#need to better figure out photographing them though

[satoshy12]

To forget the past is hard. Even if you try to ignore it.

Clockwork is Kronos.

Clockwork is visited by his ex-wife Rhea and she discuss their children and Kronos' disregard for them. Clockwork reveals that he thinks of them, with only a picture of Hestia and a large family portrait of Danny and Dani, while Rhea questions his intentions. They argue again.

++

Kronos, or Clockwork as he was now known, stood at his desk and adjusted his staff, knowing that someone would be visiting him in his home. The ticking of clocks filled the air of his lair in the Ghost Zone, he found it comforting as always. He turned slightly at the sound of a portal opening and sighed as the familiar figure stepped through. He had seen her coming and knew it. 

It was Titaness Rhea, his ex-wife, once Queen of the Titans, standing with an air of regal composure that eons of separation had not eroded. Her presence seemed to fill the room, her aura a subtle blend of authority and warmth. 

Clockwork stifled a groan. While he appreciated her rare visits, they always came with strings attached. What part of him that had changed and didn't need to see her all the time, or at all, didn't she understand?

"Clockwork," Rhea began, using his adopted name with strained politeness. She was still not used to calling him that, but she respected that he wanted to be called that. She crossed her arms and gave him a measured look. "It's been a while."

He turned to face her fully, his ghost tail now flying as he looked at her, hands clasped behind his back. "Indeed. I hope this is a fleeting visit, Rhea. I do have a schedule to keep."

Rhea's lips twitched, not quite a smile. "When is that not your excuse? Still, I wanted to see you. To talk." 

"About what?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. He hoped she would understand that he didn't want to talk about their children and their descendants. The less he thought about them, the better. 

"Our children," Rhea said, her tone pointed. "You've ignored them. Again."

Clockwork raised a brow, feigning confusion. "I have no idea what you're talking about. I've kept her in my mind. I even have a picture of one of them right here."

He gestured to his desk, where a very small but neatly framed photograph of Hestia rested; she wasn't looking at the camera as she worked at her hearth. He took the picture from one of his portals. Rhea followed his hand, her expression unimpressed. She can't believe he only had one picture of Hestia.

Rhea glanced at her ex-husband and wondered why she ever thought he cared. Even if he wasn't crazy anymore. 

Then she pointed behind him, to the huge family portrait that dominated the wall behind his desk. 

It was impossible to miss: a large painting, almost three metres high, showing Clockwork sitting on a chair in the centre, flanked by Danny Fenton and Ellie Fenton. The two half-ghosts stood confidently beside him, their expressions radiant with joy, and Clockwork also had a smile on his face. It had been so hard to get them both to behave the way the painter had painted the picture, so many hours. They couldn't sit still. But he liked the way it was going. 

"You were saying?" Rhea asked dryly.

Clockwork looked back at the portrait, then shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, as if talking about the weather. "Danny and Ellie are my apprentices. I look after them, guide them, teach them. So to speak. Not my children."

Rhea's brow furrowed, her patience waning. "And when exactly were you going to tell me about them? Or were you going to continue pretending I didn't exist for them? Or let me meet them."

Clockwork sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Rhea, we know how things turned out with the other five. I can handle this duo on my own. And Danny is a great hero, as is Ellie at the moment. Really great students."

The mention of their children - Hades, Hera, Poseidon, Zeus, Demeter and Hestia - hung heavily in the air. The bitter history of betrayal, war and broken family ties was not something any of them wanted to revisit. Or that Kronos wanted to talk about, let alone with his wife.

Still, Rhea glared at him, her anger simmering beneath the surface.

"You don't just start like that," she snapped. "Blaming me for how they got out! While praising the ones you took care of, how great heroes they are!"

Clockwork's tone became defensive. "I gave them stability, training and helped them find a purpose. Isn't that enough? Or would you rather I eat them? Or be given to me to eat."

Rhea's eyes flashed. "Don't you dare put that on me. You were the one who..."

"Yes, yes, I know," Clockwork interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "The great betrayal I gave you, the swallowing of children, the rebellion of Zeus, how you hid the boy. We're past that, Rhea. I have moved on from the past. Perhaps you should too.

The argument spiralled from there, as it always did. Words turned to accusations, accusations turned to frustration. Rhea's voice grew louder, while Clockwork's remained icy, but no less cutting. The air in the cave grew heavy with tension, time itself seemed to slow under the weight of their unresolved grievances.

Finally, Rhea threw up her hands. "You are unbearable, Kronos!"

Clockwork stiffened at the use of his old name. "And you are implacable, Rhea."

Rhea took one last look at her husband and the painting behind him. Before she left.

"Silence at last. I really should not bet with my own powers whether she will visit or not."

[occasionalsnippets]

Okay I'm so very curious on what would happen in case fd!mc died. I've not caught up on all the lore but the idea that they'd focus on everyone elses tragedies, only to forget they're now a character too with their own problems and enemies and that (or something else) being their end. Like the angst potential just calls to me.

Taglist: @dragondevinity, @lonely-star2044, @sheep-from-rad, @ilxandra, @thethingwiththefeathers, @star-wars-lycanwing-bat, @sackofsadstuff, @zonked-times, @paastaboi, @venfia, @fantasy-angelo, @linaisadream

Asdlaskjdh I would love to kill them off, maybe like a bit after Jason comes to the manor. I just know that everyone is going to be trapped in the shadow of the pedestal they built for you!!!

Like, Bruce’s perpetual longing to make things right by you. He forever catches himself thinking “what would you do” and “what would you tell him to do”, but never able to rely on your guidance to fix things again. Even though you acted essentially as his emotional crutch and translator and the initial impression of you basically being a (not) adult in his life, he’s eternally going to wish he could’ve done better for you. He isn’t your father and you weren’t his daughter. But, maybe you could’ve been something. It’s too late now, regardless.

Even though you’re six feet under, you’re no farther than you were in life. Dick remembers the distance between you and him more than anything else. Be it the distance he placed between himself and the manor or the ravine you dug yourself. He had always been more focussed on Tim than you and in many ways, you had orchestrated things so that it would be that way. You didn’t need him. Not like everyone else. And that leaves him with nothing of you but distant text messages and memories of you, dancing just out of his reach.

Jason remembers you amidst fluttering fabrics and blurry faces, shutters of a past he can barely recall. Your face in childhood is smeared in washes of green, blending with the images of the you of now that blares with every headline of your death. He’s never gotten to know who you are now when you aren’t hidden behind velvet curtains, in dresses covered in rhinestones worth more than an apartment complex. It haunts him. Just a bit. The same way he knows the memory of who he was before his death haunts Bruce.

Tim mourns in the Drake manor that has always been filled with more you than either of his parents. You’re gone now, just like them. It hits him harder than anyone he’s ever lost. Unlike everyone else, he almost had a surplus of memories of you, the good, the bad, the annoying and kind. It casts a daunting shadow of a role he’ll never be able to fulfil. A role that you, his perfect, unfailing, older sister, have left behind. The lingering warmth will kill him someday he thinks as he traces your path and follows in your footsteps.

Damian only knows you from stories and photographs and the half-aborted actions that the rest of the family takes. They are all trying to be something good for him and in the depths of the records his father keeps, he knows that it is your doing. You have always been larger than life to him. An idol-like figure he can never reach or know. There are millions of photos of you, thousands of angles, all of which he has learned to draw. He can imagine the gentle curve of your smile, mimic the posture when you stood, count the number of lashes on each of your eyes. But, he can only grasp at the ghost you left behind, unable to reach who you truly were.

The family will grieve. They will mourn. But, they will collect themselves eventually. You did not spend the last years of your life forcing them to communicate only for them to fall apart after you’re gone, after all.

[clonerightsagenda]

To celebrate space archives getting published I might as well post an abandoned short story from 3 years ago that deals with a lot of the same themes in a more concentrated way. This is my toxic yuri for 2025. Enjoy and see if you can remember the post I made about it back in 2022.

This Story Was Made Possible By Viewers Like You

I never liked confession cams.

You know, someone sits in a soundproof room with just the cameras and talks all teary-eyed about how they’ve struggled, and how they really feel, now that no one can hear. But of course someone can hear. You can. You’re there, in the room with them, a few months in the future and a hundred miles away. It’s all a performance. Everything is.  

I’m not doing that, ok? This is for me.

They came to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They came with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They came with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I came with nothing. I was already there.

It started the same as always. They jumped when I greeted them and then stole glances at each other’s reactions. No one said anything back. I didn’t expect them to. I’d been getting everything ready. Twenty bedrooms, names on the doors. Lights on, temperature tweaked up there, down here, never quite comfortable. I’m very good at that part of my job.

That first arrival scene goes through a lot of editing. Cut out the boring bits, highlight the quirks that make contestants stand out. The details we highlight set the audience’s perception of each player. Create heroes, villains, characters. No one on these shows presents themselves as they really are. You get the construct.

Me? I get a little bit more.

Let’s skip the boring parts. They milled around for a while before finding their rooms. Most unpacked their clothes. One placed a photograph on her dressing table, angling it so it would be in easy view of the camera. A bid for sympathy, I figured, but my opinion wasn’t the one that mattered.

The files would have told me that her name was Gloria Martina Sosa, contestant ID seventeen, age twenty-nine, pronouns she/her. Employed in finance and competing because her mother needed to pay for a medical procedure. The files would tell me that, but I already knew.

This time, there was a container of chocolates on the table when Gloria inched down the hallway to the dining area. She was good at finding her way around the floorplan already, even though it was designed to send them circling in the wrong direction and bumping into each other. I wondered if they noticed.

She approached the chocolates cautiously. She knew it had to be a test. I knew she liked chocolate.

“Can –” She paused before old-fashioned manners asserted themselves. “May I have one?”

“Yes,” I said.

She slid her hand in. Then she hesitated again, fingers still reaching. “Would you like one?”

I checked to see if someone else had entered the room. Nothing on the visuals from any of the dining room cameras. She was the only one there.

She was talking to me.

“No,” I said, after an obvious pause. Then, because of the manners, “No thank you.”

Her fingers curled around a chocolate. “That was stupid of me.”

I didn’t need to answer that, so instead I thought about her motives. I couldn’t show favoritism; she should know that. Did she want to look empathetic for the audience? She wouldn’t win any points cozying up to me.

Maybe she meant it as a genuine kindness. It was early enough that she might not know better.

“Do you ever wish you could eat?” she asked. The chocolate was in her mouth, but her fingers folded and refolded the square of foil.

Why was she still talking to me? I couldn’t tell her it was against the rules – it wasn’t, officially. So I said, “This won’t make good television.”

Her eyes widened. She was thinking of all the time she’d wasted here, the time her competitors might have been using to build alliances or look for clues. She yanked the container of chocolates off the table and ran back toward the hallway. She’d use them as an offering, maybe, or a bargaining chip. She didn’t say thank you, or goodbye.

Why would she? I’m not a player. I’m the host.

#

I know how this sounds, so let me set the record straight. I’m not an artificial intelligence. People love to claim they’ve invented a thinking machine, but when you drill down to the bones of one you’ll always find an algorithm. Sure, this place runs on all sorts of automation, but at the end of the day, you need a human to come up with a wicked twist or make sure the tracking software doesn’t mix up Mateo and Benjamin because there was a mishap in the laundry room and they’re wearing each other’s clothes. AI doesn’t have the flexibility a project like this demands. I don’t think it ever will. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking, since if it happens, I’ll be out of a job. It’s not a great job (I’m making minimum wage here) but I don’t have to pay rent or buy groceries, so the money adds up.

There used to be a whole team – six-hour shifts, front-end and back-end crews – but budget cuts hit everywhere. It gets quiet sometimes, but at least I don’t have to make a big production of hiding when I’m going to the bathroom with a tampon. I do the best I can, drink a lot of coffee, and chalk any delays or mistakes up to a buggy operating system. There are surgeries you can get to keep you sharper – some employers insist on them – but I wouldn’t let anyone stick neurotech in my brain even if I could afford it. Too many horror stories. It’s easy to keep them thinking I’m a machine. I slap a voice filter on, and my disinterest in everyone’s drama means I don’t have to fake sounding inhumanly bored.

But enough about the woman behind the curtain. That’s not what anyone tunes in for.

#

About half the guests roamed the halls after dark the first night, which meant prowlers skulking around corners and smacking into each other. I downed two energy drinks and kept an eye out for the most entertaining close calls so I could cut them together later. On other nights I’d feel safe sneaking some sleep, but the first was always busy.

Gloria stayed in her room. Instead of climbing into bed right away, she knelt and whispered something in Spanish. The translation software would handle that for anyone who wanted to know what she was praying for. I could guess.

When she finished, she looked up. They’re never sure where to focus when they talk to me. I’ve learned to read that lost expression as a sign I’m about to be on call. “If I need something, do I just ask?”

“That’s correct.” When she didn’t say anything else, I continued, “Did you need something?”

“Not right now.” Not from me.

#

The next few weeks passed the usual way. Dean found an immunity stone hidden behind the false back of the pantry. Three different groups swore ill-fated alliances while pretending to be preoccupied with their laundry. The first contestants were voted off, mostly because of dismal challenge performances and in one case because Heather kept stealing other people’s toothpaste. (Luckily for me, I didn’t have to listen to them moping about being eliminated. The losers’ quarters had cameras, of course – everywhere does – but none of those feeds went to my workstation.)

Most of the time the participants treated me as so much background, but there are always exceptions. One afternoon Haruto and Farah were arguing about an inane piece of early twenty-first century pop culture trivia and wanted me to tell them who was right, and Anna was asking about the latest sports scores, and one of the microphones in the dining room wouldn’t connect right even though I’d run troubleshooting, and –

“Is Corey busy?”

I pressed the intercom button for Gloria’s room and said, “One moment, please.” Then I switched channels (click). “The home team won their last game 4 to 1.” Click. “Yes, it was the same actor; they used CGI to make him look younger.” Click. “Sorry for the delay.” I punched in Corey’s ID to pull up the last place the cameras had seen him. “A lot of guests are requesting my services right now.”

I don’t know what did it. Maybe a hint of exasperation crept into my tone, or the keystrokes filtered through the speakers, or a real sentient computer program wouldn’t apologize. Whatever tipped her off, Gloria’s eyebrows pulled down. It wasn’t an expression of surprise as much as it said, ‘I knew it’.  

“You’re not an AI,” she said. “Are you.”

Damn. I could have lied. The producers would’ve wanted me to, but they left me there to play the game however I chose. Besides, I’d already paused too long. A machine wouldn’t have to think about it.

“A lot of the answers are. There’s a library of canned responses for the most predictable questions. I’m here for the more complicated problems.”

“Here?” She spun her eyes around the room like I might pop out of a closet.

“On site. Behind the scenes.”

“But you can see and hear me?” She hunched in on herself. “I don’t like that.”

“You signed up to be on a TV show.”

“That’s different.”

Because I wasn’t an adoring fan. “Did you want an answer to your question?”

“You can see him too?” She was hung up on that considering the position she put herself in. The contracts they signed asked them to give away all sorts of control.

“I can see everyone. I’m not watching all the time, though. That’s part of the automation. I get notified when there’s activity that might be interesting.” I checked the relevant screen, which showed me the feed from camera 251. “He’s brushing his teeth.”

“Is that interesting?”

“Not according to the system.” Showering would be, because the system’s a pervert. So are the folks back home, although the editors make sure to frame things just right so that we can deny we’re showing anything explicit.

She sighed. She kept her head angled toward the floor, like denying the cameras eye contact preserved some sliver of her privacy. “I guess I can’t opt out.”

“Not until you go home. You could try to be less interesting, but it’ll cost you.” That strayed dangerously close to advice. “I’ll delete this conversation, though. Have to preserve my image.”

That got her head to pop up. “You can do that?”

I wiggled my fingers over the keyboard, a pointless gesture since she couldn’t see me. “As long as you’re in this building, I’m basically God.”

“God.” Her lip curled. I’d seen her praying earlier. Maybe my boast sounded like blasphemy. “What’s your name?”

“I can’t tell you. I’ve got rules. Sorry,” I added, repeating that human touch that betrayed me.

“I don’t know why I asked.” She looked away from the camera again. “Don’t watch me sleep.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” She was pretty. But watching a pretty woman over the cameras isn’t automatically creepy. If it is, what does that say about you?

I tried to keep my word. Gloria wanted to believe she still had boundaries, and unlike our loyal viewers, I don’t get my kicks spying on people. Every so often, though, my eyes crept back to her square on my monitor. I knew so much about these people, and she was the only one who knew I existed. That knowledge was like a blinking notification that never went away.

#

I didn’t expect Gloria to talk to me again, and for a few days she didn’t. She sat in silence while I announced the day’s events or when other participants asked me questions, a frown mostly smoothed off her face. I saw it, though. That’s what she was frowning about.

Four days after our conversation, she was tearing her room apart looking for something. It’d been twenty minutes, and she wasn’t going to find it. I was waiting for her to figure that out. She groaned, tilted her head up, and asked, “Do you know where my charger is?”

“Under the sofa in the living room.”

She jumped. “That was fast.”

“Pretty good AI impression, right?” I hadn’t been watching her sleep, but I’d been paying attention. So sue me. If she decided to spill my secret, I’d have to… well, I didn’t know. It had never happened before.

“Is anyone else there right now?”

“Haruto and Farah.” Still arguing, somehow. Getting worked up about each other’s vintage cinema opinions was their version of entertainment.

She sighed and sat on the side of her bed. “I don’t want to get sucked into whether we need any more live action remakes. Can you tell me when they leave?”

“Sure.” Informal. I was slipping.

She drummed her ankles against the floor and then, with a huff, hopped up again and began straightening the mess she made. She wasn’t a woman who liked to be still. I wasn’t surprised when she broke the silence. “Does anyone else know?”

“If they’ve guessed, they haven’t said anything. This isn’t a test, or one of the puzzles you’re supposed to solve. You weren’t supposed to notice.”

She slammed a drawer. “Do you like spying on people?”

“That’s not what I’m doing.” She snorted. “It’s a job. A boring one, most of the time. Alerts tell me when any of you do something relevant, and then I cut the best footage together and send it back to the real editors. I’m not watching you every second. Who would want to?”

That got her to stop folding a shirt and look up at camera 387 so I’d be sure to see the disgusted expression on her face. “The fans?”

