#ITS SUPPOSED TO BE FILLED WITH BULLSHIT

[scramratz]

Aesthetic sketchbook tours ruined a generation of artists

[yosh-iro]

i think i mightve broke my tooth ._.

[singmyaubade]

Cindy Lou Who

james potter x slytherin!female!reader

summary: you and lily have been polar opposites from birth, disconnected in everything. but when the one thing she has crosses the bounds, you can't avoid it even if it destroys you.

warnings: eventual smut! 18+ heavy angst, cursing , jealousy

a/n: so this is the winter special, yay! this chapter is kind of a teaser/chapter 1 but the next chapters will be longer and more angsty with james and y/n.

i hope you enjoy and as always, i apologize if you hate this!

chapter 1

You Loved Lily.

It wasn’t a strange or unusual thing to say—it was simply the truth.

Most people would have expected the two of you to hate each other. To be cold, distant, maybe even hostile. After all, she was Gryffindor, and you were Slytherin. In their eyes, that was all that mattered.

But you never saw it that way.

Lily was your sister—maybe not by blood, but in every way that counted, you knew she was. You’d been adopted into the Evans family at five, after the tragic death of your parents in a horrific house fire. Most believed it was because they had refused to bow to the Dark Lord's ideals, but no one could prove it.

Before that, your parents had distanced themselves from magic, moving next door to the Evans family, where they quickly became as close as family. And when they died, arrangements had been made for you to be adopted by the Evans family, should anything ever happen to them.

This had been because all your blood relatives believed in the same blood supremacy and Dark Lord bullshit your parents had fought against.

And you were glad to have been embraced by the entire family, maybe not including Petunia.

It was only a small blessing that you and Lily both received your Hogwarts letters in the same year. You’d felt for Petunia—who had never been particularly warm toward you—but Lily had always welcomed you with open arms. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

The train ride to Hogwarts had been full of excitement—laughing over exploding bonbons, discussing what the Sorting Hat might decide for you. It was supposed to be the start of something unforgettable.

But then the Sorting Hat made its decision for you both.

Lily was placed in Gryffindor.

And you, despite everything you’d hoped and fought for, were sorted into Slytherin.

The moment the Hat’s decision was final, it was like a wedge had driven itself between you and Lily. It felt as though the very essence of who you were had been split down the middle: she was good, pure, and noble—Gryffindor. And you? You were suddenly cast as the enemy, the ‘dark’ side.

It was devastating.

At first, you tried to stay close to Lily. You would try to hang out with her at breakfast, walking with her on her way to classes. But it didn’t take long before everything started to unravel.

The argument that broke you both came in third year, right after the winter holidays.

“Lily, I would never have let Snape call you that!”

You were furious, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you faced her, desperate for her to see the truth.

How could she not see it?

But Lily’s eyes were filled with hurt, the same hurt she’d worn for weeks.

“You’re friends with his kind,” She spat, her voice breaking as she said it, the words full of disappointment. Marlene, Mary, and James stood close by, eyes narrowed, almost as though they were guarding her from you.

You felt a surge of anger. "I came here to comfort you, and none of my friends believe in that bullshit! You’re being irrational!" The words slipped out before you could stop them.

James stepped forward, his eyes burning with contempt. “I think you should leave. Snakes aren’t appreciated here,” He said, his voice dripping with venom.

It stung. More than the insult itself, it hurt that James was speaking for Lily.

You scoffed, looking at her one last time before turning your gaze back to him. “I think this is between me and my sister, not her fanboy,” You snapped, trying to hold back the trembling in your voice. Then, more softly, you added, “I would never let anyone call you that, and you know it. I would’ve stopped him. Why are you acting like you don’t know who I am?”

There was silence. You waited, your heart in your throat, hoping for some kind of response. A softening of the tension. But nothing came.

Lily didn’t mutter a word.

Instead, she looked down, her face hidden in her lap, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Fine,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of it all. “I don’t need this.” You turned sharply, your heart heavy as you strode away from her.

It was never the same after that.

Lily had tried to fix things. She reached out time and time again, but you couldn't find it in yourself to forgive her. Yeah, you were kids but she didn't believe you, and in a way, that hurt in a way you couldn't explain.

As time went on, you found comfort in the only people who understood your world: Pandora, Regulus, Evan, and Barty. They didn’t judge you. They accepted you, as you were, and that was enough.

You missed having a sister, but you couldn’t help but think how different things were now. Now that you were in your seventh year and she was a Prefect, getting top marks, it hadn’t been a good time.

And now, seeing her laughing with the Marauders or walking through the halls with her Gryffindor friends, the gap between you both seemed impossible to bridge. She had changed. You had changed. And even though she gave you shy smiles in the halls or a wave, it hadn't been enough to fix everything.

And that’s why a part of you dreaded winter break.

You loved going home, but you and Lily always had to pretend everything was fine, that you were still inseparable, so your parents wouldn’t think you had drifted apart.

It was hard enough to answer their questions about each other when you weren’t even in each other’s lives anymore.

Your plan had been simple: retreat to your room, listen to the new ABBA album, and enjoy some much-needed peace. That was until Lily approached you in the library.

"Hey Y/N!" Lily greeted, her voice chipper yet low, as she bounded toward your table. You looked up from your book, offering her an awkward smile.

"Hello, Lily," you replied flatly, trying not to show how much her presence was already stirring your emotions.

"Um," she started, fiddling nervously with her fingers. "I just wanted to ask you something."

You raised an eyebrow, curious but guarded. "And that is?"

"Okay, so, you know how we always go to Niagara Falls for winter break, to the lodge?" She paused, waiting for you to nod. "Well, I was kinda hoping you'd come with me to James's cabin instead. Mum and Dad said I can only go if you go, and it would mean the world to me. I really think it would be fun—"

She rambled on, tripping over her words, but you were too stunned to respond at first.

You blinked at her, feeling like a deer in headlights. Deep down, you didn’t want to disappoint her, but.

"No offense," you began, keeping your tone as flat as possible, "But I think I’d rather die."

Lily’s face fell, and she looked at you with pleading eyes. "Y/N, please! It’s the one thing I’m asking of you, and I think it would be good for us."

You scoffed, looking back at your book as she moved to sit across from you. "With all due respect, Lily, your friends are not my type of crowd."

"They aren’t all that bad," she insisted, clearly trying to convince you.

You snorted. "Oh, and that’s why they decided to dump yellow paint on all the first years last spring?"

"That’s the Marauders, and they’re only, like, 60 percent of my friends. I really only like Remus and Peter," she argued, her frustration and humor mixing together.

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at her defense. "Sorry, Lily. It’s gonna be a no."

You grabbed your book, standing up to leave.

But Lily stood in your way. "I’ll do anything! Your chores, your Potions homework—anything!"

You smiled in spite of yourself and tried to move around her. "Please, I just want to get to dinner."

"Please!" she begged, giving you her best puppy-dog eyes.

You rolled your eyes. "Okay, fine."

"Really?" she asked, her face lighting up in excitement.

"No," you grinned mischievously, moving past her and out of the library.

She groaned, clearly defeated. "You’re impossible."

A part of you wanted to help her, but you didn’t want to be stuck with the Marauders and her other friends for two weeks. It would be too long, and you’d be the outcast. The thought alone made you shudder.

But you were glad Lily was kind enough to accept your answer—at least, you thought she did.

--

You were sitting on a bench near the Black Lake with Pandora when the first nuisance of the day arrived.

"Hey, Y/N!" You turned to see Sirius Black striding toward you with that all-too-familiar charm and golden smile.

Pandora’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. "Is Sirius Black seriously coming over to you?"She asked, her words half-mushed with the cookie she was eating.

"That was a really odd phrasing for a question," You said, raising an eyebrow.

By the time you turned back to face him, Sirius was right in front of you, out of breath from his slight run.

"Wow, with that much stamina, Quidditch must be a useless sport," You joked as Pandora giggled.

"Nice one, madame," Sirius said, slipping onto the bench beside you without invitation, and you groaned in annoyance.

"What do you want?" You asked, trying to gently push him away.

"Well, a little birdie told me you said no to coming to James’s winter cabin," He said, grinning.

"If Lily thinks sending you is going to make me change my mind, she’s got another thing coming. I mean, I might’ve gone with Remus," You added sarcastically, watching as Sirius pretended to be wounded.

"That actually kind of hurts," He pouted, and you almost considered hexing him for real.

"Well, tell her you failed. I’m leaving this conversation," You said, standing up and moving toward the Great Hall, Pandora following quickly behind.

"But it will be fun!" He yelled.

"God, he’s truly insufferable," You muttered.

Pandora chewed thoughtfully. "His efforts are cute," She said as you glared at her, before adding, "But pointless and insufferable. I agree."

You laughed. "That’s certainly enough Marauder for one day."

And you thought that was the end of it.

--

You were packing up your things in Potions when another Marauder approached you, much to your dismay.

Before Remus could speak, you cut him off. "So, Sirius actually took me seriously when I said sending you could work?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"That’s seriously Sirius for you," Remus said, trying to joke. You raised an eyebrow, glancing at Barty and Evan, who were stifling laughs.

Clearing his throat, Remus tried again. "You know, we don’t bite."

"What if I do?" You retorted, as Barty and Evan snickered.

"Then perhaps you could be something new for us. We’d love to have you," He said with a serious tone, though you weren’t convinced.

"I'm sure you would, Remus, but I can’t say the same for Golden Boy himself," You muttered, grabbing the last of your books and shoving them into your bag.

"James holds no malicious intent toward you," Remus said earnestly. "He promised Lily he wouldn’t."

"That’s great, but I hold malicious intent toward him," You snapped, walking away from Remus as you left Barty and Evan to their conversation.

And, as if that wasn’t enough, they sent in the Lion.

You were lying on the common room couch with Regulus when you heard the door creak open, and there he was—James Potter.

Regulus blinked at him in surprise. You groaned. "How did you even get in here?" You asked, already annoyed.

"It was actually quite easy. You Slytherins are predictable," he said, clearly trying to insult you, though you didn’t care enough to react.

"Well, I’m glad, but if you think you can convince me to go, you’re bloody mistaken," You retorted.

He stood in front of you, towering over you as you sat up and fixed him with a dangerous glare. "Come on, Y/N. You know me!" He tried the nice-guy approach.

