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seventhcallisto · 6 months

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Chapter IV — "mirrors."

Deep down.

Toc/cw; suggestive undertones, dialog, and themes. Pre-heat haze, san getting angry, ooc yunho and san. More world building, possessiveness. I'm bad with cw. COMMENTS PUSH MY MOTIVATIOOON Thank you♡

It's four days before your heat. Hongjoong, and you are trying your best not to be obvious about your affections, but it's getting harder the closer you get to your heat. Maybe it's the consistency of your schedule. Waking up at the earliest of dawn, writing down new lyrics as soon as you reach for your phone and then immediately getting up and beginning your day that had changed, which ended up with you feeling strange. However, today is not your typical schedule day.

You thought you'd have more time, really. Seriously. Now you're a heaving, writhing mess under your blankets. Not knowing what's going on because it's the first time you've felt this after your diagnosis. Too hot. Too cold. Never enough. Tossing and turning. Burning to be touched. It only lingers for an hour like a warning sign. The sense of being on the verge of heat. You don't know exactly what to do or what to say. Google is fairly helpful. You especially don't want to leave your room when all of your members are alphas. Even if they're taking scent suppressants, your smell is still extremely sensitive to them.

He hardly remembers you tucking him in a while ago now. Suddenly, your words echo.

"If you remember in the morning, then I give you full permission." To what? He doesn't know. All day- all week. As san gets ready, sits with wooyoung, does some more practicing, eats out with some friends. He still doesn't know what you meant, and he's grown frustrated about it. He's completely lost from the amount of drinking he did with wooyoung.

Maybe the over drinking thing is getting to san. Woo has got to stop daring him to drink more. He can't believe he still allows him to get away with it. As san arrives home around mid day from filming, he realizes it's time to settle in for the rest of the day.

Your scent lingers in the apartment, and it's a good thing that jongsik has told them to begin taking scent suppressants to prevent any of them from practically jumping you. It provides the self-control they need, but it doesn't prevent the thoughts that course through everyone's minds when they get the tiniest scent of you.

It may be thanks to the scent suppressants they have complete control over what they're feeling and doing currently. But it doesn't mean none of them want to knot you. Surely, san is speaking on behalf of his members that it would be heaven to do so. If they didn't have the scent suppressants.. well, san doesn't want to pop a boner thinking about it.

So, for now, they're just coping with your pre-heat scent all over the apartment. No one is allowed in other than the guys. Your pack. San definitely prefers it that way. He peels his jacket off when he steps through the threshold of the doorway, quickly closing it behind him to lock your scent inside.

Seonghwa prepares another meal for you, considering you're still cooped up in your room. And san wonders if hongjoong has been in and out of there, based purely on the smell of him lingering in the hallway. There's been talk about you and hongjoong. Gossip amongst the guys. The papers san found a while ago proves so.

He slaps the paper down in front of wooyoung. Taping his pointer finger against the signed line. "Look! She let him sign it!" san whines, grabbing at his hair. "This is driving me crazy," he huffs as he paces. On wooyoungs bed, yeosang and wooyoung scan the piece of paper. Jaws slack in shock.

There's no way they can dismiss this. Somehow, san got his sticky fingers on your heat paperwork. They don't say anything about that, but the signed line for your heat helpers is only signed by hongjoong. The pack alpha, yes they could ask him. But that would be extremely disrespectful, questioning the pack alpha.

Woo runs a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "Well, what if we ask- what if she gets uncomfortable? What if she doesn't want us to sign it and she feels pressured to say yes?"

Jongho enters their shared bedroom, questionable looks between his other members. The paper in question catches his eyes. "Why do you have that?" He asks, shutting the door behind him.

Does everyone know about the paper?

San struggles to come up with an explanation for the youngest member. "I- wo-" he looks to wooyoung, wooyoung lays the paper on the blanket, putting his hands up, he claims not to know anything about it. San has no other option except for explaining himself to jongho and what he's gathered the past few days.

Once san is finished explaining in the most rushed manner. Yeosang speaks up, looking to him. "I'm not asking her." Yeosang says, laying down his foot. "If she doesn't want us on it, it's not our place to ask her," yeosang looks back down to the paper in wooyoungs hand. "Put it back where you found it." jongho says, uncrossing his arms from his chest and leaving the room.

San looks back at the paper, propped up at the corner of the kitchen. It's not usual for paperwork to be left around here and there. But the fact you left it out in plain sight when San had to go and physically see it in your room to get it is very suspicious. He can even see the obvious bold letters spelling 'Heat Assessment'.

He not so subtly runs past seonghwa, slamming his keys down on the counter next to the paper. Seonghwa looks up from the dish he's preparing for you, looking at san, who hovers over the counter.

"Hey," seonghwa calls san. San shakes from his thoughts, turning toward the older member. Paper in hand. He reads seonghwas signature, cursive and strategically placed next to hongjoongs. "What are you doing with that?" Seonghwa doesn't flinch. he doesn't even ask about the content of the paper. Truly. Everyone knows, and now seonghwas signature is on it.

"How do you know what I have?" San asks, walking across the kitchen to seonghwa who spreads out some slices of apples on your plate. Seonghwa doesn't look up, "we all know what that is." It's a lie. Many of them dont know. San knows it, too. seonghwa pops a slice into his mouth, biting down on it. The souring scent of san fills the kitchen. "Why has -" he slams the hand holding the paper down next to the plate. Suddenly Agitated. "Why has no one asked about it?"

Seonghwa looks to san, finishing cutting the cheese with the knife in hand. "Asked? It's none of your business." Maybe seonghwa is a little harsh about it. He knows that, for fact. The door down the hallway pops open. San doesn't take a second to tell seonghwa off. Instead, he's marching down the hallway.

Hongjoong is just about to enter your room when he feels san pull him back by his arm. A deep set frown over his eyebrows. "Why didn't you tell us about this!?" He places the paper against hongjoongs chest. Hongjoong looks between the paper and san. Pulling it off.

San is picking for a fight. Seonghwa and hongjoong know. Whatever your scent has done has triggered san to be more possessive of you and more aggressive. Your heat is just around the corner, so the tension is rising in the apartment, and it's higher than ever. The boiling point has been reached since this morning.

"Why is your name on this!" San belts, looking between hongjoong and seonghwa.

Yunho steps out of his shared room with yeosang. The shorter peeps over his shoulder to look for where the yelling is coming from. The door creaks open across from them. Wooyoung and jongho peak out. Confusion written on their faces. Lastly. Mingi is the one to step out from the last bedroom on the left, right across from your room where they're currently at.

"San" hongjoong tenses, watching the way san challenges him. The sudden twisting smell of sans scent burning in his nose. "Tell me," san says through clenched teeth. Seonghwa tries to pull at his shoulder to lead him away from the leader but san shrugs his hand off roughly, cursing through his teeth. Sans tough hands shoot out, pushing hongjoong into mingi. The leader catches himself quickly with the help of mingi. Staring wide-eyed at san.

San, who just opened your door and went into your room. Locking the door behind him. He can hear the pounding on the other side. Drowning out his members, San steps forward into your dim bedroom. The only light comes from the window directly across from your door. It shines the dark room only slightly.

San calls you name and hears a shuffle of things in your closet. The walkover is draining. He can feel himself being pulled in by your sweet scent, invading his lungs. He knocks on it gently.

In the gap, your fingers slide the sliver of the door open. Eyes still blinking back sleepiness. San has to take a sharp breath at the invasion of his senses. You're curled up on the makeshift bed in your closet. A nest you made.

Plenty of clothes san has noticed were missing are strewn in a pile under you. Clad in hardly any clothing to combat the heat of your body. San bends down to your level. You still seem you. The smell isn't in full bloom. San can tell, somehow.

" 'Mega?" San calls to you ever so gently, watching you rub your eyes. "Sannie?" you respond, voice filled with recognition. The sound of your voice makes the tension in sans shoulders dissipate. You stumble up and out of the closet, anxiety begging to settle into your bones. He backs up to give you space. Did he even plan anything he was gonna say?

"What are you doing in my room?" You ask, rubbing your arm because of the cold breeze, and definitely not because you're nervous. "Doesn't my preheat scent affect you or whatever? It's not safe.." You mumble the last bit. San struggles to answer. "The scent suppressants.." he trails off. Watching you rub at the sweat on your forehead. He watches you twitch every so often. You don't meet his eyes. Grimacing slightly. "San.. what did you need?" You know he's not here to talk about something so simple. And the settling pain of your incoming heat is twisting your guts to make room for a big knot at the sudden interest of an alpha in your presence.

San sighs, all frustration draining from him in your presence. Wrapped around your smell. "The heat assessment paper." He says, you take a sharp breath. "What about it?" You turn to look away. San stands across from you.

"Do you really want me to sign it?" He asks in a single breath. You blink up at him, swaying in the cold room. "I said yes last night, did I not?" You huff.

You're kinda mean when you're in pre-heat. San thinks. He goes quiet. That's when you reach out, cupping his arm. Warm eyes meeting his in the dark. "San, I want all of you to sign it"

And you're being extremely bold. "All of us?" San mumbles out, shocked. It's not true, right? San, woo, and yeosang, can all be there for your heat? He won't have to feel terrible about signing it. His members (who are equally infatuated with you) can, too?

"You want all of us to sign it?" San phrases better, grabbing your palm in his, off his arm. "Yes, sign it," you sigh, growing impatient. This is why hongjoong and seonghwas name is on your paperwork.

San feels the hope bubble in his throat. Really, he can have it all. And especially when all he wants is to be with you at this moment. He doesn't care, you want him, and he wants you. Sans tough and somewhat calloused hands wrap around your jaw on each side, his fingers glancing over your primary scent gland, which makes you shudder into him. Your name falls off his lips as he searches yours. You can't help but stare at the lines in his perfectly round lips. As soon as his eyes fall over your own. He's pulling you into him.

You can feel the passion in sans touch, and you can feel the desperation of his kiss as it becomes more heavy. His left hand slipped down to your waist to pull you even closer. His fingertips teasing the hem of your shirt. Lips move in tandem, San wants to completely be overwhelmed by you, to be molded by your words and do whatever you want him to. And you want to completely drown into San.

Sans feet shift under him as you guide him, your hands slither into his hair. When you tug gently, san sighs into your mouth, never does he part. Nor does he want to. You know if you keep going, you'll succumb into the inner war of letting San have you here and now. San is oblivious to this. He's slowly letting himself slip into the other mindset he's pushed off for so long, the one where he gets to have you and take care of you like an alpha should.

You shake him out of it. Pushing his shoulder back against the door. You dislodged yourself from his lips. A soft tug, and you're gone from San. He lets out a strangled sound at the lack of your touch. You can't be entangled like this when you're so close to your heat. You can't let this get to you. Breathing each other in, you softly speak. "You have to go," you tell him. San can feel the door rattle against his back.

"As soon as you're done signing, it needs to be turned into the heat sanctuary I'm going to be at. If you don't, the signatures will mean nothing."

So that's why you've been cooped up in your room instead of going to your heat sanctuary. You've been waiting for them to sign it. As soon as san feels the door tug from his back, and you quickly shoving him out. Yunho is pulling the rest of him. Scowling. A screwdriver in hand as they tried to pry open your door. "Why did you do that! That was dangerous! For both of you!"

San heard and felt your words.

Everyone has been withholding their urges all week. Perhaps the scent suppressants are working compared to how your first heat hit. When they didn't know that scent you were producing and why suddenly they wanted to cover you in their own scents. It's a lot less easy knowing that you're only a room away in an apartment full of alphas who are willing to give you anything. But you don't know that. Hongjoong does. He takes a shuddered breath when he stands at your door ealy that morning. He can smell your preheat scent seeping out of the cracks.

Hongjoong knocks a few times. Listening for any movement on the other side. The door swings open. He's smacked with a wall of your smell. "Hongjoongie," you sigh happily. Pulling him in. "Hey pretty girl" he answers, pushing the hair behind your ears and out of your face when you don't stop to turn around and keep pulling him to your closet.

"Look," you slide the door open, dropping the edges of his shirt to crawl inside. "Come," you beckon him down towards the floor, pulling at his hand. He grins, crawling in. He's much too big for your tiny closet, but you fit in it perfectly. Hongjoong can see the amount of clothes on the floor, it's like a mountain, and in the center of it, it's big enough for you and someone else to sit in.

You're so very eager to get hongjoong in that circle, just to see if it's big enough. "Once I get to the heat place, I can make a bigger one for all of us." You push at hongjoongs shoulders, and his back hits the clothing softly. He doesn't know exactly what you're doing until you're sitting atop him, trying to nestle your face into his neck. He places two hands on your hips.

You're scenting him now, hongjoong knows this but decides to ask anyway. Shoving your face as close as you can get to him, your lips breeze passes his glands. Your forehead falls there instead, rubbing back and forth to transfer your scent. Encouraging a shuddered breath out of him. "What are you doing, huh?" He pulls your head out of his neck, his right hand holding your nape softly. You huff, hongjoong scans your features in the dark.

"You don't smell like me," you pout, hongjoong laughs lightly. Maybe in a teasing way but more so in a 'that was really cute' kind of way. The grin on his face tells you what exactly he's thinking. "Don't laugh at me" you pull away, sitting up on his chest. You drain the breath out of him in the best way.

Hongjoong slips to sit up, holding you close to him and not any lower. He only has so much control for now, and he doesn't want to risk giving a certain area the stimulus. "I'm not," he bites his grin. "You are," you mumble, shaking your head from the fog. You plop it on his shoulder, holding him against you.

"I'm not even in my heat yet, and I'm exhausted," you say into his shoulder. Hongjoong sighs for you. "I know, I'm working on it," he kisses your head. "I'll get you a knot as soon as possible, okay?" The sentence sounds so innocent when it really isn't. His finger rubs the side of your neck, where your scent glands are.

The thought of seeing hongjoong above you, giving you his knot, being in you for the first time, flashes through your mind. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. You stop the pulse between your thighs the best you can. "You can't say that." You whimper, pulling off of him. It takes everything in you to do so. The omega in you cries to be closer. Hongjoong pats your hip as you land softly on the clothes next to him. This plan is driving you mad, and yet you still have a week of a long heat ahead of you. "Has san said anything yet?" You look to hongjoong.

Hongjoong shakes his head, watching you lean your head on his knee. Prettily poking your lips at him in the most frustrating of pouts. "What if he didn't hear me?.. What if he doesn't like me like that?" You mumble, closing your eyes and squishing your legs into your chest.

"He heard you. He does." hongjoong sighs, rubbing your cheek softly. You don't know if he's saying it to reassure you. But you really hope san did hear you. And you hope you're not getting your hopes up.

Hongjoong tells seonghwa first. He trusts seonghwa a lot. You trust seonghwa just as much. The idea of going to him first was completely a mutual idea.

Later in the morning, Hongjoong knocks on his door, the one he shares with mingi and san. Sans out today. Wherever he is, he decides not to learn the details. Lately, san has been giving him the cold shoulder. And hongjoong has some idea why.

On the other hand, joong isn't ready to tell mingi about you wanting them. Hongjoong knows that as soon as he tells mingi, mingi will lose himself and steal you away for the week. You might end up inducing Mingis rut in the process. It's just not a great idea to tell mingi before everyone else, no matter if he gets upset about knowing later.

So with that, as soon as hongjoong learned seonghwa was alone in his bedroom, hongjoong took the opportunity. Three knocks, and he's entering. Seonghwa rests on his bed, looking at his phone. Hongjoong takes the bed across from him. Seonghwa knows whatever conversation they're about to have. It's gonna be serious. He sits up, taking whatever hongjoong has got to say heads on.

Seriously, if hongjoong says that you two are dating exclusively, seonghwas heart might actually explode into tiny shards.

It begins the same as a nightmare seonghwa has been having for a couple of days. "You know she and i are together," hongjoong starts off with, not knowing how else to phrase it. Seonghwas mouth falls open. "I.. what?"

Hongjoong really doesn't know how to say this. But for your sake, he's trying. "We're dating. I think we are - anyway. I was the first one who asked her, " hongjoong kinda bluffs, he didn't ask. It was kinda set in stone as soon as your lips touched his. Seonghwa wants to urgently shake hongjoong to spill everything. "She wants us to be a more intimate pack if you get what I'm saying, more than what the media suggests." Seonghwa sucks a harsh breath in, eyebrows furrowed.

"She feels most comfortable with us, not only that but.." hongjoong tries to gather his words. "She likes all of us, more than friends, more than members. She wants us on her heat assessment." Hongjoong explains, he can't exactly tell seonghwa you like-love him, it's not his place too. If seonghwa wanted an answer, he could ask you himself.

"She wants all of us?" Seonghwa can't believe it, to be with you and not make it awkward amongst them, is this true? Seonghwa can share. He can play nice. He might even enjoy the idea of sharing with the entirety of the pack. It's something he doesn't really understand, but he's completely fine with anyway.

Hongjoong nods, signifying that seonghwa is correct. Seonghwa let's out a breath.

"I'll sign it." He let's his words freely flow.

And when seonghwa brings your breakfast for the day, you're surprised to see him. And he's very surprised to see you making a nest in your closet instead of relaxing in your bed. "Hwa?" You question, taking the plate gently, your round eyes look up to him, assessing his presence. It reminds him of that moment in the kitchen, and seonghwa grips his fingers into the clothes under him to prevent the blood flowing somewhere else. "Hi," he greets back with a hum. You place the plate down next to the closet door.

"Hungry?" He asks, watching your behavior. You shake your head. "Not really... My heat last time took a lot, and I still tried to eat as much as i could," you sigh. Seonghwa knows a heat will take everything out of you, and you still won't be hungry until after. Too driven by the urge to.. well, breed, really. He hums as he listens to you talk.

