from almost on top of you. 

You shoot off the floor and slip on a damp spot, losing your balance. 

He catches you with an arm around your back, getting way too close as he asks, "You alright?" 

"I will be if you stop touching me," you bite out because Doug is giving off major sleazeball vibes. 

"Right, right, sorry," he says. He takes a step back. "You know, I'd bet it gets boring out here. Maybe you'd like to go into town and have some fun? Banell's Pub has two drinks for the price of one on weekdays." 

"I see," you say flatly, narrowing your eyes. 

He smiles. "Any chance I can get your number?" 

Ever since that comment on the stairs, he's had your hackles raised, so you don't even bother entertaining the question. 

"No."

His smile falls off his face. "Really? That's it?" 

"If you're done, I'd like you to leave." 

His eyes darken. "There's no need to get so testy. It's just drinks." 

"I’m not interested. Now, can you leave?" You turn away with a scowl, but he grabs your arm. 

"Come on, let me change your mind." 

"No! Let go of my arm!" You snap. 

Annoyed, he shoves you away, and you hit your head on a coat-stand with a yelp. 

"Fuck, let me see. Are you hurt?" He grabs your head and studies your scalp. 

Your head is beginning to pound as though the impact has triggered a migraine. With him standing this close, you can feel the body heat radiating off of him and smell his overbearing cologne, which only makes you more dizzy. You can tell the moment he stops being concerned about your head and starts thinking about kissing you. You want to pull away, but he has his mitts on your head, which is an alarmingly disarming position you've never been in before. Normally, you wouldn't be so vulnerable, but the world is spinning, and all you can think about is how much you'd hate for him to force a kiss on you. 

"Brahms!" You call out, hoping the doll will do something, anything. Make some furniture fall on Doug's foot, maybe. 

Doug freezes, his lips comically puckered. "Did you just summon the spirit of a dead boy?" 

"I thought you said you didn't believe in ghosts," you retort, blinking as your vision starts to go fuzzy. God, not now, you think desperately. 

"That's right, I don't." He sort of lunges at your face with his mouth, and you hastily put your hand up, cringing at the feeling of his warm lips connecting with your palm.

Downstairs, there's a discordant array of sounds. Something smashes, and there's a thump against the ladder that rattles the whole thing. You shove at Doug, but he just continues to hold you. 

"I thought you were the only one here," he says with a frown. 

"I thought so too," you reply, your terrible situation forgotten in the face of a possible intruder. 

"Who's there?" Doug calls out. "Come up here, don't be a twat!" 

Whoever it is starts to come up, and you hold your breath in anticipation. A large man climbs up the ladder and pauses, looking at you. With his frame and height, he's already intimidating enough, but the mask he wears makes him downright eerie. It looks like a bigger version of the doll's face, and you have to squint thanks to your intermittently blurry vision, but you can see it's cracked down the middle. Cracked just like the doll. Dark eyes gaze at you through the eye holes in the mask. Doug curses. 

"Who the fuck are you, mate?" He says. 

"It's Brahms," you whisper. "The mask--" 

"Nah, it's just some wanker who wants to have a laugh." Doug releases you, stepping towards the man. 

You wouldn't say Doug is short, but he looks puny in comparison to this man. He tries to throw a punch, which Brahms intercepts with one hand. He's holding a broken fire poker in the other hand, and he promptly sticks it into Doug's eye. You scream as blood spurts onto the floor, and Doug drops to his knees and then flat on his face, making a gut-wrenching animal sound of pain. You back away and bump into an old dummy on a stand, which rattles, catching the attention of the man. Brahms says your name in a small, childlike voice. 

"You called for me. I came." His high-pitched voice cracks slightly, hinting at a much deeper voice. 

You shake your head and sink to the floor, unable to stop staring at the pool of blood that's beginning to form. Your vision goes double. This can't be happening. It has to be a dream. The floorboards creak as the man edges closer. Wake up. WAKE UP, you chant in your head. Just before the man reaches you, your vision goes black.

…Music is playing somewhere. 