"I know you?" You asked angrily, "I certainly don’t know you and don’t want to," You shot back, stubbornly.

He huffed. "Then why don’t you do it for Lily?" He asked, arms crossed.

You stood to face him, matching his height with a glare of your own. "Because none of you actually want me there, and I refuse to go somewhere I’m not wanted or where I don't want to go," You stated firmly.

"Well, maybe we can get to know you. Maybe you don’t have a stick up your arse after all," He replied, sounding more teasing than serious.

"The only stick in my arse is you trying to wedge yourself into me and Lily’s relationship for the billionth time," You shot back, your patience wearing thin.

"I think if you actually cared about fixing your relationship with her, you’d come and enjoy this with her," He said, his words hitting a little too close to home. "But hey, it’s up to you. Just know, she’d do the same for you," He added, walking out of the room.

You stood there, staring at the door, trying to process his words. You didn’t want to be selfish, but you didn’t want to spend two weeks with people who didn’t care for you, either.

Regulus broke the silence. "So, I guess you’re going to the cabin tomorrow," He muttered, glancing up from his magazine.

You groaned, flopping back onto the couch.

"I guess I am."

[milla-frenchy]

Out of the QZ

1k5 | Joel Miller x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist Summary: you act like a brat with Joel. He puts you in place Warnings: 18+ mdni. spanking, fingering, size kink, degradation, oral (m), ball sucking, rough sex, piv. No age specified

a/n:  Fic inspired by this post (I was supposed to work on my wips, damn) Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for beta-ing, love you 💕🫶 @arcanefox207 for the famous gif 😍❤️ and @/saradika-graphics for the dividers 🙏

“I'm fuckin’ sick of your damn mood. What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Yeah? Well stop talking to me. Do what you usually do, grumble. It'll be better for everyone,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Joel looked at you, nostrils flaring. You had been getting on his nerves since this morning. He had looked at you questioningly at first, not used to those mood swings from you. He gave you some space, but as the day progressed it had been harder for him to keep his cool. In the afternoon, his patience was melting like snow in the sun, and several warning glances from him didn’t change it. You kept huffing every time he opened his mouth. 

You were finally approaching the place where you were going to spend the night, before reaching Lincoln the next day. Backpacks filled with aluminum spools for Bill's fence, and medicine for Frank. It was the first time you left the QZ in months and Joel was nervous. And you... you were in an inexplicably bad mood. And now his anger was rising fully.

“Go check behind the house. I'll check the side.”

“Can't you just do it yourself, mister I-do-everything-better-than-everyone-else?”

“Now that’s enough!” he growled, grabbing your wrist sharply and pulling you into the small house.

“Sit,” he said, after he slammed the door behind you, hands on his hips and a dark look on his face.

“I'm not a damn dog, Joel. Who do you think you are?”

He grabbed your arm and before you realized it he sat on the bed, and lay you over his lap.

“I'm tired of your bullshit,” he said, before crushing his hand on your pants-covered ass.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you whined. He had spanked you hard, hand flat, and it hurt like hell. You couldn't believe it.

“You're done?” he asked, jaw clenched.

You still couldn't help yourself, couldn’t stop. Now really pissed off at being held like that, and punished.

“That's all you got, Miller?”

His forearm pressed against your back just before he spanked you a second time, making you cry out this time.

“Shut up. We didn't check the perimeter because of your fuckin’ attitude,” he barked while holding you on his knees.

“Oh, that’s great, Joel. Use your strength if that’s the only way you know how to deal with me.”

“You're actin’ like a brat, I treat you like one, that's what I'm doin’. You're done?”

“Fuck… you….” you answered as calmly as you were able to.

His hand landed a third time, in the exact same spot.

“Fuck,” you gasped, unable to stop your thighs from squeezing against each together.

“What the… you’re turned on?!”

“No!! No, of course not!”

He spanked you again and this time you couldn’t hold back a moan from escaping your lips. When you felt his cock pressing against you, you stopped breathing for a second.

“Joel…,” you didn’t know if you were still pissed or aroused. Probably both.

You didn't even know what was going on with you. Your bad mood had been consuming you all day, without any reason. You were just pissed and couldn’t keep it to yourself. 

And nothing had ever happened between Joel and you so far. You trusted each other when you were out of the QZ, you saw each other more or less regularly inside its walls, but nothing more.

When he pulled your pants down your thighs, you stopped moving, totally disconcerted by his gesture.

“Joel, what the fuck?”

“Told you to shut up,” he said in a low voice, his hand caressing your burning ass. You tried to pull away, without much conviction. His fist was tight on your jacket, holding you in place.

You stopped struggling when he reached your pussy and glided his hand along your folds.

“We shouldn’t…”

“You’ve been on my nerves all day, now shut the fuck up.”

His middle finger slid between your drooling folds. “Fuck,” you murmured.

“You’re fuckin’ soaked. That’s what was itching you all day? You needed to be spanked like the damn brat that you’ve been?”

“I… I just…” your words got stuck in your throat as he started to finger fuck you, before quickly adding a second one. His cock was pressing against you, and it seemed fucking big.

“Shit, you’re drippin’.”

“Oh fuck, yes!” you whined, when he brushed your clit. Way too perfectly. As if the apocalypse had never dampened his ease at fingering a cunt. And maybe it never had. Maybe he fucked every month or every week or more in the QZ, what did you know about it, anyway?

He pulled his fingers out and you whimpered.

“You really thought I’d let you come?” he scoffed. “Now you’re gonna do as I say and kneel. Got it?” he asked, brows furrowed, after getting up. You fell on your knees, your pants still at mid-thighs.

“You’re gonna suck my cock,” he said, undoing his belt then unzipping, “at least I won’t hear you grawl or whine, for some time.”

He pulled his cock out and having felt it against you earlier didn’t make you less surprised. It was massive, with a reddish tip, twitching and flowing with precum.

“Yeah, I know, it’s big. Now suck it.”

His cock in one hand, he placed the other on the back of your neck, forcing you closer. You rounded your lips as best you could, taking his tip in your mouth. The precum invaded your throat, flowing slowly. You sucked his tip, trying to get used to its width. You didn't have much choice, with his hands holding you like a fuck doll. He didn't try to push himself further, but he was holding you in place. 

“Much better for my nerves when your mouth’s full.”

You felt his gaze lowered towards you and you looked up. His jaw was clenched, tense. He raised his eyebrows as if to say that you shouldn’t have messed with him.

You kept sucking him until he pulled back and took his massive balls in his hand. “Suck,” he growled. “They’ve been tense all day, because of your attitude.”

Tongue flat, you licked each of them, sucking their delicate skin, covered in some slightly gray hairs, mixed with your saliva that had flowed down his shaft when you blew him off.

“That’s it, actin’ like a good girl now, finally…” He was jerking off slowly, his impressive length just above your nose.

“I should paint your face, but I wanna feel that greedy cunt around me. Get on the bed, undressed. On your back. Wanna see your face when I’m gonna be balls deep in your pussy.”

You took off your clothes and lay down, thinking he would undress too. But he stayed fully dressed, coat on, and he was even hotter like this.

He didn’t wait, didn’t try to give you time. As soon as he settled between your thighs he thrust in one go, his hand around your neck. “Oh, fuck!” you cried when he bottomed out. He used you, growling about how tight you were, thrusting hard, keeping the same pace until your moans filled the room. Pulling out, he growled, “Don’t you dare. You don’t deserve to come so quickly.” He manhandled you on all fours and climbed on the bed, kneeling behind you, holding onto your hips before thrusting in again. He took all he needed, finally releasing the pressure of the day, using your pussy like he would use his fist.

“You’re gonna lose that goddamn attitude, now?” he asked, panting in your ear.

“Yes, yes! Fuck, let me come.”

“Ask nicely.”

“Please, Joel. Please, let me come.”

“Come then… fuckin’ brat.”

You hastily slid your hand down to your pussy, twirling your clit under your finger. It took only a few seconds for you to pulse on his shaft, a dumb grin on your face. When you stopped shaking, you felt him close to coming too, but he didn't pull out.

“Joel, we shouldn’t…”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m about to come,” he groaned, his hand tightening around the back of your neck and pulling you sharply towards him.

“We shouldn't keep going, pull out, pull out, please!”

“If you ever act like that again, next time I won’t pull out. Got it?” he said, squeezing your shoulder. “And if it sticks, you’ll be the one who’ll have to deal with a damn kid. And I kinda like the idea, right now. We clear?”

“Yes, yes!”

He pulled out at the last moment, growling, his cum covering the inside of your thighs, and then finally released you. He let his weight collapse on top of you, both of you lying on the bed, catching your breath.

“You should have told me sooner that taking a cock was all you needed to calm down,” he grunted.

He stood up, and tucked his cock in his pants.

“Now, get dressed, and go check behind the house. I’ll check the side. Let’s hope your moans didn’t attract a shit ton of infected. Jesus.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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@pascalsanctuary @littlemisspascal @survivingandenduring

[evilminji]

Dani should Kidnap The Clones.

It's basicly protective custody. Preemptive child services, if you will. NONE of these fuckers out here makin adorable clone baby just cause they want kids!

*kicks down the door to your shady lab* Knock Knock! ITS THE POLICE! *Walker's Shock troopers swarm the place as Dani secures the kids*

Look me in the eyes. You KNOW he'd love an excuse to enforce The Rules on people technically outside his jurisdiction. It's for The Children(tm)! Why, he simply had no CHOICE!

Meanwhile? Dani is shoving all these mal-adjusted Murder Clones into her Lair? Which is? Basicly a Door style Lair she hid inside Danny's Lair for safe keeping. It's shoved behind a vending machine just outside the observatory. And the inside? Goes on for DAYS.

Like national parks and every beautiful beach she ever came across. She smashed together the BEST sights and places she's found in her travels, like a collection. Always adding more. New waterfalls, new noodle shops, new fields of wine grapes. It's... beautiful. Snapshots of every wonderous little thing about Earth, stitched together.

They can't hurt anyone. Can't achieve their "objectives". Are just treated like actual individuals and the children they truely are. Are surrounded by other Clones. So it's NORMAL here. Just? All of it.

But also?