Fair point. “I forget about them sometimes.”

“I doubt your bosses would be happy to hear that.” She moved on to stuffing toiletries back into her bag, but her movements were less ferocious. “How did you end up working here?”

“I worked as set crew on a few smaller projects. I didn’t get training for it, but I’m good at picking up just enough to make myself useful.” That’s what kept me around through round after round of layoffs. I learned the bare bones of other people’s jobs, and upper management decided bare bones was enough. That kind of approach doesn’t make friends in the workplace, but neither does getting fired. And hey, it worked out that I’m not a team player. The only one on my team now is me.

“Do you like reality TV?”

“Hell no.” I couldn’t believe anyone would put up with the genre without getting paid for it. “But a job’s a job. Did you always dream about starring in something like this?”

She paused, clutching a bottle of perfume. “Not like this.” She took a bracing whiff – the label said orange vanilla, but smell is one thing I can’t piggyback on. “You’ll delete this?”

The start of our conversation was already flagged. “Speak freely.”

“I liked the romantic ones when I was younger. The fairy tale element; I read a lot of fairy tales growing up. Later I realized how artificial they were, but you keep hoping.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I told you that.”

Neither could I. Then again, they were encouraged to bare their souls for the cameras. It must be a hard habit to break. “Given the data I’ve collected, I think Anna is your one true love.”

Instead of laughing, she shoved the perfume into her bag. “I’m not here for that.”

“I know.”

She zipped up the bag, stood, and looked right at the camera, hands on hips. It was the closest I’d come to eye contact with someone in months. “How much do you know about me?”

“Mostly what’s in your files.” I reread them after she caught me. I had her entire application packet, every official scrap of information the network collected.

“And I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know I don’t like reality TV.”

“What’s your favorite color?”

She shot the question at me, and I responded reflexively. “Blue. At least it is now. I don’t see the sky much on this job.”

“Blue.” She digested that and looked past the cameras, up to the ceiling and the sky beyond that she’d only see through windows until the game was over. “I miss it too.”

“Now you know one thing about me. Happy?”

“Can I ask more, later?” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth; I think the question surprised her as much as it did me. “I don’t like being watched by a stranger. I can’t stop you watching, but I can stop you from being such a stranger.” A crafty spark entered her eyes. “You are here to answer our questions. That’s what they told us in orientation.”

They did tell them that. “I’ll do what I can,” I said. “But be careful. I don’t want everyone in the house asking me for my biography.”

#

Gloria was the one on camera, but she was the one who forgot herself. She was standing in the kitchen running a plate under the water when she looked toward a camera and asked, “What do you eat?”

“Uh,” said Benjamin, waiting for his turn at the sink. “Are you talking to me?”

“Based on existing data, Benjamin enjoys soy-based products and fresh fruit,” I said in my best automaton voice.

At least she caught on quick. “Thank you,” she said, and went back to rinsing pasta sauce off her dishes.

After she retreated to her room, she said, “I’m guessing I’m not supposed to socialize with you.”

“There aren’t any rules against it,” I said, which wasn’t a no, and then followed it up with, “It’s not the most strategic use of your time,” which wasn’t a yes.

“I need a break from everything out there sometimes. At least I know what you’re lying about.”

Safer not to comment on that one. Besides, she was still going.

“Mateo is always trying to make sure the cameras get his good side; you know he’s here to make a name for himself. And Anna keeps talking about how she wants to buy her own automated mansion, like she can’t imagine going back to having to manually turn on the lights. They’re so trivial. It makes me want to toss them out a window and tell them to come back when they have something serious to compete for.”

I didn’t comment on that either, but I could’ve. The truth was, at least half the participants needed the money for reasons beyond popularity contests or tech upgrades. It didn’t matter. If I told her, she wouldn’t think they deserved it as much as she did. Even without the files, I could have read her life story in her unblemished skin and name brand outfits. She’d never sweated through record-breaking summers because during surge periods companies always cut off the poorest neighborhoods first. She wrinkled her nose at the cricket flour crackers in the pantry like someone who had the luxury to leave food on her plate. She had no idea how many people watched her and wished they could take her place – not for a chance at a cash prize or fifteen minutes of fame, but just to have a safe place to sleep and enough to eat. When people watch shows like this, it’s not about rooting for an individual, not really. It’s about constructing elaborate narratives about themselves. Wanting participants, wanting to be them: there’s not much of a difference in the end. They’re all different flavors of consumption. Some players catch on faster and embrace being the product.

But Gloria was used to being on the other side of the equation. She’d been comfortable her whole life, and this medical bill was the first time she hadn’t had enough to make the world work the way she wanted. So she came running here for a fairy tale ending, because of course she was entitled to that along with everything else.

You’d think people like me who’ve been struggling their whole lives would fight hardest, but people like that? They get vicious.

Instead I said, “So you’re saying it’s nice to talk to me.”

“It’s a change.”

I minimized camera 16’s window where Richard and Destiny are gearing up to either start a fight or swap spit. Hard to tell with those two. “What do you want to talk about?”

“What do you think of us? You watch us all day.”

“Not all day, I told you. Honestly it’s – did you ever work customer service?” Her eyebrows jumped. I could’ve guessed that too. “Well, in that kind of job, you don’t pay much attention to individuals. You’re all one big crowd. Of course, you’re also my only live entertainment. Could you do anything more interesting?”

“Any suggestions?”

“Steal Corey’s watch.”  

She laughed. Corey told everyone who would listen how expensive his custom-made timepiece was. His audience hung on to every word, although they were mostly hanging on to his cheekbones. “That won’t get me any votes.”

“I’d vote for you.”

“You mean you’re not charmed by him?”

“Not my type.”

“Not mine either.”

I know, I thought, but I didn’t say it. She didn’t like to be reminded.

#

Gloria didn’t steal Corey’s watch. The next time he made a production of giving someone the time she looked right at the nearest camera, and I almost choked on my protein bar laughing.

After she left that conversation, she slipped into her room and leaned against the door. “You always delete the video when I’m talking to you, right?”

“It wouldn’t do me any good to send it on.”

Her shoulders loosened. It was surprising, and a little gratifying, that my presence now made her relax. “In the real world, you’re pressured to be doing something useful with every second of your life. In here, every second you’re performing for the cameras. It’s nice to be able to stop.”

I covered a yawn with one hand and reached for my coffee. “At least you get regular rest periods. I can’t give you details, but some people were keeping me up last night.”

She frowned. “Would you rather I let you go?”

The frown was also gratifying. “No, there’s enough I need to monitor right now anyway. Just keep your activities within regular business hours. That’ll make you a model participant in my book.”

“I’ll try.” She settled onto her bed and stretched her arms over her head, bending back the wrists. Then she asked, abruptly, “Do you have a favorite guest?”

“I’m not supposed to pick favorites. I won’t name names, but my least favorite is someone who starts whistling when they’re trying to concentrate. I always get the tune stuck in my head.”

“I’d hate that too.” She dropped her arms down and rested her hands in her lap. “It doesn’t seem fair. You get to see all of us, and I don’t get to see you.”

“It’s for the best that you can’t.” I shifted in my chair where I was sitting cross-legged in sweatpants I’d been wearing for three days straight. “I don’t have to be presentable to anyone back here. My hair’s a mess.”

She shrugged. “It would be nice to see any new face. Can you tell me what you look like?”

“Better not.” There weren’t any rules against that either – no one would’ve thought we needed them. But I wasn’t there to be looked at. “Just… imagine me. Whatever you’d like.”

She thought for a moment and then said, “You look nice.”

“Thank you.”

#

For the next month, I watched from my hundreds of cameras and listened through my hundreds of microphones. I scoured test banks for trivia questions and rearranged the responsive floor plan to build obstacle courses. I beamed everything back to our viewers, and the network compiled data to send back. Their demands were predictable. So-and-so is popular; be sure to get close-ups. Contestants X and Y don’t get along. Trap them in a room together with a malfunctioning door. Sometimes the instructions were specific, but often they just told me what the audience wanted. By now, I knew how to get it.

While I did that, I watched Gloria. She was average, as these things go. She lasted longer than half the participants in a challenge where I cranked the temperature lower and lower. Then she flopped when asked to identify the fake headline in a social media feed. She nodded to cameras with a half-smile, and although she could be doing it for the viewers, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was doing it for me.

She stayed kinder than I expected, even as everyone dropped the niceties and the game turned into a bloodbath of votes and eliminations. I’m not usually wrong reading people. I have so much to go on.

She kept talking to me late at night. Participants are promised some privacy in their bunks. (If they read their contracts line by line they know better. Viewers get very interested whenever a player invites someone else in. That was happening in two locations, so it was easy to cover up my own indiscretions.)

“Do you know what’s happening back home?

“Only what the network sends me.” I didn’t miss it. Participants signed up for fame or money, but escape would work as well. At least locked in this house, the problems weren’t real. You knew the challenges were fake, and everyone went to bed with a full stomach at the end of the day. It’s not a bad gig, really.

“I don’t know how my mother’s doing.” She was staring at the ceiling instead of making virtual eye contact with me. “Sometimes I’m afraid I won’t get back in time. It feels like it’s been longer than a few weeks.”

She didn’t seem to be waiting for a response. They were encouraged to think out loud for the cameras.

#

Nine weeks into this round of the game, she was in trouble. We didn’t talk about it. I was supposed to be her refuge from all that. Ridiculous, if you think about it, but we all have our illusions. She didn’t have access to viewer opinion polls or other players’ confessions, but I could tell from the way she held herself that she knew. If she didn’t win this week’s challenge, she was gone.

That shouldn’t have bothered me. I don’t pick favorites. Players come and go and nothing changes. Except…

I used to talk to my coworkers’ empty chairs to hear my own voice. I erased crosswords and started them again. The job without Gloria would be… boring. I didn’t want to look across all my monitors and not see her there.

I’ve never related to the viewers who root for their favorite contestant. This was different. They’re behind a screen watching the edited version of a woman from miles away, a woman who doesn’t even know they exist. I knew her. She knew me.

She didn’t ask for my help. I’d like to imagine she respected my integrity or didn’t want to risk my job, but I saw the way she threw herself into trying to shore up shaky alliances, too little too late. She’d rather rely on herself. I might be the all-seeing eye and the voice in her ear when she went to sleep, but when it comes to playing the game, no one pays attention to the help.

My inbox dinged. The network was responding to my latest batch of video. I skimmed through it: suggestions for contrived scenarios to start people fighting, instructions to let the showers break down, standard stuff. Then, at the end: We need new topics for this week’s trivia challenge. Any ideas?

The challenges got repetitive after a while. Production was always looking for suggestions. I opened a reply, started typing, and then paused.

I could help. No one would know. Gloria would be here, with me, for another week.

It wouldn’t be my first case of workplace dishonesty. I’d fibbed on timesheets and extended my breaks like everyone has. I’d kept my mouth shut and let coworkers take the fall for my mistakes. This was interference with the outcome of the show, though. I could get fired.

Who was going to catch me? Me?

I typed, What about fairy tales?

#

Gloria was exultant. She won the trivia challenge, securing her place for the week and spurring a nasty double cross in an alliance that had been planning on forcing her out. She paced back and forth in her room, rehashing her triumph. I responded with customer service hmms. It didn’t occur to her that I might be behind the convenient choice of topics. Which was fine. If she realized, she might let it slip, or expect more favors, and I’d risked enough already. It was fine that I was everywhere controlling everything and she still acted like she had no idea. People like her are the same everywhere. They assume the world runs itself.

“If I win next week’s challenge and Richard and Destiny stay on bad terms, I have a chance,” she said. “I could win.”

I didn’t say much in response. Maybe she thought I was being careful not to spill any show secrets, or maybe to her I was just another audience member witnessing her triumph. I’d had so much time to watch and still had trouble reading her.

I’m not omniscient, is the point. I never had the power to read her mind or control her or even save her in the end. I was only ever buying time.

I’d built a habit of letting emails pile up and answering them when I felt like it, but now I never closed my inbox. I took my phone with me on bathroom breaks or rare trips outside. Of course, if the network found out what I’d done, they might not bother with professional communication. They might send a crew in with no notice to throw me out on my ass.

That dampened my enthusiasm as Gloria dreamed of making the final three. Household malfunctions rose. I got jumpy. Anna asked me a question, and I froze, because for a moment I thought I’d been caught. A spam email snuck through my filter, and I spilled my energy drink all over the keyboard when I heard the notification. I wanted to scream through the intercoms, Don’t you know what I can do? What I’ve already done? You don’t even know that I’m here.

Instead I turned the heat up two degrees and reassured Anna that she’d buttoned up her dress correctly.  

#

In the end, I didn’t get caught. The shutdown order came for different reasons. Mateo, a fan favorite, had settled into a committed relationship. The move wasn’t popular with viewers. They liked him as a heartbreaker with someone else in his bunk every night. I don’t get the appeal, but ratings are ratings.

End the game, wipe their memories, and start over, the message said, with a list of new parameters to try. Just like the last four times I got this email. Neurotech sure has expanded the boundaries of reality programming.

Like I said, I’ve got horror stories.

I flicked through the changes. The bulk were new living arrangements and challenges tailored to different participants’ skills. The true appeal was more pathos for viewers to sigh over, as former lovers betrayed each other and friends met again as strangers. They eat it up so much I wonder if the game will ever end.

Maybe I should be happy about that. It’s job security.

I could see Gloria out of camera 43. She was selecting a meal packet and humming to herself. I wanted to warn her, to say that every time before this she’d become someone shut off or brittle or cruel, and that I liked her better this way. I wanted to tell her it’d been thirteen months since she saw her mother, not two. I wanted to ask if she had any idea. But I signed a contract too.

Instead I waited until after lights out and said, “Let me show you something.”

Gloria trusted me enough by now that she waited until I’d directed her to a blank stretch of wall to ask, “Why did you bring me here?”

“If you compare the interior to the outside of the house, this can’t be an exterior wall. There’s too much space. You didn’t notice?”

“I didn’t.”

She did in three of the other versions. Gloria had rarely been a model participant. She’d explored more, discovered more, when she wasn’t talking to me. “When people do, I tell them it’s not part of the game. It’s where we keep some of the machinery used to run the facilities.”

“What’s really on the other side?”

“Me.”

She started at that, looking from the camera to the wall and back again, like she assumed I lived in the fiber optics. “You’re there?”

“In my own set of apartments. It’s roomy now that I’m the only one. There’s a side door, so I even get a little sun sometimes. There’s a lot of machinery back here with me, though. We try not to lie when we can tell part of the truth. Makes it easier to keep track of everything.”

She reached out and presses her hand to the chipped paint of the wall. “You were always right here.”

“Hang on, I’m at a different terminal.” I hopped out of my chair and squeezed myself between my desk and the one that used to belong to Paulo before the last round of cutbacks. “Now I’m right there.” I was simplifying things, of course. There was at least a foot of wires and paneling between us, but it was still the closest we’d ever been. I reached out to press my hand to the wall and imagined the touch of another human’s skin against my own.

This was my last chance to tell the truth. I could reveal everything, lead her to the emergency exit only I knew about, and invite her to run away with me to… what? We were both there because we needed something, and the world won’t give you anything for free. In this house, blasphemy or not, I was basically God. I could steer her away from danger. I could construct a narrative. Outside, I couldn’t create a happy ending for either of us.

From what I knew of Gloria Martina Sosa, the many possible Gloria Martina Sosas who had walked under this roof, she would hate me for keeping this from her.

It was a good thing she didn’t know me at all.

“Why did you decide to tell me now?” she asked.

There were a lot of things I could have said. Because this version of you dies tomorrow. Because there are bigger rules I won’t break, and I want to believe I’m a person who would break some of them, for you. Because I’m saying goodbye, and you don’t even know it.

“Because we’re getting close to the end now,” I said. “You’ll be too busy soon to think about me.”

“It’s hard to not think about you when you’re watching all the time. Especially now that I know exactly where you are.” She ran her fingers across the paint before pulling away. “Maybe when this is over I’ll be able to see you face to face.”

I couldn’t hesitate. If I hesitated, she might guess something is wrong, and my entire job relied on returning polished answers with mechanical precision. “That would be nice.” I was using my work voice, all business. “You should get back to bed before anyone wonders why you’re up.”

She smiled – at the wall rather than the camera. She might have been looking toward me, but that means she didn’t meet my eyes. “Are you worried about my beauty sleep?”

“Rest is important,” I said. “I’m not supposed to have favorites, but I’m rooting for you.”

Thanks to my instructions, she made it back without running into anyone, turning corners and ducking into rooms without a word of protest. Once I delivered her to her room, she dimmed the lights and slipped into bed to while away the last few hours this version of her would ever see.

I watched her fall asleep, and I didn’t say a word.

Maybe next time.

#

They were called in for a medical check-up the next morning. “Is this a challenge?” Gloria asked while getting dressed.

“No,” I said. “It’s perfectly normal.” The producers would be pleased. I’d never sounded less human.

#

Teardown procedure between rounds was always the same. I filled out the standard paperwork and finished packaging the last days of footage to be shipped back to the editors. My email inbox could be thinned out. I’d gotten practiced, and none of the tasks took long. Then it was just me, the empty house, and Gloria’s ghost roaming the silent halls.

If you look at it right, I’m doing her a favor. Outside the house, the monsters are so much worse than me. People want to be you, or have you, and they’ll eat you alive. People who grew up like me would understand. They might even ask me to do the same for them.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to justify myself. My job is to watch and record, not to editorialize. There’s no reason for me to sit down in front of the camera and say, My name is Cal, and there’s nothing I could have done. But I guess I’ve caught the narrative bug after watching everyone else spin out their stories, because here I am making my recording. Wishing there was someone on the other side of the screen to turn me into someone new.

I have no illusions that I would be an audience favorite. That’s never been my role.

An email with the finalized set-up for round six arrived in my inbox, and I scanned it so I’d be prepared. There will be no chocolates next time. Every round, the producers try something different. But I will say hello, and maybe this time she will say it back.

#

They come to the house with bags full of clothing and artificial smiles. They come with extra toothbrushes and half-constructed plans. They come with high hopes and already dented dreams.

I come with nothing. I was already here.

[virune]

Well if you're not completely swamped with prompts yet — Shadow has been struggling with figuring out how best to confess his feelings to Sonic, and finally decides as that as Sonic's brother, Tails would know best what he'd like and how to ask him out. At the same time, unbeknownst to him, Sonic has gone to talk to Rouge for much the same reason…

Tails was incredibly smart.