You open your eyes and groan at the pounding ache in your skull. You're sprawled on the attic floor. You sit up slowly and look around. The attic is empty. It's still raining, but the hole has been fixed, and no more water is coming in. The floor is spotless. No dead body and not a single fleck of blood. You rub your eyes. Maybe that was all some kind of vivid hallucination or daydream? You've had awful headaches before that had you losing time and forgetting things, but nothing like this. But Brahms... You shiver as you remember his soft voice, almost a whisper. You ease down the ladder on high alert, but the house is cold and empty. The doll is in the foyer where you left him, head turned towards you, his painted eyes accusing.

"There's no way," you mumble to yourself, picking up the doll and staring at its cracked face.

"Are you really alive, Brahms? Have you been here all along?" 

That would make him thirty-something years old. 

You try to recall what he looked like, but thanks to how foggy your head was at the time, all you remember is the very real glimmer of his eyes behind that mask. You take the doll with you as you trudge to the bathroom to take some painkillers. Somehow, holding it makes you feel safer. The phone rings and you pick up the call from your bedroom, sinking onto the edge of the bed. 

"Hello?" 

"This is Mrs. Thorton. I hope I'm not bothering you?" 

"Not at all." 

"Tomorrow is delivery day, but Charles is not to move around, so he won't be able to bring them by. Could I trouble you to pick them up from ours? We're only fifteen minutes away."

"No problem. When should I come?" 

"Tomorrow, at any time that's convenient for you. I'm an early riser. There's a big sign that says Broadhurst Farm. You can't miss it," Mrs. Thorton says and then hangs up. 

You sit for a while and listen to the opera music playing downstairs. Then you take a deep breath and tell yourself to snap out of it. You don't know anything for certain, and all you're doing is scaring yourself. Yesterday, you found a recipe book tucked away in the kitchen cupboard. You want to try making shepherd's pie since it looks easy enough. There are also some vegetables in the fridge that you need to use up. You grab the doll and stride downstairs purposefully.

You check that both the front door and back door are locked to make sure you don't have a repeat of someone just letting themselves in and proceed to demolish the kitchen with the efforts of your cooking. The result is delicious, though, so you decide all the mess is worth it. As you wash the dishes, you think you see the shadows in the hall move, but there's never anyone there. You put the doll in his bed and straighten his pajamas. 

"Um, I don't know what I saw and how much of it was real, but thank you for saving me. Be good tonight, Brahms," you say with a quick kiss to his forehead. 

You can't shake the feeling that you're being watched. Once you're in your room, you lock the door and prop a chair under the handle. It feels a little silly, but until you can get some answers from Thorton, you can never be too careful. That night, you have an unpleasant dream that you're standing in an infinite hallway with flickering lamps, and a soft voice is calling your name from the void at the end of it. 

"Come back," the voice whispers, but when you try to run, it changes to a deeper octave, wailing. "Don't leave me! I won't let you!"

Next part (Coming Soon)

@runforthehillsbestie

[raayllum]

gonna keep this 'brief' for once in my life:

blanket statement i think it's crappy to publicly post private DMs clearly sent to you in confidence In General. this is true no matter the person or situation! i think it's deeply shameful that anyone would think that having personal DMs publicly shared is remotely okay, let alone something to be supported or sympathized with and not like, a huge violation of trust, privacy, and feelings of personal safety. even if i hadn't broken away from OP for other reasons, this alone would've been enough to make me go wtf is wrong with you and, provided they couldn't be convinced to treat the other party like a human being deserving basic respect, block them flat out. it's absolutely abysmal behaviour towards anyone, but but especially private DMs of someone having a breakdown and being so overwhelmed they couldn't stop shaking (both things you were explicitly told after the fact but well before posting). that's not to say everything was expressed perfectly, but i think we can all agree that having a breakdown does, generally, impact your ability to communicate.

with that out of the way, more under the cut bc i also don't put my weird fucking personal bullshit in the main tags

moreover, shaming people with a social communication disorder asking for social communication accommodations (i.e. can you tell me what i did wrong with specific examples so i can have a model to base future interactions off of in terms of doing better, esp since when i've guessed/tried on my own in the past i've gotten it wrong? something i've often been too scared to do with people bc i don't know them well, and asked you bc even if i no longer self safe with you, i thought i owed it to you to try) you then refused to do and said i was using my autism as an excuse (which partially triggered the breakdown in the first place because then i couldn't explain, ask for help, or advocate for myself in any meaningful way) is also not great. especially when what happened is pretty goddamn textbook autism vs everyone else communication in the first place.