Dani and Dan? Teaming up to make History's Scariest Adoption Agency(TM). Dan runs it. Dan wants to know why EXACTLY you want a kid. Explain yourself to Dan. What are your references? Qualifications. He's doing a home visit to inspect the premises. He BETTER not find any suspicious Labs.

And? It just? Appears out of nowhere. It's powered by Zone Bullshit. One second you're thinking "oh woe is me D:> I will never have a child to fill my lovely home, because of all my Superhero Secrets and also because government bureaucracy!" And the next?

.....wasn't that an out of business taco bell? "Zone Adoptions"?

"....Free Clone Baby?"

Okay that is HIGHLY suspicious and as a hero you are basicly legally obligated to investigate. But now it's bigger on the inside? Fancy waiting room? You are being interrogated? Wait, no, you're supposed to be the one doing the-?

Somehow? You leave with your Clone Son from another Dimension. And a pamphlet. You're scheduled for a home visit in three days. You... you never told them where you live.

Somehow that doesn't seem like it will slow them down.

Did the Fae just Suprise Baby you with a clone baby? Can they DO that? W... what's happening? What days is this? Who ARE YOU PEOPLE?! HUH!?!?

Just? Imagine. IMAGINE. I was gonna say Bruce... but?

Damian.

He finds himself... pondering What Could Have Been. Had his Clones not wanted him dead. Wondering if he could have saved them. If, perhaps, he had found them as infants. Raised them. Could he have given them a good life? Been a good father?

He gets emotional. Fatherly. He's about 14.

Dan's been around Ghosts too long to remember how humans age or how age relates to development. This one TALKS like An Adult. Must be one. Probably just short.

And Damian? Never backs down. The second Dan starts challenging him? His character is flawless and his morals divine. He has never done anything wrong, ever, in his LIFE. Fuck you. And on TOP of that? He not only will be the SINGLE GREATEST FATHER TO EVER FATHER, his home is the most loving and beloved ON THE PLANET!

In entirety of EARTH'S history, no less!

....what are they arguing about?

*is handed a baby and kicked out of Dan's adoption agency*

See you in a few days!

(o.o ) *happy gurgling from the baby* *Damian.exe has stopped working*

Smash cut, after Damian speed runs his stages of grief at his own Dumbass Life Choices, to his rocking back up at the Manor like? Congratulations, Father. I have brought you your first grandson! Do Not ask how I obtained him. It was likely dubiously legal but I will not be returning him. We have bonded.

And just? Annihilating the collective Bats on one go. You did what? You have What?! That is a baby! WHY IS THERE A BABY?! How is there a baby!? WHOS BABY!? *sirens going off and everyone panicking*

Will Damian be allowed to KEEP the Baby? Ha! Hell no. Bruce will. Damian is a child. But it will be a Needlessly Dramatic Bat Cold War Of Dramatic Drama to pry that small cherubic baby from his grip long enough for Bruce to fill out the paperwork.

Child thieving bastard that he is. How dare he. That is Damian's SON! D:<

*happy oblivious baby noises as Alfred feeds him in the background, while the Bats do their Dramatic Custody War*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @hypewinter @nerdpoe @lolottes @mutable-manifestation

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Battery rationality

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/12/06/shoenabombers/#paging-dick-cheney

After 9/11, we were told that "no cost was too high" when it came to fighting terrorism, and indeed, the US did blow trillions on forever wars and regime change projects and black sites and kidnappings and dronings and gulags that were supposed to end terrorism.

Back in the imperial core, we all got to play the home edition of the "no price is too high" War on Terror game. New, extremely invasive airport security measures were instituted. A "no-fly" list as thick as a phone book, assembled in secret, without any due process or right of appeal, was produced and distributed to airlines, and suddenly, random babies and sitting US Senators couldn't get on airplanes anymore, because they were simultaneously too dangerous to fly and also not guilty enough to charge with any crime:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/20/damn-the-shrub/#no-nofly

We lost our multitools, our knitting needles, our medical equipment, all in the name of keeping another boxcutter rebellion from rushing the cockpit. As security expert Bruce Schneier repeatedly pointed out back then, the presence of (for example) glass bottles on the drinks trolley meant that would-be terrorists could trivially avail themselves of an improvised edged weapon that was every bit as deadly as 9/11's box cutters.

According to Schneier, there were exactly two meaningful security measures taken in those days: reinforcing cockpit doors, and teaching basic self-defense to flight crews. Everything else was "security theater," a term coined to describe the entire business, from TSA confiscations to warehouses full of useless "chemical sniffer" booths that were supposed to smell out bombs on our person:

https://www.motherjones.com/politics/2010/01/airport-scanner-scam/

Security theater isn't just about deploying measures that don't work – it's also about defending yourself against risks that don't exist. You know how this goes: in 2001, Richard Reid – AKA "The Shoenabomber" – tried to blow up a plane with explosives he'd hidden in his shoes. It didn't work, because it's a stupid idea – and then we all took off our shoes for a quarter-century:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Reid

In 2006, a gang of amateur chemists hatched a plan to synthesize explosives in an airplane toilet sink, scheming to smuggle in different reagents and precursors in their carry-on luggage, then making a bomb in the sky and taking down the plane and all its passengers. The "Hair Gel Bombers" were caught before the could try their scheme, but even if they had made it onto the plane, they would have failed. Their liquid explosive recipe started with mixing up a "piranha bath" – a mixture of sulfuric acid and hydrogen peroxide – that needs to be kept extremely cold for a long time, or it will turn into instantly lethal gas. If the liquid bomb plot had gone ahead, the near-certain outcome would have been the eventual discovery of an asphyxiated terrorist in the bathroom, lips blue and lungs burned away, face down in a shallow sink filled with melting ice-cubes:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2006_transatlantic_aircraft_plot

The fact that these guys failed utterly didn't have any impact on the dramaturges who ran the world's security theater. We're still having our liquids taken away at airport checkpoints.

Why did we have to defend ourselves against imaginary attacks that had been proven not to work? Because "no price was too high to pay" in the War on Terror. As Schneier pointed out, this was obvious nonsense: there is a 100% effective, foolproof way to prevent all attacks on civilian aircraft. All we need to do is institute a 100% ban on air travel. We didn't do that, because "no price is too high to pay" was always bullshit. Some prices are obviously too high to pay.

Which is why we still get to keep our underwear on, even after Umar Farouk "Underwear Bomber" Abdulmutallab's failed 2009 attempt to blow up an airplane with a bomb he'd hidden in his Y-fronts:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Umar_Farouk_Abdulmutallab

It's why we aren't all getting a digital rectal exam every time we fly, despite the fact that hiding a bomb up your ass actually works, as proven by Abdullah "Asshole Bomber" al-Asiri, who blew his torso off with a rectally inserted bomb in 2009 in a bid to kill a Saudi official:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abdullah_al-Asiri

Apparently, giving every flier a date with Doctor Jellyfinger is too high a price to pay for aviation safety, too.

Now, theatrical productions can have very long runs (The Mousetrap ran in London for 70 years!), but eventually the curtain rings down on every stage. It's possible we're present for the closing performance of security theater.

On September 17, the Israeli military assassinated 12 people in Lebanon and wounded 2,800 more by blowing up their pagers and two-way radios whose batteries had been gimmicked with pouches of PETN, a powerful explosive. This is a devastating attack, because we carry a ton of battery-equipped gadgets around with us, and most of them are networked and filled with programmable electronics, so they can be detonated based on a variety of circumstances – physical location, a specific time, or a remote signal.

What's more, PETN-gimmicked batteries are super easy to make and effectively impossible to detect. In a breakdown published a few days after the attack, legendary hardware hacker Andrew "bunnie" Huang described the hellmouth that had just been opened:

https://www.bunniestudios.com/blog/2024/turning-everyday-gadgets-into-bombs-is-a-bad-idea/

The battery in your phone, your laptop, your tablet, and your power-bank is a "lithium pouch battery." These are manufactured all over the world, and you don't need a large or sophisticated factory to make one. It would be effectively impossible to control the manufacture of these batteries. You can make batteries in "R&D quantities" for about $50,000. Alibaba will sell you a full, turnkey "pouch cell assembly line" for about $10,000. More reputable vendors want as little as $15,000.

A pouch cell is composed of layers of "cathode and anode foils between a polymer separator that is folded many times." After a machine does all this folding, the battery is laminated into a pouch made of aluminum foil, which is then cleaned up, labeled, and flushed into the global supply chain.

To make a battery bomb, you mix PETN "with binders to create a screen-printed sheet" that's folded and inserted into the battery, in such a way as to produce a shaped charge that "concentrat[es] the shock wave in an area, effectively turning the case around the device into a small fragmentation grenade."

Doing so will reduce the capacity of the battery by about 10% or less, which is within the normal variations we see in batteries. If you're worried about getting caught by someone who's measuring battery capacity, you can add an extra explosive sheet to the battery's interior, increasing the thickness of a 10-sheet battery by 10%, which is within the tolerance for normal swelling.

Once the explosive is laminated inside its (carefully cleaned) aluminum pouch, there's no way to detect the chemical signature of the PETN. The pouch seals that all in. The PETN and other components of the battery are too similar to one another to be detected with X-ray fluorescence, and the multi-layer construction of a battery also foils attempts to peer inside it with Spatially Offset Raman Spectroscopy.

According to bunnie, there are no ways to detect a battery bomb through visual inspection, surface analysis or X-rays. You can't spot it by measuring capacity or impedance with electromechanical impedance spectroscopy. You could spot it with a high-end CT scan – a half-million dollar machine that takes about 30 minutes for each scan. You might be able to spot it with ultrasound.

Lithium batteries have "protection circuit modules" – a small circuit board with a chip that helps with the orderly functioning of the battery. To use one of these to detonate a PETN-equipped battery, you'd only have to make a small, board-level rewiring, which could deliver a charge via a "third wire" – the NTC temperature sensor that's standard in batteries.

Bunnie gets into a lot more detail in his post. It's frankly terrifying, because it's hard to read this without concluding that, indeed, any battery in any gadget could actually be a powerful, undetectable bomb. What's more, supply chain security sucks and bunnie runs down several ways you could get these batteries into your target's gadget. These range from the nefarious to the brute simple: "buy a bunch of items from Amazon, swap out the batteries, restore the packaging and seals, and return the goods to the warehouse."