No, he was a genius.

So when he withered in response to Shadow's question, Shadow couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed.

"You two are best friends, aren't you? Surely he'd mention… something?"

"Brothers," Tails corrected, setting his pencil down atop the schematic he'd been working on. "And Sonic doesn't talk to me about his love life."

Shadow glanced around the workshop, looking for… what? He wasn't sure. A clue of some kind? A photograph, maybe, or an item that might belong to someone besides Sonic or Tails. But there was nothing, that he could tell, of the sort.

"Is that because he isn't dating, or because he keeps his relationships private from you?"

Tails shrugged. "I don't know. Could be either."

"Hm."

"Why are you asking about his love life, anyway? Are you interested in him?"

Shadow froze up, staring at an oil stain on the floor as the words of denial died in his throat. He heard the chair creak as Tails shifted his weight on it.

"Are you planning on telling him how you feel?"

"I don't know how," Shadow said softly.

The fox's keen ears twitched, hearing it anyway. "You want me to help?"

Shadow's eyes snapped back up, mouth parted in surprise. Hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, all he could do was nod.

"If it makes you feel better, you have my blessing. Not that you need it; Sonic's allowed to date whoever he wants. I'm just letting you know."

Something fluttered in Shadow's chest. Tails had always seemed so afraid of him. He never thought the fox would ever approve of Shadow courting his best friend - no, his brother.

To hear his approval was… it was nice. Encouraging. Shadow had harboured feelings for Sonic since they first met - he just hadn't realised what those feelings were until a few weeks ago.

Unsure how to navigate this new, foreign territory, Shadow had to admit to his own inexperience and ask for help.

"Thank you."

Tails smiled softly at that, and Shadow sensed a new, small friendship blossoming between them. He promised himself he wouldn't trample it.

"Like I said, I don't know anything about Sonic's love life," Tails continued. "But you could always try taking him out for food - you know he loves eating almost as much as running, right? And then, maybe you could go somewhere nice. Watch the sunset with him or something."

Despite his nerves, Shadow couldn't help but scoff. "That sounds awfully romantic. Are you sure that Sonic even likes romantic?"

Tails looked at him strangely, as though privy to something Shadow wasn't aware of. "Oh, I don't think he'll mind."

Shadow considered the idea; he imagined booking a reservation at a nice restaurant and wearing something nice. Maybe Rouge could help him get dressed up. Would Sonic dress up too? Would he have to ask Sonic to dress up? Would Sonic even want to--

"Shadow?" Tails called, snapping him from his racing thoughts.

"Yes. Sorry," Shadow babbled, shaking his head. "Does Sonic own any formal attire?"

Tails scratched behind his ear. "I think he might still have an old suit laying around for when he has to attend fancy ceremonies and stuff. He doesn't like wearing it though, so it's usually shoved in a box somewhere until he needs it."

Shadow's shoulders drooped. Ah. So formal wear would be off the table. He didn't want to make Sonic uncomfortable - that would be counterproductive to his goal.

"Never mind, then. I can find somewhere without a strict dress code."

"Huh?" Tails' namesakes bushed up behind him in delighted shock. "So you're really gonna take him on a date?"

Warmth blossomed in Shadow's muzzle. "I am simply taking your advice. Does Sonic have a food preference? Allergies?"

The young fox laughed brightly. "Nah, he'll eat just about anything. Why not take him someplace you like?"

"I do not…" Shadow paused, gritting his teeth, and inhaled through his nose. "I do not have experience with this sort of thing."

"Oh… oh! That's - that's OK!" Tails waved his paws in front of him, quick to assuage Shadow's nervousness. "I can look into it for you and text you an address. Do you have my number?"

"That sounds acceptable." Shadow fished his phone from between his quills. "Here. I don't think I have it."

Tails accepted the phone delicately, tapping digits on the screen. Then there was a ping sound from somewhere on the desk behind him and he reached to pick up his own phone, which now had a text from Shadow's number.

"Done and done! I'll add you as a contact and keep you updated when I find something."

"Thank you," Shadow repeated, taking his phone back and returning it safely within his quills. "I was wondering, though. Why are you OK with helping me? I know that I haven't always been kind to you, or Sonic."

"I know you're a good person," Tails offered, giving a warm smile that crinkled blue eyes. "Sonic knows it too. Trust me."

Shadow peered at him. "Even after all the times we've fought?"

"Well, sure. Have you met the guy? He loves sparring with you. I think he enjoys being challenged, too, because it keeps his skills sharp." Tails turned his attention to his computer, tapping away at the keyboard to begin his search. "Don't worry. I have a feeling it'll go just fine."

Shadow didn't know what to say, so he simply nodded.

---

"My, my! So the Hero of Mobius is asking me for dating advice!"

"Keep your voice down!" Sonic hissed, looking around quickly. "This was a bad idea. Why did I do this?"

"Oh, honey, don't be absurd. Who else could help you with such a delicate topic? So!" Rouge leaned her elbows against the table, resting her chin on her hands as she watched Sonic squirm. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"Uh." Sonic found a group of friends chatting at the bar particularly interesting. Then, a food stain on the floor. Anything but Rouge's piercing stare. "It's actually a… a guy."

Rouge's eyebrows shot up. "Well, aren't you full of surprises, Big Blue?"

Sonic slumped in his seat. He was sure the blush on his face was as obvious as it was warm. "Will you help me or not?"

"That depends. Why don't you tell me a little about this mystery man of yours?"

"Um, well. He - he can be pretty serious most of the time, but he's a good person once you get to know him."

"Is he handsome?"

Sonic flinched like he'd been hit. His fingers tugged at the cuff of his glove.

"Yeah," he admitted.

"Oh, just look at you!" Rouge cooed. "Well, I hope you'll introduce me to him one day!"

"Actually, um. You already know him."

Rouge grabbed her iced tea and stirred it before she took a sip. "Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to guess?"

"You have to promise not to laugh."

"And why would I do that?"

Sonic narrowed his eyes. "Because you would if you knew who I'm talking about."

Rouge sighed and folded her arms. "Just spill it, Blue. You know I'll find out eventually, so I may as well hear it from you first."

"I hate that you're right."

Sonic rubbed his red face. He also hated how difficult this was. Sure, he'd never actually felt this way about someone before, but he was the Hero of Mobius! He was supposed to handle anything thrown at him!

But this was different. This was…

"Shadow."

Rouge blinked. Her wings fluttered slightly, scraping the seat behind her. She tilted her head as if she'd misheard.

"Pardon, sugar?"

"I said - I said Shadow." Sonic's hands curled into fists in his lap. "It's Shadow."

He waited. Waited for the surprised gasp, the hearty laugh, the wipe of an invisible tear from her expensive mascara.

Instead, Rouge had gone quiet. Unusually so. It made Sonic's fur prickle all across his chest.

"Well?" he blurted, aggravated by the silence. "I told you, didn't I?"

"I wasn't expecting that."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know, I just…" Rouge's eyes seemed to lose focus, as though she were recalling a memory, and then she snapped back to the present moment. "Wow. OK. This is big news!"

Sonic watched her carefully. She must have known something he didn't, but Chaos help him if he tried to find out what.

"You're friends with Shadow, right? So how do I go about… y'know." Sonic gestured vaguely into the air. "Asking him out?"

"Besties," Rouge corrected, smoothing down the longer fur on the back of her head. "And I can tell you for certain that Shadow doesn't care for expensive luxuries. Not like me."

"Does that mean a fancy dinner date is off the table?"

Sonic couldn't help but feel relieved by that; he had an old suit somewhere back home, one he kept around for special events, but he hated having to wear it.

"I think so. But you could always try somewhere a little less… stuffy." Rouge rifled through her handbag and took out her phone. "Let's swap numbers, and I'll track down a nice place for you."

"Oh. I don't… I mean, I've tried to have a phone in the past, but I always end up breaking them." Sonic gave an awkward laugh as he rubbed his neck. "Tails is still figuring out how to make one that's indestructible."

"Well, in that case, I'll get in touch with your little fox friend. He's a smart kid. I'm sure he'll be helpful."

"No, wait! Tails can't find out!"

"Why not?"

"Because I…" Sonic fumbled, feeling more and more like an idiot by each passing second. "I haven't exactly… told him yet."

"I understand," Rouge purred. "I'll keep things vague. Neither your name, nor Shadow's, will ever come up."

"OK. OK, yeah, that sounds good."

"Never doubt me, Big Blue. You've entrusted me with this, and I won't let you down. I'm a professional in affairs of the heart."

For emphasis, Rouge gave a theatrical salute.

Sonic groaned.

[loveandleases]

G's, M's and Isaac's most embarassing memory (for G with and without MC if possible?), most fond, most cherished?

Sure thing! Going to put it under a cut because it got quite long.

💙 G

Most Embarrassing: The first time G's parents came to visit them at Uni, a certain roommate was having sex in the room, and G's parents thought it was G x Chris.

Most Fond: Back in Uni, G, Cam, and MC would pull all-nighters at the cafe. Early on G was following in their parent's footsteps of going to medical school with the end goal of becoming a surgeon. They really struggled and one of their ways of coping was drawing in the margins of their books or even Cam and MC's. The pages would have a little dog or a cat, just dressed in a lab coat.

One late night, after a long cram session, G was exhausted and a bit vulnerable. Cam was listing off random get-rich-quick schemes so that he could drop out and just become a photographer. (Each idea worse than the previous one). MC glanced over at G, noticed one of their doodles, and said, "You'd probably treat patients better if they had fur."

It was such a simple, offhanded comment. But that night, something about it just resonated with G. The thought just lingered, and for the first time, they were considering what they might want. That one little sentence from MC became a catalyst, it planted a seed of doubt about their future - and it threw their plan on its head. Regardless of what happened between them, they can fondly reflect on that moment in time. Because that comment changed their life for the better.

Most Cherished: (Ex) Their first kiss with MC (which was also G's first kiss.) It was unexpected, yet everything they could have hoped for if they allowed themselves to dream big. (Ex/Friend) When G was in the process of figuring out if they wanted to be a Vet, they had gotten Cam to agree to come with them to volunteer at an animal shelter. They were tasked with bathing the animals. Which was fine....at first. About 6 animals in, G had noticed that Cam kept scratching, to the point that he thought he was having an allergic reaction. Nope, Cam just caught fleas. So, every Christmas. G gifts Cam flea shampoo. The tag always says “Just a little something for our favorite shelter stray.”

💛 M

Most Embarrassing: Before M was a writer, they used to work at the cafe. One day a person walked up to them and asked them out.

“Hey, would you maybe want to go out sometime?”

M, as oblivious as ever, misunderstood completely and thought they were being asked if the person wanted their order taken outside. Without missing a beat, M grabbed the person’s coffee, nodded enthusiastically, and said, “Sure, I can take that outside for you.””

The person was so confused as M casually walked to the door, set the order down on the sidewalk, and gave a little wave. “There you go, all set!”

In the person’s eyes, not only did they get turned down for a date, but M had essentially kicked them out while smiling.

Most Fond: M had struggled for years trying to get published. There would be days when they were supposed to be helping in the kitchen of the cafe, but instead, they were jotting down things for their book on stray pieces of paper. They read all the books you will find in the Cafe, leafing through them hoping that each bit of knowledge they gained would help them become a better writer.

It wasn't needed, but M was certain there was just something wrong with their work. Until one day, it just happened. Their manuscript was accepted. The first people they called were their mom's. It was one of the best moments in M's life thus far. Even though they were barely able to afford rent, and the only food in their fridge was a jar of marmalade.

Most Cherished: After their first book was published and it picked up traction, it became quite popular. M was struggling with writer's block, which they tend to do. So they visited the cafe and the first thing they saw on the counter, was a copy of their book. M had thought about giving up so many times, but to be in that place it was a full circle moment for them.

💜 Isaac

Most Embarrassing: Isaac and Ardent used to have a thing. One day the two of them are in the little elevator of Ardent's apartment building. Their hands are roaming one another's bodies, sliding underneath fabric, both of them caught up in the heat of the moment. Now imagine their surprise when the first face and voice they see is Ardent's mother when the elevator door opens.

Most Fond: When they became sober, truly sober. Kara really kept Isaac in check, and reminded him what he was doing it for. Who he was doing it for. It took a lot to get to that point, and Isaac doesn't believe they could have done it without Kara there to support them.

Most Cherished: Spoiler, but I can say it involves their mother.

[thelovelyruin]

𝖘𝖆𝖈𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖊.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘 : yandere choso x fem reader

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖓 : choso fell in love with you freshman year and it was finally time to make you his.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖔𝖓 : smut, porn with plot, vaginal sex, praise, love, manipulation, murder (not you!)

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖙 : 7.1K

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗 : inspired by lyrics from saccharine by jazmin bean.

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖊𝖒𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 : hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading! this was a request i’ve been working on for a while lol; i hope you enjoy it; if so, follow me for more. au revoir!

18+ MDNI ADULT CONTENT

Everything you do, I'm obsessed with you.

“Exciting, isn’t it?”

“Huh? I mean, yeah it’s cool.”

“Are you rushing too? I really wanna go Kappa!”

“That’s, uh, aren’t they kinda…”

“What, cunts? Yeah, I’d fit in nicely.”

When Choso first met you during rush week a couple years ago, you were an aspiring freshman looking for a sorority to pledge to, and he was a normal guy. Sorta. You’d spoken to him once and he became absolutely in love with you. Not like he hadn’t been with other girls in the past, a few relationships here or there. But you were different. Not like any other girl he’d seen. You hadn’t shared too much with him that day, but he was determined to figure out, well, everything about you.

I don't mean to scare, but you're just so cute.

It started with your name, which he’d simply just asked someone in your class. But then, Choso needed to know more, when was your birthday, were your zodiac signs compatible? He’d gotten that information from stealing your campus ID out of your purse while you two were in class together. Choso was paying really good attention to other things too though. He’d paid attention to your screen while he sat behind you, online shopping when you were supposed to be paying attention to the lecture. That’s how he found out what size you were and the brands you liked, but other things got a little trickier. He noticed the way you did your makeup, it was always so pretty, but it’s not like he knew what any of it was, so he’d slowly started stealing things out of your makeup bag. It was harder to get your perfume, though, until you reapplied it on the campus lawn one day. Pink sugar, huh? Sweet just like you. Choso wanted to be even better, he’d send you flowers with no receipt of who sent them, an array until he found your favorites. He’d pay for your food when you went out to eat, then leave to remain anonymous. He just loved seeing that smile on your face whenever he surprised you with something, always grateful, looking around to see if you could catch your secret admirer, but blushing when you realized you wouldn’t. God, you were perfect.

Lucky for you, you had actually gotten into Kappa. You walked around on this high horse though, one of those kiss-my-ass kind of attitudes. Not like anyone was gonna check you for it, well, ‘cause you were hot. Always well dressed, always groomed, always punctual. There was nothing anyone could really say about you other than you being a bitch, at least never to your face. Little did you know, Choso was your bitch. If you ever even glanced at him, he’d almost faint, and as the sophomore and junior years came and you’d gotten classes with him, he’d go back to his dorm and fuck his fist at the thought of you every day. But now, it was Senior year, and he was running out of time to make you his.

Every move you make, you're fucking sweeter than a cake.

Choso originally planned to just ask you directly, but he had to make sure it was gonna be perfect. He couldn’t leave room for error in the possibility that you weren’t interested at all. So, he’d gotten as close as possible to you. It wasn’t stalking, it was just studying an interest. He was pretty good at photography, so he got hired as a photographer for school events, such as parties or games. He’d walk around and take pictures of everyone like usual to not raise suspicion, but whenever he could, he’d snap as many pictures as he could of you, slipping them into his pocket. When there was too much going on at the party downstairs, he’d sneak upstairs to find which room was yours, for research purposes of course.

Well, that research went directly to Choso knowing which window to take pictures outside of. You were so oblivious, often leaving your curtains wide open as you just got out of the shower, dressed in nothing but a towel. Now, Choso never got a snapshot of you naked or anything like that, but the hopes of the day he could got him pretty damn hard. He’d take pictures of you walking around campus, doing fundraisers with your sorority sisters, running for the pageants that you always won, with the exception of Miss Junior, who you exposed for cheating on her boyfriend so she’d be out of the running. So, you’d won that too. You were practically perfect, Choso felt you were made for him, there was a true possibility he could nurture and care for you, allow you to let your guard down a bit and let him someone in. He imagined himself taking you out to all your favorite restaurants, he had all of them written down along with your favorite menu items. Nights in his room cuddled up watching all of the movies you liked, you’d be so excited to see all of your favorite snacks already waiting for you. You’d wear that glitter lipgloss you loved, he’d make sure you had more than enough, considering he’d already bought two tubes for whenever he made you his. He imagined making love to you, hearing you moan for him as he pleasured you, then put you on his chest as you fell asleep, resting his eyes as he held you. You two could truly be in love. 

I'd love to wipe these other bitches out, so it's just you and me.

But, you had a fucking boyfriend. It’s not like he didn’t like seeing you with other guys. He fucking hated it. Choso thought the guy was pretty scummy, he had that douchebag personality and always looked at guys like Choso like he was a piece of shit. But that asshole was truly a piece of shit. Megumi, or something like that. Choso didn’t bother doing too much digging up on him because it wasn’t gonna matter very soon. You guys had been dating since the beginning of the school year, not very long, but that didn’t stop him from talking to other girls when you weren't around. He’d forget your dates, and make you cry. Wouldn’t post you on his socials, almost pretended he was single. Choso had half a mind to stab him to death, mostly because he didn’t like the way he treated you, but also because then he wouldn’t be in the way anymore.

Then, there were your damn sorority sisters. Those bitches were definitely in the way. They took up too much of your time, making you busy every day with planning and meetings, to do what? Party and maybe, fundraise? He’d see them sometimes talking shit about you, saying you were weird or a bitch, or something else that wasn’t true about you. Choso would never say those things about you or treat you like that. You deserved someone who actually loved you and cared about you, none of these other distractions. He would give you the world, but that meant getting rid of the world you had first.

Oh, oh, this shit is scaring me…

Now, when Choso originally thought of doing this, he thought it was a little nuts. It was a little extreme, sure, but it was just an obstacle in the way to get to you. Sometimes, we do bad things for the people we love. It doesn't mean it's right, it means love is more important. 