You look like the most beautiful person in his eyes. Even when seonghwa met you for the first time. Even before debut, when you were just a tiny beta that begged to be picked on just to bite back. Even during every bad hair day you claimed. He reaches out to smooth his hand over your hair. Your roots are beginning to show. As soon as your heat is over, you'll be long overdue for a touch-up. And seonghwa feels like tagging along for it. Just to watch your pretty face in the mirrors.

You lean into seonghwas hand as it trails down your face. Sighing softly into his palm. "I signed the papers." He gulps, pulling his hand back. You miss his warmth. Even if you are burning up. Your eyes fall.

"I don't want you to be there for my heat -" you sigh out. Seonghwas heart leaps into his throat. "I want you to take care of me, and I want you to be there after," You try to find the right words. Confessions are hard. "I like you, more than my member, more than friends," you mumble.

"You know how long I have waited to hear that?" Seonghwa laughs into his words. You blink once, twice. He pulls you into his chest. Hugging you tightly. His head falls over yours. Seonghwa isn't the most muscular member, but he still has arms to prove how he can hold you comfortably in his arms and steal you away at any moment.

"I like you too, so much." he mumbles into your hair. You pull back and look up at him, begging for a kiss with your smile. If you did, you'd both end up getting lost in each other. You cut the silence. "Could you bring me some dirty laundry?" You laugh, embarrassed. He snickers. "Sure" he knows exactly why.

Sharing a room with yeosang isn't the best, yunhos member doesn't say much about this odd situation. Lying face down on his blankets, yeosangs phone is propped up by his hand. Yunho, on the other hand, is watching a show on his laptop, propped up on his chest.

It started off with yeosang tossing and turning all night, ultimately it woke yunho up. And before yunho could get a clue of what's going on, yeosangs breathy sighs and whimpers had him shooting right up and out of bed. No way was he gonna stick around to listen to yeo have a wet dream.

The early morning dew completely encased the windows after a heavy night of rain. The flashing clock on the microwave told him it was around 2 am. He took his spot on the couch and watched a movie in silence. When from the corner of his eyes, wooyoung tiredly stepped out of the hallway.

Wooyoung stood rubbing his hand over his eye. There's no obvious sign to yunho that he knew what was going on with yeosang, but he had his suspicion. He doesn't greet woo when he lands softly on the other side of the couch. Both watching the movie in silence.

Yunho can't take silence much longer. Wooyoung obviously can't, either. "Have you seen the heat assessment paper?" He uses this conversation for topic? When obviously, yunho knows about it. "Yea, why?" He asks, turning his chin towards the dark-haired guy.

Wooyoung shakes his head like he's swaying his thoughts away. "Did hongjoong tell you his name was on it?" That gets yunho. No. Hongjoong did not tell him. Because yunho didn't know the leaders name was on the paper.

Besides the feeling of longing building in his stomach, yunho wanted to know what wooyoung getting at. "No, he didn't.. why are you asking?" It's a short answer but an even quicker question. Wooyoung doesn't dare spare a glance at yunho. Opting to just stay quiet. It's completely unlike him.

"Whatever reason she has him on the paper, it isn't our business -" yunhos words stop when wooyoung shoots up frustrated, whisper yelling towards yunho. "Yes! I know it shouldn't be any of my business it's hers- but- dammit! She's one of my best friends! I have a right to know!" Wooyoung seems to be drowned in his own outburst for yunho to get a word in.

Pieces fall and collide in yunhos mind. Watching his other member pace back and forth. "There's more to this, isn't there?" Yunhos words stop wooyoung in his track. The dark-haired guy turns to look at his taller friend. hum.

Yunho knows that look, the all familiar sign of hopelessness when you love someone so deeply, and yet you don't know what to do. He's had the same look consistently when you would split from their group to take photos with other idols. Other idols who yunho knows want you. Everyone wants you. The all familiar ace of K-pop.

When he'd sit back as you did video challenges, dancing and laughing with someone else whilst he watched in silence. He wished everyone knew you were his when, in reality, you didn't even know how he felt. Yunho knows that sinking feeling of possibly breaking something that can't be unbroken. Yunho knows these moments of laughter and bickering, but he wishes he could have those moments with you in a different way. A way that you both understand. Mated as a pair. Together in a more intimate way.

Wooyoung is as still as a mouse, caught in the cookie jar, smacking his lips. His eyes squint down, his hand coming up to the bridge of his nose. Wooyoung is estranged. He is tired of lying to himself.

"We all love her, don't we?" He says into his palm, the world doesn't seem to crash like he thinks it does. Yunho stands up, taking wooyoungs hand away from his face. Wooyoung sighs, facing yunhos eyes with diminishing confidence.

"It's her choice.." wooyoung says just as yunhos mouth falls open to speak. Pulling his wrist from the taller members grasp.

It truly is your choice to call on them if you want to. And when wooyoung turns away, he doesn't see the way yunho loses all confidence. Compared to his members, yunho has a lot to beat. If he had to fight for you, could he?

The hallway flur pass yunho. In an instance, he's pulling san out of your doorway, fuming. San has your scent all over him. Yunho does not ignore the pink tinting in his members' cheek or the way his lips are red. His lips pull back into a snarl as he barks at san about what he did wrong. What could have happened.

Sans lovesick eyes and dazed expression only pisses yunho off more. Even when he lets go, he's still towering over the dark-haired guy. A sudden urge of violence panging in his fists. Yunho isn't violent, no. He doesn't know what happened, but the way san reeks of you is making him feel as if he could commit a felony then and there really digs deep.

His members attempting to calm the situation only make things drown him. He's got to step back. He's got to get out of this cramped apartment where you linger around every corner. He turns on his heels, wanting to make a beeline for the door.

"She wants us to sign her heat assessment."

Sans voice speaks up, and yunho knows exactly who it's directed at. He can feel the stinging of sans dark eyes against his back. Still, as wooyoung looks to his friend, he can tell he got more info than he leads on. But the main shocker is what he said.

"What?" Wooyoung asks for confirmation. Heart leaping into his throat. It's got to be a hoax. Seonghwa and hongjoong linger in the back, silently observing. Mingi is the second to step forward, bending his neck to ask what he means. Jongho definitely gets onto what he's saying immediately. But he's almost tempted to barge into your room and ask you himself.

"All-" jongho gets cut off. "All of us." Sans smile is bitten back. He looks to wooyoung, then to yeosang, shock etched into their faces.

"That's what she said?" Yeosang gulps. San has never lied about anything you've said. No matter what. San respects you too much and this situation is too serious for lying. Yet, yeosang looks to the leader and eldest member to know anyways. Their names are on the paper, something you allowed.

Hongjoongs eyes hold curiosity as he watches all his members, he was right. He's smug that he was right. You are so consuming, it wouldn't be anything other than a surprise for any one of them to not be madly in love with you. You are the prettiest shining pearl in the sea that is the world. Hongjoong shakes out of his thoughts. Seeking out the begging and hopeful eyes of his members. Even yunho, who is a few feet away. Turned to listen in on the conversation.

"It's true." hongjoong says.

Seonghwa took the honor of putting his name on your heat contact. So, in case of anything. Seonghwa will get that call. And he'll assess the situation when you can't. Regarding who goes in and out of your heat space, any official business regarding idol work, etcetera. Seonghwa took it on cause if hongjoong had- the eldest knew that the captain would be overwhelmed with all of it.

Seonghwa is your primary caretaker for the entire heat cycle whilst you're out. To confirm, they had all sat around your door whilst you were on the other side. Just a door away. You used your phone to call them so they could hear you clearly.

You are still coherent despite what san did earlier. The door is the closest way you can feel close to them. Joong had slipped a piece of paper under your door along with a pen.

'Rules' it reads. Rules for the guys. Anything you don't want them to do, they'll be coherent, partly, while you're in your omega mindset. They can't do anything you dont want, especially if you're allowing them to be heat helpers, which is why you need rules.

You quickly write down the list whilst they talk. Discussing what they need to do beforehand quietly on the other side.

You write down a list of things you're not okay with and precautions. Birth control for men is the most important thing on the list. You know omega-you will not take them, begging not too actually, and knowing your boys, they might actually give in or get distracted. So they'll have to do the protection protocol.

And that's all you had. You are fairly comfortable with everything else. You're sure your omega mind will enjoy it as well.

There's this obvious what-will-happen lingering in your mind. Will this make or break your group? You know this is only a temporary solution. You know they think you're only doing this because you trust them to take care of you. You can't tell exactly why they're agreeing. Do they possibly feel the same? You know hongjoong and seonghwa do- and even san.

What about the rest of them?

Later in the midst of the night, as you're curled up in your closet. Your phone vibrates, awakening you from a sticky and hot sleep, one where you hardly actually sleep a wink, and you're completely uncomfortable the entire time. The bright light shines and blinds you temporarily. It's 2 am.

At some point after dinner, you must have fallen asleep. The ache in between your legs spikes up your hips, causing you to curl into yourself more. Whining quietly into the blanket yeosang had gifted you for your birthday. A pale yellow.

Your fingers reach for anything. Your phone ends up in your tight embrace. A contact on display, how'd that get there? The all familiar picture of you and the tallest of your friends posing in front of a snowman, his bright smile and bowlcut styled hair. Yunho.

"Hello?" Yunhos happy deep voice rings from the other side of the screen. You shudder at the familiarity. Was his voice always this deep? Your thighs clench. "Hello..?" He repeats. Music can be heard, some type of indie song, you recognize a few of his friends talking. Laughing whilst he takes a call.

You can hear the shuffle of yunho on the other side. A door shuts behind him, silencing the music. He calls your name softly. You're still so quiet. You haven't said anything. He must have checked the caller ID. "Yunho," your small voice speaks up, and you bite your lip. Curling into your side. You continue on with a whimper, "Where are you?"

Yunho takes a sharp breath. "I'm out, getting food with some friends, you okay?" he tells you honestly, his feet pacing in the bathroom echos. Your head begins to fog worse than it has in the entirety of the week. "Yun" you whine his name into the air. "How far away?" You fall into a whisper.

"Not far, I'm leaving now." The fact yunho is willing to ditch his group of friends and come home just because you called has you leaking. You bite on the arm holding your phone up to stop a needy gasp.

"Talk to me omega, tell me what's going on." The shuffle of yunho pulling his jacket on distracts you. His friends call his name as he walks, and the doorbell jingles behind him. You can't take the ache anymore. The fog behind your thoughts is consuming. You feel yourself losing control.

"I need you, please. Yunho, Please." You whine, dropping the phone next to you. Yunhos' words fall short. You can hear the door to his car open and slam shut.

"I'll take care of you, omega, okay? Just keep talking to me, I'm almost there"

A/n; I'm terrible. Ik. leaving it off on another cliffhanger bc I didn't know how to finish this chapterrrrr iM SORRY. THANK YOU FOR THE SUPPORT!! it's gonna start getting really spicy here on-

taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @yunholuvrsblog @ja3hwa @stopeatread @sousydive @voicesinmyhead-rc @giiouis @c4tboyxiao @eastleighsblog @doggopepper @uhhheather @hyukssunflower @hhoneylix @tunaasan @satsuri3su @acescavern @edusweah @silentcry329 @silentreadersthings @ldysmfrst @idfkeddieishot @zdgx1

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alessiamalfoyzabini · 4 months

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𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 2,382

Warnings | +18, bullying, for the moment only this

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | This work originated in Italian, so i apologize for any errors you will find, i am not a native english speaker, so go ahead and write in the comments where and what i can improve! 🥺❤

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

There was something in the air that day, something that weighed down her chest and left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth.

She looked outside her room and saw large gray clouds looming ominously, it was probably an approaching storm, and even so, she would still have to go to school, she could not escape her school obligations.

She had done so much to escape the harsh judgment of her family members, she knew that attending college was a huge expense for her parents, especially for being an out-of-towner with so much rent and bills to pay, so the only thing she could do to repay them was to get good grades and come out with a more than excellent GPA, without mentioning her problems.

So the girl prepared herself for yet another stressful and gloomy day, surrounded by prof's coaches and daddy's boys who wouldn't stop bragging about their possessions for a moment.

She adjusted her jacket and grabbed the bag containing all the necessary books, grabbed the house keys on the fly and locked the door behind her, not before nodding in the direction of the elderly neighbor who came out with her adorable little wagging dog every morning at that hour.The little Maltese barked in her direction and with a smile walked over to the couple, stroking the soft coat of the dog who, excited, hoisted himself up on two paws, accompanying her caresses with his head. Y/N burst out laughing at that warm expression of appreciation, could it be that only a dog was able to accept it without judgment?

"Do you go to school, Y/N?" asked the lady with a smile.

The girl nodded, "That's right, Mrs. Choi...I have a test today, I hope everything goes well."

"Oh, take it easy, my dear. I really feel that something new will happen for you today," the elderly woman's smile widened and Y/N was interjected.

She was no stranger to the strange outings of the woman, who very often seemed absent-minded and pensive, but a strange chill caught her. She tried to dilute the air with a giggle, "I hope it's also something good," she joked lightly, the woman rippled her lips.

"It depends on your point of view," she shrugged.

Y/N's smile faded away, not wanting to inquire further she decided it was getting quite late and waved a little awkwardly to her wacky neighbor, giving one last caress to the little dog, who continued to bark in her direction, trying to call her back.

"Come on, Y/N...you can get through this day too without too many hiccups," she said to herself, trying to mentally build up her courage. She arrived at the university with a lump in her throat, aware that once she entered the classroom she would see the haughty faces of her classmates again.

She was an outcast and the only classmate with whom she had come to form a decent bond of friendship had to change her address because that faculty was not suitable for her. But to say that she had simply grown tired of being bullied was perhaps easier.

She took a deep breath and entered the classroom, as she presaged, smiles filled with mockery accompanied her all the way to her seat, she took out the appropriate book for that hour of class and ignored everyone, no one however lent her a further glance, the arrival of the teacher had nipped in the bud any attempt at mockery.

Taking a test at the first hour was never easy for anyone, but the girl more than gladly accepted that chance to escape her foolish classmates.

She carried out the task in complete silence, interrupted only briefly by a few balls of paper and notes, some asking her to have her copied, others admonishing her not to sully their own air with her presence. Y/N swallowed, such doggedness seen from an outside eye might have seemed surreal, but to her it was normalcy.

They bothered her just for the sake of it, because she was the one without money, she was the unfashionable girl, she lived in a miserable apartment in a miserable neighborhood, she was everything they were not.

"Psst... Psst, little one!"

Y/N initially ignored that low whisper, but at yet another ball thrown at her head, she turned away in annoyance.

This was Kang Yoozu, one of the boys who worked hardest to make her school life a living hell; he seemed to take pleasure in constant torture and Y/N was often one of his favorite victims.

"What the hell do you want?!" she growled, impatient. He shrugged, "I just wanted to ask you if you were free later."

Y/N frowned, what was that jerk saying?

"Why would you care, Yoozu?" she asked, strangled.

A wicked smile spread across the classmate's face, "Your parents are street food vendors, right? How much can they possibly make per month?"

Y/N found herself gritting her teeth, ignoring the amused exclamations of the others; the professor seemed to have disappeared into thin air, which frustrated the girl even more.

"I don't know what you're getting at, but I suggest you shut your mouth," she said harshly and Yoozu's eyes narrowed.

"I'm just wondering how they were keep you, don't you think it's incumbent on them to lighten their load and earn money in other ways?"

The young woman blanched at the outrageous statement-what the fuck was she implying?! "And let's hear it-what would those ways be?" she rose from her chair under everyone's gaze.

Yoozu looked around with feigned interest, then elbowed his seatmate, chuckling.

"Well, I have a lot of money, a fuck or two wouldn't hurt, don't you think? You would earn honestly on your own strength," the whole class erupted in convulsive laughter, Y/N felt humiliated. She had endured much from them, had swallowed a myriad of bitter morsels, but no, that one would not let her get away with it.

In a very brief instant she found herself facing the smug boy who stared at her with satisfaction, and soon the scarlet shape of five perfectly outlined fingers was stamped on the candid face of that being, a being who for two years had made it unbearable for her to study for a better future. The noise was a dull pop and everyone fell silent.

Yoozu's eyes turned icy, and soon he jerked up from his chair, flipping it behind him.

"You dared too much, beggar" he made to approach threateningly, no one would intervene, she knew, but fortunately the professor's voice stopped whatever was about to happen.

"What the heck is going on in this class? Y/N! Yoozu! Go back to your seats immediately before I suspend your test."

The man's threatening voice made the boy take a step back, Y/N went back to her seat, but she felt the threatening gaze of her companion behind her the rest of the time, until the end of the hour sounded and everyone got up to leave their verifications on the professor's desk, who collected all the papers and added something to the register, which Y/N guessed was about her and Yoozu. A sick feeling invaded her stomach, she did not want her average to drop because of a bastard like Kang Yoozu, he had practically invited her to prostitute herself. With him.

Disgusted she took the art sketchbook from her bag, a small smile was born on her lips.

Classes with Professor Jeon always gave her a chance to get through the day in a slightly more uplifted mood.

He was a young boy ready to put himself on the front lines to help his students, older than her by five years, he had found a place in the university where he had studied because all the school staff thought he was deserving of getting a professorship there. And, Y/N admitted at least to herself, he was handsome as well as kind and helpful. She felt her heartbeat increase when her favorite professor made his entrance into the classroom, greeting all his pupils with a bright smile, exchanged a few words with the older professor who gave way to him, and during that conversation the girl clearly heard the excited murmurs of her classmates. They did not think much about it, giving vent to their shamelessly enamored sighs.