Bunnie's point is that, having shown the world that battery bombs are possible, the Israelis have opened the hellmouth. They were the first ones to do this, but they won't be the last. We need to figure out something before "the front line of every conflict [is brought] into your pocket, purse or home."

All of that is scary af, sure, but note what hasn't happened in the wake of an extremely successful, nearly impossible to defeat explosives attack that used small electronics of the same genus as the pocket rectangles virtually every air traveler boards a plane with. We've had no new security protocols instituted since September 17, likely because no one can think of anything that would work.

Now, in the heady days when the security theater was selling out every performance and we were all standing in two-hour lines to take our shoes off, none of this would have mattered. The TSA's motto of "when in trouble, or in doubt, run in circles, scream and shout" would have come to the fore. We'd be forced to insert our phones into some grifter's nonfunctional billion-dollar PETN dowsing-box, or TSA agents would be ordering us to turn on our phones and successfully play eleven rounds of Snake, or we'd be forced to lick our phones to prove that they weren't covered in poison.

But today, we're keeping calm and carrying on. The fact that something awful exists is, well, awful, but if we don't know what to do about it, there's no sense in just doing something, irrespective of whether that will help. We could order everyone to leave their phones at home when they fly, but then no one would fly anymore, and obviously, no one seriously thinks "no price is too high" for safety. Some prices are just too high.

I started thinking about all this last week, when I was in New Delhi to give a keynote for the annual meeting of the International Cooperative Alliance, which was jointly held with the UN as the inauguration of the UN International Year of Coops, with an address from UN Secretary General Antonio Guterres:

https://2025.coop/

When I arrived in New Delhi, my hosts were somewhat flustered because Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi had just announced that he would give the opening keynote, which meant a lot of rescheduling and shuffling – but also a lot of security. I was told that the only things I could bring to the conference center the next day were my badge, my passport and my hotel room key. I couldn't bring a laptop, a phone or a spare battery. I couldn't even bring a pen ("they're worried about stabbings").

Modi – a lavishly corrupt authoritarian genocidier – has a lot of reasons to worry about his security. He has actual enemies who sometimes blow stuff up, and if one of them took him out, he wouldn't be the first Indian PM to die by assassination.

But the speakers and delegates gathered in the hotel lobby the next morning, we were told that we could bring phones, after all. Because of course we could. You can't fly people from all over the world to India and then ask them to forego the device they use as translator, map, note-taker, personal diary, and credit card. Some prices are just too high.

They took a lot of security measures. Everyone went through a metal detector, naturally. Then, we were sealed in the plenary room for more than an hour while the building was sealed off. Armed men were stationed all around the room, and the balcony outside the room was ringed with snipers:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/54165263130/

We were prohibited from leaving our seats from the time Modi entered the room until he left it again, despite the fact that the PM was never more than a few steps from the single most terrifying bodyguard I'd ever seen:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/doctorow/54164805776/

And yet: the fact that we were less than two months out from an extremely successful, highly public demonstration of the weaponization of small batteries in personal electronics did not mean that we all had to leave our phones at the hotel.

After that, I'm tempted to think that, just possibly, security theater's curtain has rung down and its long SRO run has come to an end. It's a small bright spot in a dark time, but I'll take it.

[luxerians]

The Last Mask (12)

Hwang In-ho/Oh Young-il/Player 001 x Reader

Chapter 12 - Lights Out

Story Masterlist

NEXT : Chapter 13

PREV : Chapter 11

A tense silence lingered in the dormitory, each second dragging as if time itself had slowed. The weight of the announcement loomed over everyone. None of you could decipher its meaning, except for two. Gi-hun stood rigidly, his face etched with apprehension, while Young-il exuded an unsettling calmness.

The sharp creak of opening doors shattered the silence. On either side of the main double doors, smaller ones slid open, revealing triangle guards escorting a group of male players. A wave of confusion rippled through you as the scene unfolded. The door on the right was supposed to lead to the women’s restroom. Why were men emerging from it? And why were they being led by triangle guards? Restroom visits during free time had never been an issue before.

Your confusion deepened as you took in the state of the players. Their faces showed clear signs of weariness, their uniforms were disheveled, and some bore visible injuries. A few had streaks of blood smeared across their clothes and faces.

You tried to piece together the situation but before you could make sense of it, a player coming from the door in the O zone charged forward, his voice cutting through the murmurs. “Team O, everyone!”

It was Thanos’ friend, player 124. Blood streaked his face and hands, his movements frantic. “We… When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us! They killed some of us, including my friend-”

His words ignited a spark that lit the room. Many players, including Young-il beside you, rose to their feet, the tension pulling them like magnets toward the unfolding drama. You remained seated, too stunned to move, your mind racing to process his claims.

“Bullshit,” another voice rang out. It was player 047, one of the X players.

At this point, all players who had gone to the bathroom had emerged from the doors on both sides, their steps sluggish, their faces marked with fatigue and wariness. Blood and bruises hinted at a violent encounter. Player 047 pointed an accusing finger at player 124. “You’re the ones who started it.”

The dormitory shifted as X and O players descended the staircases, aligning themselves with their respective allies, and the center became filled rapidly as the two groups faced off. The air was thick with crackling tension. The red and blue lines were the only ones separating potential chaos from an all-out eruption.

Player 047’s voice broke through again, this time addressing the X players around him. “They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”

“That’s right!” another X player, his face streaked with blood, shouted in agreement.

“Hey, hey,” countered a bald O player. Blood stained his shirt, adding to the heated atmosphere. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”

“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” an X player (145) snapped back. His voice was raw with rage. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?!”

The crowd’s energy escalated, players inching closer to the brink of another verbal brawl. The shouting grew louder, overlapping into a chaotic storm of voices.

Then player 100’s booming voice silenced them all. “So��� which side lost more people?!”

Your breath caught. You stared at him in disbelief. That’s what he cares about? Not the fact that some people among us had crossed the boundary and killed others?

You turned your gaze to the triangle guards stationed by the doors. Their stony silence was unsettling. Why didn’t they intervene? Was this all part of the game? Did they truly not care about players slaughtering each other?

Your eyes shifted to the massive piggy bank suspended near the ceiling. Its ominous presence loomed over the room, a constant reminder of the stakes. In that moment, it all clicked. The guards didn’t intervene because they didn’t need to. Player eliminations, whether by games or murder, were part of the system. Each death fueled the prize money. It was a macabre incentive for chaos.

Horror crept over you as you looked back at the crowd. Soon enough, all players would understand this and take advantage of it. The greed in some players’ eyes was bright and wild at this point. This wasn’t just a game anymore; it was an opportunity for those willing to kill.

Player 100’s voice snapped you out of your grim thoughts. “Everyone! Let’s count the numbers! Come on down!”

Player 047 moved toward your group’s corner, raising his arms to rally the X voters. “Everyone! Gather around!”

Dae-ho followed suit, his voice urgent as he encouraged others to gather. “We need everyone down here! Come on!”

The next thing you knew, every X player had gathered in your group’s corner, sitting on the staircases in a reverse pyramid formation. The only one standing among you was player 047, who stood on the floor, facing everyone and counting each person carefully.

You sat next to Young-il, his calm demeanor contrasting sharply with the anticipation in the air. On your other side sat Gi-hun, followed by Jung-bae and Dae-ho. Behind your row were Se-mi, Jun-hee, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, the mother, and Yong-sik. All eyes were fixed on player 047 as he completed his count.

Once finished, he spoke in a hushed tone, “Two people died on our side.”

“Two out of five,” a female player behind Gyeong-seok noted quietly. “That means they lost three people.”

Se-mi, seated directly behind you, added, “Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow.”

Jung-bae leaned in excitedly, his whisper carrying to everyone nearby. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!”

His words sparked a ripple of hope among the X players. Whispered cheers and quiet smiles spread through the group, their restraint driven by the need to avoid attracting attention from the O players.

“We’ll win.”

“We can get out of here tomorrow.”

The whispered sentiments filled the air with a fragile optimism. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a flicker of relief. Despite the losses during the bathroom brawl, the prospect of finally leaving this place without more deaths felt within reach.

You glanced at Young-il, hoping to share in the collective hope, but his expression caught you off guard. He remained still. There was no hint of relief or excitement. Instead, he exuded an unsettling calmness. His gaze seemed distant as though his thoughts were already a step ahead of everyone else.

The familiar chime of the school bell echoed through the dormitory, cutting through the murmurs and drawing everyone’s attention. The announcer’s voice followed: “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

Player 047 stood up and turned to face the gathered X players. His voice was low, meant only for those in your group. “Listen. You cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. Alright?”

A wave of quiet agreement rippled through the group. Nods and murmurs of affirmation filled the space.

Then, remembering the events that had sparked the earlier fight in the men’s bathroom, you leaned forward slightly and spoke in a hushed tone, “If you get bullied or forced to vote otherwise, tell us.”

This time, the nods were more deliberate, accompanied by whispers of support:

“That’s right. Don’t go anywhere alone tonight.”

“Yes, for one night. We can do this.”

As the group’s focus sharpened, your gaze drifted across the crowd. You spotted Yong-sik gently patting his mother’s back as tears brimmed in her eyes. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and hope, as if she couldn't believe the nightmare would finally end soon. Nearby, Hyun-ju was smiling softly at Jun-hee. Her hand rested lightly on Jun-hee’s knee, a quiet gesture of comfort and shared relief. Jun-hee returned the smile, her eyes shining with gratitude.

The sight warmed you. It was rare to see such unity, such shared understanding, especially in a place like this. Despite everything, the X players had formed a bond that felt genuine.

Slowly, the X players began to disperse, their movements calm and quiet. The hope in their eyes, the quiet smiles exchanged between them… it all felt like a fragile promise of better days. You stood, following your groupmates as they made their way back to your spot beneath the stairs.

You and your group sat in the enclosed space beneath the stairs. At first, it was just you, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Young-il, and Jun-hee. Soon, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, Yong-sik, and his mother joined, followed by players 047 and 145. Everyone was welcomed openly.