Choso originally thought of actually stabbing Megumi like he wanted to. That fell quickly when he really considered the situation. Megumi was on the lankier side which meant it would be more tactical to get a hit in, plus he’d need to find a time he’d be alone in a discreet location to hurt him with no one noticing. Not that he’d really care if someone saw, it would just mean he wouldn’t be able to live the rest of his life with you; that was not an option. Shooting would be just as difficult, shell casings and the sound of gunfire could get him in deep. Could steal the brakes from his car, but then there was the possibility you were in it when it crashed, and for that, he’d never forgive himself. He’d need something that anyone could have done, an accident perhaps, something that wouldn’t kill Megumi, just get him out the fucking way. Then he got a little idea.

Don't wanna stick my fingers in this, or I'll start to bleed…

“Hey, Megumi!”

“Do I know you?”

“Well, we literally live on the same floor, but um, no. Anyways, wanted to talk to you about something…”

“Get on with it.”

“It’s her birthday today, your girlfriend that is.”

“Oh yeah. Well, why the fuck do you care?”

“We’re kinda close, wanted to get her something, but I’ll be too busy with classes to give it to her. Do you mind giving it to her for me?”

“You got my girlfriend a gift, bitch? What the hell’s in this box?”

“Well, that’s kind of a surprise for her…”

“Get the fuck out of my face before I beat your ass. Leave my girl alone, you fuckin’ weirdo.”

Megumi had slammed the door on him, just like that. Usually, Choso would’ve been really torn by his insult. He was pretty pissed Megumi forgot your birthday too, but how could he be pissed, truly? Not when a sweet resolution to Megumi’s shitty ways was on the horizon.

“Megumi’s like totally dead!”

“Omg, what do you mean he’s dead?”

“Well, he went to the hospital ‘cause he came down with like a fever or something? Todo said he couldn’t even talk when he found Megumi in the hallway and his eyes were all watery. The doctors said he died of, shit, what’s it called again? Whatever, like he couldn’t breathe! I don’t know what the fuck happened, but damn, really sucks, ya know?”

“Babe, I’m so sorry. To be fair, he was a dick.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He didn’t have a big one either TBH.”

Well, shit. Choso didn’t mean to kill him, not really. He knew Megumi was a fuckin’ asshole, though. Paired with someone crushin’ on his girlfriend and his ego, Choso knew Megumi was gonna open that box. And what was in it? Initially, Ricin covered the inside of the box, which when inhaled, caused damage to the respiratory system, which Megumi could technically recover from. Choso had extracted the Ricin from some castor beans. The same castor beans that were crushed inside of the cupcake sitting in the box. All 10 of them. Originally, Megumi would’ve lived, had he just thrown it away and not have been nosy, and if he did end up giving it to you, Choso would be there to intervene and he’d deal with that explanation later. But Megumi chose to be a nosy bastard, open it, AND EAT THE CUPCAKE! It was comical, really, considering Ricin can’t be found in an autopsy, so Choso got away with it. It’s okay. It had to be done. That greedy asshole got what was coming to him, and with him out of the way, Choso was cleared to enact Phase 2.

It's sweet like saccharine, what I’d do to have you sitting here next to me.

A couple of days after Megumi died, you pretty much got over it, walking about as if nothing happened. To be fair, he was cheating on you all the time, lied to you, and overall treated you like shit, so it wasn’t that hard. What Choso didn’t expect was for you to get kicked out of your sorority house.

“Listen, babe. Your dead boyfriend is really throwing off the vibe here. Plus, it’s bringing a lot of bad looks to the rest of us because it seems like you honestly don’t give a fuck that he died, and truthfully, neither do we, but damn bitch, try acting like it!”

“Please, Chapter President, I can act like I care, I just-”

“Sorry girlie. You’re still a sister, don’t worry. You do have to leave the house though.”

Choso felt a little bad. A little. They really were bitches, but this was perfect. He’d just saved himself from starting a gas leak at the Kappa house when you weren’t home. He didn’t like that your feelings were hurt though, and he beat himself up about it. Choso himself wasn’t really a good guy, killing your boyfriend on your birthday? Almost killing your sorority sisters before they pretty much kicked you to the curb? He was doing the exact opposite of being a good boyfriend. He’d be on his toes from now on, can’t risk ruining his chances with you. However, it was all in good light. You were becoming more and more ready to fall into his arms.

Apparently, you pretty much kept to yourself and stayed in your room. Your classwork was slacking a bit, and you couldn’t live at the house, but that didn’t stop you from still trying to be involved, participating in some campus events, and fundraising with your sisters despite your exile. You were a normal girl, humbled for sure, but Choso didn’t like that very much. He never intended to break you down like this, while you were still sweet in his eyes, he knew you loved the life you had before. He can’t unkill Megumi, which wouldn’t make sense anyway because Choso was your boyfriend now, but he’d give you a life even better than the first. One where you and he were together.

Like cherry pie, will you be mine?

Now, Choso was a real sweetheart, getting you so many gifts for when you came along, preparing how he’d approach you, compliment you, fuck you. But he was getting a little impatient. At this point, it was already the tail end of courses before winter break so he didn’t have much time to see you every day, even though he’d make that happen regardless. Plus, all of the shit that had happened to you would wear off in a couple of days, so he needed to act now. Choso knew he couldn’t make you fall in love with him overnight, and it would be too hasty to try to take it slow with you now. So, he had no choice. He was gonna kidnap you.

Now, “kidnapping” is a rather strong way to put it. In reality, Choso was gonna come to see you and talk a bit, but if that didn’t work, he’d hold you at knifepoint and make you come back to his dorm with him to enjoy all of the things he’d set up for you! He would never hurt you intentionally, so it’s not like he was gonna use it, but he had to make you think he would. He wished kidnapping you was legal, why wouldn't he want to be able to love you and take care of you all the time? It’s okay, you’d learn to love him back. After all, Choso wasn’t your ‘maybe’. Choso was your ‘one’.

Sweet to the core, I want some more.

Choso decided he’d make his move on you the night of the last Kappa party of the season, too many people for anyone to notice him running off with you, plus he knows you’d look so pretty in your party dress, hair all done up, heels making those legs of yours look so pretty. And you did! Except, you were crying. When Choso got to the party and spotted you, you were sniffling as you walked out the back door of the house. Now, he had to be strategic about this, so he exited out the front in time to catch you walking from the back. When he’d gotten outside, he saw you walking down the sidewalk, but it wasn’t very well, your heel had broken and you were having to walk barefoot. He felt terrible seeing you like that. You looked so sad, so scared, just broken. Choso had to make things right.

“Hey, you okay?”

I love you.

I can hear your words breaking down my core…

You looked up at him with those beautiful doe eyes of yours, bloodshot and watery from crying, but still, you looked stunning.

“Oh, hey Choso. Honestly? No, I’m like not okay at all.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, my ex died and everyone’s making a super big deal about it. Like, people kept coming up to me asking questions and stuff like I was there when he died or something.”

“Oh, um-”

“Sorry, I know I sound like a twat right now, but he cheated on me like all the time! It’s honestly a long shot to say we were even together, not be cocky or anything, but I think he dated me to make himself look better. Plus, he got me in hot water with my sisters, like he’s haunting me after death or whatever.”

“Sounds like he wasn’t really a good guy…”

“Yeah, pretty much. Anyway, now I have to walk back to my stupid dorm with no shoes because I fell over like a klutz and just embarrassed myself to the nines. I don’t even wanna go back there, just makes me sad, ya know? I came out to this stupid party to get my mind off things and it’s like things are just bleh. It doesn’t even feel like anyone likes me anymore. I wish someone just loved me for me, ya know?”

I think about you every day at least a hundred times or more.

Choso walked up and hugged you, bringing you into his embrace. It was a bold move for sure, especially with the knife sheathed on his waist, but he just hated seeing you cry like that. Soon, you’ll feel how nice it is to have someone care about you so much. To have someone who wants to revolve their entire life around you.

“It’s okay. Know you don’t know me very well, but I’m here for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna be too forward or anything, but you can come back to my dorm for a few, that is, if you don’t wanna go back to yours.”

“That’s so sweet, thanks!”

Fuck, this was perfect! He didn’t even have to threaten to kill you! Choso offered to pick you up, which you happily agreed to, holding your heels in your hand as he carried you back to his dorm. On the way, you talked about a bunch of stuff you liked, mostly things he already knew about you, but there were a couple of new things that enticed him. You’d stopped crying, that sweet smile back on your face as you found comfort in Choso’s arms. He’d gotten back to his dorm fairly fast, not wanting to waste much time to get things rolling. He figured he’d start with telling you about his love for you, really seeing if you-

“OMG, YOU HAVE THIS???”

You pointed at the movie poster on his wall, one of your favorite movie. He’d studied it a lot, trying to figure out why you liked it so much. He’d watched it over ten times by now, buying the poster as a touch when you finally came, which worked!

“Yeah, it’s a pretty good-”

“Pretty good? It’s like the best movie ever!”

“We can, uh, watch it if you want.”

“Yes, I’d love that!”

Choso was so lucky. Here you were, sitting with him on his bed as you watched the movie. You’d stop every few minutes and point out something about it you knew a fun fact about or laugh at the parts you’d seen so many times. You were so damn cute. You’d pretty much forgotten all of the stuff going on, able to just relax with him for once. Don’t you see how nice this is? How special things can be? 

“Oh wow, it’s getting late. Shit, I still have to walk back.”

Just like that, the movie was over. You looked tired, not just physically but mentally too. You couldn’t leave though, that’s not how this was gonna go.

“Are you sure you’re good to walk?”

“Whatcha mean?”

“I mean, your heels are broken and it’s too dark outside to be out there by yourself. Something could happen to you.”

Fuck, Choso was a little too bold with that last part. He was probably coming on too strong, he’d need to fix-

“You’re worried about little ‘ol me?”

“Something like that…”

YES. He was so fucking worried that sweat was about to drip from his face, red with anxiousness that the love of his life was about to leave him behind.

“Well, you could always walk with me. Or do you just wanna spend more time with me?”

You gave him a little smirk and wink, it went straight to his dick as he tried to think of a way to respond.

“I, um… yeah, I would.”

Your answer to his statement would be the deciding factor between you staying or him picking up that knife from his jacket on the chair. Fortunately for you, you smiled and put your things back down, sitting on the bed as you looked up at him.

“Fine, but we’re gonna watch another movie. Your pick this time.”

You make me afraid, come closer, wait no, go away…

Ten minutes into this movie and he felt like he was gonna fucking explode. This time around, you’d gotten closer to him. Instead of sitting at the end of the bed, you laid beside him, not quite touching you, but he could definitely smell you, and fuck, you smelled so good. It was becoming painful to not touch you, but he couldn’t risk fucking this up. You looked so nice like this, chest moving up and down as you laid comfortably, eyes low, obvious you were getting tired. 

“Hey, Choso?”

“What’s up?”

“Thanks for, ya know, being nice to me. I’m not anyone’s favorite these days…”

You looked so sad, but Choso couldn’t be happier. You were starting to recognize the only person who really cares about you is him!

“Yeah, but you’re my favorite.”

“Really? But, you barely know me.”

Choso actually knew you very well. Probably better than you know yourself.

“You’ve just got that type of personality that’s really easy to like, is all.”

You sat up now and looked Choso in the eyes, making him blush instantly.

“Oh yeah? So, you like me?”

Choso started stuttering and sweating, flustered beyond reason as you gave him one of those smirks. At this point, he didn’t even have to tell you. His body language was more than obvious.

“I was just kid-”

“Yes, I mean-”

You both looked at each other in shock. Why the fuck would he say that? You were fucking joking. Choso was stupid to think you were serious, not like he really had any chance with a girl like you. But that’s okay. He was gonna make one. Although, he didn’t know whether to love or hate you right now, most likely both. You looked up at him optimistically, like you were waiting on his response, but also blushing a bit as he nearly popped a blood vessel in front of you. He couldn’t even speak, choked up on his words as you brought your hand on top of the one he had leaning on the bed.

“Tell me, do you?”

“I do, for a while now.”

“So, why not ever talk to me?”

“Because you’re pretty hard to talk to.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re usually, um-”

“A bitch? Yeah, I am. But these past few weeks have humbled me.”

Choso wanted to laugh a little. Of course, it was because of him and the precautions he’s put in place for you two to end up together. You didn’t need to know that part though. You looked down, that same broken look you’d been putting off all night. Everything in him told him to stop, don’t be too hasty and he could probably get back to the plan, but it hurt him to see what he’d caused. It definitely didn’t help that you were crying again, bringing your knees to your chest as you fell into the realization of how messed up you felt. Choso pulled you into his arms, laying your face into his chest as he rubbed your back. You felt so warm, so soft, he didn’t want to let you go. Ever. 

“It’s not your fault. So, don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Thanks, you’re right.”

It was hard to feel like the bad guy when you were smiling at him, finding comfort in his words. You two were dangerously close now, eye contact had him feeling like a deer in headlights, while you remained cool and collected, like usual. That’s one of the main things he loved about you, despite all of the crazy shit going on, you still try to appear fine, but that was far from the truth. He’d be a shoulder for you to cry on, someone you could depend on and pour your feelings into. Give your heart to someone who’s worthy of loving you back and spending their every breathing second devoted to keeping you happy.

Saccharine, what I’d do to have you sitting here next to me. 

You’d kissed Choso softly, leaning in slowly enough to feel his breath hitch on his lips when he realized what you were doing. It was perfect. Your lips felt even softer than he thought they would, gentle and loving as you brought yourself closer, closing the distance between you. He had to get his head together, he’d practiced this part over and over again, and all he had to do was focus and execute it. First, cup your face with his hand. You smiled into his lips when he did this, allowing him to move to the second step, and bring his hand to the back of your neck to deepen the kiss. You softened into his touch as he laid your back on the bed, opening your legs to let him on top of you. You were so sweet, moaning softly into the air as he began sucking the skin of your neck. Choso wanted to claim you, he’d finally gotten to kiss you and he needed everyone to know you were his. He sucked a little harder and felt ecstatic when you didn’t stop him, instead groaning as bruises began to flower on your skin.

“Choso…”

Shit, you moaned his name. It felt exhilarating, something he’s been waiting for for so long finally coming true. It lit a fire under his ass, coming up to kiss your lips once before he brought his lips back down to your collarbones, moving lower as his hand massaged your side. Once he’d reached the skin of your breasts, he’d stopped, looking up to you for the green light to keep going. Even though you didn’t really have a choice in spending the rest of your life with him, consent was still pretty important to him, so when you gave him a nod, he took off. Choso brought his fingers to the hem of your dress, pulling it over your head as you brought your arms up to aid him. God, you were beautiful. Your tits were on full display to him now, nothing covering you but a lacy pink thong. He was gonna start hyperventilating, your tits lifted as you breathed, nipples calling out to him like they needed saving. He brought his lips down swiftly and wrapped his tongue around one of them, immediately putting the other between his fingers to pinch as the rest of his palm massaged your breast. You started whimpering for him now, touch-starved since your boyfriend died, but Choso hoped it was also because he was doing things better than anyone you’d been with before. He alternated his mouth, groping and sucking as much as he could, relishing in the feeling of your tits in his face for the first time. As much as he could stay there all day, he knew you needed more, so he kissed his way down your stomach, lips grazing your pantyline. Choso sucked the skin of your stomach as you bucked your hips against him, turned on as he took care of you.

“Choso, please…”

He looked up into your eyes as he brought his lips off your body, fingers hooking into the fabric of your thong as he pulled them off of you. Holy fuck. You were soaking wet, lips glistening with your juices as your hips shifted slightly to invite Choso in. Without hesitation, he brought his lips down to your pussy, beginning to devour you. You tasted amazing, drinking the nectar of a fruit long awaited and it almost made him regret not planning to kidnap you sooner. You smelled so fucking good too, your pussy engulfing all of his senses as he ate you like his last meal. Your fingers found their way into his hair, moaning his name into the air with every lick of your clit. Sideways, up and down, circles around your bud, anything he could to hear you moan for him, to make your pain go away. He’d brought your legs over his shoulders and rested his hands under the arch of your back, angling your hips so he could eat you exactly how he wanted. Messy and slow, he took his time spreading your juices all over his face as you panted and pulled at the sheets. He was self-indulgent, tongue pumping in and out of you as he lived out his fantasies of eating your pussy.

“Choso…I-I…”

Shit, you were close. Choso was about to make you cum! He doubled down immediately, bringing his arms over your thighs to keep you in place as you felt your orgasm approaching. He’d picked up his pace too, tongue moving at a hungry pace as he anticipated your cum in his mouth. The hand you had in his hair gripped tighter, Choso taking it as a cue to bring his lips up and suck your clit, suction bringing your bud against his tongue. You came fast and hard, grinding your pussy against his face as you came for him, his name slipping off your lips over and over as you rode out your high.

You’re sweet to the core. 

You looked so pretty for him, chest rising and falling as you caught your breath. Choso slowly kissed his way back up your body, lips finding themselves on yours. This kiss was different from before, more intense and confident. At that point, you’d already started unbuckling his jeans, kissing him feverishly as you helped him take his clothes off. Hovering over you, he looked at you in awe. Legs on either side of his, big doe eyes looking up at him, waiting for him to fuck you.

“Holy shit…”

Your hands found his hair, gripping and tugging at it as he slipped in at a slow pace. Choso took his time, exploring the walls he longed for the feeling of. Every stroke nearly sent him over, wet and warm, you were like heaven wrapped around his dick. You felt even better than he’d imagined, much better than his fist he fucked to the thought of you. Especially with how you were moaning for him, it was driving him crazy, all he could do was praise you.

“You’re perfect…so fuckin’ perfect…”

“I know…”

God, he’s never felt like this. You were sucking him in like you were made for him, holy shit, he was losing his mind. Touching him, feeling your warmth on his shaft as he fucked you faster. You were so beautiful, lips pursed as you breathed up and down, eyes fluttering as he fucked you.

“You feel so good, baby…”

“Choso…”

His name was killing him. He’d put in so much time to make sure he fucked you exactly the way you needed him, he had to make the first time perfect. A man that could care for you. Love you. Please you. Choso finally had you, and he was going to give you the fucking world.