assuming that every time someone blogs about a relationship on their own tumblr blog after blocking you everywhere is vagueblogging is also like... weird to assume you're the only relationship i have in my life that could be in conflict (another friend recently had some conflict, so i was commiserating) and also weird to circumvent and step over a block boundary on a routine basis to begin with bc we've definitely never had a troll do that to harass us on a regular basis, no sir. i came This Close to not seeing the post at all bc i've insulated myself so well and don't have people running to tell me the second someone maybe breathes wrong in my direction, and i honestly feel bad you've spent a Lot more time thinking about me than i have you. or that when calling ppl stupid you've also told them to shoot themselves in the foot but sure. it was silly to feel like your behaviour was contradictory and confusing and to ask for clarification, or to assume you'd leave me and my blogs the fuck alone after i'd made it clear i wanted nothing to do with you; i honestly wish you'd done the same, i can't imagine anyone going into the fandom tags wanted to see any of our shared crap.

last but not least: i think it's slightly bananas to look at someone who left a space because they realized they weren't a good fit for it because their best efforts weren't good enough at keeping things smooth, which was entirely on me, and then a relationship, where it wasn't entirely, bc they realized you really struggled with communicating things in a mature manner (ie. ghosting my partner who was also friends with you despite them not being involved at all and without a word because you just Assumed we were shit talking you, i guess, when in reality i was asking them for advice about how to apologize and they had to point out to me you were being mean because i was still taking everything in good faith) and figured out that whatever i did you wouldn't take it well so it was better to cut my losses and block (after days/weeks of agonizing over what, if anything, to say to you that wouldn't possibly make things worse)... only for you to then not take any of it well and do This?

This, from nicely saying i needed more space from you (only telling you so you wouldn't think i was ignoring you bc that would be cruel out of nowhere to just not respond to messages at all), and then you took it poorly (the way you apparently take everything) and then when i apologized/clarified that it was to work on myself and not an ask of you in any way, you were still aggressive if not downright cruel. even Before doing this, which is really the cherry on top.

if i had a nickel for everyone time someone 1) lost their shit about me blocking them, 2) routinely checked my blog or had had someone keep tabs on me on a regular basis for them (bc that's not creepy or invasive at all) even on my non tdp related blogs, 3) posted a callout post while not actually naming me but making it exceedingly evident that it was about me and 4) publicly aired personal dirty laundry in all the main tags so hard 5) that you couldn't have played the victim more, i'd have two nickels. this is a playbook i have seen before from someone who in some ways did far worse to me (it was an emotionally abusive relationship) and far less in comparison, but it's the same playbook of someone who cannot and does not respect boundaries & cannot handle feeling any negative emotion without lashing out for... what? the last laugh? to make someone a pariah or to punish? i can't imagine being that cruel. i can't imagine being that petty and disregarding another person as a person so deeply. after all, i withheld sending any messages because with each one i drafted, i asked myself it was to help or to hurt, and realized if i couldn't do the former, i shouldn't be sending anything at all.

it's safe to say that not sending more messages was the right decision made to protect myself from accidentally giving you more ammo. in some ways i'm admittedly relieved bc this exact sort of thing was something i was anxious about for weeks, but was entirely keeping to myself bc it was 1) nobody else's business and 2) wanted to believe OP better than that as someone i once loved and trusted; surely, they'd be a mature reasonable adult and while we'd both wounded each other, they wouldn't twist the knife; i certainly wouldn't. in many ways, though, this was even worse than whatever nightmare scenario i'd come up with. i've never had my privacy so directly violated, and i wouldn't wish it on anyone. i still wish i'd been wrong about my inclinations when i stepped away after facing repeated aggression no matter how much i apologized or betrayed myself till i couldn't anymore, and had a select few loved ones reaffirm to me that you were never going to see that maybe you'd made some, even one, mistake along the way, like sitting on your resentment i was unaware of till it reached a boiling point. clearly, they were right.