Y/N merely shrugged her shoulders as the young professor took a seat behind the desk and gave everyone a jovial look.

"Good morning, guys" he said quietly, a chorus of "good morning" and "hello" rose from the desks.

Y/N watched spellbound as the corner of his lips slightly lifted in a satisfied smile of the man, her professor's long hair that day was tied in a ponytail that the girl found damn adorable, which contrasted with the tattoos that decorated the entire arm left uncovered by the pulled-up shirt sleeve, the man crossed his arms and his biceps swelled in a hypnotic movement that caught the girl unprepared, she felt her body set on fire and with shame removed her gaze.

What she did not know was that Jungkook was also watching her. He never let her out of his sight, in truth.

From the first time he had caught her rushing into the classroom, wet as a tender chick, Jungkook could not help but feel a strange flutter every time he laid eyes on his pupil. Their eyes had met for the first time that day, a rush had gone through him from side to side, thunderstruck by that little figure who had bowed in apology over and over again.

And it was wrong, he should never have taken an interest in one of his students like that, but he was a man, a man with secret feelings and appetites, and everything about Y/N screamed timidity and fragility.

He wanted to protect her, wanted to take her away, wanted to make her his.

He knew about the way her classmates treated her, his colleagues sometimes talked about it during lunch breaks, this was terrible for him, it hurt him to even imagine the way the girl felt, he would have protected her if it was possible, but each time the bullying happened in his absence, and as a professor he could do nothing if Y/N herself did not ask for help. He could not punish the perpetrators without catching them in the act. The young man sighed, before lowering his eyes to the register, frowning at what he found written there.

"Park Y/N and Kang Yoozu were found standing during testing time, they looked like they were about to start a fight, I intervened in time to put them in their place."

Jungkook gritted his teeth as he read his student's name next to Y/N's.

The girl was too quiet a person to provoke a quarrel, his dark irises stopped on Yoozu, who was giggling along with his partner as his scribbled something in sketchbook.

Y/N, on the other hand, waited quietly and composedly for her class to begin, and that told Jungkook a lot about the dynamics of the strange event described by his colleague.

He rose from his chair clearing his throat, all eyes were soon on him.

He sensed the mischievous glances of the girls in his direction, he knew he was very much desired, after all he was the only young professor in the institution, but he did not let those attentions buy him, the only gaze he wanted on himself was that of the same girl who was anxiously crushing her fingers.

He leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms again, and in Y/N's gaze he read something very much like... desire? He looked at her, biting his lips for a thousandth of a second, clenching the tender flesh between his teeth, but that minimal amount of time was enough for the girl to widen her eyes and lower them immediately afterward, her cheeks flushed. Jungkook felt himself tightening in his pants, thinking that he was so adorable that he wanted to fuck her right then, in front of everyone.

He would have gladly made her cry as his cock penetrated her deeply.

"Guys, today I'm not going to talk to you about history and artists," he began, his voice crystal clear and smooth, "But about a subject that, unfortunately, will never stop being talked about," he paused behind Yoozu's desk.

He observed the lines drawn by the boy on the once-clean page, Yoozu made to cover his scrawl, but Jungkook was quick to catch him, "Let me see a bit, Kang," he said, before taking a better look at that jumble of shapeless lines, which took on the appearance of a naked girl with a tear-streaked face, there was a uniform at the corner of the paper and a bag, which Jungkook immediately recognized, raised an eyebrow in the boy's direction and returned the object to him, not without first tearing up the page, "Drawing your companions without clothes is not what I asked you to do, Yoozu.

Employ my hour to draw something in good taste, instead of indulging in such disgusting antics," the man scolded him harshly. The student bowed his head, humiliated, apologetically, and his deskmate turned away, as if to put some distance between himself and his friend, which the teacher laughed at internally. It was precisely people like Yoozu who had no friends.

Jungkook finally turned around and walked in Y/N's direction, stopped just behind her and lowered himself until he reached her ear, "Today's lesson is about bullying," he murmured, the girl felt her legs trembling under his low and sweet tone, she meekly nodded, writing on a vacant page the theme, then Jungkook raised his voice slightly, "I would like you all to draw a representation of bullying, also writing a small dedication to the kids who experience it firsthand."

When the young teacher turned away from her, Y/N resumed breathing normally.

Everyone caught the stinging reference, the girl gazed admiringly at Jungkook's strong shoulders, perfectly aligned in a proud posture that Y/N had no trouble finding attractive, clutched the pencil grip and set to work, unaware of the forbidden desire she aroused moment by moment in her teacher.

#bts #bts fanfiction #bts smut #bts x reader #yandere bts #yandere bts x reader #yandere jungkook x reader #yandere jungkook #bts yandere smut #jungkook x reader #bts fanfic #yandere

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 9 months

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A NOOSE TO HANG ONTO (III)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IV

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking & stalking behavior, talks of death, weapons, violence, suggestive thoughts/comments, toxic modeling standards, food issues, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Sometimes you wonder if meeting your soulmate would even matter—it would never fix the void in your heart, you know. It would be foolish to think that it would.

But there is such a drug attached to being loved as you are, despite your flaws and failings, destined to be tied in a game of commitment. Yet the simple fact showed that, while soulmates were able to bring you color, that didn’t change people's nature.

Even among those tied pairs, divorce was rampant; assaults, and murders as well.

Soulmate Psychosis, it was called. When your mind broke from having it all figured out, or even when you knew it was falling apart.

It happened to your father and it happened to millions of other spouses too. When your entire life is already decided when you look at someone, it can be…a lot.

So, part of you was happy that you’d never know who yours was unless they told you themselves—you can hope and pray that they stay their tongue and give you a chance to fall for them naturally. Because it scared you, truly, becoming like all of the rest. A statistic.

Lord, don’t let yourself become a statistic.

Nikto silently walks at your heels as you push through the front doors of your penthouse, taking off your ball cap and stuffing it into your jacket pocket.

The man at the front desk calls to you, and you raise a hand in greeting, sliding a soft smile his way.

“Seraph!” Isaak has been working at this building for as long as you can remember—the man with grayish hair and dark eyes. A face that was sharp and a nose crooked; like a chocolate-chip cookie, dark splotches along his face led to the impression of freckles.

The man was slightly older than you, lanky, and always dressed luxuriously.

“Having a good day, Isaak? Has that girl come back and given you her number yet?” You slow your pace to the elevator, digging into your pocket and peeling out one of the keys from your lanyard for your floor. You nearly drop the thing before you snap and catch onto the metal quickly. Nikto lets off something like an annoyed growl behind you at the interruption from the man across the room.

He’s impatient, you hum and send him a little glance over your shoulder. Light eyes dig with a warning. You only chuckle and shake your head calmly. One would think that for a PMC he would have all the patience in the world.

“You know I keep trying to get her to go away,” Isaak smiles at you. “The only woman I’d accept a number from is you, my Little Angel.”

Where the flirtatious comments had gotten you into bed with the man before, now they just didn’t strike you as they had before. Not…anymore.

You clear your throat and blink away for a moment before you school your expression back to an easy malleability.

“Good try.” Your focus goes back to the keys, fingers jerkily sifting through them.

Isaak’s brows furrow at your form, perhaps a bit of offense making his face twist—dark eyes slip down your body; pupils dilating.

A black form steps slightly forward, a large shoulder blocking you from view in one firm movement. Like some wolf with its neck fur standing on end, Nikto’s head is lightly bent down; eyes so intense that they render Isaak frozen in a sense of internal instincts warring with one another.

Nikto doesn’t speak, doesn’t make a sound—only stares and doesn't blink, immobile as a stone.

The soft music of the lobby blurs to the sound of a heart pounding.

You don’t even notice, humming when you find the correctly marked key from its slate mass and moving forward to press the illuminated button of the elevator.

“Oh!” Your mind pulls itself back to the present and away from letters and fire. “Isaak, this is Nikto—he’ll be…” A pause, eyes narrowed in confusion. “Are you okay?”

The man looks like he’s about to piss himself.

Without another word, Isaak scurries into the backroom, the door hitting so hard closed behind him that you flinch slightly and blink in shock. Standing for a moment, you tilt your head slowly right before the elevator dings, signaling you can enter.

Nikto suddenly grabs the meat of your arm and moves you inside.

“Woah!” You call, huffing. “Careful!”

“Inside,” the PMC grumbles, eyes tight and beady.

Your feet stumble when he lets you go, having to steady yourself on the back railing so you don’t fall over and hit your face on the floor. A sharp look is leveled at Nikto as he drops his duffel bag to the ground and hooks his arms at the collar of his rig, grunting and shifting his legs to set himself.

Blinking rapidly, you sigh out a fast breath.

“You know,” you begin, slotting your key into the plaque that says your floor number, twisting, and then taking a step back. Eyes darting to your side, you ease out slyly. “I’m sure people would like you more if you had the ability to articulate what you’re feeling. I’m getting the sense that you carry your emotions around like you’re trying to choke someone out.”

Nikto glares ahead, a brick wall of nothing but a harsh breath.

You smile softly and chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll get you into shape in no time.” Pale eyes slowly slide to your face and Nikto’s dead gaze stays there—brows in such a straight line it’s like looking at a statue. “I always do.”

While being around your mom led you to a subdued state, you had no trouble easing back into your usual route of subtle flirting; it was natural to you, even after traumatic events. A cushion, if you will. It felt good to still be able to regulate yourself and have some level of control over your life.

The three bodies and the Stalker, that senseless shadow, still haunt the back of your eyelids but having a distraction in the light was helping. Something new to focus on.

“We need copy,” Nikto glares at you, ignoring your soft tone.

As the elevator rises incredibly high, you hum in question, smile flicking to a confused frown. He grits his teeth under his mask.

“The key, Whelp, да?” Your eyes spark.

“Oh, sure,” you shrug. “I don’t have one.”

Nikto’s shoulders move back, blinking at you quickly. “You…” he trails off into a snarl of Russian. A hand comes up from his side to harshly dig into the bridge of his hidden nose.

You have to restrain a wide smile, the muscles in your face twitching.

When the doors open, you’re led into the sight of your safe place—an entire world away from the one outside the half-closed blinds of an opposite wall of all windows.

“I’ll order you one,” you try to reassure Nikto, sending him a side glance as you let all of the tension leak out of you as you step inside. “No worries.”

The man follows, jaw tense, as he stoops down and swipes up his bag.

“How is it that you do not have a second key?” Nikto’s eyes dart around the living room, not showing the slight way he’s taken aback by the size of everything and the design choice.

It was certainly…unique.

High mass, there were knickknacks on nearly every surface—a far-off ceiling due to the open second level where the rooms must be. There were hanging beads from the stairs, and plants that grew large and verdant; Nitko blinked at paintings on nearly every surface of the visible wall. A hanging chandelier that emits light over the antique-looking furniture of wood and velvet.

Even a taxidermy deer head, with its antlers holding jewelry that glints rich and luxurious. Books and painted bits of the walls that were near sheer fabric draped as an accessory from the top of bookshelves.

“Sorry for the mess,” you utter, sincerely, “if I’d been told that you were going to be staying here, I would have gotten the spare room ready.”

The kitchen is simple and mixed in with the living room in the form of a large island piled with magazines and notebooks.

You sigh and look around, wrapping your arms around your waist as you glance around the space. Not a stranger to the confused looks you’d get from your style.

Aly described it as a fairy tale. A hut in the woods holding secrets and magic. So different than what AMA had you displayed as—a cold angel of white and sharp feathers.

A product of some great lust machine.

“Just wait until he sees the loft,” you murmur, thinking about all of the various fabrics and tailored clothes you’d had in the open space directly when you walk up the stairs. The Dress Form torso mannequins wearing dresses you’d made with pricked fingers and shaky nerves.

You hoped he hadn’t met his Soulmate, because you’re sure it’s a hideous mess of colors up there. The thought makes you pause, and you realize you haven’t asked that question to yourself yet.

Did Nikto see color?

“No need,” Nikto immediately returns to his stoic monotone at your concern over the state of things. “I make do. Step aside.”

Slipping off your shoes, you place them in the old claw foot parlor table you’d made into your entryway storage, glancing at the void as he walks around your creaky wooden floors with his heavy boots.

“Shoes,” you remind, voice light.

The beast halts, his back to you halfway onto your handmade Persian rugs. You watch his fingers twitch around his duffel bag straps, as you go to close your secondary door; hiding the gaping wound in the building as the elevator leaves. A soft click emanates just as the man grunts lowly and lets his bag slam to the floor.

In one movement, the Russian bends down and unlaces his boots in firm and quick motions, grabbing them and turning like a puppet on a string. He plants them next to yours on the parlor table and sends you a tight look with hard eyes.

Nikto’s accent flares in his quick comment. “You are strange, Girl.”

You hum and shift out of your jacket, folding it and placing it atop the shoes.

“Oh, so I’m strange because I don’t want you tracking dirt on my clean rugs? The people you live around must be slobs.”

“We do not live around others.”

You blink, staring into his eyes as your skin pulls lightly. “Then I’m sorry. That must be very lonely.”

Nikto’s muscles tense under his gear, great thighs hardening. He growls low after a moment of stiffly watching you. “I do not need pity, certainly not from you,” and then stalks off, leaving his bag in the foyer.

Lips slightly parted, you let him walk away and snoop, taking account of the rooms and the layout for his own needs. Sighing, you rub at the back of your head before letting your hand drop back down, pulling at the fabric of your turtle neck.

You couldn’t deny that you found Nikto physically attractive—the large stature and built frame made your neurons fire, how he loped along with his bulky gear. Sure, that was natural, and despite the attitude, you did feel secure around him. He had an extensive record for a reason, and your mother would only include the best in her decisions.

It also attested to the fact that you didn’t find his aggression at all fear-inducing if that made any sense at all. To everyone else, he would be the pinnacle of an axe murderer, but, for some reason, he didn’t feel like that to you. A bit loose, sure, but the knowledge that this man was entirely mission-driven sat well with you.

It confused you—why did you not entirely mind having him around?

I can live with this, you tell yourself, brushing off your sweatpants and telling yourself not to think of the bakery or about Sergi, Yefim, or Petya; Aleksandr.

But when all that’s moved away like a curtain in front of the window, the view still remains.

The Stalker.

You still couldn’t rationalize it. How could someone do that? Be so bold and brute-like? And it was all over you.

Never had you been overconfident in yourself—you knew you had the looks and the money, the ability to do what few people could, but that had never gotten into your head. It was common knowledge that every model had a shelf-life and yours would probably end sooner than later if this kept up.

Any damage to your flesh that left long-term scarring was an instant dismissal. No negative press for AMA, either.

In all of this, you were walking a very thin path of horror and reality, like a show at a circus. And you of all people know you can’t walk in a straight line.

The overwhelming feeling of being hunted was setting in and you were entirely in the woods with blood poured over your body; weighing down a dress of linen and calling the beasts to feast upon your flesh with a ravaging appetite.

Swallowing the bile in your throat, you quickly go to find where Nikto had slinked off to, suddenly very cold and not liking the silence. On the way, you flick at your record player, and the old rusty thing spits out Clair De Lune as the glass sun catchers shaped like stars glimmer from the loft’s beams.

“Nikto?” You call in question, looking around before you murmur to yourself. “Where did you get to?”

Carefully grabbing the railing to the stairs, you watch your feet as you slowly ascend, piano music in the background; fingers tight and hard as you slide it up one at a time. You only knock your foot once, two steps from the top, but quickly recover with only a huff and a tiny chuckle.

Nikto walks through the top seating area filled with your materials and fabric, glancing at every book and measuring device that you have; the half-finished pieces. You blink and watch, wondering what he’s thinking as he clicks his tongue before walking to the first door and pushing it open. Your eyes slightly widen at that.

“Well, you sure do like making yourself at home,” your voice calls to the dark figure, and you shake your head. You begin following as if he is showing you around your place and not the other way around.

“I am doing my job.” Nikto’s voice spits out from the opening as you shuffle in. He glances around the small guest bedroom quickly. “Your home is cluttered.” The Russian mutters. “Messy.”

“I call it controlled chaos.” You ease, hands slipping into your pockets beside your phone and wallet. “You’ll find I’m fond of shiny things.”

“We can tell.” Head tilting, you restrain yourself from asking why he keeps referring to himself in the first person like that.

“You’re free to take this room if you want.” There are three doors that make up the separate walls—the one you’d both just walked through, one to the adjoining library and joint bathroom, and the other to your master bedroom with a respective master bath.

All connected to one another like a train car.

Nikto grunts and slips his eyes to the bits of personalization you’d left, though not as much as the rest of the penthouse. The bed was a Full size, there was a desk with bits of lush greenery coming off from a planter, and storage for clothes in the form of a large wardrobe you’d found in an antique store.

Classy, you thought, however, your standards for decoration weren’t the pinnacle of design. A set of Russian nesting dolls from your mother was put onto shelves, and in one of the corners, a hanging oil lamp sat above a nightstand.

Gray plush duvet and a fluffy rug you were told was purple when Alyona stayed over, with large pillows that looked like bear fur.

“Again,” you send a glance to the blank stare that Nikto keeps on you. “I didn’t know you were staying over.”

“It is… sufficient.” Gruff and final, though with an air of annoyed disgust, the Russian goes into the library second to last and then heads into your room with his broad back expanding; leaving a trail of authority in his wake.

Under your breath, you quietly mock him before rolling your eyes and following. For all this, you ended up being correct. Nikto was a good distraction.

The first thing that he notices is the stuffed animals.

They take up most of the window nook, some incredibly large and fluffy while others are small and could be crushed in his palm, even sitting atop one another if the space allowed. Nikto blinks at the sight of a very large bear plushie with a small bird on the head—little felt feet sticking out in front of it.