I need to hate you before it's too late…

“So fuckin’ pretty, baby…”

Choso gripped your legs tight as he fucked into you fast, making you scream his name out into the room. You were doing this for him! Moaning for him! And you felt so fucking good wrapped around him, more than anyone ever before. There wasn’t anyone before you and there wasn’t anyone before him. Your world would revolve around him now like his revolved around you, every waking moment of being in love would be magical. 

“Choso, I-”

“Let me have it, baby. I’ve waited so long for it…”

He didn’t care what he was saying anymore, too high on you and your pleasure that he couldn’t think straight. If you were gonna cum for him, he needed it now, like his life depended on it. Something to signify the beginning of all of the pleasure he’d give you from this point forward.

“You know how long I’ve wanted this, baby? Fuck, I’m close…”

“That’s it, baby, let go, let me make you feel good…”

“So pretty, cumming on my dick like this…”

Choso was so fuckin obsessed with you. You came down like an angel, eyes fluttering as you murmured his name softly, body melting into the bed. He halted inside you as he came, losing his mind over the way your nails dug into his arms. You two lay there panting for a bit, Choso’s arm bringing you into his chest. So beautiful like this. He’d finally made it, you in his arms, right where you belonged.

Before I crave you…so please go away. 

“So, I’m not going back to my dorm tonight, am I?”

No, of course, you weren’t.

“Do you really want-”

“I don’t want to.”

Choso was shocked to hear your words. You actually wanted to stay here with him, he didn’t even have to scare you into doing it! 

“Do you have a T-shirt or something? It’s kinda cold in here.”

“Uh, yeah, let me grab-”

“No problem, I’ll get it!”

Stop it. FUCKING STOP. You were getting too comfortable, about to open Pandora’s box with your hand on his closet door. Choso should stop you, whatever it would take. By the time he’d gotten to the knife, you’d opened the closet, pictures of you all over the walls. Choso lingered behind you now, knife behind his back as he waited for your reaction. You just had to be so fuckin nosy, you’d ruined everything. 

“Choso…are these pictures of me?”

He gripped the knife tightly in his hand as he watched you look through them. He couldn’t even speak, heartbreak and murderous intent flowing out of him. Every picture put another pin in his heart. Photos of you around campus, through your dorm window, in class, all open for you to see. You brought your hand up to one, pulling it down as you looked over it. The picture he took of you on Valentine’s Day. You’d been sitting in class that day, sad because Megumi hadn’t gotten you anything, which Choso figured he wouldn’t. That’s why he had three dozen roses delivered to you on the lawn later that day, eyes brightening as you held them and read the card: “Happy Valentine’s Day, Princess. ~ your secret admirer.” You were so damn happy that day, so perfect. Now, you had to die.

“It was you, huh? All this-”

“Yes. It was always me.”

You pulled another one down, the one of you winning Miss Sophomore. Your face had the brightest smile, holding that crown on your head as you cried tears of joy. You smirked at it, cheeks blushing a bit.

“I look really good in this one, glad someone got a shot of it. So, you liked me this much?”

You’d turned to look at him now, giving him a confused face. Probably because Choso was sweating buckets. His hand shook behind him as he looked at you nervously, analyzing everything about you, any sign that you were scared or wanted to leave.

“I’d call it more than that.”

“So, why not-”

“Because I wanted things to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect for you.”

You gave him a nervous nod and turned back to the closet, pulling down a photo of you in your room back at the Kappa house.

“How’d you do it?”

“I…huh?”

“How’d you take this without getting caught?”

You looked back at him now, a serious look on your face that told him he better fuckin’ answer. What was he gonna do? There was no point in lying to you, everything was there for you to see.

“I learned you and the other girl’s schedules to make sure everyone was asleep.”

“So, what else ya got? Pictures can’t be the only thing.”

Choso pointed to the top shelf of the closet hesitantly. You brought down the bin carefully, sitting it down on his desk as you opened the lid.

“What the fuck, Choso? I was looking everywhere for this lipgloss!”

You’d begun rummaging through the bin, picking up things in remembrance of when you lost them. A couple of hair ties, eyeliner, lipstick napkins. You acted as if there was nothing wrong with this, and it was making it really hard for Choso to read you. His hand alternated between wanting to drop the knife or use it, heart pulsing frantically as you tried on old jewelry of yours. Satisfied with your findings, you moved back to the closet, pulling down the other box on the shelf. The one with his gifts for you.

“Wait! You’re not supposed to see that yet!”

“What is it?”

“It’s something really special... just please, you’re gonna ruin everything!”

You shot him a concerned look and rolled your eyes, walking back over to the bed to take a seat. 

“Answer a couple of questions for me, ‘kay?”

“I-I…”

“Question one, when did this start?”

“...Freshman year, rush week…the first time we met…”

You looked at him surprised. That meant he’d been stalking in love with you for almost four years now and never acted on it.

Just confiscate you, my teeth are in pain…

“Question two, what’s behind your back?”

“Nothing…important…”

Choso was shaking in fear, so much so, he dropped the fucking knife. You both watched it fall to the floor behind him, your mouth agape in shock as he frantically bent over to pick it up. He couldn’t tell what was more awkward, him dropping it on the floor or him picking it up and sitting it on his desk like nothing happened.

“WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU GONNA DO WITH THAT?”

“DAMAGE CONTROL.”

“FOR WHAT?”

“FOR WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!”

“YOU WERE GONNA STAB ME?”

“NO, I WAS JUST GONNA MAKE SURE YOU DIDN’T LEAVE!”

“ARE YOU FUCKIN’ CRAZY?”

“I’M NOT CRAZY, I’M IN LOVE!”

You scoffed and chuckled, stunned at his statement. Choso was bright red, on the verge of a panic attack. So many thoughts, so many mistakes, you knew almost everything now. All of the things he wanted to do for you, show you, give you, it all meant nothing now. Still, you sat there completely calm, aside from the fact the guy who just fucked your brains out was possibly about to kill you.

“Question three, this is an important one. Did you kill Megumi?”

“It was ruled a death from natural causes.”

“Yeah, tell that shit to someone else, did you kill him?”

Choso didn’t really care to hide things now, too far gone. Especially not how he got rid of that asshole you called a boyfriend.

“Yes, I did; and I don’t regret it.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I poisoned him with Ricin.”

“RICIN? HOW THE FU-”

“I put it inside of a box I told him was supposed to be for you.”

“Why?”

“Because he was a terrible boyfriend to you and you didn’t deserve to be with a guy who couldn’t even remember your birthday. Not to mention, he would’ve never died if he didn’t open what was meant for you, nosy fucker.”

“So, you were jealous? Most people would just beat the guy’s ass, you definitely knocked it out the park with that one.”

“Yes, he didn’t deserve to have you! He took you for granted when there was somebody much more fit to make you happy!”

“And that’s you?”

“Yes, just…please…don’t leave. Not before I make things perfect for you!”

You sat back on your hands, thinking a bit and bouncing your leg. Choso had said too much. Not only did he admit to killing Megumi, but now if you really did hate him, you could get him arrested too. Which meant you two would have to live apart. That was no longer an option.

“Even If I wanted to leave, I don’t think you’d actually give me the choice. Plus, it’s kinda…sweet?”

“Sweet?...”

“Yeah, never had someone like me this much, let alone kill my boyfriend to get closer to me.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“No, not really. Well, maybe for planning to stab me. Not like I can make you untake the pics, but I’ll need some of my stuff back. I’m more impressed than anything. I’m not even gonna ask how you got the Ricin or half of this stuff.”

Choso didn’t know how to feel, or how to react. Why were you so calm about this? Why weren’t you scared? Why were you still here willingly? He couldn’t move at all, locked in place in fear as he watched you get into the bed and turn on another movie.

“You gonna come lay with me or just stand there?”

“I just…I-”

You sat straight up now, looking him dead in the eyes as his body quivered in reaction.

“What’s your deal, huh? Didn’t you kill a guy to be with me?”

“Yes, technically, I-”

“So, be with me, Choso! Unless you’re just like a murderer or whatever, that’s kinda fucked up.”

I'm gonna break you before I can say…

Choso was lost for fuckin’ words. You were laying on his chest now, holy shit, he was losing his mind. Touching him, feeling your warmth as you finally relaxed. Everything he had done to get you with him had paid off. You were so perfect, lips pursed while you breathed up and snuggled your face into him. Just his sweet, sweet girl.

“So, the whole, um, thing…”

“What, you being fucking insane?”

“I’m not insane, just very dedicated to the woman I love!”

“Well, the way I see it, all my other boyfriends couldn’t stop looking at other girls, but you? You’re perfect, you’re already obsessed with me! Just don’t kill anyone else, ‘kay?” 

“I’ll try.”

I love you.

♱ the song used in this story is saccharine by jazmin bean. 🖤

♱ masterlist.

♱ all fics playlist.

𝖆𝖚 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖗, 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖑𝖞𝖗𝖚𝖎𝖓.

[httpspedri26]

Your losing me (pt.2)

Angst fluff

Jude x reader

I’m still writing some requests but feel free to leave more!!

Your losing me (pt.1)

Jude hated himself because of what he did six months ago. These last months were the longest he ever went without you, without the sound of your voice, your laughter, Your scent still wonders around the house though, it’s everywhere, even though Jude has washed your pillow countless times or had another woman sleep on it. It serves as a constant reminder that you once in that house with him.

Every corner of the house holds memories of you both - the photographs on the walls, every time he wants to take the pictures of the wall he breaks down crying, so he figured it was better to leave them there.

He often wonders if you think about him too, if you miss him like he misses you. . The thought of you moving on, finding happiness with someone else, is both a source of pain and a glimmer of hope. Deep down, he wants nothing more than for you to be happy, but he can’t stand imagining you with another man.

This week, Real Madrid had agreed to cancel this week’s training for the holidays to spend some quality time with their families. Jude initially hadn't planned on returning to Dortmund, but he really wanted to see y/n, that’s all he had been wishing for these past 6 months just to hold her in his arms again.

That’s why he finds himself back in dourtmund back in the front door of his and y/n house. He didn’t really know how he got there, he wasn’t planning on showing up at your doorstep at this time, but all roads lead him here.

He can hear footsteps as soon as he knocks on the door. Jude’s heart drops as he sees a man, the complete opposite of him, standing in front of him. brown hair, light eyes, and fair skin.

"Hey, can I help you with something?" The man furrowed his eyebrows as he asked Jude.

Jude felt like his throat was closing and couldn't speak.

"I, um, no, sorry. I think I'm in the wrong house," Jude blurted out, as soon as he heard your voice from afar asking who it was.

✿

It’s been a few days since Jude appeared at Y/N’s front door. He had been staying at his parents' house in Dortmund, still alone as nobody was there yet. They were in Sunderland with Jobe for a few days before coming over to Dortmund, which brought Jude a sense of relief, not wanting his family to see him in that state.

A soft knock from the front door snapped Jude out of his thoughts. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he groaned and threw his head back as he stood up from the couch. Opening the door, your scent enveloped his mind.

“Hey, Jude.” Y/n shivered from the rain; she only had one rain jacket that barely covered her.

"Y/n, are you insane?" Jude exclaimed as he pulled her into the house, wrapping her in his arms. She smelled as she always did, her scent filling Jude's nose. He felt the urge to cry, to drop to his knees and apologize for everything. Y/n looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. The warmth of Jude’s embrace offered a temporary refuge from the cold rain outside.

“I was just walking around, needed some fresh air,” Y/n whispered, her voice barely audible over the raindrops tapping on the windows.

Jude tightened his grip, his heart heavy with unspoken words. “And you came here? How did you know I was here?”

“I saw you Jude, before you left my house, I was just scared to say anything”

After they pulled away from each other, Jude rushed to grab a towel for y/n, making sure she wasn't still shaking from the cold rain. As he wrapped the towel around her, Y/n looked around the living room, recognizing the unchanged details of a place. The family photographs on the wall, and also a picture of her and Jude kissing caught her eye, prompting her to break the silence.

“Why did you go to my house Jude?”

Jude met Y/n's gaze, sincerity reflecting in his eyes. "because I miss you, Y/n/n. These past six months have been the longest, and it's been horrible. It hurts when my friends, my parents, even Jobe asks about you. I want to fix this, to make things right between us."

Y/n sighed, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and sadness. “Jude, we broke up because our relationship wasn’t working anymore. You know that. It’s not just about the past six months; it’s about what led us here.”

Jude’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I know I messed up, but I can change. I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right, to be the person you need me to be. Please, give us another chance.”

Y/n hesitated, her heart torn between the memories they shared and the pain they endured. “Jude, it’s not that simple. We both need time to heal and figure things out.”

"Six months were enough for me, y/n. I don't need any more time to know that you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I love you, and only you, you know how hard I tried to forget you? I went on thousands of dates, but I hated them all because nobody was you. please give me one more chance y/n/n”.

Y/n hesitated, the weight of those words hanging in the air. The scars from the past were etched deep, forgiveness wasn’t something Y/N was considering. After a moment of silence, y/n finally spoke, “It’s not that simple Jude, you really hurt me.”

Sighing in defeat, a tear traced down his cheek. Y/N smiled softly, delicately wiping his tears away. "But I can't live without you, Jude. I love you."

[boyfriendstevie]

Photographer!bf!stevie who’s obsessed w your 🐱 to the point he takes artsy soulful pics of it !!!!

oh... my god. anon. u have awoken something inside of me. i... i am unwell. i hope u enjoy | .7k; fem!reader; 18+!!! mdni!!!

-

Steve loves to take pictures of you. All day, every day. You’re his muse, as he says. Not all of the pictures are sexual. Steve thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and he just needs to capture that. To save it, even though the pictures never quite do you justice. He’s got rolls and rolls of film of you in all states of dress, and more polaroids than he knows what to do with. A normal, tame picture of you smiling at him during a date night goes in his wallet, and the dirtier ones get tucked into the corner of one of the drawers in his nightstand. 

His favorite pictures of you, though, are the private ones, the ones that do get tucked away for later. The ones he’d never share with anyone else. The ones of you dolled up in pretty lingerie, tits spilling out of the delicate cups, pussy covered in soft lace. The ones where you’re wrapped in your bedsheets, hair a mess against the pillows. The ones where you’re wearing even less, completely exposed for him and him alone. 

Ones where your own fingers are in your cunt, or even better, his cock is buried inside of you. He loves the pictures he takes just after sex, thumb pulling at your folds to spread you open, slick and cum dripping out of your entrance. Your face is rarely in the pictures, but that’s okay, he doesn’t need to see it to remember the way you looked writhing against the sheets, to remember the sounds you made as you came.

You’re always shy about it, no matter the situation. It’s not that you mind, you know that Steve would never do anything with the pictures that you didn’t want. But it’s hard not to preen at his attention and adoration for you. He’ll pull out of you slowly, nose nudging against yours gently, and when he sits up to see the mess you’ve both made, your wild hair and plump lips, he hurries to get his camera, “Wait, stay right there, baby. You look gorgeous right now. Need a picture.” 

“Steve, you already have more than enough,” you complain, though you don’t actually mind. You pose exactly as he wants, legs spread around his figure, totally bare for him.  

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, as he takes the picture. 

You giggle shyly, hands covering your face as you draw your knees together coquettishly and to one side, “Oh shush.” 

Steve gets serious then, shaking his head quickly as he snaps a few more before putting the camera down on the bed, “I will literally never shut up about how beautiful you are. My perfect girl. This pretty pussy is just for me, huh?” 

“Just for you,” you sigh as his hands push up the length of your legs, spreading them open for him again, fingertips dipping into the mess between your thighs softly. Teasingly. 

“Yeah?” he asks, fingers tracing up your slit until he finds your clit, “‘s all mine.”

“‘M all yours,” you repeat, breathless as he rubs your clit gently, knowing you’re probably still sensitive. You throw your arm over your eyes as you close them, overwhelmed with his praise and his touch. Still, your hips lift to his touch, chest heaving. 

“I gotcha, baby,” he murmurs, fingers circling your entrance, collecting your slick and his cum to push inside of you as he slips his fingers into you with a filthy sound. “Christ, honey.”

Your face burns, and you can’t help the whine you let out, “Oh— f-fuck, Steve—“

His fingers curl perfectly and you moan loudly, back arching off of the bed. Steve is great at multitasking; his fingers fuck in and out of you while his free hand reaches for his polaroid. He manages to take a shot of his middle and ring fingers deep inside your cunt. As soon as the picture pops out of the camera, he tosses it aside and doubles down, thumb rubbing against your clit, “Will ya let me taste your pussy, too, sweetheart? Can never get enough of you.”   

[holmesianlove]

Chapter 12 - Red

Sherlock had been out when John arrived home. Another failed date which barely made it through the first drink of his evening and ended before the second drink had been delivered to their table. He had hoped to come home and find Sherlock on the couch. He wasn’t really sure why. There was just some sense of comfort in that. Even though Sherlock would have deduced ten things about the date and ribbed him mercilessly, it had become their little ritual. Somehow, it made John feel better, despite his grumblings to the contrary. Sherlock noticed things about him. About his comings and goings to Baker Street and he secretly enjoyed it: which shoes were his good date shoes; what shirt signified a second date; or when it was a clinic day, based on the trousers he chose. Sherlock’s little quirks made John’s every day feel important, somehow. Someone noticed him.

But Sherlock wasn’t there tonight. The flat was cold, empty, still. It was unnerving. He much preferred the detective to be at home, even when he was contorted on the couch in a sulk, or messing up the kitchen with an experiment. One time he was even using a staple gun to attach photographs to the wallpaper for a case. It was never dull at Baker Street. His home. He smiled to himself, very briefly, before his face fell again. What on earth was he going to do with himself, all alone? He’d lost his appetite on the date, but maybe he’d make some toast and a cup of tea. He could read through the case notes again. There were a couple of things he was still wanting to read back over.

He dropped his keys on the table beside his laptop and he noticed, on top of the mess of papers, the new pair of headphones that Sherlock had purchased during the week. Noise cancelling, top of the line, beautiful headphones. It was too late to respectably play music to unwind after the date, but with the headphones, maybe he could put on something loud and angry to lament the fact he would be a bachelor forever. Mrs Hudson wouldn’t be disturbed and he could do some rage cleaning or something. The bathroom was due a scrub down.