that said, i hope publicly humiliating someone and violating the trust and privacy of another human being, a friend who trusted you, who never would have done this to you, got you whatever you needed. at least one of us should get something productive out of this, and for me it was shreds of certainty that you've chosen to behave exactly as awfully and pettily as i feared, and honestly that's really unfortunate. you were/are really talented. i'm sure, despite our history, you can be an amazing friend to others. i'm sure you can incredibly understanding and kind; you just chose to be cruel and defensive instead, and i hope you never burn a bridge you regret being unable to repair

cause fuck, while i am far from perfect and am the first to admit i've made plenty of mistakes i have sometimes been unable to adequately atone for (i'm sure plenty of people will rightfully unfollow and/or block me and they absolutely should — whether they find me unsavoury, annoying, condescending, or anything else i've had thrown at me — in order to make their internet experience a better, more positive place) i sure as hell have never done and will never do you've done to me, and i can find a solid ground in that if nothing else.

[twilight-deviant]

[evelynpr]

FINISHED WATCHING MHA MOVIE 2: HEROES RISING!!! SPOILERS AHEAD IF YOU HAVENT WATCHED IT

OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS WAS SO GOOD YO HOLY FUCK I LOVE IT AAAAAAAAAAAAA

This was truly My Bakudeku Academia. Watching that final battle felt like a religious experience- as if I was watching the birth of Christ. Holy fuck if that really was the original ending, with Deku passing OFA to Kacchan, and the whole "Oh it actually stayed with Deku and Bkg got amnesia" didn't happen, this would have been a dramatically different story moving forward.

Horikoshi really loves Bakugou- like absolutely no question. The story following this kind of ending would be about him continuing OFA's legacy with the guilt of a thousand suns on his shoulders for "taking away" Izuku's dream. Izuku would have continued the hero course as an actual quirkless student. I would love to see aus of this being canon and continuing their story from there.

I'm guessing Nine here was supposed to be AFO, and he would basically be gone too. Katsuma is perfectly set up to be the next protagonist (I can already imagine him using Cell Regeneration as Super Regeneration- he could become invincible while also healing others. Incredibly amazing quirk).

NUMBER ONE COMPLAINT I HAD WAS ADDRESSED. THE REST OF THE CLASS ACTUALLY DO FEEL STRONG AND USEFUL AND EVERYTHING AS SHIT I LOVE IT AAAAAAAA

YES MY GIRL OCHAKO FINALLY HAS HER BIG MOMENT FLOATING SO MUCH DEBRIS!!! I'M SO HAPPY- EVEN JIRO, AOYAMA, SHOJI, TOKOYAMI AND MORE HAD LEGIT GOOD SCENES AND FIGHTS I'M SO FUCKING HAPPY YEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHH THEY ARE SOOO COOLLLLL THEY GENUINELY GAVE IT THEIR ALL FUCK YEAHHHHH

(note. THAT WOLF GUY CALLED SHOJI UGLY- A FELLOW HETEROMORPH, CUS HE WAS PROJECTING HIS "MONSTER" ISSUES ON HIM HOW FUCKING DARE YOUUUUU)

THEY ALSO MAKE IT ACTUALLY MAKE MORE SENSE HOW THE WHOLE CLASS IS SEPARATED ON AN ISLAND TOGETHER AS A WHOLE CLASS THIS TIME TOO (and not just half like last movie). They even managed to tie it in to AFO, the LoV, and Hero Society. Like it actually feels more grounded and reasonable why the class would be here alone with supervision.

They even add hints of Touya Todoroki with him having a short battle with Endeavor, Hawks spying in the LoV, the HSPC head cameo, and other little things too. Man I loved this fucking movie I would watch it 10 more times right now.