You clear your throat, the hot embarrassment flooding your face as your smile turns sheepish.

“Just…uhm…it’s just a little bit of an addiction.” Like the rest of the house, that fairy tale feeling emanates here as well—fancy curtain holders, old tea cups holding palm-sized pewter statues, paintings, and stained-glass lamps from the nineteen hundreds.

Pale eyes tilt their gaze down to you, silent as always.

“But at least it’s not drugs!” You push out quickly, awkwardly chuckling and shrugging your shoulders.

Your feet shift from under you, the large room that you call your own not something you planned on having to describe today. There was something incredibly intimate about letting someone into your house—someone you didn’t know especially.

Nikto puffs a bit of air in something akin to a scoff, turning his head away from you but not after a slight quirk of his brow.

“Are you sure you are not on drugs?” You snap up to stare at him, falling silent for a moment as he turns and leaves.

Gaping, you stutter, slightly amused, “W-was that a joke, Nikto?” He doesn’t answer and a slow smile grows on your lips. “Hey! C’mon did you just make a joke? Awe,” you coo, “I really am good at this!”

“Stop talking.” Nikto snarls, glaring as he goes down to the ground level. “You are making my ears hurt.”

You hurry to the stairs, following after with a steady mood, chuckling.

“If you’re going to be my glorified roommate, I think talking is part of the—” A sharp gasp rips from you as your leg hits on the banister, your foot locked through the metal as you yelp loudly at the sudden pain. In a quick tilt your vision slides, a swift sensation of gravity taking over as your body takes you tumbling backwards.

You tense mid-air, mind already made up about the incoming pain of your head knocking off the hard material, your skull rattling and splitting open; blood and brain matter spilling out to coat the—

Arms snap around your waist, legs still on the top half of the stairs and back hitting a large chest as you grunt in surprise; eyes blinking wildly.

Heart hammering, your head quickly looks up only to find the piercing eyes of Nikto burning down into you. Your nose brushes his face mask, the harsh fabric of the lover half pressing into yours.

You both stay there for a moment, Nikto’s blazing gaze unphased, it seemed, by the close contact. Inside of your gut, your stomach flips, and a tightness flares in your lungs.

Upon the air, your voice stutters out, tiny, “M-my bad.” You accent it with a helpless chuckle.

Nikto’s breath brushes over your forehead, and with a quick jerk of his arms you’re set back up on top of the stares. Even here, you meet the man’s height perfectly—him a few steps below you yet still a giant.

“This will be a problem, yes?” Nikto barks out. You steady yourself on the railing and take a deep breath. “You. You are…” His eyes twitch as if trying to find the correct word in English. He grunts to himself, fingers twitching.

You tilt your head, still calming down. Your throat is tight at the heat that still emanates from where Nikto’s hands had wrapped around you.

“...Shaky?”

“Hm,” Nikto doesn’t seem like that word fits best, but he nods once firmly, folding his arms over his chest and never once releasing you from his stare. Studying you as a monster does a maiden. “Да.”

You jerkily shrug, rubbing at your neck with one hand.

“Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you,” your lips tilt in an amiable smile—trying to play off what you say as you continue. Nikto’s body goes still, yet his attention never leaves. His eyes narrow. “I should have told you when we met, but you were, eh,” you chuckle, looking away for a moment. “Pretty quick with wanting to leave.”

A strained silence falls; an unknown emotion in the air.

“I—” Your voice is cut off by your phone vibrating from inside of your pocket, and with your hand snapping to that general area, you blink in surprise. “Oh.”

Fishing it out with awkward fingers, you find the illuminated screen and a text from Alyona calling up to you.

‘Video call w AMA & managers. 5 min. Be ready!’

“Shit,” you mutter, immediately going into your professional headspace.

But before you can rush off to grab your computer and slap makeup on your face, Nikto’s hand yanks your phone from your grasp. Blinking at your empty palm, your face darts up with a swift offense growing.

“Nikto!”

“Quiet.” The man taps into your contacts and you watch helplessly as he begins slashing in his own number with his digits firmly pressing in hard intervals to the keypad.

Huffing, you shake your head and leave him there to do what he needs to do, not overprotective of a device and more concerned with the time constraint that was leveled like a noose around your neck.

You had to look somewhat good for the call, after all, they could be waiting to tell you you’re fired.

They wouldn’t do that with Alyona there, you reason as you narrowly dodge running onto a side table before you enter your room again, though this time from the main door. Not the managers either.

Your lips pull straight.

But if the CEO was on call, then you’d have to worry. He had no problem being ruthless about policy and public image, always so pretentious with his power over all of the men and women employed at Allurement.

But then again, he had always seemed to take an interest in you, anyway.

You slip out of your turtleneck and pull on a silk top that seems either white or a very very pale color—either way, they always put you in something near to white, so it didn’t matter. Since it was a video call, there was no need to show your bottom half; the sweatpants stayed.

Makeup was the hard part.

With your nerve spasms always showing up at inopportune times, it took a long time if someone else wasn’t doing it for you. You had ways to combat it, sure, but none you could get ready in five minutes.

Three, you tell yourself.

An idea hits your head like a rock.

“Nikto!” You call, rushing to your vanity and pushing aside a plush raccoon to snag your mascara. There wasn’t time for anything else. “I have a favor!”

“No,” the man materializes in the opening of your door, the backdrop of your fabric mess in the loft behind him; the clashing of shades momentarily confuses you, blinking quickly, but you recover with a huff and a plea.

“I need you to put my mascara on—my hands are too unpredictable right now.” He’s growling in the way you’re already accustomed to. This must be one hell of a day for him. “Your job is to protect me right? I need you to protect me from public humiliation.”

“Then humiliate yourself.” Nikto’s narrowed eyes lower even farther, face turned sharply to you as you walk over and hold out the stick. “This is not my job.”

You dig hard into his eyes, serious if not a bit willing. “I’d owe you.” Your tone is hard but true.

The Russian bear’s shoulders roll slightly, getting higher and more irritated. He grunts at you. After a long and heartstopping moment, he grabs onto your pocket and slips your phone back inside, jostling your body into his as you make a noise in surprise.

In that same movement, the mascara stick is yanked from your hand and fingers grapple onto your chin.

Your eyes go wide; body instantaneously tensing, as the unyielding grip moves your chin to the side and one hand unscrews the mascara with a slight pop of the seal.

“You are dependent,” Nikto’s digits are tight, but you don’t blink or pull away as the stick spreads pigment. “I do not like it, Girl. Like child running with a knife.”

“Aren’t you such a ray of sunshine?” You grumble but stay deathly still. Nikto’s body is tight against yours, leaning over you.

The guy certainly didn’t mind getting handsy if he needed to. Thinking like that makes your feet shuffle tinily under you, a heat emanating from your cheeks and your thighs momentarily becoming stiff.

His body warmth bleeds through his bulk; the grating press of his chest plate to your upper body.

“Stop breathing,” Nikto hisses and your cheek is moved to the side, knee knocking into his leg.

You feel and see the stick descend and move your lashes delicately, quite adverse to the attitude you’re getting. The Russian is attentive and set on getting his task done, even if he despises it.

“What kind of a request is that?!”

“Hush!” He barks and you both try to glare at each other as the last of the mascara is bushed on. “Get out.”

You pull back and frown up at him.

“I’m sorry you think that your attitude is appropriate, Nikto.” With your nose in the air, your hands grapple for your laptop on the way out of your room and sit at the desk out in your loft. Tossing a stack of fabric to the floor and brushing down the surface.

Behind you, there’s a plain-colored sheet hung to the wall for conferences—and you make sure it’s in place as you plop down to your seat.

Nikto’s angry eyes bore into you from the doorway, which he slowly leans against and crosses his arms heavily.

He mutters under his breath in fast Russian, shaking his head as you unlock your laptop and log in, easily clicking where you need to go and pulling up your video call with twenty seconds to spare.

Alyona’s face appears first, looking to the side, and you send a soft smile before you unmute yourself.

“Feeling better?” The woman perks up, eyes coming to you. She beams.

“Солнышко!” You laugh, tilting your head. “No, no, forget about me, how are you?” Aly gives you her full attention. “I need to come over and visit, yes? We should have a girl’s night again. Just us.”

“I’m…alright,” you simply say, fast to reassure her of her worries. There was no need to burden the model with your fears. Not when she’s still living with her own. “And that might be a bit difficult on the ‘just us’ part, unfortunately.”

She sighs but is serious in her concern.

“New bodyguard, Seraph?” Nikto listens to everything from across the loft, and you glance up at him before you open your mouth to speak in the affirmative.

“Live-in.” Alyona thins her lips, but, surprisingly, doesn’t seem off-put.

“Perhaps that is good, hm? If it’s to keep you safe, I would be willing to deal with it.” Before you can admit that it’s not the worst idea in the world, though draining, three others pop into the call.

Yours and Alyona’s managers, and, of course, the CEO of AMA.

You have to hide your curse before it sneaks out of your mouth. Everyone greets one another, and you send polite smiles and hellos in return. Corporate professionalism a virus that sweeps your features into a mask of compliance and brain-dead agreements.

Kliment Fedorov, CEO of Allurement Modeling Agency, shows his large and round face in the very center of the screen; with tiny eyes like a fly and a bald head. He’s in his office.

The man calls your name and smiles wide, pure white teeth leaning more towards fake looking than just the results of frequent brushing.

“It is good to see both of my best girls getting along. No lasting marks, I hope?” You and Aly dart look.

“None, Sir.” You both answer, still smiling and falling in line. They only speak in English for your comfort—in your manager’s box, you see his translator lean into his ear and relay the words being let out.

“Good, good! This is great news. Seraph,” you perk up, Nikto from the back shuffling while looking around his surroundings. He picks at a piece of reflective fabric on a side table with his brutish fingers, twisting it before huffing and tossing it away. He snoops as if put off by the high-mass areas, used to order and cleanliness.

Not that it wasn’t clean, but outwardly it gave off a certain impression of clutter.

“How soon can you be back? We have had even more propositions offered because of this event.” Your lungs stutter. “Mrs. Solovyova and yourself are very profitable for the company at the current time; this only made your popularity better!”

Your manager, Kostya, spits off into his native tongue with its harsh edges. Nikto’s head shifts back your way but says nothing.

Profitable? Wanted? You can’t say you’re overly thrilled at the comments. Just like you can’t say you want to get back to work when the Stalker knows exactly where you’ll be.

Who could say when he would strike again? A day? A week? Going back to AMA would make the target on your back as large as a damn elephant.

Kliment waves a hand and your manager falls silent at the sheen of anger in his fly-eyes. He continues.

“Of course, AMA had to take precautions, Ladies.” Alyona shifts in her box on the screen, glancing to the side. “We were very close to having to terminate your deal with us. Such events are…ah, dangerous for our image.”

It’s like a punch to the gut you knew was coming. The only reason you were still employed was because of companies trying to profit off of the girls who beat the odds and survived a direct attack on one of their own.

You could already see the headlines—had seen the headlines.

Aly and you know the response you need to give.

“Thank you, Sir.” Smiles are stiff, but a sheet of pleasure washes Kliment’s face.

“Well, of course, my girls! I would never get rid of such beauties, no, no. This agency is your home—I love my women like my own.” His eyes stay on you, and your body shivers even miles away. “But lovely Seraph, again, when can we have you back? Everyone has been asking, yes? Photographers lining up! But of course, you’ll keep your assigned one.”

Everyone? You swallow down saliva thinking about crowds and the peering eyes.

“Uhm,” Nikto openly stares, and you glance up at him. He offers no help above a tilt of his head; arms over his chest. “W-when would you need me back, Sir. My calendar is always free for you.”

“Good! Tomorrow, then. Mrs. Solovyova?”

“...That works for me, Sir.”

“Perfect!” You sigh and close your eyes for a moment before the CEO jumps into business—your managers taking notes in preparation for scheduling and locations. “I will send the details over to your departments and good wishes to the companies, I’ll expect to hear of you both being in tomorrow.”

He leaves the call, but not without a smirk forming on his face.

The managers talk for a few moments, getting almost everything in order before they too leave.

Aly and you release a deep breath, both sagging. The other woman is first to speak.

“Bastard.” Nikto scoffs from across the room. You peek before you rub your head and nod in turn.

“A creep, one hundred percent.” Alyona sighs, and her palm acts as a headrest as she lays her chin on it. She licks her lips, face going hard.

“You don’t think that he…” Your brows tilt in confusion before you catch what she’s trying to say.

“No, Aly, it can’t be him.” She frowns. “T-that would be,” you force a laugh, hands beginning to spasm. Swiftly you move them under the desk. “That would be insane.”

Nikto takes his phone out of his pocket and taps something into the screen, feet spacing themselves in a display of a perfect soldier.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was, Солнышко.” You turn away for a moment. “Anyone could be at this point.”

“My mother said there was a break-in at the bakery before the explosion. Someone planted that bomb because they guessed on an off chance that we would go out.” You breathe sharply. “Do you know how insane that is? Anyone could have,” swiftly stopping your sentence, you shake your head to clear it. “It’s…the person who’s doing this can’t blend into normal life. It has to be obvious, and everyone’s missing it.”

“Easy, Little Seraph,” Alyona eases, showing you a hand to get you to come back to her. “We will figure this out, yes?”

A hand rubs along your face and you whisper out, “Okay.”

“I’ll see you and the new man tomorrow—you know you can call me with anything. Nikifor and I worry about you. Yekaterinburg is a dangerous place, regardless.” You have to smile at that, lightly chuckling. Aly tilts her head as her hair brushes her shoulders after a moment of quiet thinking. A lighter air spreads out like her voice from the speakers. “...Who did your makeup in so little time?”

“See you tomorrow!” You grab the end of the laptop and slam it closed as the woman yells out to you.

“Don’t fuck him on the first day!” Wanting to shrivel up and die, you avoid Nikto’s suddenly brutal gaze and quickly push a smile to your lips.

“S…she’s joking.” His pale eyes aren’t amused.

Nighttime is a strange affair between the two of you.

You jump at every strange noise—like Nikto rearranging his room better to his standards—as you think of dinner for two. Laying on the couch, back in your turtle neck, it’s hard to focus above the scrape of hardwood and the low grunts from above; the distant rhythmic stomp of feet.

You rub your eyes and groan low. This was going to be a task, even for your usually placid attitude.

“What the hell does a monster eat?” The comment is directed at the taxidermy deer on your wall as you move to stand. “Liver? The souls of my enemies?” You blink, pausing before you mumble. “Maybe that’s not so bad, now that I think about it.”

Your pantry was already sparse at best.

Tapping the cupboard, you settle on something that Alyona had taught you to make with her mother. Cabbage Soup—Schi or щи—low overall in calories but still filling when you know your limits; healthy as well as hardy. You mess with the bag of potatoes and peel out a few, turning and setting them down on the island.

With the dark night soon setting in, you push the automatic button on your wall and watch the curtains close the rest of the way with a soft buzzing sound. Sighing, you flick on the lights and get to work as the gray blobs of potatoes fall apart under your knife, set to the side.

Cooking, while you still had a complicated relationship with food, did truly make you calm down. The tremors eased up, your feet stopped moving so much—you even felt yourself getting hungry as the ingredients were roughly chopped and dropped into a pot to boil.

If you allowed yourself it, you wouldn’t have minded growing up to be a cook instead of some form of greed and envy. But the thought of that now made you lose your appetite entirely.

When you’re half done with your tiny bowl, water on the side with nothing else, Nikto stalks down the stairs.

He takes one look at your bowl and speaks lowly.

“Щи.” You hum, recognizing the word that Aly’s mother had said. He grunts, chest jerking as he comes around the island to the boiling pot; his back now to you. “You will starve with that small of a portion, Whelp.”

Blinking, you sip down some of the broth from your spoon and furrow your brow. That nickname still makes your eyelids narrow in slight disapproval, but you let it go.

“I don’t think so, Nikto. It’s the last bit of calories I need for the day.” Pale eyes watch over his shoulder, pulling smaller.

“I find that insulting.” His hand grabs the ladle, bringing it up to stare. The Russian’s shoulder blades pull out at the motion, the line of his spine most likely showing through his skin under all that gear. You should tell him it’s okay to take it off, but you highly doubt he ever does outside of sleep. “Pointless.”

“You try being a model,” you remark. “You’ve got the body for it, at least. I know a few people that would swoon over the height alone.”

Nikto’s visible skin pulls, biceps tense. “Swoon, Girl?” The accent makes it sound like a bark from a dog.

You take your last spoonful, covering your mouth with your hand as you speak.

“Like,” pausing, you swallow, “actually I don’t know what that means. Become emotionally affected, I guess?”

“I do not care if people become ‘emotionally affected’ by my height.” Nikto pulls a bowl from the cupboard—a large one. “Such things are below me. All that matters is the mission.”

“Sounds boring,” you huff. “Sour cream is in the fridge.”

The light from the machine greets you as the condiment is taken out and emptied into a nearly overflowing bowl of cabbage soup. Blinking at the amount of food that would burst your stomach if you ate it, you shrug and clean out the last of the broth by bringing the lip of the bowl to your mouth.

Nikto huffs, looking down at the soup. He pauses.

“Where is баранины?” Your confusion must be plainly stated on your face because he seems to clench his jaw and say through his teeth. “Lamb.”

“Alyona never made it with meat,” you answer, hopping off your stool and moving to put your dirty dishes in the sink. “But I’ve heard everyone makes it differently depending on where you grew up. Was that how your parents made it?”

When you turn back around he’s already walking away from you. Watching, wide-eyed at how silently he cleared the room, you make a small sound in the back of your throat as he disappears upstairs.