He put them on and paired it to his phone, picking something to listen to. Some heavy rock was in order. At first, he stood there enjoying it - the loud angry rage music. Single, pathetic John Watson. A soldier and surgeon and now crime solver, and still he couldn’t hold someone down long enough for a third date. These days, he was just hopeful he’d pick someone who didn’t stand by the three date rule. There has been some dirty alleyway trysts and a bit of uncomfortable car sex and occasionally an offer to come up to theirs. John never brought them to Baker Street through. It somehow felt wrong. He never had figured out why. It just did. He sat precariously, on the edge of the coffee table, pondering that for a moment and the image of Sherlock with the kitten nestled against his neck came flooding into his head. He blushed. Again. What was that? Why was he getting strange stirrings about snuggling up to Sherlock? Sherlock didn’t do relationships. It had always just been the two of them. As friends. And Sherlock never wanted to discuss it.

He needed to stop thinking about his flatmate in that way. Nothing good could come of that. He actually hadn’t really dated any men for a long time. Now that he thought about it, maybe he’d have more luck on Grindr. Men were always more prone to one night stands on Grindr. Women always wanted to start with the pretence of a date, at least. Fake romance before admitting to wanting to just get off with someone.

A particularly good song came on and John was inspired to dance. He started dancing across the whole flat, using the furniture as props to grind against or lean into. He grabbed a chair and straddled it and then ran up and down the stairs to his room. He kicked off his shoes and socks and started stripping down piece by piece, twirling items of clothing around his head. Yeah, John Watson. You’ve still got it, he told himself. You could absolutely be one of those hot male strippers. He looked down and tried to ignore the little belly he had there. Maybe he needed to do some jogging again. Get back into shape. But here, right now in Casa del Baker, he would be the hot stud that everyone wanted.

By the time he was stripped down to his underpants, the plan had been to grab pyjamas and go have a warm shower. But a particularly good song came on and distracted him, so the dance moves now took priority. He used every inch of the floor space. Dancing in his favourite red underpants. Very festive. Red for speed. Red supposedly induced hunger in the brain. John Watson was the house stud.

Bathroom. Stay focussed, Watson. He was going to rage clean that bathroom and then he could shower and get in pyjamas and make some toast and tea. Yes, that was a good plan.

Meanwhile, Sherlock had finally returned home from his brother’s after a really long walk home, trying to think through the sorts of things he might say to John, to potentially, maybe flag that there was something between them he’d like to discuss. He stood in the foyer downstairs just mulling over his options one more time, trying to encourage himself to get up the courage, give himself a gee-up.

Just make the first move. That’s easy. Right? That’s all you have to do. Then, apparently, he will jump off a cliff with you… or maybe without you… in terror.

He rolled his eyes at the very thought. But willed himself to go forward. As he came up the stairs, he could hear John humming from somewhere in the flat. Good mood. That’s a good start.

“John? You there? I had something I wanted to…?” Sherlock looked around the empty flat. “John?”

Some of John’s clothes were balanced in odd ways on parts of the furniture and a Sherlock struggled to piece together what was happening. The humming kept coming, but John didn’t seem to be responding so Sherlock wandered over to the kitchen and then back to the lounge.

“John?” he called out with more volume. Why wasn’t he hearing this?

He was going to go up towards John’s room next, but his ears told him it was coming from the corridor.

Ah. Bathroom. Was he in a bath? On the toilet? Was that a bad time to do this? Or maybe he could say it through the closed door and save some of the embarrassment.

As he turned towards the corridor, heading for the bathroom, quite suddenly, out of nowhere, John Watson leapt out from the bathroom, into the corridor, straight in front of Sherlock. He had not been expecting to see Sherlock. Clearly. And Sherlock had not expected to be under attack either.

John Watson stood there in his red underpants and noise cancelling headphones and a sponge in hand. His body glistened with the sweat of an excellent rage cleaning session. He had planned to grab one more product to get a particularly stubborn stain out, but it was in the kitchen. So he had planned to dance there and unfortunately leapt out dramatically into the corridor to find Sherlock gaping at him. The embarrassment was acute. He wanted to shrivel up and die in this moment.

The two of them froze in place, eyes wide. John had let out a yelp in fright and Sherlock had sucked in a breath that he had almost forgotten about until he let out an aggravated growl in frustration at being surprised in that way. Especially with the thoughts that were spinning around in his head in the moment.

John dropped the sponge and ripped the headphones off his head, creating a sweaty, scruffy mess of hair in its wake. The music could still be heard, albeit in a much softer incarnation as the headphones continued playing the track he had been on. John reached down and pressed the pause button on the side of the headphones without his eyes leaving Sherlock’s. They were two flatmates locked in a confused stand off, neither able to process the moment.

“What the… hell… John?” Sherlock finally asked loudly. His eyeballs drifted up and down John’s entire body. He didn’t even hide the action, and then he dropped his key to the floor, and turned bright red with embarrassment as his brain caught up. That had completely put a spanner in his plan.

“Sorry I…” John also stood, completely frozen, utterly humiliated. Suddenly his brilliant idea seemed very un-brilliant. This is why Sherlock thinks you’re an idiot.

“You had… a date.” Sherlock stuttered out, suddenly looking horrified. “Did you bring her here? You never… Sorry, I didn’t… You really should message me if you want… privacy….” He sounded disgusted, though. He was disgusted. He was about to declare his love and John was about to copulate with some below-par woman in their flat.

“We never set up any rules,” John retorted, completely caught off guard by Sherlock’s slightly aggressive tone.

“No. But it’s never come up before. And I’ve certainly never come home to you dancing around in your underwear either. Is she upstairs? Or did you just decide to go all out and use my bed?” Sherlock snapped.

“What kind of psychopath do you take me for?!” John yelled back not understanding Sherlock’s behaviour.

“I don’t know, John. You’re the one naked in our flat.”

“You’ve been naked plenty of times.” John stormed past Sherlock, their shoulders colliding as he moved to the lounge, grabbing his shirt to cover his torso at least. Not that an open shirt really did much, but somehow he felt less naked in the moment. A protective layer. He turned back to Sherlock. “You were naked in the god damned Palace, need I remind you. Perhaps you should have mentioned your double standards before I moved in too.”

“Oh is that another cat-related-criticism, is it?” Sherlock spat back.

John crossed his arms. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you in my underpants.”

“Good, I’d much prefer that you didn’t.” Sherlock crossed his arms as well. “And you should tell her to leave too,” he said, nodding towards the stairs. “She’s not welcome.”

“There’s no-one bloody here, Sherlock!” John yelled. He sucked in a few breaths trying to calm things. What the hell was going on? “I was just… bored… and you weren’t home… and I was listening to music and… ugh never mind. It shouldn’t matter either way, but for your information, I’m here alone.”

“Alone. In your underpants?” Sherlock scoffed in disbelief.

“Yes. So?” John bristled.

Sherlock just stood staring at John. His brother’s words challenged him over and over in his head and yet, somehow even he knew this was not the best time to suddenly make a first move. Despite how ridiculously enticing John looked, and how incredibly charged the room was with their testosterone-fuelled argument now. Sherlock could easily just cross the floor and kiss John right now. That’s what his brain wanted him to do. His whole body flushed with embarrassment as the realisation hit him and he glanced briefly over at the mirror on the mantle to see he was almost as red as the stupid underpants that somehow were glaring back at him, almost as aggressively as John was.

“Where were you tonight, anyway?” John asked, trying to save some face.

“I went to see my brother, if you must know.”

“Your brother?” John was surprised.

Sherlock avoided seeing his brother at all costs. In fact, he often sent John in his place to annoy everyone as much as possible. “Is everything… alright?” John suddenly found himself asking, his demeanour relaxing somewhat as he stepped forward, dropping his arms, genuinely concerned, but this only seemed to upset Sherlock more as he took a step away from John.

“God, could you just put some clothes on!” Sherlock snapped, turning on his heel and storming to his room. He slammed the door and threw himself down on the bed, face planting with an impressive level of dramatic flare.

John stood alone in the lounge room completely humiliated. He and Sherlock rarely argued like that. They yelled and carried on all the time and took their moods out on each other but this one felt so very different. Sherlock had been startled by John’s appearance. And properly angry about it. And John didn’t understand why. He certainly felt mortified to his bones. He put his face in his hands and ran straight back up to his room. He pulled the shirt off and grabbed a dressing gown instead, collapsing backwards onto his bed. “You are a bloody idiot, John Watson. You may as well have gone out and danced in the middle of the street. What the devil were you thinking?” he whispered. He never did anything like that. Sex in public? Maybe. Solo John Watson showing off in any way, with no clothing on? Never. It had felt so freeing and wonderful for the length of a few songs. And then the fun had crashed down around his bare ankles.

After a considerable time lying there in his dressing gown feeling like a real idiot, he remembered he hadn’t eaten and really did need something in his stomach. He put on some socks and padded down to the kitchen, his dressing gown wrapped safely, tightly around his body and double knotted for safety.

While he waited for the kettle to boil, he heard a phone vibrating loudly and he walked back into the main area to find his phone. No, it wasn’t his phone. He could still hear the vibrating so he searched around and finally found the spot Sherlock had put his scarf and coat and his phone - probably when he came in before he was set upon by a naked pesterer. John groaned to himself as the memory refreshed itself in his brain and re-established new levels of embarrasment.

He grabbed the phone and answered. “Sherlock’s phone.”

“Oh John, it’s Greg. I wanted Sherlock to look into something for me tonight. Is he home?”

John paused before answering. Was Sherlock home? Was that Sherlock in his usual form? Or some demon clone? Clearly whatever had happened at his brother’s house had upset him. Maybe it was best to leave him alone. But Sherlock prized The Work over everything and would never forgive John for ignoring a call-out. If he had been that mad about John’s red underpants, ignoring this call would probably be eviction worthy.

“Yeah, hang on Greg. I’ll get him.”

John made the terrifying walk down the corridor to Sherlock’s bedroom and stood outside, unable to muster up the courage for a moment.

“How urgent is it, Greg?” John asked, hoping for an excuse to not have to do this.

“Pretty time sensitive,” he replied.

John tapped lightly at the door. “Ah… Sherlock? It’s Greg. It’s work stuff,” he said. He was embarrassed to hear a little quiver in his own voice. He was a coward. He stood there for what felt like too long. Maybe Sherlock wouldn’t come out. Maybe he’d crawled out a window and escaped to the streets of London below, disgusted by his naked flatmate.

Suddenly the door unlatched and Sherlock peeked through a crack. His eyes raked over John’s full length to check for clothing first, then he looked into John’s eyes, very hesitantly in silence. They stood just staring at each other, assessing. It seemed the argument had equally frightened Sherlock.

“Greg,” John reiterated holding up the phone to show him in the crack.

Sherlock opened the door more and went to grab the phone but stopped. “John…”

“I’ll get dressed and come with you,” he simply said, handing Sherlock the phone and walking away to put on some clothes.

And with that, the argument would remain unresolved and festering between them. And they would probably behave as if nothing had happened.

— —

Thanks @notjustamumj for the prompt list. I’m so enjoying writing these for you all!

@lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @221beloved @helloliriels @safedistancefrombeingsmart

@givemesherbet-blog-blog @naefelldaurk @a-victorian-girl @phoenix27884 @peanitbear @starlitkeys @lumilama @yorkiepug @talkativeanxiousturtle @kettykika78 @kittenmadnessandtea @whatnext2020 @egregiously-chuffed @chriscalledmesweetie @catlock-holmes@battledress @kholkate @randomquadballpun @little-owls-things @daltongraham @sillygirlsmindpalace @oetkb12 @odditiesandeverything @johnlockficclub @rainstarboii @bheadhe @hospitableasacactus @wssh13 @br-nz @solarmama-plantsareneat @givemesherbet-blog-blog @dw91165

@r4venlyn @ineffably-chloe @fuck-off-watson-rp@rhasima @salmonsown @westandforships

[lukolabrainrot]

So there is as a lot of rumors etc going on yesterday people attacking others. Some type of information should never be shared. Pap pictures sometime cross lines. So if it's a photograph or where someone lives then no it should never be shared with the masses. Do I think L and N are spending time together? yes. Y'all do realize a lot has happened in the last year. What both of them have gone through is unimaginable! They played these characters and their personal feelings bled into the characters. They were confused and made decisions based on those feelings. And I'm sure based on the professionals help. They need time to work through all their crap. Also just be aware i truly think we won't know when things are happening and honestly if it's better for them to be private until they are stronger then why would we as fans need to know. Clearly a lot going down BTS enough was dropped that we should all know that. Just let's give them time they need to clear the air.

💯

It's been VERY toxic in the fandom this week, and a LOT has gone down this week that I have not enjoyed/been happy with related to how the fandom has been interacting/consuming information.

WE NEED TO GIVE L/N PRIVACY. EVERYONE INVOLVED. NONE OF US KNOW THEM. INCLUDING ME. A lot of this is just my theories based on what I observe.

It's alright to speculate and theorize on publicly available information on what might be going on in smaller spaces like this. It is NOT alright though to invade people's privacy and jeopardize their safety. We need to just let them cook y'all, and see what happens. We'll get answers EVENTUALLY.

I also agree that L has probably been spending more time with N since the Italy bday trip. He's very likely going through a messy untanglement/breakup, POSSIBLY a fallout with R (one of his oldest friends), POSSIBLY trying to figure stuff out with N, going through a LOT psychologically, and L/N are CONSTANTLY being analyzed/watched now. That has to be a LOT. We need to just give them space to figure their lives out.

Would I love to have concrete evidence that L/N are together now and cozied up at her house. Of course! It would make my heart so happy to know these two were able to get on the same page. HOWEVER, I DO NOT WANT this announcement to come from anyone but L/N themselves, and ON THEIR OWN TIME! Remember what happened with Tomdaya... And Tom said how unhappy they were that people couldn't just respect their privacy and they were FORCED to publicly acknowledge their relationship. I'm worried that we are headed in that direction potentially with L/N, and it makes me very disheartened.

[perfectlyoongi]

LONG-DISTANCE!JIMIN who has a lego doll of you as a keychain. on one of your video calls, Jimin was busy with several lego pieces while you read that book that you should have finished months ago. since you were both silent, you didn’t have any need to look at Jimin and see what he was doing — a certainty in your calls was that each of you dedicated themselves to their hobby and there was never a need to talk. but when Jimin started calling your name very softly, you became curious. he contained a small smile, repeating your name with delicacy and a little grace, showing that he had something to tell you. so, when you looked at the screen and saw a lego doll with hair like yours and clothes in your favorite colors, you just smiled. Jimin was always so attentive, he loved loving you. “i’m going to use this as my keychain! i need to find a way to keep it from coming apart. when i figure it out, i’ll make a doll of myself and send it to you so we can match, what do you think?”

LONG-DISTANCE!JIMIN who has contact with your closest friend to help him make surprises for you. loving you was the most natural thing for Jimin; however, showing this love was something more complicated since kilometers of distance prevented Jimin from worshiping you as you deserved. but that was no excuse for him not to love you. one way or another, Jimin managed to get in touch with your closest friend, asking if they wanted to help him with his little surprises. from picking bouquets of flowers, creating a picnic in the middle of the park or making a quick dinner, Jimin gave so many ideas and instructions to your friend that even they themselves felt Jimin’s love for you. with surprises every now and then, ever since Jimin managed to form a friendship with that friend of yours, loving you was the most natural and easiest thing in the world. “i spoke to our mutual friend this week and they said they weren’t available this month. so i hope you know it’s their fault! i still love you!”

LONG-DISTANCE!JIMIN who keeps sending you the names of cities he wants to visit with you. Jimin had already seen the world but there was a lot of the world he hadn’t seen yet and it was these more remote corners that attracted Jimin. he didn’t even need to look; his phone already seemed to know that Jimin had a secret desire to see the world with you. by showing articles or photographs, Jimin’s phone became a complete catalog of the most beautiful and forgotten places in the world, enticing Jimin with their splendid descriptions and breathtaking images. and when he was sure that was where he wanted to go, Jimin would send you the article or photo always with the same description, adding the name of this paradise to his endless list of places to visit with you. “another paradise discovered. one day we will be here exploring these beaches. but for now, here are the photos as appetizers.”

LONG-DISTANCE!JIMIN who has your coordinates as his phone password. when Jimin met you, he never thought you would become the most important person in his life. but the reality is that in mere days and weeks, your presence began to be something essential to Jimin and, after two, three months, Jimin knew that his true home was your soul. as such, Jimin wanted to have a lot of you in his daily life to disguise his neediness. it wasn’t easy being miles away from you, but at least you were in Jimin’s life — that was all that mattered. when your feelings were acknowledged and shared, there was a mutual agreement to wait for each other — neither of you would deny your feelings, just keep them in a little box until the time was right. but Jimin was needy and Jimin needed you in his everyday life. so, what better solution than putting your city’s coordinates as your phone’s unlocker? it was something important to Jimin, something he used every day several times a day, it only made sense to make you guard his privacy, even though you were on the other side of the phone. “are you always going to move cities? i need to know if you’re really going to stay there to change my phone password. and now that i had just memorized your city…”

LONG-DISTANCE!JIMIN who is always available for a call, even when he was working. of course when Jimin is performing it’s impossible for him to talk to you, but even so, he made an effort. amidst the rush to change clothes, get hair and makeup done, Jimin always found a second to ask if you were okay. Jimin knew how important he was in your life and he knew that those kilometers away were somewhat painful. that’s why Jimin always wanted to show you that you were always his priority — whether he was working or not. whenever you needed a little ‘i love you’ made on the spot, Jimin wasn’t afraid to call you and confess right then and there. your well-being was the most important thing, Jimin didn’t want to know anything other than you. “i’m going on stage again. are you sure you’re okay? remember i’m always here. 20 minutes and i’m back, okay? i love you.”

LONG-DISTANCE!JIMIN who is never jealous but pretends to be because he knows it makes you feel important. Jimin was confident in your feelings. the words you exchanged were too comical to be empty, becoming the fortifications of your relationship, the foundations of your love. as such, Jimin knew that you loved him and that there was no one but him. but Jimin also knew that you liked to feel loved, to feel important in his life — being jealous of your friends or men who look at you was just to see you happy. Jimin found out that you liked seeing his more jealous side when he commented on a photo of you with your best friend, referring to the fact that the two of you were very close. and, since then, it was easy for Jimin to find one or another occasion to throw small words that made you feel important — it was a small effort that didn’t cost anything. “yesterday you went to dinner at that restaurant you said you wanted to take me to. i thought only i was allowed to go there with you, but apparently you like everyone’s company more, right?”