Forming a circle on the floor, you found yourself seated between Jun-hee and the mother, purposefully creating space between you and Young-il. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sit near him; you simply wanted to spend more time with Jun-hee. After all, you had been spending a lot of time with Young-il recently and you began to miss your little sister figure in this grim place. As you delicately combed her hair with your fingers, the soothing action seemed to bring a bit of peace to the moment.

Dae-ho stood suddenly, sneaking a glance toward the O players gathered across the dormitory. He crouched beside Gi-hun and spoke lowly, “Those bastards are acting suspicious. It looks like they’re up to something.”

Withdrawing your hand from Jun-hee’s hair, you looked at Dae-ho.

“Suspicious like how?” you asked, your tone innocent but laced with concern.

Dae-ho’s face was a mixture of worry and solemnity as he replied, “They keep whispering among themselves and glancing at our zone. They’re planning something.”

You followed his gaze. The O players were huddled together, their heads bent close, their voices low. Every so often, their eyes darted toward your corner. It was unsettling.

Jung-bae glanced over and scoffed. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”

Dae-ho, however, wasn’t convinced. His concern was evident as he asked, “You think we’ll be okay? They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier.”

Silence fell over the group, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone. You felt your stomach tighten. The memory of the bathroom fight, the deaths, and the lack of consequences made you feel cold. The guards' inaction during such violence sent a chilling message. If players killed each other, it was acceptable. The prize money would still grow.

“Once the lights go out,” Gi-hun’s voice broke the silence. He stared at the floor, his expression grim. “People on the other side will attack us.”

Your breath hitched. The certainty in his tone left no room for doubt. You felt your blood running cold as you fixed your wide-eyed stare at him.

Yong-sik’s wide eyes were glued on Gi-hun as he asked, “Really?”

Gi-hun nodded gravely. “Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize.”

Jun-hee’s already pale complexion turned ashen and she instinctively caressed her belly. Yong-sik’s mother froze in fear, her gaze locked on Gi-hun as though seeking reassurance where none existed. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged uneasy glances, both speechless. Meanwhile, Young-il sat unmoved, his expression emotionless and unreadable.

Yong-sik’s voice cracked slightly as he asked, “So what do we do?”

“Let’s attack them first,” Young-il said, his tone as measured as his words. The statement caused Gi-hun to look at him sharply. His gaze was immediately steely and serious. Young-il elaborated, “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use that to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

You couldn’t take your eyes off him, wondering if he had encountered this exact scenario in his previous game. The certainty in his tone was unsettling as if he was speaking from experience.

Player 047 broke the silence. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”

Player 145 nodded in agreement. “I agree.”

Before the idea could settle, Gi-hun’s voice cut through decisively. “We can’t do that.”

His immediate response stunned the group into silence.

Young-il stared pointedly at him in quiet surprise. “But we have to get out of here. You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”

Gi-hun didn’t flinch, his determination unwavering. “That doesn’t mean we should kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

You blinked. Jung-bae echoed the question that had formed in your mind as well. “They?”

Gi-hun’s eyes shifted to meet yours briefly before scanning the group. He spoke with quiet resolve. “The ones who created this game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho frowned. “Where are they?”

Gi-hun’s gaze lifted upward, and instinctively, you and the others followed it. The vast space above felt ominous and unreachable, a reminder of the system you were all trapped within. Young-il’s eyes flickered upward briefly before returning to Gi-hun, his expression unreadable but intense.

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from,” Gi-hun explained, his voice heavy with conviction. “The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”

Your eyebrows raised at the audacity of his plan, and you couldn’t help but ask, “Are you saying you plan to overthrow this whole management?”

Gi-hun’s determined yet grave eyes locked onto yours. He nodded firmly. “Yes.”

The room fell into a thick silence. You could feel the weight of his words pressing down on everyone, the enormity of what he was suggesting settling in. Some of the group exchanged glances. Gi-hun was a previous winner, and that lent him credibility, but this plan… it sounded almost impossible.

You stole a glance at Young-il, hoping to glean some insight from his reaction. His face was an enigma. It was void of emotion. Unreadable. Yet his unblinking stare at Gi-hun carried a weight of its own. It was as if he was dissecting every word, every intention behind the plan. His eyes seemed darker, his demeanor more solemn than usual like something deep and dark brewed beneath the surface.

You frowned, your curiosity piqued. What was he thinking? Why did he seem so skeptical, so… calculating? You couldn’t shake the feeling that Young-il’s silence carried as much weight as Gi-hun’s bold proclamation.

Finally, Young-il broke the silence, his voice measured. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

Gi-hun’s response was confident. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae pointed out, his tone tinged with innocence and disbelief.

Gi-hun turned to him, unfazed. “We’ll take their guns.”

Jung-bae stared at him, his disbelief morphing into something closer to exasperation. Gyeong-seok hesitated before asking, “From those masked men?”

Gi-hun gave a single, firm nod. Jung-bae sighed deeply, leaning his head back as though the mere thought of the plan was already weighing on him.

“That’s too dangerous,” Young-il interjected. His voice was steady but carried a note of caution. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

“What then?” Gi-hun fired back. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?”

Young-il froze, his mouth slightly open, although his eyes seemed darkly contemplative. Gi-hun pressed further. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”

Young-il didn’t counter. He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on Gi-hun. His expression hardened into something unreadable, but there was a weight in his silence – a seriousness that darkened his demeanor.

“Do we…” Hyun-ju spoke up, “...stand a chance?”

Gi-hun’s gaze shifted to her, his determination unwavering. “We do if we catch them off guard. Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”

You faintly noticed Young-il clenching his jaw, his expression hardening before he asked Gi-hun gravely, “How are you going to take their guns?”

Gi-hun scowled, his gaze sharp with concentration. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance.”

The group fell silent, waiting for him to elaborate. “When the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends.”

You frowned deeply, your displeasure evident. His plan didn’t sit well with you. Gi-hun pressed on, “Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

“What?” you interjected, surprise and frustration lacing your voice.

Jung-bae echoed your concern. “But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage. Without us in the fight, they’ll be outnumbered.”

“I know,” Gi-hun said, glancing at both you and Jung-bae. He then shifted his focus to the rest of the group. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”

Young-il’s gaze darkened, his tone carrying a heavy disbelief. “Are you suggesting that... we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?”

Gi-hun’s eyes locked with Young-il’s, recognizing the weight of his words. Still, he nodded very, very faintly. His voice held determination as he said, “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”

Young-il’s gaze dropped to the floor. You caught the faintest twitch of his lips as if he found the situation grimly ironic. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, saying nothing more.

Gi-hun continued, “Once the lights come on, the soldiers will come to settle the situation. They’ll try to break up the fight first. They won’t pay attention to the dead. They will scan our trackers to identify us. That’ll be our window.”

Your frustration bubbled over, and you finally voiced your thoughts. “Are you really going to leave our allies like that?”

All eyes turned to you, but your glare remained locked on Gi-hun. You added, “You’re telling me you’d hide under the bed and let the O players attack everyone in this zone? All for your plan?”

Gi-hun’s expression faltered slightly as if shocked that you had spoken up. His face then stiffened into resolve as he answered, “This is the only chance we have. Once this game is stopped, this game will no longer use us as pawns.”

“If I weren’t close to your group or involved with any of you, would I even know about this attack? Would you warn me?” you pressed, your voice rising slightly. “Would I be left to fend for myself against an ambush while you and the others hide?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened. “It’s not about leaving anyone behind. It’s about ending this game once and for all.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t help our people now,” you shot back. “We have to fight back, not just accept them as inevitable.”

Gi-hun’s brows furrowed, his voice rising. “Do you think it’s better to retaliate and play into their hands? Attacking back is exactly what they want. They want us to kill each other. To entertain them.”

“We’re not going to kill them,” you insisted. “We will defend ourselves. We can alert our people about the attack. Get them prepared. Get them to a safe spot where capable men can protect them. If needed, we can subdue the O players without bloodshed.”

Gi-hun’s confidence wavered for a moment under the weight of your words. Yet he persisted. “If we join the fight and lose even a few, it will ruin our chances of overthrowing this game. We must preserve all the best men we have right now.”

“Then we have to join the fight,” you answered in a steady, measured tone. “Defend without bloodshed. Defend as a team. If we join the fight, more capable men will survive the ambush. They will join you willingly.”

Gi-hun stared at you, his gaze faltering, and this time, he had no counter. His lips parted as though he wanted to say more, but the words never came. The others merely watched the two of you, their unease palpable. Dae-ho and Jung-bae exchanged nervous glances as though they hadn’t expected there would come a time when you and Gi-hun had disagreements.

Slowly, you rose to a crouching position. All eyes followed you, yet your focus remained on Gi-hun. Your voice was firm as you said, “Go ahead with your plan. I’m not stopping you. If you don’t want to join the fight, that’s fine. But the others deserve to know about the attack.”

Without waiting for a response, you stood up, turned on your heel and began walking toward the other X players, ready to share what you knew. You'd make sure no one was left defenseless.

You approached a pair of female X players sitting on a lower bunk bed. Their conversation halted as you leaned in, lowering your voice to a whisper. “Hey, sorry to interrupt, but I need to warn you. There’s going to be an attack when the lights go out.”

Their eyes widened. One of them glanced nervously around the dormitory before whispering back, “An attack? Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “The O players are planning to ambush us. You need to be ready.”

“What should we do?” the other asked, her voice barely audible.

You glanced around. “First, don’t throw away the fork that came with your gimbap. Keep it. You can use it to defend yourself if someone tries to attack you. Then, choose the beds near the wall or under the stairs. Hide under the bed once the ambush starts.”

Their expressions shifted, the initial confusion replaced by understanding.

“Do you have your water bottles?” you asked.

They nodded and quickly pulled the bottles from their bedding, each one half full.

“Good,” you said. “Keep those too. If anyone tries to harm you, aim for their head.”

They both nodded, fear flickering in their eyes.

“Thank you,” one of them whispered, her voice trembling but sincere.

You nodded back, giving them a reassuring look before moving on. As you navigated through the dim dormitory, scanning for more X players to warn, a hand landed on your shoulder. You jumped slightly, spinning around to see Young-il standing behind you. His gaze was calm but serious.

“How many people have you warned?” he asked in a low voice.

“A couple,” you said, catching your breath.