[asgardian--angels]

things I wish I could relive for the first time again:

that magical window where you finish a new piece of media, having watched/read it all by yourself with no fandom contact whatsoever, and you are just so happy about it, and full of interesting theories and takeaways, and just in love with it as a gorgeous piece of art.

because I swear to god as soon as you join the fandom for anything, you're bombarded with how you're supposed to view characters and their arcs, how you're supposed to morally and ethically judge the plot and the ways it apparently failed to present the right message, and if you don't you'll either be shunned for not sharing the popular headcanons or you'll be harassed for not criticizing the source material enough.

like how is it that the fans of a piece of media are also the ones being the most negative about it? If I like a show or a movie or a book, well, I liked it. That's kind of the point. I'm actually not here to tear it apart and talk about how it didn't live up to standards other people had! I enjoyed it for what it was, and forcing myself to find negative things to say about it doesn't actually bring me more enjoyment of it or reap any benefit to me. Fandom's a double-edged sword; you want to join a community to share your love for a piece of art, and the price you pay for a modicum of joy is a mountain of negativity. that's one main reason that I never engage with fandom until I'm completely done with a show, because if I was plugged into all of that commentary and discourse during the process, I'd be completely colored by how I'm expected to interpret everything this piece of art is presenting to me without being able to even form my own opinions.

[britneyshakespeare]

you know something i don't like about modern culture (and i wonder to what extent the prevalence of dating apps has to do with it) is that you're, seemingly, not supposed to ask people you just meet in real life on a date anymore? you're supposed to ask them to see you individually to hang out, and you're not supposed to call it anything...? people act like declaring intent is impolite or something.

this absolutely sucks if you're a woman on the receiving end of this kind of thing all the time, from men you don't wanna see privately that way. i've felt so much guilt about it in my life. whether i say no or yes. i know i'm giving that man hope that it's a date, that i wanna go on a date with him if i agree to see him for coffee or whatever. but if i don't wanna go on this undeclared date, i have to reject the very concept of spending time with him at all, which feels SOOO much meaner and more personal, doesn't it? it feels like that to me. and if i do go, and i don't wanna go on another one (because i never enjoyed the it-pretty-much-being-a-date element of the time), it feels like i'm crushing his hopes after puffing them up just a little bit.

and it's like. "date" is not a dirty word. we have so many expectations nowadays around things. women used to sit around and wait for a man to propose to them, and it would be basically the only decision they could make in their life. not even really the choice to marry, but to whom they get married. and obviously marriage was very serious.

as courtship continued to develop into modern dating and boyfriend/girlfriend culture, it sort of decentralized the importance or marriage and valued getting to know someone you like romantically, with the implicit assumption that you're doing it with the attempt to better choose the 'right one' by spending quality time with them. decent enough. although even the words boyfriend and girlfriend are much more serious than they used to be. they did not always imply a serious commitment like they do today, especially if you're... basically, just not a kid anymore.

people have a certain amount of expectation of what anyone over 18 should do or want to do with a "partner"—like, if this were the 1940s, i would've had several "boyfriends" in my adult life, but i never called them that, and the modern sense of that word would not be accurate. if i went on a date or two and flirted with them, that'd be enough to say "yeah i went out with a boyfriend." i'm mostly indifferent to this change of vocabulary, but the point is i have no word to describe any of those guys that i just gave a chance, never felt much for, and didn't wanna keep seeing. not bad things; it's just experience.

and if we aren't bold enough to call things dates for the sake of the atmosphere not losing the low-stakes nature... it's like, no, it doesn't do that. it's just two people spending time with the elephant in the room. perhaps that makes it feel more relaxed if both people really are doing it with the same intent, let's-just-see-if-we-get-along, figuring out if you like someone you don't really know very well yet. testing it. but like. that can be a date. that's what a lot of dates are. when you meet the person on a dating app and just grab coffee without setting higher expectations, you wouldn't hesitate to call it a date. if it's that person from your college class, that's ruder or more presumptuous, somehow?

a date doesn't have to be a candlelit dinner with the violinist standing by. a date doesn't have to be high romance. a date doesn't have to end with a kiss or lead to a commitment, if things go decently. a date certainly doesn't have to result in two people having sex. a date can be nonchalant and friendly and just trying to discover if you have any chemistry with this person who piqued your interest. why is that NOT the initial expectation anymore? why is "date" a dirty word? why?