LONG-DISTANCE!JIMIN who waited for you outside your work on a friday. Jimin hadn’t told you that he was at the front of the building with a small bouquet of daisies in his hand. Jimin hadn’t told you that he had flown endless hours to be there at that moment. Jimin hadn’t told you that he had taken the weekend off to spend it with you. and Jimin had thanked himself for not having done that, because your look of astonishment when you saw him was something incomparable. it took you exactly one minute and twenty-four seconds to assimilate that image before you and, when your eyes confirmed that it was Jimin who was waiting for you downstairs, the smile you let out and the hug you gave him were the greatest gift the universe could have given to Jimin. finally you two were together. finally all those kilometers had reduced to mere millimeters. finally Jimin could love you like you deserved to be loved. “i have three whole days just for you. during this weekend i’m going to show you that it wasn’t a mistake that you chose me as the keeper of your heart. i love you so much.”

[l0singsdogs]

tears in heaven.

There was a time when Bruce Wayne had been a fun father. He used to take Jason and Dick to baseball games, go trick-or-treating with them, and just be the kind of dad most kids could only dream of. But after what happened to Jason, that version of him slowly faded, slipping further into the shadows. Or perhaps it’s just Damian and Tim, watching old photographs and videos of a father they never truly got to know. Maybe, deep down, they both wish they had the chance to meet Bruce Wayne—the one who hadn’t yet been consumed by grief and darkness.

The study was suffocating.

Not because of dust—though there was plenty of it—but because of the silence, the stillness that had settled in like an unwanted guest. The mansion had always been too big, but now it was starting to feel hollow. The great halls no longer carried voices, only the echoes of what once was. Tim had his own place now. Damian preferred to work in his own room. And Bruce... Bruce barely used the house at all anymore. The kitchen, the bathrooms, the bedrooms—sure, but the rest? It felt like he was just passing through, like the place had become too haunted even for him.

Tim understood. Maybe that was why he hadn't really thought about staying here longer than necessary. The manor wasn't home anymore. It was a mausoleum.

That made cleaning the study all the more unbearable.

The room was a disaster. Bookshelves lined the walls, their contents scattered, half-pulled volumes crammed back in at odd angles. Boxes stacked in every corner, overflowing with papers. The antique mahogany desk was in no better shape—covered in notebooks, pens, old reports, a chaotic mix of Wayne Enterprises files and Gotham news clippings. Tim frowned, glancing over the mess. Had Bruce always been this disorganized? Or was it getting worse?

With a sigh, he started sorting through the chaos, moving documents into drawers, stacking papers where they belonged. The framed photographs that used to sit on the shelves were gone. He remembered them—old family pictures, moments captured from a time that now felt distant. Some had been of his brothers, of all of them together. But Bruce had taken them down, one by one. Tim figured they were somewhere in the mansion, hidden away in that frustratingly Bruce-like manner. He had stopped trying to understand him a long time ago.

His fingers brushed against a stack of Post-it notes. Tim picked one up, frowning as he read the scrawled handwriting.

Talk to Jason... his birthday is coming up. Send money.

Ask Tim if he needs anything for his apartment. Think about dinner plans. Ask how he's doing.

Talk to Dick about everything going on. Tell him I'm proud... take him out for dinner to celebrate his achievements.

tears in heaven.

tears in heaven.

tears in heaven.

[tinyidle]

i see that hongjoong taught wooyoung photography lol.. the recent pictures that he's shared on FROMM look so aesthetically pleasing

but ofc, since im insane and i like to share my imaginations... nfsw, candaulism (photo fetish), exhibitionism, groping, teasing, three-way (2 on 1), fem!reader, model reader, photographers!topaz, all fiction ofc

imagine photographer!wooyoung angling his body in a way to take pictures of you, with photographer!hongjoong occasionally fixing the scraps of your airy clothes as you posed for the shoot. the studio was small yet spacious-- you were laying on a studio stump covered with sheets that matched the background and fit your nude-tone dress.

'snap!' wooyoung pulls the camera off his face and shows his mentor the shots he captured. "how does this look, hyung?"

the older man looked up at the screen and slanted his eyes. he then got up and held onto wooyoung's shoulders, whispering to him as they walked away from your lying figure. you, being confused, started getting up until you heard "stay right there, pretty."

you simply nodded and lay back down. before you began to close your eyes, you felt two pairs of hands travelling all over your body. "wh- what're you guys-" you try to ask, but you cut yourself off with a breathy moan as you feel a pair of lips latch onto your nipple.

"that's it," hongjoong smiles as he sees his protege use you. he puts the viewfinder of the camera to his right eye, expertly squinting before commanding wooyoung to pull back. you, in a bliss, were too dazed to hear or see the shutter of the camera go off.

when he gets the shots he needed, he showed wooyoung who made a noise of awe and approval. "see, you have to get your figure models in the right frame of mind to have the perfect picture. and this-", hongjoong repeatedly pressed the left arrow button until he went to the picture that showed the glistening of wooyoung's saliva on your breast, "-can be captured with just the right lighting and filtration." hongjoong gave wooyoung his camera and showed him the settings he used to get the shots he just took. "here, you try this time."

once the older went to you, it was almost game over. even though you recovered from the nipple play, hongjoong's touch almost felt like cascading water on you. every time his hand traced over your neck, reaching to your pelvis but barely giving you what you were craving, and opened your legs to reveal your soaking center, you let out mere gasps of approval and slight frustration. and each and every reaction resulted in the flash going off.

"yes!" you heard as the younger personally cheered at the pictures he took. "look, hyung. these look so much better than before." as they admired at each shot, they turned to you and carefully sat you up. as hongjoong put your clothes back into place, wooyoung showed you each shot. "you like them?"

you smiled as you saw how each picture embodied the fullness of erotica while not looking at all staged-- knowing that it wasn't. "i love them. please email me them to my portfolio." the two men nodded before giving you each a kiss on the cheek. you were definitely getting booked by them next week.

[redrobinsrobbingrobin]

Here is the aforementioned essay! I said I’d get it done (and my notes were pretty detailed anyway)

Dick's robin is representative of the distinction of youth culture coming to light as more kids distanced themselves from the conservative views and began questioning authority figures, during the 40s, when they questioned the actual effects and causes of war, questioned the authority behind it and the reason for not intervening earlier. Batman as a character was also introduced in this period, and is a call for social change. He is a billionaire who wants to help the lower class. He empathises with the people, he sympathises with the child that lost his parents in front of him, and death is a driving factor in both their lives. To me, this seems like a homage to the families who lot their children, their fathers, their brothers, to the war, and wanted to do and be better, to live their memory and be able to push through and help the world. Dick also puts McCarthyism into question, as he doesn't exactly obey Batman all the time, despite needing to. He questions Batman, he questions Bruce, he is rebellious and harsh, and angry, and maybe that's how he would have turned out, even without Bruce giving him a cape and weapons.he represents the beginnings of change, the start of hope after a war, the ability to raise yourself and your family above that.

Jason's post crisis character when referring to youth of the time is much like Tim's and Dick's. This was a period after wartime economy, where the majority of the population were people who couldn't fight in the war, where communism was a genuine fear, and his whole story line of 'crime alley, poor orphan, adopted by a billionaire,' pulls both capitalism and communism into question- why is there a billionaire when the people are suffering, and capitalism CAN help the few lucky enough to receive that help. In terms of youth attitudes, he came from a time of youth rebellion, evident in his later comics, where he pulled away from Batman which lead to his eventual death. He took more risks, he had an edge over Dick I terms of his street brawler style instead of Dick's grace in acrobatics. The older generations saw this rebellion of youth as off putting, and often refused to hire younger generations due to their more leftist views, and a perceived notion of them being radical and troublemakers. This stigma till exists today and is still evident in later Robin runs.

Tim’s characterisation as a representation if the youth is the most prominent to a modern audience, though, because he is representative of teens in the 90s/very early 2000s and they were attempting to get more teens into comics without it being seen as nerdy, however, this push for more youth diversity in comics prompted a huge shift in youth culture, where comics were now being seen as old people stuff and ‘nerd culture’ up until televised media (TV/movies) started adapting it to exclusively appeal to nerd audiences who didn’t want to watch new media, as it might mean letting go of old media. Televised adaptations also brought in new fans who could understand storylines visually and in a more efficient way than reading several decades worth of back reading comics could. Tim was a skateboarder and a photographer, and these pictures and excessive stalking of Batman and Robin could almost be seen as a teenage girl in the 90s having posters of her celebrity crush all over the walls. He also slept A LOT, which might be the writers trying to represent the youth as lazy in order to keep older readers and avoid being seen as 'pandering' to the youth.

Coincidentally, Steph was also introduced as a Robin during this period of the early 2000s which meant that DC were trying to ensure that women were being represented more in traditionally male media in order for the women’s equality movements to also be appealed to. She, as a character, does not fit into any stereotypical female character archetype (nosy reporter, damsel on distress, femme fatale) and is so evidently an individual of her own, without simply being a part of someone else’s character, like Tim’s. This shift in views towards women in comics was probably what stopped more comics from ‘fridging’ their female characters in order to elevate a male character’s story, even though Steph and Barbara were both pretty badly portrayed at the end of their individual runs (Killing Joke and No Man's Land, and Steph's baby). Her introduction as a Robin, 'the Girl Wonder' was so that Batman comics would appeal to more women, specifically, women who were actively less conservative and more likely to get into traditionally male medias, as many women in the 2000s were stepping out of conservative roles, and more were engaging in these 'nerdy' interests.

Damian’s introduction in a post 9/11 world, where the vilification of the LoA had reached a high and probably contributed to the extreme whitewashing of his character, sometimes seen in the DCAU, or even a lot in comics. He seems to feel ostracised by the rest of the family, because of his upbringing, the same way many Arabs and other ethnic minorities felt at this time. Damian being white passing also meant that he perhaps reflected the Arab youth in America who were not so outwardly ostracised by their peers due to the racial and religious tensions in the country. He was also introduced in or around 2006 (I can’t remember the exact date) where the youth were, again, largely viewed as rebellious or hooligans, which is NOT reflected in his character, not that I can think of any examples.

Anyway. That’s it for the essay, let me know if I missed something, or got something wrong, and thank you for reading till the end!

[raiynnah]

Secret Identity

@wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 988 (this one got away from me a bit whoops) Note: swearing

“You don’t understand, Lily, I need to know.” Remus throws his hands up pleadingly.

“Your job shouldn’t require you to start breaking into places, Remus! Especially not in search of reckless vigilantes.” She glares at him and then at the desk he’s sitting at, at the newspaper clippings and the piles of notes scattered across the oak surface, pointing at it accusingly. “You’re obsessed!”

“I’m a journalist,” he insists, knowing very well that it doesn’t explain his actions.

“You’ve been working at this job for three years. It’s only now, with the rise of these so-called heroes, that has you acting with such—such insanity!”

“Oh stop, Lily, you know that they’re heroes. You’re just mad that they do a better job than Severus,” he spits back cruelly.

“Don’t you dare, Lupin,” she warns him, “I don’t give a flying fuck what Severus Snape is doing at his little police job. I care about the fact that your new idols create such damage in their super-powered fights. Did you even see the news last Sunday? An entire highway flooded with sewer water!”

Silence follows, both of them at a standstill. Remus grabs the mug of cooling tea off his desk and takes a sip just for something to do, trying to hide his reaction to the bitter taste. Lily cracks a smile knowingly and sighs.

“Why do you even care so much? I know Dumbledore wants to find out their identities for publicity’s sake but that can’t be all of it.” Remus puts the mug down, rearranging his notes. She waits impatiently with her arms crossed. “Well?”

“You remember when Padfoot saved that one journalist who got too close to the fight?” he asks out of nowhere, handing her the photo one of his colleagues took and published.

“Yeah?” She grabs it, eyes scanning for details. Dorcas is an amazing photographer but she hadn't managed to catch the journalist’s face, only a figure in business casual being cradled by the disguise-clad hero. Remus is grateful for it.

“Well…that’s me,” he says, avoiding eye-contact. He remembers that day well, though less so the danger and more the muscles of the man that caught him, the strength in the man’s voice, and the rushed beating of his own heart for all the wrong reasons. Remus would bet all of his journalistic integrity that the man is extremely handsome under that costume.

“Remus! You could have been badly hurt!”

“I know but I needed to talk to them. I think they could help me with this other project.” He knows it’s too vague so when she keeps staring at him he continues, “My project hunting down Greyback and finally getting that monster behind bars.” She sighs, knowing it would be no use to argue. Truthfully, she doesn’t even want to, after so many years of friendship Remus’ revenge has become hers.

“Fine, tell me what you got.” He beams at her, pulling out the stool next to him for her to sit.

“Well, we know Padfoot has some kind of teleportation or phasing powers. He hasn’t used it much but it seems like control over his position or visibility in space or something. And—”

“—How do you know it’s a he?”

“I asked him.” He pauses, debates how to tell her this. “And, I kinda…have his phone number?”

“You WHAT?” she shrieks. “I thought we were trying to uncover their identities and take the man that ruined your life to jail, not flirt with someone you don’t even know. He could be fifty and yell at waitresses!”

“Why not do both?” He grins. “And my chances of secret fifty year olds hitting on me are the same as they are on Tinder, which I remind you, you signed me up for.” 

“Fine. Continue.”

“Thank you. So, anyway, that makes sense because a Padfoot is a kind of mythical dog that can become invisible. I don’t know if he moves when invisible at a super-powered pace or if it’s like teleportation.” He glances over at her and she nods.” Then there’s Prongs who seems to have super-strength and really quick healing, possibly regeneration. I’m not sure how it ties in but deer do shed and regrow their antlers?” It’s a shot in the dark really.

“Ok so Padfoot is the one you have a crush on, yes?”

“It’s not a crush!” Giving him a look, Lily taps at the photo he taped on the wall his desk touches. It’s a photo of both superheroes and it’s not Remus’ fault that Prongs is somewhere behind all the rubble, only his head pointing out. Padfoot is in the middle, his tight suit clinging to his muscles, the face of a black dog with silver eyes and teeth branded on his chest. His hood is drawn back a bit so Remus can almost see his eyes, though they’re most likely covered as well. Unconsciously he leans forward as if he could pull the hood down from the other side of the photograph.

“So what are you doing with his phone number? It’s a burner phone I’m assuming.”

“Most likely, though I actually think it’s linked with a third person.” Lily frowns, confused. “Someone on the comms, someone I think they call Wormtail.”

“Have you talked to anyone else about this theory?”

“I thought about talking to Peter,” he says, “He’s a good investigator. But I don’t want this to get out at work. And besides, he’s too close to Black.” Remus scowls, thinking back to the day the newcomer arrived, hired too quickly and not fired quickly enough in his opinion.

“You think Sirius Black will steal your work?”

“Oh, I know he will. I trust that smug prick as far as I can throw him.” She nods as if to say yeah, you’re pretty weak.

“Then, let’s get to work,” Lily tells him with a determined glint in her eyes and takes out her notebook.

[fantasticsandwich]

yandere influencer x fem! reader (pt 3)

Don't you know you're the apple of his eye?

“Narcissus, the figure from an ancient Greek tale,” Professor Smith began, scribbling on the board, “is the origin of the term ‘narcissism.’ This is a word we now associate with a self-centered personality style. This quality in extreme contributes to the definition of Narcissistic Personality Disorder, a psychiatric condition marked by the trademark qualities of grandiosity, excessive need for attention and admiration, and an inability to empathize with others.”

Your gaze fluttered to the board. Quickly, you typed out the title: Topic; Day one of the lecture series ‘Senses of Disorder in the Modern Self.’  You jotted your notes in single-streamed thoughts, highlighting subjects, then tacking on more details as they came. Narcissus… Greek myth, personality disorder, grandiosity, need for attention, lack of empathy.

“His story and the motifs found within were fitted to the preoccupations of the subject, subjectivity, and intersubjectivity, and these are all within the realm of psychoanalytic theory.”

The professor switched topics and lines of thought too quickly, and even though  you smashed the keys on your laptop as fast as your fingers would allow, you were left with unfinished bullet points. Finally giving up, y leouaned back and allowed yourself to stretch, slowly moving your wrists in circles. It seemed like your classmates shared the same sentiment; some scribbled furiously while others typed away. You decided to give up and conduct research to supplement the parts of the lecture you missed.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard; spying Cillian’s utter lack of preparation gnawed at your focus. He hadn’t even bothered to bring a journal, much less, even to appear focused, occasionally jotting strings of thought on a crumpled sheet of loose leaf paper. His eyes remained fixated on his phone, thumb swiping up and down with a languid grace that somehow irked you.

As his pencil dragged across the page,  you peered over at his notes, startled to discover a few scrawled lines. Half of them were dedicated to meal planning while the other was pretentious strings of thought to caption his posts. You weren’t too upset with the latter. With the task often falling into your consideration, you wished you could have applied it to a resume; helping Cillian run his social pages was nearly a separate job itself.

But how did he expect to pass the upcoming final exam when he had hardly anything related to the class written down? Only his outfit was exemplary, but even then, there was room for improvement; he wore a singular earring, and he donned a chunky, ugly sweatband, exposing his angular forehead and sharp eyes, and to top it all off, he sported a jean jacket with a design of half-melted smiley faces, though it looked more like they were grimacing. The compilation almost looked ridiculous, but a face like his was the ultimate saving grace.

He kept glacing at his reflection. Didn’t he have better things to worry about? He was rich, but to dedicate such a vital time to looking good was a travesty. You wondered if his parents were proud of the son they raised.

You shook your head to dispel the thought. You let out a soft sigh, almost imperceptible amidst the lecturer’s steady drone, and resolved to quell the tide of jealousy that threatened to overwhelm you. Your fingers drummed on the desk, gaze flickering between the professor’s slides and the clock at the front of the lecture hall. Your mind, however, was soon sent into tumult.

“So, how was your date with Rian?” Cillian abruptly asked, still refusing to look up from his doodlest.