The silence wafts back in, only the small noise from the record player dancing in your ears.

You lick your lips for the remaining taste of food and clean up with a still-growling stomach, shaking your head at the strange character living with you. Hoping this doesn’t drag out any longer than it has to and you’re able to find the stalker soon, you hear your phone go off on the counter as you mull over your predicament.

After you put the last of the leftovers away, you pat your hands on your pants and reach for your device, flipping over the screen and reading what will probably be a text from Aly for tomorrow.

You pause.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

‘Why won’t you let me love you?’

Staring, whatever sense of normalcy you had from cooking was snatched away. The blood in your veins halts with a blockage of iron and fear. Instantaneously, adrenaline spikes, making your pupils go small and your jaw clench.

Hands shake. You almost drop your phone.

With a quick punch of your fingers, you delete the text and block the number—tossing your device back to the counter and moving away from it until your back hits the cupboards.

Spasming palms slap to the stone countertop, grip tight.

You stare at the phone for a very long time, hearing nothing but the dull drone of the piano, the sounds of the city outside, and the pulse of your veins. Static was in your ears.

Gasping for a sudden deep breath, you clear your throat and turn away to finish cleaning, your body unable to stay still.

That night, like the ones previous, you find trouble sleeping.

The room was only illuminated by the fairy lights you’d strung from the ceiling, a soft fade and reentry like twinkling stars hanging in a black sky. You stare at them with open eyes, laying on your back surrounded by a multitude of quilts and blankets—pillows that crowd with doughy insides.

Nikto was turning in his bed, and the movement was setting you on edge.

The PMC had ordered you to keep the door between your rooms open at night, in case something was happening he would hear you better. You held your tongue on the fact that if this creep managed to get into your penthouse then it was already over for you. Regardless, now you could hear every shift and grunt—every huff of annoyed air.

No doubt the Full bed in the spare room was too tiny for him, nothing compared to your King.

Sighing and covering your eyes with your forearm, you call out sleepily.

“Are you sleeping alright?” The shifting stops. You wait for a response but get none. “Nikto?” Nothing.

Sitting up, your large silk pajamas hang off one shoulder as you yawn; covering your mouth you stand and steady yourself on the oak bed frame. Standing so you can get your bearings, you decide to do what you normally do when you can’t sleep.

Grabbing your phone’s flashlight, you flick it on and head to the kitchen—being extra careful and taking the stairs at half the speed you normally would. In the kitchen you grab at the stacked teacups and pick one with flowers on the sides; giggling to yourself at the thought.

Magnolia Tea.

Its smell burns into your nostrils as you prepare it in near-darkness, like a beacon of light the liquid shimmers. You remember your mother making it for you after the accident—helping you to sleep and stave off the nightmares; the insomnia.

You finish your cup in the kitchen but bring the second back up with you. Spilling only a little onto the tea plate, you go through the main door to your room and then turn to the blackened opening of Nitko’s doorway.

“I made tea,” your voice echoes. But no sound.

Maybe he was already asleep now.

“No need to drink it, but it helps me when I can’t sleep. Magnolia, if you’re curious.” You chuckle, fairy lights illuminating your face. “Sorry, I’m keeping you up. I’ll leave it in the doorway, okay?”

Silence, but perhaps a tiny huff from inside the lion's den. Good or bad, you have no clue. Slipping back into bed, you try not to think about what you’re sleeping above—the letters from the Stalker’s gifts.

You’d never opened them, and you never would. Inside that lockbox is where they would stay.

Your phone vibrates on your nightstand, and even with the tea in your stomach, it is a long, long, time before your eyes flutter closed.

Yefim’s body dances like a puppet on a string, a shadowy figure pulling the cords and letting his decimated corpse sway; jewelry stapled into his burnt neck like a collar. A noose that your desperate fingers try to hang onto.

How long could you keep this game up?

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ancientbygone · 30 days

Text

simulacra 3 [take me back to eden]

Sleep's mimic forms of the vessels during the time period of TMBTE, because i can't be normal and start a series from the beginning and not the end.

more info + design breakdowns under the cut:

[obligatory "when talking about the vessels, i'm talking about characters" disclaimer]

background info on the whole idea:

Sleep as a being is shapeless in my mind; more of a concept than a creature. it can manifest as sort of an absence of light in any shape to others, usually to appeal to feeling/emotion. the only "rule" for that is that whatever Sleep tries to appear as cannot look more or less innocent/powerful than Sleep actually is, which usually manifests in two things: the size being different from the thing/person it's imitating, scaled according to power, and/or added features, usually in some way threatening or regal.

one of Sleep's more consistent forms it takes throughout interacting with Vessel is mimicking him, partially to create an illusion of the two being more similar than they actually are and partially because Sleep used to exist as Vessel's shadow when they'd just met. the visual itself has changed through time (you can see what it was like during Sundowning in my Higher artwork), and during TMBTE that visual is pretty much the titular song's character with the most minor tweaks (which is why i didn't draw it separately).

all that made me think about the idea of Sleep mimicking the other vessels just to fuck with Vessel further (to be clear, i am a strong believer that Sleep only interacts with Vessel in any way). so now here are the designs of those mimics during the events of TMBTE, utilizing the album's song characters much like the Vessel mimic. because again, i have to start a series from the end, i guess.

"ii"/ii mimic (song character used: AYROK)

the main idea driving the design of "ii" is the real ii's goal to keep Vessel more or less safe by being by his side in worshipping Sleep, which is the reason he'd decided to become the second vessel in the first place. the choice of AYROK as the character to use in this design is obvious. one of the ideas that stem from that is ii's duty/desire to keep his face hidden for Vessel's sake; only his hands are visible & detailed because that's the only part of him Vessel remembers before either of them became vessels of Sleep and the only part ii has really shown after that. another is ii's timidity in telling Vessel to go against Sleep's will because he fears that no matter how bad it may be, it'll be much worse if Vessel doesn't follow it. that part comes through in the pose - shyly holding his hands together as if they're tied.

"iii"/iii mimic (song character used: Aqua Regia)

the song character inspo being Aqua Regia is mostly because of the calmer nature of the song and the dynamic duo it makes with Vore, less so the themes of the lyrics. also its visual design. iii mimic's design themes are iii's adoration/borderline obsession with Vessel (wearing Vessel's jewelry and having elements of his robe in his shirt + his own face/mask slowly melting off) and his enagement with worship as an act/aesthetic rather than something more serious (the overabundance of jewelry and accessories; the extra arms; the body language; the cuffs around his arms and legs being decorative and not actually restricting). also the rings on his fingers make a checkered pattern.

"iv"/iv mimic (song character used: Vore)

the use of Vore for "iv" is obvious too. song wouldn't be the same without his real life self. the design really just aims to combine iv with the Vore character, but there are two big things here. the simplest one is anger issues, which is why he's So Goddamn Spiky and why his jacket looks like scarred skin rather than painted & customized. the anger mostly shows up in the body language: most of the time "iv" just stares unblinkingly with pure palpable ire in the two glowing dots for eyes, and when he does move it's very stiff and snappy and barely controlled. the other thing is that, simply speaking, the real iv got into this whole mess without knowing the full extent of it and now he's in too deep and kinda losing himself. in the design it's expressed through the human features gradually turning into bug-like, such as the hoodie fading into a segmented millipede-like body and the fucked up mantis hands, and the gold of the original iv's mask melting over the face with the horns being part of it. the spikes protrude from him in a way that makes it difficult to distinguish between jacket decorations and actual parts of his body, but the spines are definitely from his body & allow me to live the dream of iv with a mohawk LMAO

anyway have fun with these go nuts i'll make similar sheets & posts for Sundowning and TPWBYT eventually

#sleep token #sleep token art #sleep token ii #sleep token iii #sleep token iv #sleep token sleep #<- i cannot emphasize enough that ALL OF THESE ARE SLEEP IN DIFFERENT FORMS!!!!!!#IT'S ALL THE SAME BASTARD EXPLOITING VESSEL'S EMOTIONS IN DIFFERENT WAYS #take me back to eden #sleep token tmbte #bygone art #bygone talks #bygone writes #<- that's serious lore screw you /lhj #i was tired when i started writing it and i'm sleep deprived finishing it up #once again have fun if you draw any of these i would be more than thrilled please tag me in that

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vaguesxrrow · 10 days

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can u plsss write one about charles with an american reader? like the inspo is the olivia rodrigo song so american lol. like maybe him making fun of her accent and her doing the and back and like the differences between the two cultures?

ACTUALLY INSANEEE bc right before seeing this i was singing that song in my head (i dont listen to olivia but i probably should tbh). alsoo i wasn't sure if you wanted a fic or hcs, so i kind of made a 2 in 1. hope you dont mind! xx

a/n: im not american nor british and ive never been to the usa or the uk... so excuse any inaccuracies pleaseee

tags: g!n reader, american!reader, alive!reader

you shivered and exhaled sharply, your breath misting out in front of you. the moment you stepped outside, you knew you should have piled on more layers, but edwin had been eager in whisking everyone out the door to carry out an investigation for your current case.

you burrowed closer to charles. obviously, he couldn't provide any real body heat, but being near him was a boost in morale to keep going despite the temperature.

"alright?" he asked, putting an arm across your shoulders.

"i should've put on more layers," you grumbled.

charles laughed as he kissed the top of your head. "you can have my jacket."

shaking your head, you declined. "it's fine, it's not that cold. and besides, i wouldn't want to strip you of your british glory and your british coat."

charles snorted. "so it's my british glory, now? who was the one making fun of my accent literally just yesterday?"

"litch-rally," you parroted, grinning. "why is it that all your t's turn into ch's?"

"hey, you're one to talk - what is it you were ordering at the restaurant yesterday? a glass of wa-der, was it?"

"bite me, charles."

he raised his jacket up and engulfed you with it in a bear hug. you shrieked with laughter and wriggled in his hold, but didn't protest when he demanded you hold your arms out so he could put the jacket on you.

"what are you, a soccer player? i thought i was your [boy/girlfriend/partner], not your competition," you teased.

"soccer?" he mocked, outraged. "soccer? it's football, mate."

"mate?" you scoffed incredulously, although you were smiling. "way to friendzone me after months of dating."

"oh, come on, you know you could never get rid of me." charles pulled you in again, this time by your hand. "and for the record, you look cute wearing my clothes."

a few beats of silence, in which you two looked at each other with similar expressions of fondness and exasperation.

"yeah, okay, now get away from me, you victorian fossil." you shoved him playfully, and sprinted away to catch up with the other three. niko waved you over, giggling at charles, who was jogging to keep up.

"victorian fossil? i grew up in the 80s!" he exclaimed. "you know this!"

⌦ ---

- you do know very well that charles grew up in the 80s - you frequently ask him what it was like back then, because naturally, you'd take an interest in your boyfriend's life

- however, charles loves how you're genuinely interested, and get how watching times change can feel a bit lonely for him sometimes

- you're a great listener when it comes to this (which you think you should be greatly accredited for; charles' good looks can be very distracting at times)

- imagine: you and charles in your room as he looks around, inspecting the decor you have on display as he rambles about life in the 80s

- he tells you about a huge movie premiere he went to:

- charles: "get this, right - a ridiculously long line outside the movie theatre. the weather is absolutely miserable, and so are the people. no one's talking at all. i think everyone was just hungry - i saw this lady have tea delivered.

- you: 'i keep forgetting you have stuff like tea times. and did everyone really have the patience to wait for that long, in silence?'

- charles, with a fake american accent: yeah, dude. in silence.

- you throw a pillow at him.

- you also like telling hilariously bad jokes relating to his accent

- you: psst. charles.

- he turns towards you, already expecting another jab at his british-ness

- you: what day do british people eat the most?

- charles, in a deadpan: what day.

- you: chewsday, innit-

- he yells 'NOPE' and walks through the wall, leaving you to wheeze-laugh on your own

#charles rowland x reader #charles rowland x you #charles rowland/you #charles rowland/reader #charles rowland #dead boy detectives headcanons #dead boy detectives x reader #dead boy detectives fic #dbd #dead boy detectives

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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 2 months

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hi baby! im sure ure flooded with requests but ive been feeling really insecure ab my hip dips n stretch marks lately n ur writing really comforts me... so i was wondering if u could write smt ab dokyeom or anyone u want rlly! finding reader feeling bad ab their hip dips and stretchmarks and he comforts them? totally ur choice love u! ❤

oh girl i have had the WORLDS WORST body image week ever so this request hits difffffffffffffferent. i'm so happy to do that -- for both of us. warnings: female reader, body image issues are a major theme, descriptions of physical insecurities of the reader, mention of a doctor visit, and possibly a bit angsty with a happy ending

this is:

No Less a Goddess

"can i come to the gym with you?" you ask shyly, peeking around the corner at your boyfriend, who is changing into his shorts and tee to work out.

"huh?" seokmin asks, whirling to look at you with his arms in the sleeves of his shirt, having been interrupted in pulling it over his head. "you've never asked before! i'd love to have you come along!"

"what do i wear?" you ask, unable to keep from smiling at his enthusiasm.

"anything you want!" he says. "just make sure it's easy to move in."

about fifteen minutes later, the two of you are walking down the stairs to the gym in your shared apartment complex, hand in hand. seokmin's sunny smile and idle chatter is almost enough to distract you from the growing knot of discomfort in your stomach.

sure enough, the second you walk in, you notice a woman running on the treadmill. her short shorts and sports bra are stylishly coordinated, at a stark contrast to your ratty gray sweatpants and ugly oversized tee. her legs are muscular, and you can't see a single ounce of fat on her. you swallow hard and try to pay attention to seokmin instead, who is excitedly showing you around. "and this is where i painstakingly grew the arms you have come to know and love," he's saying, pointing at the barbells. "you should say thank you."

"i appreciate your service," you say with a small salute, and seokmin chuckles.

"so, what are your fitness goals?" seokmin asks, shrugging off his jacket.

you have to appreciate how the gray tee hugs the contours of his body, so you just say, "i just want to be a part of whatever it is you've got going on." which makes him beam.

you join seokmin for leg day. surprisingly, you're amazed by how much you're actually able to do -- apparently years of working on your feet has paid off, and while you're not perfect, you can mostly keep up with your very athletic boyfriend. it's actually kind of fun, too, which is no surprise -- seokmin makes everything fun.

but in the back of your mind, you're still thinking about that woman on the treadmill. seokmin is the most loyal man you know, and the idea of him cheating on you is actually laughable, but you can't help but compare yourself to her. that's the kind of person he deserves, you think to yourself. not a slob like me.

it had been a bad week for your body image. earlier on, you'd had to go to the urgent care for a bad case of pink eye, and the doctor had announced your weight to you out loud, which honestly felt like cruel and unusual punishment, especially given that it was the heaviest you'd ever been. the sting was only exacerbated when you went shopping for a few new outfits for a cruise you were taking next month with seokmin. your love handles, your thick thighs covered in stretch marks and cellulite, your hip dips -- all these insecurities you'd always had seemed to zoom into the forefront of your mind and start yelling at you.

you hadn't yet confided in seokmin, because you knew exactly how he'd react. but it becomes impossible not to tell him when, post-gym and post-shower, he corners you in the bedroom and sits you firmly down on the mattress. "something's up," he insists. "what's wrong?"

"i'm feeling insecure," you admit, avoiding his gaze.

"about what?" he asks.

"have you noticed i've gained weight?" you ask in a small voice.

"no," he responds, confused. "is that what this is about?"

"at the doctor's office," you continue softly, "i found out i'm the heaviest i've ever been." you take a shuddering breath. "and i'm getting more and more stretch marks. and i just feel like you're so out of my league. i mean, look at you." you gesture to him in all his freshly showered glory.

seokmin just blinks. "well? do you have anything to say?" you ask him, feeling a little hurt at his lack of response.

he hesitates. "well, i'm not sure what to say," he says slowly.

"well, thanks," you say, standing up and stalking out of the room. "super helpful, babe."

"no, wait! come back!" seokmin says, sounding panicked. "let me finish."

"oh, was there more?" you shoot at him. "because your silence was really loud."

he sighs. "honey, i understand you're feeling upset and i get it, i really do. but you have to let me finish talking."

his patient tone of voice grates at your already frayed nerves, but you bite your tongue and sit back down on the bed. this is seokmin, you remind yourself. seokmin, the kindest person alive. seokmin, who never meant to hurt you even when he did. and seokmin, who always made things right.

he reaches over and grabs your hand. "it's hard for me to respond to that because to me, you're perfect," he begins. you scoff, and he squeezes your hand. "hear me out," he implores.

you sigh but finally turn to look him in the eyes. he gives a small smile before starting again, playing absently with your fingers. "your body is ..." he says, and trails off, his eyes devouring you hungrily. he finally shakes himself back to normal and continues. "ugh. i'm gonna get distracted if i go into more detail, but let's just say i'm more attracted to you now than i ever have been, and that's saying something." he laughs quietly. "it's hard for me to understand the insecurities because to me, you're a goddess."

"okay," you say hesitantly. "but that doesn't make them any less real."

"no, i know," seokmin agrees. "so i guess what i should've said is that... i'm really sorry you can't see yourself like i do right now. and i will do whatever it takes to remind you that no matter how things change, or how you change, i fell in love with you for so much more than just your body. and that's one thing that's never changing," he finishes.

you study him with a stony face for a moment. "okay, that was pretty good," you admit, finally cracking a smile.

"was it?" he asks.

"and you should be rewarded," you continue, sliding closer to him on the bed in the most suggestive way you can muster.

he blushes. "well...i'll never say no to that," he agrees, pulling you closer to him for a kiss.