Before Young-il could respond, a group of familiar faces approached. Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047, and player 145 joined you. They stood together next to Young-il, eyes fixed on you.

“What else can we do?” Gyeong-seok asked calmly.

You quickly laid out the plan. “Warn every X players if possible. Tell them that we only defend and subdue. Tell them to keep their forks and water bottles. Get the women and elderly to move to beds under the stairs or near the walls. Before the Os attack us, inform them to hide under the beds for extra protection.”

“And let’s assign a few men to guard those areas,” Young-il added, glancing at the group. “We need to make sure someone is watching over them during the attack.”

“Got it. I will warn everyone on the left side of the zone,” Hyun-ju said.

Player 047 gestured to the opposite side. “We’ll handle the right. Let's warn them discreetly so the Os wouldn't suspect anything.”

Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, player 047 and 145 dispersed to begin warning the players. Young-il’s hand lingered briefly on your shoulder. “You’ve done enough here. Now go and find two beds next to each other for us both.”

You could tell immediately that Young-il planned to watch over you and guide you when the ambush began. That was why he insisted on finding two beds close together – one for him, one for you.

“How’s Gi-hun?” you asked.

Young-il hesitated, his gaze drifting briefly. “He was caught off guard. After you left, I told him to rethink his plan. He’s angry at the game maker and grieving for his friends from the last game, but I reminded him to consider the people here too.”

You nodded, letting his words sink in as you turned your attention to the rest of the dormitory. The quiet sound of shuffling feet caught your ear, and you noticed that many X players were busy preparing. Some were rummaging through the trash for discarded forks, others were marking their beds for strategic positioning, and a few had started spreading the word to others.

Your gaze shifted to Se-mi, who sat upright on her bed. She watched the quiet movements and whispered conversations around her but didn’t join in. Her demeanor suggested she was used to being on her own, even though she didn’t avoid social interactions entirely.

You gestured for Young-il to wait, then made your way to her. Se-mi noticed you approaching and looked up with a small, tired smile.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” you said, stopping by her bed.

“I prefer it this way,” she replied, her tone calm. “At least I don’t have to constantly watch my back or worry about getting betrayed.”

You stayed silent, sensing there was a deeper story behind her words. Maybe she had been left to fend for herself during the Mingle game.

“Then you need to be prepared,” you said after a pause. “Keep your fork and water bottle close. The Os are planning to attack us tonight. We just need to defend ourselves until the guards intervene.”

Se-mi’s eyes shifted toward the O zone, lingering for a moment as if she was trying to look for a certain player there. Then, her gaze dropped to her bed, and she gave a small nod. “Sure. Thanks for the heads-up.”

“If you need help during lights out,” you said, offering a small, reassuring smile, “find me or anyone in my group. We’ll help you.”

She looked at you, staring for a little while as if she was trying to find any trace of fakeness in your expression. Then, she brought her gaze downward. “Thanks.”

You nodded, then turned and walked away, giving her the space she seemed to value. As you moved through the dormitory, you scanned the faces around you, searching for others who might need a warning or reassurance.

The air in the room felt heavier now. More X players were talking in hushed tones, their movements deliberate as they adjusted their beds or collected anything they could use as a weapon. Some looked confident, while others were clearly masking their fear. You couldn’t blame them. The uncertainty of what was coming was enough to unsettle anyone.

You spotted Hyun-ju near the wall, speaking with a small group of women. She caught your eye and gave a subtle nod, signaling that she was making progress on her side. Not far from her, Gyeong-seok was quietly showing a few older players the safer spots under the stairs. Everyone was falling into place, the plan taking shape with a kind of quiet urgency.

As you continued to move, Young-il’s presence beside you was both reassuring and grounding. He didn’t say much, but his watchful gaze and calm demeanor made it clear he was assessing everything, ready to step in if needed.

“Do you think they’ll really try something?” you asked him quietly.

“It’s likely,” he replied. “There are no consequences, and the prize money grows with every elimination. For some people, that’s enough motivation.”

You nodded, his words confirming what you already suspected. The Os weren’t just competitors now. They were potential threats.

***

“Lights out in ten seconds.”

At this point, everyone was in bed. Your bed was right next to Young-il. You were lying on the bed on your back with the blanket up to your chest. With one glance to the side, you noticed Young-il staring upward calmly, lying on his back.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, mfour , three, two, one.”

The lights went out, darkening the whole dormitory except for the O and X lights on the floor. The piggy bank light was turned off for some reason this time.

Nevertheless, you quickly moved out of the bed as silent as possible. You noticed more figures getting out of their bed too in the X zone. You noticed they were all women and the elderly. They were moving to hide under the bed or to a safe spot.

You quietly moved to hide under your bed. Young-il stayed in his bed, feigning sleep with his eyes closed. You looked towards the center and there they were.

The O players were quietly creeping from their beds and onto the floor. They crept slowly and silently in the center towards the X zone. The blue light of the O sign below them shone light on their forms. They were carrying forks. They were led by player 124, the late Thanos’ close friend. You faintly detected player 100 behind all of them, choosing to stay safe and let his pawns do all the dirty work.

Once a few of them crossed the red lines belonged to X zone in the center, they sprinted. They no longer cared about being heard. They dashed towards the X players’ beds and climbed up.

You were shocked to see someone rushing towards Young-il’s bed and aimed his fork on him, but Young-il was fast. He simply wrapped his arm around with his blanket and then wrapped it around his neck. Young-il tugged the blanket – which was coiled around the assailant’s neck – until the O player was tied to the railing of his bed, subdued.

Screams began to erupt, startling you with how horrifying it sounded like. It was like hearing humans scream in desperation, greed, helplessness in one place. It was bone-chilling.

The lights began to flicker erratically, casting the dormitory into an alternating rhythm of stark brightness and shadowy darkness. Each flash illuminated the chaos: figures clashing, beds overturning, and forks gleaming mid-strike. It felt intentional, as though the game maker had programmed this light to amplify the terror and confusion.

That’s when a body fell on the floor right beside your hiding spot under the bed. You glanced over to see it was O player. He was groaning in surprise and you saw a broken shard of glass embedded in his arm. No doubt he was caught off guard by X players’ readiness to defend themselves.

Your heart raced as you watched the chaos unfold. The O players had underestimated the X zone’s readiness, and now their ambush was turning into a messy, desperate fight. From your hiding spot, you could only hope the preparations had been enough.

You scanned the room from under the bed, your eyes darting across the chaos. On the far side, two O male players were closing in on three X women, cornering them against the wall. Fear flashed across the women’s faces as they huddled together, their backs pressed against the cold surface.

Without hesitation, you slid out from under the bed, staying low to avoid drawing attention. As you moved, fights raged on both sides, the sounds of shouts and grunts filling the air. Your heart pounded as you dodged flailing arms and feet, pushing through the chaos toward the women.

Your mind raced. You weren’t here to kill anyone, just to defend yourself and your allies. But you had no combat experience, and your hands trembled as you reached into your pocket and gripped the fork. It was the only weapon you had.

When you reached the two O players, they were focused entirely on the women, their backs turned to you. Steeling yourself, you lunged forward and drove the fork into one man’s forearm, aiming for a non-lethal spot. The metal prongs sank in, and he let out a sharp scream, jerking away from the pain.

You swiftly pulled the fork back and the man spun around, clutching his bleeding arm. His eyes met yours, wide with a mix of fury and shock. Before he could react further, you stepped in front of the women, positioning yourself as a barrier between them and the attackers.

The injured man sneered, “You’re gonna pay for that.”

You didn’t respond. Your teeth clenched as you readied yourself for their attack. Both men advanced, their forks glinting ominously under the flickering lights. Every instinct told you to stay focused and move.

One of them lunged, his fork aimed straight for you. You dodged at the last second, feeling the rush of air as the weapon missed you by inches. Without thinking, you retaliated, driving your fork into his shoulder. He screamed in pain, stumbling back. But before you could catch your breath, his friend rushed at you.

This time, you evaded the fork, but his kick landed squarely against your side, sending you flying backward. You yelped, colliding into the three women huddled against the wall. Their hands came up instinctively to soften your fall, steadying you before you hit the ground.

You pushed yourself upright, ignoring the sharp ache in your ribs. The men were closing in again, their faces twisted with anger. But then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw a blur of movement.

Young-il emerged from the chaos. His face was a mask of silent, restrained fury. Without hesitation, he went for the man with the injured shoulder. Grabbing the man’s wrist, he twisted it sharply, forcing the fork to clatter to the floor. In one smooth motion, he swept the man’s legs out from under him and drove his knee into the man’s face, breaking his nose. The man instantly fell unconscious.

The second man tried to attack while Young-il was occupied, raising his fork and lunging. But Young-il was ready. He caught the man’s wrist mid-strike, holding it firmly in an iron grip. With a swift, controlled motion, Young-il twisted the wrist, forcing the fork out of the man’s hand and onto the floor. Before the man could react, Young-il landed a punch on the man’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. As the man doubled over, Young-il swept his feet out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground.

Both men were now subdued, groaning and immobilized. Young-il stood over them, his breathing steady and controlled.

“Go! Hide somewhere safe,” you told the women, urgency lacing your voice.

“Over here!” a voice called out. You turned to see Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok near the stairs. They were guarding a group of women and elderly in a safe spot under the stairs.

“We have a safe spot right here!” Hyun-ju shouted, waving the women over.

The three women nodded and hurried toward the stairs. You watched them go, relief mingling with the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. Turning back to Young-il, you saw him straighten up and scanned you up and down.

“You okay?” Young-il asked, stepping closer under the flickering lights.

You pressed a hand to your side where the man had kicked you. Pain flared when you applied pressure, but you managed to reply, “This is nothing.”

Young-il opened his mouth to say something, but his attention snapped to the side. Following his gaze, you saw six O players approaching, their steps slow but deliberate. The murderous intent in their eyes was unmistakably fixed on him.

Without a word, Young-il grabbed your arm and pulled you behind him. You let him, your hands instinctively landing on his lower back, just near his waist, as you braced for the inevitable.

The two of you took a step back as the men advanced, their weapons glinting in the erratic light. Some held forks; others clutched broken bottles with jagged edges. A knot of worry tightened in your chest. While you had confidence in Young-il’s abilities, he was still outnumbered six to one. And he wasn’t just fighting for himself. He was shielding you too.