“Date?” Your voice hitched, the word snagging in your throat like a fishbone. “How did you— Well, it wasn’t a—”

“Thanks to a street photographer and Rian’s Instagram, everyone gets to see you two cozying up,” Cillian cut you off, his tone deceptively light.

His smartphone lay between you, its screen glowing with the evidence—a photo of you and Rian, sitting at the window, laughing together, shared by some account you didn’t know. You tried committing the username to memory, but when he noticed you staring a little too long, Cillian snatched it back.

“We were just grabbing a drink, and I was too buzzed to answer any calls. You know I would never purposefully ignore you.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re slipping away?” His words were soft but pointed, like a dagger wrapped in velvet. He leaned closer, and the scent of his cologne enveloped you, a mixture of citrus and something smoky. “Why don’t I feel like I’m your most valuable friend anymore?”

“You are,” you stammered, your hands now clutching at the fabric of your skirt. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourrself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t look at my phone the entire night. I didn’t mean to make you think—”

His voice was even as his eyes bore into yours, seeking something far beyond your gaze. “It’s fine. Just remember to call me back next time.”

You nodded, an unvoiced apology hanging in the air. You glanced back at the lecture, where neural patterns danced on the screen, mocking you with their clarity. If only understanding your tangled emotions and Cillian’s cryptic intentions were as simple as memorizing textbook definitions.

You tried to refocus on the lecture, the hum of voices and the professor's monotonous drone becoming a distant echo as Cillian's leg brushed against yours under the table. You shifted in your seat, pulling away slightly, only to feel his warmth follow.

“I will. You’re my friend, after all.” You managed to say. You could feel every eye in the room, or so it seemed, even if they were all fixated on their own notes, their own worlds.

“Friends?” Cillian echoed, tilting his head. “Is that all we are? What makes you like Rian better than me?”

“Cillian, you know that’s not the case,” you hastened, your lips dry. “You’re my closest friend. You’re the most important person in this world. Like I’ve said, last night was just… it was nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious.” He repeated the phrase slowly, tasting each syllable as if it were a delicacy laced with poison. “Then why did I find out from pictures online? Why did it have to be a secret?”

“It wasn’t a secret. It was just an impromptu meet-up. Trust me on this.”

“Trust is a luxury,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “And I’m afraid to say I’m not afforded much of it by you these days.”

“Look, I’ve already said sorry. What more do you want?” You sighed, your patience fraying at the edges. “If you’re really that upset, I’ll make it up to you, okay? It really isn’t worth arguing over.”

“I like the sound of that.” Cillian mused, leaning back in his seat, seemingly satisfied. You turned, finding him ruffling his hair with an air of nonchalance. “But I want you to enjoy it too, and you look like you could use some retail therapy.”

“Shopping? I don't know…”

“Is it about last night? Did that guy bum off of you? You don’t have to worry about costs with me. I’ll pay. You can make it up to me this way, and you’ll get something nice, too. It’s a win-win.”

You weighed the pros of placating him against the cons of further indebting yourself to him. Although you had the same humble beginnings, Cillian had long since joined a world you could only imagine belonging to. The longer you entertained him, the more he seemed to thrive on appearances, on being seen with someone willing to play the part he assigned them.

Fortunately, you played your role well and reaped the rewards.

“Fine,” you finally breathed out, the acquiescence tasting of sour grapes. “But not today, and just for a little while. I really need to focus on this lecture.”

As if the universe was conspiring against y,ou the professor exclaimed, “And that’s all for today. Any questions?” he said, scanning the room for any raised hands. “No? Well, that’s all, then. You’ve got ten minutes left if you want to stay in this class, but I’ll get going now. I’ll post the slides by tonight.”

Shamelessly, you grabbed Cillian’s hand, stopping him from closing his notebook. You pulled back, releasing him when a slight red tint came to his face. His dangling earring occupied your thoughts for a brief second. Chrome against porcelain, topped by his dark locks. The paleness suited him, although it caused his features to meld together, almost like he wore a flawless mask.

“Sorry, I was just wondering if you caught anything I missed.”

Gaze fluttering up from his phone, he breezily said, “Do you need help? I booked a study room in the library, but if you’d like, we can go to my place.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just wait for the professor to post the slides.” You turned until he was invisible in your peripheral vision. Nevertheless, you felt his gaze trained to you as you shoved your laptop into your backpack. “Where are you going to be during your free hour?”

When your shame deemed that you had punished yourself enough, you was able to face him once more. Turning around, you saw the sunlight playing off his form. His face seemed to illuminate like a lightbulb against the chalkboard’s dreary background. Just over his head on the board, Professor Li’s messy handwriting read ‘Narcissistic Personality Disorder.’ Your gaze quickly returned to admiring his face.

“I’ll be at the bio building if you need me,” Cillian replied, standing up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “I just have to turn in this paper and then I’m done for the day. Want to come with me?”

He smiled at you, and suddenly, your spirits brightened. You returned that brilliant grin, losing a few kilowatts in transmission when your phone pinged.

‘Need ur help. Too bright. - Rian.’

Quickly cramping the device into your bag, you laughed. “Sorry, something just came up. I’ll meet up with you at our regular place instead.”

Cillian’s smile faltered slightly. “You’re not coming with me? Did you already make plans with someone else?”

You didn’t want to outright say such, so you skirted around a direct answer.

“It might take some time, but I’ll be there with you,” you assured him. Knowing the promise wasn't enough, you tacked on more words that would soothe his mind, stating, “Who else would I be with? You know I don’t have that many friends.”

That he knew of. There was benefits to walking on the chasm’s edge; you treated Cillian as your own secret world, a portal to an otherwise unobtainable, glamorous realm. With Rian and his group, you were fortunate enough to experience what life might be like if you were regular, and in Cillian’s presence, you got a taste of the life of an overworked talent agent, passing excess through your hands like a sieve onto his pampered lamp. But you were fine with the day-and-night difference; your relationships were unique. With Rian and Connor, even. People were people, and people had different personalities, thoughts, aspirations, goals, and fears, so it wasn’t wrong to cleave yourself into parts, to send each into different orbits.

“Okay,” Cillian finally conceded. “Don’t take too long. I’ll treat you to lunch.”

“No, let me,” you quickly interjected, prepared to atone.

Cillian winked, his smile retreating to its fullest potential. “No. Let me take care of you.”

Before you objected, your phone pinged again.

“I’m sorry! I’ll meet with you later!” you blurted before he could object and trap you in a web of guilt. With a swift turn on your heel, you darted away, leaving the classroom and its muffled sounds of a lesson continuing without you. Your glasses threatened to slide off your nose as you hurried through the crowded hallways, your form a blur against the sea of students, then out the doors. Legs pumping, you raced across the yard, toward the library.

You pushed through the heavy doors and into the hushed ambiance, immediately searching for Rian. There, nestled between the looming bookshelves in a secluded corner, was his delicate frame, hunched and quivering.

“Rian?” You whispered.

He looked up, his eyes awash with despair, tears tracing clean lines down his cheeks. “Y/N,” he slurred, recognition flickering weakly behind the glassiness of his gaze.

“Rian.” You knelt beside him, suppressing the heat of rage bubbling within you at the sight. Fighting the instinct to lash out at the circumstances that had driven him to this state, you steadied your breath and reached out a tentative hand. He looked up at you, eyes glimmering with tears, a strained smile stretching across his lips. Instead of going for an embrace, you reached for his water bottle, which reeked of alcohol. You fought him, but eventually managed to wrestle it from his grasp and confiscate it.

“Sorry, Rian. I’m not giving this back to you.”

“But I’m done for the rest of the day. This is my precious springtime of youth. Let me live a little!”

“Look, drunkards are normal to encounter in the streets, but not on campus. You’re doing something so reckless, and in broad daylight, and you could still get expelled if anyone sees you. And if that happens, your grandparents are going to hit you so hard that you’ll spend your precious springtime of youth in a coma until the winter of your final years. Don’t do that to yourself.”

Rian remained silent. You were sure he was going to glare and curse you out, but then, he tilted his head until it rested on your shoulder. Voice quivering, he confessed, “My girlfriend broke up with me and I… I guess I… I mean I—”

“Rian,” you said, softly this time. “Come on. We both know a girl can’t affect you that much. What is this really about?”

“You’re right.” He lifted his head up and leaned against the wall instead. “It isn’t just the alcohol messing with my mind. It’s just that… That everyone… They all leave me,” he mumbled through a choked sob. “Everyone. My parents, Eve, my grandparents will follow soon, and how long until you’re gone too? How long until everyone thinks I’m a burden?” His voice cracked, and before you offered a comforting word, he burst into body-wracking sobs.

“I’m not going anywhere. I won’t ever leave you alone,” you assured, placing an arm around his shoulders. Tremors coursed through his body. Your phone buzzed insistently in your pocket, but you ignored it. Rian needed you more than you needed to appease anyone’s vanity or paranoia. Swallowing the bile of your own anxiety, you held him close. “You don’t have to believe me yet because I haven’t shown you, but I’ll keep proving it until you believe me. But for now,” you murmured, helping him to his feet, “let’s get you out of here. And how about some food? It’d do you good.”

Rian placed another hand on top of yours, though his eyes were still transfixed on the wall. Reluctantly, you pulled away, shaking off his grip in favor of unlocking your phone. Immediately, you saw that you had ten messages, split between your built-in app and Instagram account. Ignoring an incoming call and another text, you told Rian, “Forget about Eve, okay?”

“Eve? Who is that?” He laughed, shoulders shaking with each chuckle. The tears on his face hadn’t stopped pouring down. “Eve who? Like Christmas Eve? More like Christmas Evil. Fucking love that song. Thought Christmas albums were kitsch, but it slaps.”

“On second thought,” y ousighed, taking in his sorry condition, “how about I take you back to your dorm?” 

“Will you carry me?”

“Rian, no!” You were powerless as he trapped you in a hug. His arms draped over your shoulders, but his balance was compromised, and he loaded his body weight onto your back. He was hardly a few centimeters taller than you, but he went almost entirely slack, draping his frame atop yours. Struggling to remain upright, you sent a quick text to his roommate, attaching your location. He responded fairly fast, informing you that he was already near them and would be scarfing down his lunch to head over.

His head bobbed, his wavy hair brushing against his forehead. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just didn’t know what else to do. The world feels like it’s falling out from under me.”

“Come on, get up.” Standing, you slipped an arm under his, trying to coax him to his feet. “You can’t stay here like this, and we’re already a spectacle.”

Rian’s body felt limp, but he allowed himself to be partially lifted by your insistent pull. As he staggered to his feet, you glanced around, acutely aware of the curious glances from other students. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment—not for yourself, but for Rian.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“Always,” you said, ignoring your still-buzzing device. For now, your friend’s well-being was y our sole focus. “Let’s find somewhere quiet.”

Compliant now, you guided him outside. Embracing the sunlight, y you disregarded the stone pathway. You stepped onto the lush green yard and squinted, stumbling towards a bench secluded by a grove of whispering trees.

As you sat, you pulled out your phone. Your fingers hesitated over the contact list. As much as you wanted to solve every problem yourself, this was beyond you. With a deep breath, you dialed Connor’s number.

“Hey, Conner. I’m on campus with Rian, and he’s—well, he’s plastered and not doing great. I can wait with him for a while, but I have somewhere to be. Can you come get him? Or I can meet you halfway.”

Your words were direct, bypassing the niceties that often cluttered conversations.

“What is that idiot up to now?” came his humorous response. “Of course. I’ll be there soon.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, ending the call and slipping the phone back into your pocket. You turned to Rian and reassured, “Good news. Your roommate will be here shortly.”

He nodded, and you sat in silence, the hushed sounds of nature wrapping around you like a soft blanket. In the distance, the faint hum of traffic whispered.

But for now, in this secluded haven, time seemed to slow, allowing you to fulfill your role as comforter, as protector of your friend’s fragile spirit. As you waited for Connor's arrival, your mind couldn't help but wander to Cillian and the plans you had made. Yet, you pushed those thoughts aside. Here, with Rian’s head resting on your shoulder, you found your purpose.

“I can’t believe you really risked it all.” You forked your fingers into his hair, smoothing out the knots. “All for some girl?”

You reached to grasp his hand. You offered no grand gestures, only the steady rhythm of your palm tracing small circles. Your words, when they came, were soft-spoken, weaving through the silence like threads of silk.

“Rian,” you murmured, “heartache, it seeps into us, but it doesn’t define us. You’re more than this pain, more than what you’ve lost. Your kindness,” you continued, feeling his fingers squeeze around yours, “it lights up rooms. Someone will see that and cherish you. This isn't the end. It’s just a really tough part of your life. It’ll get better, and if it doesn’t, I’ll hunt the bitch down and break her knees."

The silence lasted only a moment, then Rian burst into tears. Sighing, you kept stroking his hair, rubbing his back, and murmuring sweet cheer-me-ups.

Approaching from behind, a pair of arms wrapped around you, pinning you and Rian against the bench. Glancing up, you greeted Connor, who trapped you in his embrace until Rian’s tears finally ceased their stream, his body settling into quiet hiccups.

Pulling away, Connor regarded you with a thankful look. “Thanks for keeping him out of trouble. You can go. I’ll take care of him from here,” he urged, voice close to your ear. If it wasn’t for how Rian was trying to curl into a ball and pass out on the bench, you would have blushed.

“I cannot thank you enough. Really.”

“Anything for a friend,” he replied with his easy smile, but you were already rushing away.

“Really, I owe you one!” you called over your shoulder, your voice nearly lost amidst the chatter of students and rustling leaves.

“Then tutor me in biology!”

Shouting a reluctant agreement, you sped away, your mind whirling as fast as your legs. You wondered if it was right to leave Rian in the hands of someone else, but a person like him was suited for anyone. Well-liked by almost everyone, he was a sweet boy known for coming to class with a smile, and for not being very smart but still trying his best to contribute to class discussions.

He wasn’t alone, but Cillian? It pained you to see how he kept an arm’s distance from anyone he wasn’t already acquainted with. It was funny how in spite of witnessing Rian’s tears, your mind was still focused on that vain man. Perhaps it was because you knew that although his initial reactions were always overly-zealous, Rian would eventually stomach the heartache while Cillian could not. You had personally witnessed the depth of hurt that he could, or rather could not handle. His threshold for pain of any kind was rather shallow.

The incessant pinging of the phone in your bag only served to remind you who needed you more. Although you had been sitting with Rian and trying to coax him out of his depressed state for nearly half of an hour, the messages had never stopped pouring in. With a sigh, you realized you couldn't ignore him much longer.

You spotted him before he saw you, sitting outside a cafe, staring at his phone. His hair caught the light, a raven’s wing glinting with shades of indigo. As you approached, his head snapped up, eyes locking onto your with an intensity that made you falter.

“What took you so long?” He asked lips curved downwards. He ruffled his hair, an agitated sigh escaping his lungs. “I was waiting for you.”

You grappled with the familiar weight of guilt, the dreaded sensation of having let someone down. “Sorry. I’ll explain when we’re inside,” you said prompting, eager to escape the prying eyes of passersby.

“Lead the way,” Cillian said, stepping aside with a flourish that bordered on mockery. He followed you in silence, the tension unspoken but palpable, like the static charge before a storm.

As you passed through the doorway, the cafe enveloped them in warmth and the murmur of conversation. Cillian took the seat next to you, boxing you against the window. With his elbows resting on the table, your hands found refuge in the pockets of your ill-fitting cardigan, mind racing with ways to mend the rift, even as your heart whispered warnings you weren’t ready to heed.

Retrieving a menu tucked beneath the napkin dispenser, you fidgeted with the laminated edges, stealing glances at Cillian. His presence was like a cloud, darkening the cozy ambiance of the cafe. You cleared your throat, summoning the courage to bridge the chasm his displeasure had created.

“Cillian, about why I was late…” you began, “I’m really sorry. I was dealing with a crisis. Rian was out there day drinking. Poor boy’s upset and having a rough time.” You scooted your chair closer to him. He looked at your from the corner of his eye before moving to rest his arm on the back of your chair.

“Him again?” Cillian’s tone was sharp, slicing through your words. “The guy’s a walking disaster. I don’t see why you have to play the hero every time something hurts his little heart. Maybe it should just be carved out and given to someone who’ll take better care of it.”

You recoiled, the sting of his words biting. You searched his face for some sign of understanding but found none. His features were set in stone, handsome yet impassive, his eyes reflecting the screen glow from his phone rather than any warmth towards your predicament.

“I couldn’t just leave him there,” you said, your own eyes darting away from his scrutiny to focus on a coffee stain on the table. “He needed a friend.”

“Seems like he wants to ask for more than that from you,” Cillian retorted, scrolling through his messages. “But clearly, you value your little charity missions with clingy bastards who’re only trying to get into your skirt more than the plans you’ve made with the friend who’s only trying to treat you to a snack while you study.” Huffing, he turned away. “What was he bothered by this time?”

“Rian isn’t like that,” you objected. “He was only acting out because his girlfriend broke up with him. Of course, he’d be upset. Most would.”

Cillian scoffed, earning a glare from you. Even though he had issues too, he didn't need to lash out and be rude to others. They were peers. They both knew what that sort of heartbreak was like. Cillian should’ve supported him instead of arguing over who had it worse.

Crossing his leg, he clicked his tongue. “You should have at least told me where you were. I was waiting for thirty minutes.”

Pushing your irritation aside, you inhaled. Friendships differed from person to person, so you had to understand why Cillian was feeling the way he did, and where that feeling was coming from. He had been there for you during your times of need, so you had to return the favor, no matter how late.

“I’ll tell you next time,” you mindlessly offered, eyes bright with a forced cheerfulness you hoped would placate him. “I know you said you want to go shopping soon, but let me do something for you. We can go anywhere. Your choice.”

“Anywhere?” he echoed, the corner of his mouth twitching into something resembling amusement. It was a small victory, but it eased the knot in your chest.

“Anywhere. I promise. Just let me make it right.��

Make what right? You didn’t know how you’d wronged him, but you didn’t want to be the cause of his suffering.

“Promise, then. Promise to me.”

“I promise.”

“Say it properly,” he prodded, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

“I swear to you, Cillian,” you said, the formal phrasing feeling strange on your tongue. “I’ll stop being a bad friend and make it up to you.”

“Good.” His tight-lipped frown dissolved into something warm and disarming, as if the past few minutes had never happened. “Shall we order, then? I’m starving.”