#anon ask #anon request #seokmin fanfic #seokmin fluff #seokmin x reader #lee seokmin #seokmin svt #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen #svt fic #svt #svt x reader #svt fluff

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hannahssimblr · 5 days

Text

It’s a dreary, drizzly evening that calls for streetlights earlier than usual, their light straining weakly through the thick mist off the bay, and as I glance down at Ivy with droplets of rain beading on the halo of frizz around her plaits I consider the fact that she was right, a jacket wouldn’t have been the worst idea.

The lights are on early at Michelle’s house too, the voile netting over the netting in the living room window not giving anything away inside, just the vague shapes of whatever is on the television.

As always, the door is off the latch, and inside Jen is leaning against the counter by the toaster spinning a butter knife in her fingers. She gives me a wary look when we see each other. “She’s in the living room,” and holds her hand out to Ivy, “Hey Ives, do you wanna hang out with me for a little while? C’mere, oh, who did your hair today? Was it your brother? Yikes, okay let me have a look at this…”

I gingerly push through to the living room, where Michelle is engaged in an intense discussion with both of her parents. She’s slumped on the couch with puffy eyes while they stand with their backs to the fire, glancing at me with alarm as I enter the room wielding a bar of chocolate, which, in hindsight is a bit of a pathetic celebratory or consolation prize.

“Hi.”

“Oh good, Jude,” Rahim beckons me over to the couch to sit with Michelle, and I take her hand, “can you tell her that this is not the end of the world?” He’s saying, voice tinged with impatience, “There are plenty of other opportunities.”

“Zero, huh?” I say gently, and she shakes her head, arm trembling as she passes the letters to me. One, two, three rejections. I read one of them briefly, from Paris.

“‘...unimaginative and containing cliches…’ wow, that feels a bit harsh, doesn’t it? I don’t think they needed to be all like that about it.”

She breaks down in tears, “I’m a terrible artist.”

“No, you aren’t,” I skim through the one from Berlin, “Look, they’ve said here that this year’s application was their strongest in history. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“I just feel so stupid.”

“What? No, you’re the furthest thing from stupid.”

“Michelle, there are other options,” Rahim practically pleads, “Why don’t you go back to the application portal before it is too late and put down something more reasonable?”

Debra agrees, “This is what we’ve been saying, Michelle, maybe art is wrong for you. See? You shouldn’t have changed your mind in the first place. There’s a good reason you decided against it-”

“Yeah well I want to do it now, don’t I?” Michelle snarls, swatting tears away from her cheeks, “Jude and I are doing this together, it’s already decided.”

Her mother eyes me warily before deciding that I should probably hear this too, “Love, you know it’s not always a good idea to make big life decisions based on your boyfriend. Nothing lasts forever.”

“How could you say that?”

“What happened to veterinary science, hm? Wouldn’t that be a good career?”

“I wanted to be a vet when I was like, seven, what are you on about?”

“Or she could be a doctor, like me!” Rahim attempts, but this is only met with a fresh barrage of sobs. I rub my girlfriend’s back uselessly while the chocolate softens inside its wrapper against the heat of my leg.

Debra is looking at me empathetically as I comfort her daughter, as though she and I have some connection now, like a baton has passed through some small exclusive club for people who have held Michelle while she cries. “How did you get on with your applications?”

“Oh, um, yeah, I got in,” I feel guilty even saying it but Michelle doesn’t really react to the news, as though she already made an assumption, but I jump in to finish quickly before she can make another. “I won’t be accepting any of them, though, I mean, obviously. I was only ever going to move away if Michelle was coming too, and, you know, unless London works out then that won’t happen.”

Michelle kneads her eye with the heel of her hand, “Did you not get the email?”

“What email?”

“From the London school.”

“Uh, no, I just saw the letters.”

Her eyes widen, “So you didn’t see the NCAD email either?”

“Since when were there emails?”

“Oh my God,” she’s on her feet then, all of her misery forgotten in favour of urgency. “Go and look right now, what the hell?”

“Love,” Debra attempts soothingly, “it’s probably better if Jude checks his emails on his own, isn’t it? The last thing we want is for this to set you off-”

We’re already running for the stairs, her behind me prodding my back the whole way up in a way that feels like she’s forcing me to walk the plank to my untimely death in a tank of piranhas. We burst into her room and she runs to navigate to gmail while I sweat despite the temperature of her room, which is always kind of cold.

I log in and the page loads up to two new emails sitting brazenly in my inbox.

“There they are, click them!”

“Michelle I just want to say that-”

“Oh, come on,” she seizes the mouse and clicks for me, first the one from London, and her voice is flat, “They accepted you. No surprises.”

“It doesn’t matter though, does it? If they didn’t accept you too then I’m not going.”

“Mm.” She immediately clicks the next one, from NCAD, “It’s just points,” she mutters in explanation, “So it all depends on our leaving cert,” scrolling, she reaches the bottom of the email where my points sit, undeniable in a bold black font against stark white.

I feel her stiffen. “One thousand?”

“Uh, wow, is that good?”

There is a long pause. “Jude, that’s literally maximum points.”

I can’t bring myself to look at her right away, but I feel her eyes on the side of my face, searing holes through my skin.

“I thought your interview went badly.”

“Yeah me too!”

“Well then-” she breaks off to make some noise that’s somewhere between a scoff and a sob, “then how did you get such ludicrously high points?”

“Like what I said, I suppose. They were arseholes to everyone on purpose,” I spin around to her, “What did you get?”

“Four fifty.”

So I grab hold of her hands and hold her very tightly and very still, I want to seem sure, “No matter what happens, we’ll be okay,” I promise, “Even if none of this works out for you, I’ll still be right here, do you hear me?”

She nods.

“I’m not going anywhere without you. God, I mean, why would I even do that? You’ll get NCAD off the back of your leaving cert points, I’m one hundred percent sure. And... even if you don't, I'll stay in Dublin.” As soon as I say it I start feeling nauseated, and dizzy, a bit heady like I’ve inhaled some miscellaneous gas from the science lab, but I fight through it, “fuck all of those stupid plans for going abroad, right? I’m here.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“Okay, c’mere,” I pull her into me and hold her tightly, taking in the smell of her hair, the way her narrow shoulders, her birdlike frame softens in my arms and accept that this is the comfort I will rely on from now on. True, it’s not always easy with Michelle, but we really do love each other. Sometimes love is work, but love is rare and worth holding onto with both hands and your whole heart. All those plans I had, I think, they were misguided, a youthful mistake. Perhaps at some point in the future I can move to Amsterdam, or Paris, or Berlin, or London, and do something creative and exciting, but not now. That’s what I’ll do in ten years, when everything is different. I’ll make sure to tell Sam.

Who did I think I was, really, trying to do all of that at eighteen? Now is for this, for Michelle. For doing something right.

“I love you,” she says, and I wonder, with her cheek resting against my chest, if she can somehow hear the way my heart tightens as though grasped by a fist, or how my breath catches in my throat when she says it. I’m surprised by the rising feeling that I might start crying, but I force it down.

Crying over what, Jude? I sneer at myself.

Yeah, that’s what I thought. Something stupid, as usual.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2010 #i haaaaaate this omg #come on Jude #just make a good choice please

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triptrippy · 29 days

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I love your art so much! If you don't mind me asking what's your process for designing characters/outfits?

i had to think about this for a while

when designing characters sometimes im just thinking of a concept ive been exposed to and want to expand in my mind, like with my dunmeshi ocs there were multiple Things in dungeon meshi i wanted to play around with.

dwarves having high tech ruins with trolleys? telephones? there must be Some innovation going on with dwarven society, what if i made someone interested in that innovation but theyre not a dwarf. elves have magic but instead of casting, this character leans toward that tinkering mentality and they brew magic potions and make explosives. Then, i know the noble dwarves in the story are drawn like Rennaissance lords but they have telephones, so maybe there could be a little bit of a steampunk vibe. And then being an elf, around dwarves, they probably get their gender confused more often, maybe they actually dont mind that much and its fun. maybe they work for the dwarven noble in the party? i think that was basically my thought process for fry. and then for his physical appearence, i started drawing an elf and i was focusing on that "likes to have fun" part and i gave him sort of that elven shagginess/laid back look, and messed around with the color pallett until i picked something i liked. he almost had bleach white hair reminiscent of a mad scientist but brown felt more grounded. and its pink at the root because its cute!

i feel like i wing it with outfits but i think i use the same logic. hes an alchemist and lives around nobility, so he has kind of a suit as if hes in academia. but hes cute, so it has a skirt and no jacket. he has a magical prosthetic that he controls with a puppet spell like milsiril uses to control her puppets. it doesnt heal when hes healed because he was born without the arm, and it also doesnt count towards the 1/13th of body missing that would ruin a ressurection since it was never there to begin with. SORRY I GOT INTO THE LORE ON YOU umm yeah and then his head is very warm toned so his outfit i chose warm tones as well. i put goggles and gloves because safety first proper PPE. and thats it! i pick outfits that make sense for what i know of the character, their class(monetarily) how practical i imagine they are, what they would dress for on a daily basis. either before or during the design process im thinking of the silouette and color chemistry as well, but that can change with an outfit.

awesome question thank u!

#ill just put this in my #dm oc tag #cause i turned it into a fry post.

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pansear-doodles · 10 months

Text

its time i talk about the person who left a dent on me

the worst part of my trauma when it comes to it being connected to people i was once close with is that my perspective of what makes of them reminders of them (i do this to anyone im close with- whether it is a symbol or a certain appearance or trait or event)

little bit of serious talk here folks, so i apologize for the unexpected. hope you have the filters.

for most of my internet life, it was almost only me. completely unfiltered. came to deviantart first. became popular at an early age because of what i was doing in the fnaf fandom- it was not good for my mental health.

my groomer has a sona that never changes by design. he's always depicted as an orange fox with black long hair, black beanie and striped jacket. he likes fps games, especially the resident evil series- having associated me with Mia from resident evil 7. he likes fnaf (we met through fnaf... while i was like 14 i think- while he was 9 years older than me). he draws well... i guess. in pokemon form, he would be a jolteon. i would be a pansear. he would be the fox. i would be the rabbit.

as a child i was very impressionate, overly emotional, and cringe (ofc). i would be best friends with my groomer after finding out we shared many common interests and kept talking to each other about it- and then later fess up i have romantic feelings for him.

this would have been the opportunity for him to back up and say no.

but he didn't say no.

we continued off and became a couple. not many people batted an eye on how questionable it was for a 15 year old to be in a relationship with a 24 year old. almost nobody, save for a few concerned friends (and one stranger on Transformice) who i ignored unfortunately, talked it up with me to leave him. i held our relationship as a sort of defense mechanism. i relied on him to make me feel happy. i did a lot of things with him, and including those of the unsavory before i became of age. (i ever regret doing them- but how would i have known- i wasn't the adult here. he was.)

oh and have i mentioned he said the (un)iconic "you're pretty mature for your age." to me

you know whats one of the funniest weirdest shit about our relationship events was? he would show me this club penguin vid where there is a troll making crude remarks and harass someone (presumably a kid). that brotherman bill cp video. he would recite and memorize the song while blindfolded. ironic how he turns out to be in the end.

the wake up call was when he retweeted nsfw of an underage fictional character. seeing that purged my stomach.

yes. it was nsfw of a fictitious minor that was the nail to the coffin. nothing else. i was so delusioned. so troubled. i couldnt see anything else problematic until that happened.

it was so hard for me to let go of him. thankfully i had friends who comforted me and stuck with me through the whole way through. i was on my bed crying.

we've been in close contact for 5 years. i was convincing myself to stay on a doomed relationship because i didnt know what to do- i was already broken and unwell. i was very co-dependent (and i think some of those negative traits still follow me to this day- learning how to get out of that though). my groomer has left a large gap of my mind when we broke off- i revolved so much stuff around him.... and i forgot a lot of memories because of the trauma- taking even the happy unrelated to him ones with it.

i cared too much. and as someone who draws fast- you can imagine how much ive done.

my old files are infested with his likeness. i know i can just delete them but theres so much. so many. it is utterly revolting to see it all and the memories that come with it.

but as time went on, im starting to care less and less about what has happened between us. i am still traumatized of course and a lot of the negative things followed me, but i am healing somewhat and thats what matters i think. most of the things ive associated with him- the connection is fading. i have separated fnaf from him. i no longer associate orange foxes with him. i am comfortable drawing characters in black beanies.

if there is anything i should be grateful for, is that im no longer with him and im happier with someone else. im thankful for the friends who have helped me cope out of that shitfest.

if you know who this person is, i advise you not to witchhunt and harrass him. i dont know what hes doing and honestly i dont give a fuck on how he's doing. he should get help honestly. it is me, myself the victim, who has the say on the matter- and my say is to leave out of his sight.

if you are a minor and someone older than you does these similar things to you, please let your parents and friends know immediately. please be safe.

if my groomer ever reads this, somehow, then to him i say: i am not afraid of you and i do not care about you anymore.

thank you for reading.

#groomers #tw grooming #cw grooming #please let me know what else to tag #thoughts

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 7 months

Note

my dysphoria has been very bad recently and i have found it very difficult to do things like showering, changing and sleeping especially. ive been over wearing my binder a lot because i find it very difficult to bring myself to take it off, and i keep wearing it for 30+ hours at a time which i know is bad but i currently have no other alternative and not wearing one feels worse than the pain i get by overwearing. i hate wearing sports bras and ive run out of transtape, i have ordered more but it probably won’t be coming for another couple of weeks. i don’t know what to do because i don’t want to damage my body severely, is there anything else i can do?

Lee says:

As you know, wearing a binder for extended periods can lead to severe health issues, including respiratory problems, rib fractures, and skin conditions.

When you feel like doing something that's harming you physically is your only option to cope because your dysphoria is that intense, you should look into getting a therapist.

Frequently binding for 30+ hours isn't a sustainable option and finding alternative coping strategies will be easier with professional help to help you deal with what you're doing through.

Two posts that might help with your specific questions are Staying clean and coping with shower-related dysphoria and Dysphoria when you have to sleep and those two posts really cover most of what I have to say on those subjects so I won't reinvent the wheel by typing the same thing but I encourage you to read both links.

Apart from that, in the next couple of weeks as you wait for your TransTape to arrive (And start the process of seeking a therapist!) here are some strategies you can try doing:

1. Layered Clothing:

Wearing loose, layered clothing can help obscure the chest area. Consider wearing baggy shirts, jackets, or vests to help reduce the visibility of your chest.

Luckily it's fall time (at least here in the East Coast) so it's starting to get a little bit cooler, some days, and I wear a sweater (at work) or sweatshirt (when at home) like 100% of the time just because I'm always cold and it's also an Autistic sensory friendly thing for me too.

See more: Body neutrality

2. Distraction Techniques:

Engage in activities that take your mind off your dysphoria. This could be reading, drawing, journaling, listening to music, watching movies or TV, or any other hobby or activity that you enjoy and find absorbing.

Engage in self-care activities that actually make you feel good about yourself, not just doomscrolling social media. And for those times when you are on social media, if you're currently following anyone who makes you stressed/unhappy, stop following them. It's your feed and you're in charge!

But if you find that it's hard to do the necessary activities of everyday living because you find yourself spending most of your time engaging in distraction techniques, and you're falling behind on homework/work, that's another sign that you need additional support from a mental health professional.

3. Grounding Techniques:

Practicing mindfulness can help you stay present and reduce distressing thoughts, but the kind of nebulous meditation stuff never worked well for my ADHD brain.

Guided meditation

15 meditation tips

How to do progressive muscle relaxation

Body scan relaxation exercise

Mindfulness skills and worksheets masterpost

Imagery

Imagery self-help

Relaxation

Relaxation audio

Safe-place visualization

I found specific things like grounding exercises, like the "5-4-3-2-1" technique (identifying five things you can see, four you can touch, three you can hear, two you can smell, and one you can taste), can help divert your attention from dysphoric feelings if you're having a Moment. This type of strategy is useful when you start to notice yourself spiraling to try and re-center yourself.

Soothing grounding exercise

Physical grounding exercise

Mental grounding exercise

Grounding techniques

How to make a grounding box

Grounding exercises

How to ground and center

4. Stay connected:

Connect with in-person and/or online LGBTQ+ support groups who understand what you're going through. Sharing your feelings and hearing from others who have similar experiences can be comforting and it can help you to learn new coping strategies and things to try.

In general, avoiding isolation is important. Join a club or volunteer for something, join a sports team, hang out with your friends, etc. Just don't stay alone in your room. Get out of the house if you can, or invite people over or have video calls or phone calls if aren't up to being out and about. Just stay in contact with people.

See more: Motivating yourself to socialize

5. Set Alarms:

Consider setting alarms or reminders to take off your binder and give your body a break. Even short breaks can help reduce the risk of injury.

Here are some links that may help in general:

9 strategies for dealing with body dysphoria

How do I deal with dysphoria?

20 Small Things To Do When Gender Dysphoria Gets You Down

25 Things I Do To Make My Body Dysphoria Feel Smaller and Quieter

More on coping with dysphoria

Dealing with dysphoria

A post with suggestions for coping with dysphoria

Take care of your mental health

8 tips for managing dysphoria and mental health

A coping tip

Disablity-friendly dysphoria tips

Dysphoria that prevents you from leaving the house/doing activities of daily living

Your feelings are valid, and it's essential to find ways to manage your dysphoria that prioritize your health and well-being. There isn't a secret dysphoria cure I can share with you, to be frank it just sucks sometimes and there's not a lot to do about it but you gotta find a way to cope and keep going and stay safe.

Eventually it gets better-- you either find a way to cope more effectively and manage the dysphoria and/or time just passes and you grow older and eventually find a way to access surgery, but either way you will eventually become an adult who is managing life somehow and overall doin' okay and yeah there's hope at the end of the tunnel so please keep going!