Your retreat ended when your back hit the corner of the dormitory, the walls pressing against your shoulders. The O players formed a loose semi-circle, blocking any chance of escape. Your heart pounded as you realized there was no way out.

Young-il spread his legs into a firm stance, raising his hands slightly, ready to defend. His posture pinned you securely behind him, effectively making himself the sole barrier between you and the attackers.

“Young-il, please be careful,” you whispered, your voice trembling as your hands clenched into fists against his back.

The first man lunged with a fork, aiming for Young-il’s side. Young-il grabbed the man’s wrist mid-strike smoothly. With a sharp twist, he forced the fork from the attacker’s hand and used the momentum to slam his face against the wall. The man fell unconscious right away.

Another assailant immediately charged, swinging a broken bottle in a wide arc. Young-il ducked under the swing and drove his palm upward into the man’s chin. The attacker stumbled back, dazed, and Young-il followed up with a swift kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the ground.

Two men attacked simultaneously, one aiming high with a fork and the other swinging low with a bottle. Young-il stepped back just enough to avoid both strikes, then surged forward. He grabbed the fork-wielding man by the collar, pulling him into the path of the bottle. The jagged glass scraped across the first attacker’s arm, making him scream in pain. Before the second man could react, Young-il struck him in the stomach with a powerful knee, forcing the air out of his lungs. Both men crumpled to the ground.

The remaining two attackers hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances. One of them growled, gripping his weapon tighter, and rushed forward. Young-il caught his wrist and twisted it, the sound of the bottle shattering as it fell to the floor. In the same motion, Young-il elbowed the man in the face, his head snapping back as he collapsed in a heap.

The final man hesitated, his eyes darting between Young-il and his fallen comrades. With a yell, he swung wildly with his fork.

Before the man could get close to Young-il, a sharp crash echoed through the chaos as a glass bottle shattered over his head. He crumpled to the floor instantly. Both you and Young-il turned toward the kind perpetrator.

Gi-hun stood there, breathing heavily, gripping the broken neck of the bottle by its cap. His gaze shifted between you two, his expression calm yet conflicted. A small smile crept onto your face, relieved to see him join the fray.

Behind Gi-hun, Jung-bae and Dae-ho rushed forward. Dae-ho flinched at every sound of fists and bodies hitting the floor, his arms extended forward as if staying connected to Jung-bae was his lifeline.

“You’re late,” Young-il said solemnly, sparing Gi-hun a brief glance.

Gi-hun ignored the remark and instead turned to Jung-bae and Dae-ho. “Remember. We defend and subdue only.”

With a nod, Gi-hun led the pair deeper into the chaos, heading toward other X players in need of help. As Young-il stepped aside, giving you room to breathe, your eyes darted across the room to assess the situation.

Toward the left, you spotted Hyun-ju. She sidestepped an O player’s swing with a fork and grabbed his wrist, twisting it sharply until he dropped the weapon with a yelp. She followed with a clean strike to his cheek, sending him sprawling. Gyeong-seok, a few steps behind her, tackled another O player attempting to blindside her. He wrestled the man to the ground, holding him down until Hyun-ju swiftly secured the situation with a sharp, calculated elbow strike that rendered the attacker motionless.

Further back, you caught sight of Jun-hee, the mother, and Yong-sik huddled together under a bed. Their wide eyes darted between the legs of fighters clashing nearby. The mother whispered something to Jun-hee, who nodded, clutching her belly protectively. Yong-sik’s trembling hands clutched the bedframe tightly, his face pale with fear.

Nearby, player 047 and player 145 were fending off two O players who had unfairly ganged up on a single X player. Player 047 grabbed the arm of one attacker mid-swing and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to the ground. Meanwhile, player 145 used a discarded piece of bed railing to parry the other O player’s attacks, buying enough time for the overwhelmed X player to recover and join the fight.

Your eyes landed on Se-mi at the far end of the room. She was weaving and dodging, narrowly avoiding the relentless swings of a certain O player wielding a fork. It was player 124, the late Thanos’ friend. His face was deranged, grinning maniacally, and each swing came with more force, driving Se-mi back until her shoulders hit the wall. Trapped, she barely had room to maneuver.

You didn’t hesitate. You dashed toward her, the sound of your footsteps swallowed by the noise of the fight. Behind you, you heard the familiar, steady steps of Young-il following closely.

As you reached Se-mi, player 124 swung the fork again, this time aiming for her face. You lunged forward, pushing his arm away so hard, forcing him to drop the fork. He growled and turned on you, his fist coming at you in a wide arc.

Before it could connect, Young-il was there. He grabbed player 124’s arm mid-swing and, with a swift motion, locked it behind his back. Player 124 struggled while shouting curses at him, but Young-il kicked his legs out from under him, sending him face-first to the ground. Keeping his grip firm, Young-il pressed a knee into the man’s back, effectively pinning him.

“Fuck you, old man!” yelled player 124. “Let me go, bastard!”

Se-mi looked at you, her breathing ragged but steady.

“Thanks,” she managed, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face.

“Go,” you told her urgently, gesturing toward the stairs. “Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok have a safe spot under the stairs. Get there now.”

She nodded and ran toward safety, glancing back only once before running past the ensuing brawls around her. You turned to Young-il, who was still holding player 124 down.

“Release me! How long are you going to pin me down, huh?!” shouted the deranged player 124.

Young-il released his hold and shifted his knee off player 124’s back, letting him get to his feet. But as soon as the man stood, he lashed out, swinging a wild punch at Young-il.

You barely had time to react, but Young-il moved faster. He ducked smoothly under the attack. Before player 124 could recover, Young-il delivered a sharp, precise strike to his jaw.

The force of the blow sent player 124 sprawling to the floor. He hit the ground hard and lay there, completely still. Unconscious.

Young-il straightened, his breathing steady as he glanced at you.

The lights suddenly steadied, illuminating the chaos around you. A loud, blaring sound filled the air as the double doors at the front of the dormitory swung open. Triangle guards rushed in, their guns raised and scanning the room. Behind them, a square-masked guard entered, holding a pistol. The sight of their arrival made everyone scatter instantly, breaking apart in all directions.

Remembering Gi-hun’s plan, you and Young-il dropped to the floor, feigning death. You closed your eyes, doing your best to keep your breathing steady. Around you, the sound of rapid footsteps echoed as guards spread out across the dormitory.

“Hands up. Get back,” one of the guards barked at a group of players.

“Drop your weapon. Hands up,” another commanded, their tone sharp and commanding.

“Check the IDs of the dead,” the square guard ordered.

You kept still, listening intently as the footsteps grew closer. A single set of boots approached you and Young-il. Your heart pounded in your chest, but you stayed motionless.

The sound of boots stopped right beside you. You felt a slight tug at your collar as the guard bent down. Something cold pressed against the spot behind your ear. You fought the urge to flinch.

Suddenly, a blur of movement. Young-il sprang forward, grabbing the guard’s weapon with precision and speed. Before you could even sit up, he twisted the gun against the guard and pulled the trigger. The loud crack of the shot echoed in the dormitory, and the guard fell lifeless to the floor.

You opened your eyes to see Young-il standing over the fallen guard, his grip firm on the weapon he had just taken. Around you, the sounds of shouts and gunfire erupted across the room. Commotion rippled through the dormitory, signaling that the rest of your group had launched their surprise attack on the guards.

You ducked low as Young-il moved with precision, firing at the guards with unwavering focus. Gunshots filled the air, each one echoing sharply through the dormitory. Players who had no knowledge of the plan cowered in fear, their expressions frozen in shock. Under one of the beds, Jun-hee, Yong-sik, and his mother stayed hidden, clutching one another tightly.

Your eyes scanned the room and landed on the fallen guard beside you. On his hip holster was a pistol. Without hesitation, you grabbed it and checked the magazine. Seeing it was full, you flipped off the safety, gripping the weapon firmly.

Crouching low, you peeked over the edge of the bed to assess the situation. Young-il, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, player 047, and player 145 were engaged in a fierce gunfight with the guards. The guards, clearly caught off guard by the ambush, were struggling to regroup, and most of them were taken down with relative ease.

As you moved to find a better position, a guard suddenly emerged from a hiding spot under the stairs. He raised his weapon, aiming at the group’s exposed backs. Heart pounding, you dove behind a nearby bed, using it as cover. Taking a deep breath, you steadied your aim and fired.

The first shot missed, but the second and third found their mark, hitting the guard in the stomach and shoulder. He staggered before collapsing to the floor, lifeless. You exhaled sharply as you lowered the pistol.

Glancing back, you noticed Young-il’s gaze flicking toward you. His expression was unreadable, before he turned his attention back to the guards. He and Jung-bae were positioned behind an overturned bed, using it as a makeshift barricade.

You took a moment to observe the others. Despite the chaos, their movements were controlled and deliberate. Each of them handled their weapons with a level of familiarity that could only come from experience. It struck you then: in South Korea, military service was compulsory for men between the ages of 18 and 35. This wasn’t their first time handling firearms.

The gunfire continued, but the guards’ numbers were dwindling rapidly. Your group moved with purpose, systematically taking them down one by one.

The tide of the battle shifted abruptly when a mechanical announcement echoed through the dormitory: “Retreat. Retreat.”

The remaining guards, realizing their position was untenable, began cautiously stepping backward toward the double doors. They fired sporadically as they retreated, their shots aimed to cover their exit. The double doors started to slide shut, and the guards sprinted through the narrowing gap to escape. However, the square guard misjudged the timing. The doors closed firmly, leaving him stranded inside.

“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. He leveled his gun at the square guard cautiously.

Jung-bae jogged toward the guard, his weapon trained steadily on the man. Player 145 followed closely behind, flanking the guard from another angle.

“Hands above your head! On your knees!” Jung-bae commanded, his voice sharp and firm.

Satisfied that the situation was under control, you flipped the safety on your pistol and tucked it into your pocket. Scanning the room quickly, you spotted Jun-hee, Yong-sik, and his mother still huddled under a bed. You jogged toward them, weaving through the aftermath of the battle.

“Are you okay?” you asked, crouching down to meet their level. Your voice softened as you looked at them. “Is anyone hurt?”