You deserve care, support, and understanding, even if your family isn't able to provide that right now. And again, apart from the two links that I started the response with, the main advice I have is that you should ask to speak with a therapist (even if you are closeted and don't tell your fam that it's gender/binding/dysphoria related) and just let them know that you're struggling with your mental health in general.

Please reach out for help if you need it, and consider seeking medical attention if you experience severe pain or discomfort from binding. Good luck!!

As some of you may have noticed, our blog has been around for a decade or so and some links may be broken because we're all busy etc so pls let me know if something is wonky in a post I'm trying to link to!

Followers, any advice for anon?

#Lee says #dysphoria #coping with dysphoria #chest m #binding #injury m #binding injury m

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thelovelylolly · 1 year

Note

can you do poe comforting an overwhelmed gn! reader and giving them his jacket to wear to calm them down? totally okay if not tho!! <33

Take My Jacket

Summary : As a Resistance report analyst, you always have a lot of work and sometimes it can get overwhelming. Luckily, Poe is there to help you. Warnings : not proof read bc im ~tired~ Notes : thank you for the request! ive been pretty busy and tired so im sorry if this is a bit short

You knew what you were signing up for when you applied for the report analyst job. You were happy that you weren't on the front line, you were better at analytical things anyway. As time went on and the war continued, the work got more and more intense to the point where it was overwhelming.

Everyday you did the same things for your shifts. You'd clock in and there would already be reports for you to go over. Through out the day, more reports would be submitted and if they weren't, it was your job to make sure they were. With the amount of missions happening everyday, you would have to work through your lunch break. After your 12 hour shift, you'd be able to clock out and go back to your room where you would immediately fall asleep.

You were too busy to notice that Poe had picked up on how stressed and tired you were. He wished he could help you out, but he was also busy. If he wasn't on a mission, he was filling out reports for his last one. You and Poe used to be able to hang out almost everyday, but now you barely saw each other.

But one day, somehow, Poe got a day off. He slept in, catching up on lost sleep, then immediately went to find you. It wasn't too hard, you were at your desk in the back, typing away while your eyes were glued to the screens around you.

"Hey," Poe said, leaning up against the wall next to your desk. "How are you doing?"

You sighed, your eyes not leaving your work. "To be honest, I think my eyes have been burned by these screens."

Poe laughed then pulled up a nearby chair, sitting next to you. "I'm being serious, I know how much you've been working."

"I'm surprised they let you have a day off, Poe, and that spending your time with me while I'm stuck working," you replied, switching to the next report.

"C'mon, you know I wouldn't want to be anywhere else on my day off. Besides, you need a break, too."

You let out a weak laugh. "You know I can't take a break, Poe. The reports just keep coming in and I can't get behind-"

"I see how it's stressing you out, you need to take a step back," Poe cut you off, his hand covering yours and stopping your typing.

You looked over at him, the tiredness in your eyes clearly there. "I want to, Poe. I want to hang out with you like we used to, but it'll just be more overwhelming if I take a break and let these pile up."

Poe sighed and pulled his hand away, but you didn't start typing right away. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Trust me, you'll be the first person I'll look for, Poe," you replied with a small smile before turning back to your work.

Poe watched as you immediately got back into a flow. He thought for a moment then stood up, took his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders before leaving.

You stopped for a second to slip your arms into the sleeves. Poe's scent still lingered on it through the day and it kept you warm as you worked. At the end of your shift, you wanted to go return it to Poe, but you were too tired.

You had enough energy to go back to your room and quickly get ready for bed. Right before you crawled into bed, you pulled Poe's jacket on over your pajamas. Surprisingly, his scent was still on it and it brought you comfort after your long day.

With Poe's jacket on, you fell asleep quickly and the stress of the day melted away.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron fanfic #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic

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rosewaterandivy · 6 months

Text

iv. hunger hurts, but starving works

summary: it’s all fun and games until the fall festival.

pairing: s.h. x witch!reader

w.c.: 4.7k

warnings: my blog is 18+ MDNI; vague allusions to magic and the like (tarot specifically), serial kisser steve, we get by with a little no help from our friends

a/n: sorry for the ouchies last week, hopefully, some meddling from everyone's favorite metalhead and space cadet will help.

series m.list | playlist | currently spinning:

The weeks pass all too slowly. Leaves turning fiery shades of orange, amber, red, and gold before falling gallantly to the ground; littering the streets and sidewalks only to be soaked with rain and snow. Tracy manned the shop, convincing you to take some time off and promising to oversee the rescheduled H & M appointment. But sulking around the aunt’s house did little to alleviate the hollow feeling in your chest.

Women, like clockwork, still came down the bluestone path at twilight seeking absolution and eternal devotion from their paramours through the aunt’s skill. They paid in cash and hardly ever heard a word of advice: “He’s no good for you, honey,” said to a woman sporting a bracelet of bruises around her wrists, “Darling, there are more people involved than you realize,” whispered to another who insisted on bagging the married principal of the high school, his expecting wife be damned.

“I don’t care, I have to have him,” was the perfunctory response.

Kelly’s eyes easily found yours, cutting through the dark staircase where you sat huddled under a worn quilt. You don’t need to see this, her soothing alto sounds out in your mind. She jerks her head toward the door, Take a walk, we’ll call you for dinner.

It was no use arguing with her. With a heavy sigh, you stood from the stair and slunk off to change. There was a secluded stretch of beach just off the backyard of the property, one you were familiar with frequenting when things all became a bit too much. But, as of late, you’d preferred the quiet comfort of your bed.

In fact, you couldn’t recall the last time you’d even left the house. Content to laze away your days in languid drips, sleeping through the waking hours only to haunt the witching ones. The family grimoire remained tightly shoved in your bookshelf, slowly worming its way out from between biographies and murder mystery paperbacks. You’d given it a good push back into the shelf a few days ago, but here it was, halfway from tumbling out again.

Throwing on an old college sweatshirt and fleece-lined leggings, you lace up your boots, and toss on a beanie and your father’s old work jacket. The scent has long since faded from it, but if you close your eyes and wish hard enough, the warm, pleasant scent of pipe tobacco and the spice from his cologne comes through. Taking a deep breath in, you revel in the closest thing you have to a hug from your dearly departed father.

Swiftly, you take the stairs two at a time and round the bannister just as Moira pricks the woman’s finger in the kitchen. Your aunt gives you a short smile as you close the backdoor with a soft click.

It would be one thing, if this time away from the shop was doing you any good. As it stands, you’re barely able to get any peace waking or dreaming because every thing hurtles you headlong back to him. And it hurts— alcohol is only capable of so much, after all, and you’re having more difficulty making yourself go cold than you’d anticipated.

As if you’re injured just by knowing him— his touch, his taste, the sounds he makes, how he looks sleep rumpled and barely awake. Numbing yourself with drink doesn’t chase away the dreams, it only makes them worse; though you’ve only kissed the carpenter, you could swear you’d been waking with lovebites on your neck and a soreness between your thighs.

It was infuriating and driving you batshit crazy.

Only in the sense that it made the waking all the more difficult. If you were a weaker woman, you wouldn’t be hitting snooze so much that your alarm clock had eventually given up the ghost and turned itself off. If you were a weaker woman, you would luxuriate in your dreams where his touch was warm and welcome. If you were a weaker woman, you wouldn’t be the walking wounded with a gaping cavern cleaving your heart in two.

But you weren’t that kind of woman; instead, you were stubborn as a mule, as everyone in your life liked to frequently remind you. Things would be better off this way; sure, people were hurt but at least they were alive; the Callahan curse stopped with you.

It had to.

The beach was deserted, as to be expected. The waves ebbing in and out, their white frothy peaks illuminated in the fading twilight. A chilly wind blew through as it pleased, making you wish for a scarf to bundle up with. Burrowing further into the collar of the coat, you shoved your hands into the large pockets to stave off the nip in the air.

Leaning on a nearby boulder, you let out a deep breath. The sea air tickled at your nostrils, briny and damp, as a light mist began to fall. It was coming on dusk now, the scant autumn light dipping below the horizon. Losing yourself to melancholy, you don’t even notice the jingling of a collar as a dog bounded toward you.

Thinking its found a new playmate, the dog breaks into a run, a streak of black in the coming night. Eyes adjusting to the scene, you quickly scramble up the boulder pressed against your back. The dog, undeterred, places its big paws on either side of your frame thinking you’re playing hard to get.

Hands braced at your side against the boulder, you dig a heel into the sand beneath your feet and attempt to get some distance between the dog and yourself. In an unfortunate display of an utter lack of coordination, you end up cutting your hand on a particularly jagged section of rock just as the dog lands a long lick to the side of your face.

“Woah there!” You call out, bewildered.

The dog continues, unabated, as you fall with a plop to the cold sand, head knocking against the boulder in the comedown. Delighted that its new playmate is at a more accessible level, the dog yips and barks, jumping a bit here and there in its excitement.

“Lucy?” Another voice shouts out into the night, a masculine baritone. A figure comes into view not long after, bundled up much like yourself, with leash in hand. “Luce!” The dog, Lucy, turns quickly to regard her owner, ears at attention and head cocked. He whistles sharply followed by a snap of this fingers, and she trots away, but not before a final lick to your face.

Making to stand on your own two feet, you momentarily forget the cut on your palm, letting out a low hiss of pain as the sand makes contact with your skin. You wince at your own stupidity, it’s going to be even more of a bitch to clean now. Shifting your weight to the opposite side, you brace yourself against the rock to stand.

But before you can fully rise, the sweet scent of freshly chopped wood and spice invades your senses. A warm puff of air, “Shit, I’m so sorry— she’s normally fine off-leash and I didn’t see you through the mist—”

“It’s fine,” You grouse, hating the skittering of heat beneath your skin at the sound of his voice.

Steve steps back, eyes concerned. “You’re hurt.”

You want to laugh, cackle, at the absurdity that is your life; a regular comedy of errors. Instead, a bark of laughter slips from your throat as your eyes flutter shut. It would be very helpful if the ground could stop moving now. His hands come out to steady you as your vision tunnels and you sway to one side.

“I’m fine,” You insist, though it is obvious you are anything but.

And he’s warm, as always; you idly wonder what it’s like to be a living furnace, to have that much heat running through your veins. Must get annoying in the summer, that’s for sure. Like magma just surging over and over, cooking you from the inside out.

“Uh, it’s not that bad, actually.” Steve chuckles, trying to steady you on your feet.

Oh.

Had you been babbling this entire time? How embarrassing.

“No!” He’s quick to respond, “Not at all. You’re just uh—” Steve wraps his wrist with the slack from the leash with one hand, the other coming to wrap around your hip. “Did you hit your head, or something?”

You give him a slow blink in response.

“Right. Okay,” He sighs shortly and glances back up the hill at the aunt’s house. “Let’s get you back home and cleaned up, hmm?”

The last thing you recall before succumbing to the beckoning darkness behind your eyes lids is the brush of his cheek, rough and dusted a smattering of stubble, against your temple and the whistled tune of your favorite song.

The muted buzz of a conversation rouses you from slumber. Fuzzy at first, like static between stations on the radio, becoming clearer and clearer until—

“Are you sure she’s alright?”

One of the aunts tuts in reply, “Positive.” Ah, must be Kelly then, her low voice ebbs and flows throughout the room, “The cut looks worse than it is and she’s always been a quick healer.”

“We’re lucky you were there though!” Moira from farther off, the pantry maybe. “God knows how long she’d have been down there on her own.”

“I don’t know about that,” the man hedges uncomfortably. “It’s my fault that it happened. If Lucy hadn’t—“

“Now, now,” Kelly sounds closer now, “Don’t go blaming yourself for what amounted to a happy accident.”

Happy? You passed out from a knock to the head and sliced your hand on a rock, but no harm no foul— this was a lucky turn of events, apparently.

“Ugh.” Your tongue feels sluggish in your mouth, slow to maneuver at your whims. “What the—“

Your hand, the one not wrapped in gauze and medical tape, flops against the wood grain of the kitchen table. Fingers scoring along years of wear, knives thrown carelessly against its surface.

Blinking is a struggle too, your lashes feel positively glued together. “Why am I on the table?”

“Better the table than the cold sandy beach.” Moira says with a wink to Steve. “Our neighbor was kind enough to escort you home.”

Kelly snorts, “Escort is a generous term.”

Sitting up on your elbows, your head looks to the right, only to find Kelly nursing a margarita.

“Poor thing had to haul you up the hill and wrangle Lucy at the same time.”

“It’s not a big deal,” He demures, sounding far too close for comfort. “You kinda passed out and I just sorta—“ His cheeks are tinging pink under your slow owlish blinks. He brings his hands up in a mimicry or carrying something and icy realization washes over you.

“You had to carry me?!”

Kelly laughs from her perch against the hutch, “It’s not the end of the word peach.”

Moira picks up her cue with a wink, “Oh, woe is me! A big strong man had to carry me like a damsel and return me to my maiden aunts.”

Pushing yourself up fully, you swing your legs over the edge of the table, keeping your eyes straight ahead. Your feet find the ground easily enough and before a word can be spoken, you’ve left the kitchen to bound upstairs and shut yourself away.

In your absence, a hush falls in the kitchen, all save for Lucy snoring by the fire in the living room. Steve taps his fingers against the wooden table, walnut if he had to guess. The warm amber tone of the lumber popping against the darker grain— a beautiful and well-loved piece. He lets a nail trace a divot or two as the aunts prattle around the kitchen preparing dinner.

A hand grasps his shoulder, “Steve,” Kelly stands behind him, her empty margarita glass discarded on the countertop. “Would you like to stay for dinner? It’s the least we can do considering…” She nods her head, eyes looking upwards to where he can only assume your bedroom is.

“Oh, I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” He awkwardly fumbles for an excuse, something believable enough but not the outright truth of ‘I made out with and rescued your niece who wants nothing to do with me. Oh, and I’m also, maybe, in love with her.’

Moira closes the oven, having just checked on the roast. “Nonsense, we insist.”

He swallows, adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “I should really get going—”

“Now, I know you’re not going to spur two old biddies who have invited you to dinner.” Kelly’s voice is warning enough, her eyes light with mischief. An unspoken, you’ll stay if you know what’s good for you.

“So, what can I get you to drink?” Moria asks from across the kitchen.

“I’ll take a beer, if you have it.” Steve says from his spot leaning against the counter, his eyes glance up at the sound of footfalls upstairs. Your socked feet treading this way and that above him.

“Well, aren’t you in luck!” She crows, tugging the fridge open, “I just bought some today. Hope it’s to your liking,” She tosses him a can, that he catches with ease.

Eyeing the label, he gives her a small smile in thanks. “It’s my favorite, actually.”

“How do you like that?” Moira chimes in, setting the table for dinner. “Steve, would you be a dear and grab the pot behind you to place on the table?”

And Steve, for all his good intentions and attempts at a polite exit, finds himself settling own for dinner with your aunts. You stay upstairs throughout dinner and dessert, with only the occasional tread on the wood floor to signal your presence. And each time a creak or groan sounds from the floorboards, his eyes cast upwards wondering what you could possibly be doing up there, and how much you must hate him.

Lucy, however, has the time of her life at the Callahan house that evening. In lieu of her usual kibble, she is treated to a panoply of treats, hand served pot roast from the table, and luxuriating in affection from the aunts. Steve keeps an eye on her, and tries to prevent the aunts and their spoiling of her— “She’s a good girl, she deserves it,” “It’s just a treat Steven, no need to coddle.”

And if she’s aware of her role in the events that transpired this evening, she doesn’t show it. In her hard-won experience, sometimes people just needed a little push. And if that push came from her or through other means, well then, so be it.

Opting to skip out on dinner, you retreated to your bedroom and changed into some comfier clothes— a well-loved sweater and flannel pajama pants, a pair of cashmere socks from Moira several Christmases ago— and snuggled down in bed.

What a no good, very bad day you’d had.

Trying to avoid the very man who haunted your thoughts, only to get a rather enthusiastic greeting from his dog and injure yourself in the process. Just fucking great.

A soft knock sounds from your bedroom door, jarring you away from your thoughts. With a grumble that you were on your way, you reluctantly leave the warm cocoon of the bed and shuffle toward the door.

Turning the knob in your hand, you open the door only to come mouth to mouth with none other than Steve Harrington. It’s an unfortunate turn of events, he’d leaned forward to knock again and collided with you while trying to balance a plate from dinner.

It’s brief, but no less enticing than the kiss at the shop. It’s messy, teeth clacking awkwardly together, lips mismatched, mouths open to sprout apologies. It hurts like a kindness— he’s so warm and inviting, it would be easy to get lost in someone like Steve.

A breath of your name as he pulls away, flushed in embarrassment. “Fuck, I didn’t mean—”

And it’s like he broke you with gentle hands, without even trying. You can feel your heart plummet to your stomach, quickly replaced by a roar of fury. How dare he? First the shop, and now this?

“You can’t just go around kissing people Harrington!” You hiss, taking the plate from his grasp. “What is wrong with you?! Did you just get out of prison or something?”

He rocks back on his feet, fiddling with his glasses for lack of something better to do. “I know, I know,” His voice is a low murmur, “And I didn’t mean to, I swear to god, your aunts just asked me to bring up a plate for you.”

The longer you look at him, the worse it gets; all bashful and pink in the cheeks, wire frames bringing the green of his hazel eyes into sharp relief. All compounded by the humiliating fact that you would kiss him again in a heartbeat.

At the mention of your aunts, you cast your gaze down to the base of the stairs, catching Kelly’s eye. Her smile immediately raises your suspicions, the last time you saw that smile, Moira won the election to become president of the PTA by unanimous vote. She gives you a languid wave and wink before turning away and into the parlor.

“I, uh, I should go.” Steve says backing toward the stairs, “I am really sorry about that, it won’t happen again.”

A roll of your eyes, “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it Romeo.”

Steve quickly thanks your aunts for their hospitality and readies Lucy for the walk home, you can hear his voice as it trails up from the parlor, pitched higher and softer for the snoozing pup downstairs. A smile lights on your face despite your best intentions. Setting the plate on your desk, you step toward the windows overlooking Willow Street.

Porch lights illuminate the sidewalk and front garden of the house, and soon enough, a man and his dog appear too. Something being said about repairing the garden gates and a friendly wave to your aunts. He glances up to find your silhouette in the second storey windows, arms crossed and guarded. Steve ducks his head and turns toward home before he loses himself again; a full moon lighting his way back home.

You’d returned to the shop not long after, just long enough to let your hand heal up and recover your pride. Tracy was her usual self, for which you were grateful— she’d checked up on you a few times since the storm, not wanting to smother you.

As a result of her running the business solo, you found yourself manning a booth at the fall festival. It was a town tradition and one you had managed to studiously avoid in your years of being a local business owner. Unfortunately, it was time to pay the piper.

And, as luck (or lack thereof) would have it, your booth just so happened to be right next to the H & M Construciton one. You hadn’t seen any sight of Harrington yet, but it was only a matter of time, you were sure of it. Tracy had signed the pair of you up offering tarot readings, nothing fancy, just a three card spread.

“I can’t believe you,” You’d huffed when she shared the news, “You know I don’t like offering readings.”

“Well geez princess,” She said with a smirk, “If you’re gonna get your panties in a twist, I’ll do the readings.”

As it was, the booth was pulling in a fair amount of business already. Shop regulars stopping by to say hi and sign up for a reading, Tracy shuffling her worn tarot deck and dealing like she was at a blackjack table.

Of course, once receiving their readings (scarily accurate), they were immediately besotted by the fortune-telling dog next door. To be fair, she was pretty damn cute in her little turban and lolling pink tongue.

A cheery woman was seated alongside Lucy, bright blue eyes and blonde hair, while a dark and lanky man stood toward the back of the booth. Steve was nowhere to be found.

“You should go an introduce yourself,” Tracy suggested as a teenage girl left the booth, a spring in her step from what the cards foretold. “They’re your neighbors after all.”

Considering you’d kissed their roommate twice now, you figured it would be impolite to dodge a formal introduction. Shoving your hands into your coat pockets, you ambled over to their booth, Lucy announcing your arrival with a soft woof and wagging tail.

“Hey Lucy,” You greeted with a pat to her head, and she nuzzled her head into the palm of your hand. A laugh slips up your throat at her antics, but she’s far too precious to be refused.

Two pairs of eyes are on you and you can feel their stares. “Hi,” You offer with a weak wave, “We’re neighbors, the uh, Callahan house down the street?”

The blonde’s mouth falls into an ‘o’ while the man behind her reveals a wicked grin. They look at each other for a split second, some shorthand ESP you can’t translate, before turning back to you.

“I’m Robin,” Says the blonde offering her hand, she jerks the other behind her to point at the man. “And that’s Eddie.”

“Oh, nice to meet you,” Her hand is warm against yours, comforting. “We’re Steve’s roomates.”

“Right, of course.” You wave at Eddie and shove your hand back into your pocket. “Welcome to the neighborhood.” You rock back on your heels, “And, uh, thanks for the work on the built-ins, they look great.”

He steps forward wearing that same grin, “Not at all, happy to do it.” Eddie crosses his arms, ringed fingers grasping at his elbows. He inclines his head toward you, brows raised like he knows something you don’t. “Harrington was mum about why he couldn’t finish the job,” He says casually, “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, now would you?”

You attempt to school your features into a semblance of calm detachment. “Nope, no clue.” You give Lucy one last scratch behind the ears, “Anyway, thanks for taking care of it and I’ll see you around.”

“Sure, sure,” Eddie nods, “See you real soon.”

Turning back toward your booth, you’re startled to find Tracy shuffling the cards for none other than Steve Harrington himself.

For as long as he can remember, Steve has had this recurring dream; not a nightly occurrence by any means, but it would crop up at least a couple of times a year. A seaside town, the turning of the season, the sound of trailing laughter and creaky floorboards in an old Victorian house.

Hadn’t been able to make heads or tails of it for years. That was, until he moved to a particular small town; yours, as it so happened.

And now his nightmares are replaced with dreams and visions of you— dancing with your aunts through the kitchen, a margarita glass in hand, sleep-rumpled and bed-headed blinking owlishly from your bed, running along the sandy coastline Lucy hot on your tail, and, blessedly, the furrow of your sweat drenched brow, mouth falling open in a breathy pant while you tremble and shake above him.

Hadn’t been able to crack it until he stumbled into your shop that day. All it took was the sound of your voice and one look at you for Steve to know, deep in his bones, that he’d found the home he never quite had.

The love he felt for you coursing through him like a drug, was all-consuming. You called his name, and it whispered and roared like an orchestra. And all he can think is how you’d been wasted in the arms of everyone before him; and likewise, how he’d only been wasting time with every other girl back in Hawkins.

But life, like love, is rarely ever fair.

So your rejection, though not wholly expected, had been heard loud and clear. So much so that Steve’s not expecting you to give him a short smile and wave from where you stand at the cider stand. But it’s clear by your body language that you won’t return to the booth until he’s cleared off.

He shyly waves back.

“... this can’t be right.” With one hand Tracy scoops the cards up and shuffles them back into the deck. “We’ll just try again.” She says to Steve before calling out toward you, “Hey, babe?”

Three cups of cider in hand, you poke your head into the booth reluctantly, “Need somethin’?” Setting two cups on the table, you nudge one toward Steve, listening as Tracy mumbles something about making heads or tails of the three card spread.

She smiles, a small pull of her lips as you walk closer, ducking your head to hear her whispering. Tracy clears her throat and says, louder for his benefit, “Can you just hang out for a minute? I wanna make sure the last spread wasn’t a fluke.”

Steve leans back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest, reticent. Sure, Eddie’s ex had read his palm before, but tarot cards were beyond him entirely. He wasn’t sure what your presence had to do with the reading, but he wasn’t about to question it. Tracy instructed him to cut the deck again, his fingers approximating roughly half of the cards and set them to the right.

She shuffles them again, “So the first card is your past, the middle is your present, and the third is your future. Obviously,” she sets the first card down, “Tarot is an ancient storytelling system and a way of making sense of things.”

Tracy places the remaining two cards face side down next to the first and takes a breath. “Let’s see, shall we?”

The first card reveals a tower, the second a pair of cups reversed, and the final card—

A gust of wind blew a fourth card from the deck, landing next to the third card in the spread. Tracy drew in a steady breath, eyes cutting to you. “You do it. The energy’s off, I can’t—”

You back away raising both hands, “I don’t read for people, you know that.”

“But this—”

“Tracy, enough. It’s not gonna happen.”

Steve inspects the cards in question while the pair of you exchange furtive whispers. A tower, two of cups reversed, a wheel of some kind, and the lovers reversed. If the spread itself was anything to go by, it seemed that his future could go one of two ways as evidenced by the third and fourth cards.

“Well, if you’re not going to do anything helpful, you could at least talk to the aunts.”

You roll your eyes at that, “As if. Can you imagine? They’d have a field day with this.”

Tracys scoops up the cards once and for all, slotting them back into their silk pouch and drawing the strings. “Babe, I love you, but I’m beggin’ you to get your head out of your ass.” She nods toward Steve, “Talk to them. For him if not for yourself.”

“Fine,” You hiss turning tow to leave, “But I’m going to complain the entire time.”

“Love you, mean it!” Tracys calls out as you walk away before winking at Steve.

Shoving some cash in the charity donations jar, he grabs the cup of cider and his jacket from the back of the chair before jogging to catch up with you. Impressively, you’d made some headway back toward the aunt’s house, muttering to yourself all the while. He falls into step beside you, taking quiet sips from the warm drink, the scent of cinnamon and apples wafting through the air.

Too lost in your own world, you hardly notice his proximity— infuriating Tracy with her wily ways, stupid Steve with his soft smile and cozy-looking self, and your aunts who were no doubt cackling at this very moment watching you and “the nice carpenter” walk down Willow Street. It’s only when his hand accidentally brushes yours that your thoughts still. Taking a deep breath, you shake the thoughts loose and will yourself to shove your hand in your pocket. His brief touch searing you in its wake.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #carpenter!steve #Spotify

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leonsleftbicep · 3 months

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maybe another iv man bun picture? idk where or when this is from, i’m thinking probably around the start of last tour bc vessle still has the old mask but i also don’t know when he changed masks

i’ve noticed that iv actually usually has a hood on almost all the time other than when he’s not wearing a jacket, so i’m guessing he’s probably had long hair a majority of the time and it’s just been under his hood

also a thought, vessel could also have long hair and we’d never know bc his hood never comes off

and i’m thinking about like head canons of them all having longer hair and there just being hair ties all over the manor because they constantly lose them and just keep buying more instead of taking the time to look

long hair token is real in my eyes. i feel like vessel has the shortest hair out of all of them but its still long. im thinking 2000’s brushed out curls emo hair that most dirty blonds had (basically longer version of rory’s from ‘my babysitters a vampire’).

vessel is still stuck in 2012 and he hasn’t gotten out for 12 years.

iv’s hair seems like it’s only got “short” when he changed his outfit to a lighter weight/ more formal form. im mainly just keeping in my mind that he still has long hair its just he hides it under the mask and his shirt or under his hood.

i oddly feel bad about headcanoning them all with long hair, but it makes sense if you thinking about it. most dudes ive met that are or where in bands have long hair.

the manor has so many hair ties under the couch that they dont know about. cat sleep just keep pulling them out and leaving them on the rug as they rub themself in it. sleep likes the feeling.

when they all started to realize how many hair ties are around the manor they have a designated day in ever week where they clean and throw away all the excess hair ties they are not using.

now with all my idea dumped out into here im going to draw all of their head-cannoned faces with long hair and then tag you (if your cool with that)

#the duck has thoughts #sleep token #long hair token #the brain duck #ask answered #ask box #sleep token headcanons

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anarkysm · 2 months

Text

All of My Heroes Die All Alone - Part I: Easy they Come

Jason Todd x oc fanfic.

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Evangeline didn’t know why seeing Floyd this way had not become the normality in her mind. She thought by this point, now that he had reached the six month mark of being admitted into Elliot Memorial’s hospice ward, that she would have become desensitised to the sight of him. The myriad of tubing that protruded from every orifice, the hollow of his throat, his nostrils, the catheter, the colostomy bag, and the various IV lines that all form a cocoon around him like a fly in a spider’s web, waiting for the inevitable predator to slink it’s way down, long needle like fangs piercing flesh. It would be a quicker death than this, the sharp sting, the rush of venom, the paralysis, then… nothing.

How quiet that would be.

Instead the whirring of machines must be getting to his head. If he could still talk he would tell her as such. He would tell her to leave him be. But, there is a selfish part of her soul that wants to keep him around, that wants his advice as long as she can receive it. That wants to keep him as comfortable as she can before the inevitable happens. She’s selfish like that. She hates that she is, but when one good thing stays in your life as long as Floyd Lawton stayed in hers, those claws would stay buried in that flesh forever.

She eats the worst beef and butter sandwich of her life as she occupies the seat next to him. She stays like this throughout visiting hours, only getting up and leaving the room when the nurses clean him, changing his sheets, scrubbing his thinning skin that shows the intricate webbing of muscles, tendons, veins and arteries underneath. She can’t bear to look at him when they do it. His limbs, once thick and ropey with muscle and scars, were now wiry and fragile. She wondered if he would hate his reflection in the mirror, she wondered if it were the other way around that he would have left her body to give up on itself even if it were painful, so it would be quick. So he could mourn and his life would go on. She knew his would. She didn’t know if she was capable of the same.

Her phone rung with an alarm she had set to remind her that the visiting hours were done. She packed her things, a cheesy romance book that merely sat dormant on the arm rest of her chair, and a newspaper. She bid her goodbye to Floyd with a kiss to his temple, and headed out. The nurses were always lovely, there was a tiredness to their kindness that reminded her of him. The nights when he would come back after weeks of being away, but if she asked him a question, he would answer. If she wanted to tell him how the week had gone, he would let her. There would be a darkness to his skin, a sunken feeling in his eyes, but he would be there.

When she exited the building the chill of November nipped at the exposed skin of her neck and she shivered. She hunkered herself down further into her jacket and trekked through the car park until she was sitting astride her bike. The vibration of her phone in her pocket jolted her out of her thoughts and she dug her hand into her coat to fish it out. She recognised the number immediately and brought it to her ear.

”Hospital.” She greeted, knowing she was talking to a man who preferred to be blunt. “Five minutes to home.”

The voice was impatient. “Wherever else would you be?” Came the reply. The tone was edged, the sarcasm dripping with venom. “Meet me in the Canary Club. Got a job.”

Wonderful. She hung up, buried her phone back in her pocket and shoved the helmet over her head.

The Canary Club was home to most of Gotham’s populace on a Friday night, the place crawling with people and vibrating with music. It was humid and sticky and everywhere you looked the lights were flickering and there were girls dancing. It was the kind of place Slade liked to meet in. He liked the noise, it drowned out conversations, and he liked having something or someone to look at while he talked business. He wasn’t an easy man to figure out, but Evangeline liked to think she had a good grasp on why he was as picky as he seemed. The two had had this arrangement for some time, since before Floyd got sick. Floyd didn’t know, of course, it was one of the many secrets she kept from him.

Slade was in his usual booth upstairs, red pleather couches that overlooked the entire dance floor below. He ‘liked to see things coming,’ but Evangeline knew it was more than that, it was a sense of control he liked to keep over the room, even in his old age. And Slade had gotten older, being in his late 60s had thickened his skin but made his insides more fragile. He was tenser and more brutal, he needed opponents to stay down, there was less of a chance he would beat his way out of a fight with someone younger than him now, but that didn’t mean just anyone would pick a fight with Deathstroke. Certainly not Evangeline. She could see his white hair as she ascended the steps, and she followed it like a beacon as it caught the multitude of lights that cascaded over the room. She greeted him as she sat down, “here, again?”

Slade’s lip quirked up. His Deathstroke mask seemed to hide his nerve damaged mouth well. He’d gotten into a fight with the Batman, maskless, a batarang had sliced through his upper lip and chin leaving the area paralysed on one side. Though it didn’t make him any less menacing. “Why not? Gives us both something to look at.” He adjusted the glasses on his face. “How is Lawton?”

Evangeline straightened her back. “Alive.”

Slade made a noise, something tip-toeing between a snort and a grunt. “Not living,” he mused, fingers playing with the edge of the table. He had a folder resting neatly in front of him. “Middle Eastern prison. Libya. Rich man wants his ward returned here alive.”

Evangeline sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Prison break? Isn’t that more of a mercenary’s job?” She asked. She’d never been tasked with a prison break before, though if it were one here in Gotham she would be oozing confidence, criminals seemed to just walk out of Arkham as easily as breathe. “How much is he paying for this ‘ward’?”

”Sixty Million.”

The world spun, and Evangeline dug her nails into the meat of her thighs to keep her mind focused. That was a lot of money. It was enough that she could… “Why didn’t you take it?” She asked. If it was simple enough that Slade thought she would be able to handle it on her own, then there was something else underlying that he wasn’t disclosing to her. Sixty million was nothing to Slade, he would have the kid back in a week if the rich asshole doubled it. “Seems right up your alley.”

Slade paused a moment, pursing the side of his mouth that still worked. “I’ve not been allowed in Libya for thirty years,” he explained, gently coaxing the folder across the table towards her. “Take it. Mull it over. I’ll give you three hours. You have my number, send me a message.”

The ride back to Floyd’s appointment was a quiet one, but not long. She had two hours and 32 minutes to think about Slade’s offer. Her mind kept wandering back to the reward. How much could this ward be worth? She had doubts it was Bruce Wayne, that pompous asshole hadn’t adopted a new kid in years and the media kept tabs on all of them. The computer whizz, the acrobat turned cop that moved to Bludhaven, the only one you didn’t hear about anymore was the one that died not too long after he showed up in the tabloids. Apparently, something to do with an accident while they were on a holiday somewhere overseas, but no one knew the details. Poor kid. She doubted Bruce would let one of his own leave the country after a devastating loss like that again.

There were rich people in Gotham, but none of them were that rich. She had half a mind to see if there were any missing persons reports that had sprung up within the last week or so, but there were people disappearing every five hours. Some got on trains and never made it home, others just packed up and left without another word. Evangeline wished she could do that, leave the world behind.

She sent Slade a message confirming her involvement and showered whilst waiting for a response. Once she was dried and dressed a message arrived, a date and time to board a plane to Egypt, and who to contact once she reached Cairo. She set her phone on the nightstand to charge, and went about trying to sleep.

Hey Floyd,

I thought I would leave this for the nurses to read out to you because I don’t know if I could tell you this in person but I’m going away for a couple weeks. Nothing serious, just took a job to get some money and it’s sending me overseas for an assignment. I’ll text you when I touchdown. Don’t get any worse until I’m home, yeah?

Angie.

#royharper #jason todd need’s therapy #jason todd #evangeline lawton #deadshot #arsenal #red hood #robin #batman #deathstroke #slade wilson #under the red hood #arkham knight #all my heroes die all alone fanfic #jason todd x oc #nightwing #dick grayson

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