Jun-hee’s pale face turned toward you. Her wide eyes were filled with residual fear, but she managed to shake her head.

“I… I’m okay,” she said quietly, resting a hand protectively on her belly. “The baby’s okay too.”

“Thank goodness,” you replied with a small, relieved smile. You turned your attention to Yong-sik and his mother, who were clutching each other tightly.

“We’re fine,” Yong-sik’s mother said firmly, though her voice carried a faint tremble. She looked at you, her eyes sharp despite the situation. “How about you? Are you alright, miss?”

“I am, thankfully,” you said, smiling.

You heard the shout echo across the dormitory. “You goddamn bastards!”

Turning your gaze to the far end of the open space, you saw player 047, his gun aimed at five O players. Blood stained their faces and hands, evidence of the chaos they’d left in their wake. The O players, clearly terrified, raised their hands high in surrender.

Gi-hun sprinted toward the scene, his expression urgent as he grabbed the barrel of player 047’s gun and pushed it downward. “No!”

“Move!” shouted player 047. “Do you not see this?”

Gi-hun glanced around, his eyes falling on the lifeless bodies of X players who had been unable to defend themselves. You looked too, your heart sinking at the sight of the carnage. The dormitory, once a place of tension and fear, had become a blood-soaked battlefield where greed turned people into monsters.

“They are not human,” player 047 growled, his voice trembling with rage. “They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!”

Player 047 raised his gun again, aiming directly at the cowering O players. Gi-hun acted quickly, gripping the weapon firmly and meeting player 047’s glare with steady resolve. His face reflected both understanding and a deep determination as he said, “This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.”

As the tense standoff unfolded, you turned and walked toward Young-il. He stood silently nearby, his gun resting against his abdomen. His stillness was striking in contrast to the chaos around him.

Meanwhile, player 047 remained rooted in place, his teeth clenched in frustration. His eyes brimmed with anger and sadness as he glanced at the bodies of his fallen X allies. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his gun. His shoulders sagged with defeat, but he yielded to Gi-hun’s reasoning.

Gi-hun patted player 047 on the shoulder. Whether it was a gesture of pride for his restraint or an attempt to comfort him, you couldn’t be sure. After a brief pause, Gi-hun turned and walked to the center of the dormitory. His voice rang out, strong and steady.

“Everyone! Don’t be scared. Gather round, please!”

You glanced at Young-il. Your eyebrows lifted in surprise at the look on his face. His expression remained blank, but there was something contemplative and unsettling about it. It was as if he viewed Gi-hun’s actions with a sense of disapproval, a distaste that lingered just beneath the surface.

NEXT : Chapter 13

PREV : Chapter 11

Story Masterlist

Please feel free to leave comments and feedback about my story, the characters, the "you", and practically anything! I love reading your comments, especially long ones! It motivates me a lot! So, what do you think about your disagreement with Gi-hun? What do you think about the overall lights out? What about Young-il joining the battle and just sticking with you the entire time? And him protecting you all the time and just not letting anyone harm you?? I also want to know your take on Young-il's mysterious reaction towards Gi-hun's "let's hide and let Os attack everyone else" plan and his plan to overthrow the game? Now, what do you want "you" to do in the next few chapters? Because we are really reaching the end of Season 2 and I am terrified.

Leave a comment on the masterlist post to be added to the taglist.

[solbaby7]

I would like to order a Vodka Cranberry neat please, with a salt rim and add a lime if that’s allowed please 👀😏🫶🏼

if that’s allowed? honey we all know by now i will ride the angst train until the wheels fall off🫡

[ “why do you even care?” “because i do” + smut/angst + az ]

-> BLURB BAR <-

“Will you—will you just stop for a second and listen to me?”

“That’s all I ever do, Az.” The words wobble, a combination of anger and sadness ruining its stability. Tears stream down your face, staining the silk of your dress and smearing makeup that took you entirely too long to perfect. “Listen to you and all your bullshit promises that you never fucking keep.”

His stealth is frustrating but not more than the pure self-hatred that brews when you can’t fight the desire to glance over your shoulder; foolishly allowing your chest to bloom with heat when you realize he was following you.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this anymore.

He promised to stay away.

Too dangerous, he said. Worried for your safety, he insisted.

Refused to be responsible for the guilt that would ensue if something horrid ever happened to you; a truth he can’t confess but you’re well versed in reading between the lines.

“I know, I’m sorry—just please hear me out. Put me out of my fucking misery because I can’t keep watching you go out with males who don’t even deserve to share your air.”

If you weren’t so hurt, maybe your mind would’ve latched onto the last part of his sentence rather than the first. “Put you out of your misery?” The harsh click of your heels on cobblestone halts so abruptly it makes Azriel bump into you a little. Bare arms brush against the sturdy material of his leathers as they cross over your chest, goosebumps staved off by the steady warmth he radiates and you pretend that’s why you don’t create more distance. “Why do you even care?”

You’re not sure to really even want the answer.

Certain, it won’t be good enough.

After everything Azriel had put you through, this never ending game of tug of war. Giving you an inch only for him to rear back and snatch a mile. Your expectations are unrealistic; a soldier hanging up his sword just for you.

“Because, I do.”

And yet, you still amuse the possibility.

Dusting off your hands and re-familiarizing yourself with the burn of rope in your grasp before taking a sharp, experimental tug.

Bodies gravitate closer like magnets, attempting to resist until the pull becomes too much.

Your heart hammers in your chest, silence filling the air for one, two, three whole seconds before the collision happens. Your lips against his own; a frenzy of a kiss where you can’t really tell if your hands are running through his hair or tracing down the strong line of his neck and shoulders just to feel him or just to remember.

All hard lines and harsh breaths as tongues grow reacquainted. The pathetic little whimper he lets out when nails scratch along the back of his neck, a bite that toes the line of too much. “Shouldn’t matter to you who I date.”

It only makes him hold you tighter, tugging your hips in closer. “I know it shouldn't.” His words muffle against your mouth, too stubborn or too selfish to pull away for even a second—not when he's finally gotten you close. “But, it still does." Shadows stretch forward, cloaking you in darkness; shielding you from the hopeless male you'd left back at the restaurant, as if they feared he'd come stumbling out in search of you.

They make it clear that you're already taken; trapped even, by a male too greedy to allow even a drop of you be spilled. Azriel's tongue trails down the length of your neck, nose nuzzling in the inviting scent of your body oils. Memorizing parts of you he’d thought long forgotten.

A mole here. Scars there. Soft pudge that warms him down to the marrow when pressed against his hardness. “You can’t just keep following me around.”

Following was a light way of putting it—stalking was more right.

His figure looming in your blind spots, lingering around corners and watching like a hawk that’s locked onto its prey. Your routine is committed to memory from the moment your fire tokes in the morning to the bakery you stop by in the middle of the week for a slice of fresh key lime pie. A reward for refraining from replying to his letters or pointedly ignoring the stunning floral display that arrives on your porch every week like clockwork. “Can’t stop even if I wanted to. Not when I know you’re out with someone who can’t even make you laugh.”

“At least they don’t make me cry.” Damn you for leaning in closer, basking in that familiar brood and the masculine musk that sends all five senses into a fritz. A defeated sigh escapes you when you melt to mush under his palms; too vulnerable to lie. “It’s easier with them.”

“Easy’s overrated.” He’s kneading at the swell of your hips until bravery grows or restraint snaps and he’s pawing at handfuls of your ass. Guiding you back until you can feel rough brick catching on strands of your hair. “Boring too—bet he wouldn’t have been able to make you cum. Even if he actually tried.”

Takes everything in you not to bite back. Especially because Azriel’s sort of right but admitting that out loud is more humiliating than your body just giving it away. By now, he has to feel the frantic pulse of your jugular under his tongue. “Maybe I should go back and find out.”

If his warning growl doesn’t send shivers down your spine, the nip of his teeth on such sensitive flesh does. “I dare you to try.”

A challenge that comes with stipulations.

Skillful hands work their way under your dress, teasing at soft thighs until his knuckles are bumping against lace—it locks you in place. Azriel lets out a mean chuckle when you hike one leg up on his hip, spreading yourself wide; presenting yourself instead of running away like you should.

It just feels so good.

Lower lips are spread wide, dripping with slick as two thick fingers glide through with ease. Azriel knows his way around, just barely dipping into a greedy hole before retreating only to tap at an achy bundle of nerves so he can see the desperate jolt of your hips. “No,” He speaks more so for himself than you, too occupied with prying you open and feeling your arousal pool in his palm. “You wouldn’t do that. Probably haven’t had a cock in this cunt since that last time I filled it—feels just as tight as I left it.”

If the nights chill wasn’t nipping at bared skin, you know your blush would’ve burned all the way down your chest. “Trust me, it’s not for lack of trying.”

You shouldn’t have said that. Probably wouldn’t have if Azriel’s thumb wasn’t working perfectly against your clit, calloused fingers rubbing against slick inner walls, abusing nooks and cranny’s that leave your knees buckling. “Don’t you know that you can’t give away a pussy that doesn’t belong to you?” Salacious sounds squelch between your thighs, head thrown back and eyes rolling in your skull as Az takes and takes; unlocking the doors to your sex and greeting it with a warm welcome. “Not if I still own it.”

[redvdress]

CAPTAIN`S ATTENTION

A/N: title is kinda self explanatory buttt captain levi x scout reader, how does he really act towards those annoying brats who sent him lots of love letters that he just throws into trash as soon as he sits at his desk to fill his usual paperwork?

It was a cold, unforgiving morning at the training grounds. The air was thick with tension, as always. The young cadets were busy with their drills, oblivious to the real weight of the world they were being prepared for. Levi stood off to the side, reviewing formation plans, his sharp eyes scanning the paper as if looking for a flaw that dared to exist. The sun hadn’t fully risen yet, its faint light barely breaking the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds.

As Levi worked in silence, the sound of giggling broke through the crisp morning air. He didn’t need to look up to know who it was—he’d been around enough soldiers to recognize the immature flirtations of cadets with more enthusiasm than sense. Sure enough, a small group of cadet girls approached him, giggling behind their hands, their footsteps light and eager.

“Captain Levi,” one of them began, her voice saccharine and sweet as honey. “You look especially strong today.”

Levi barely spared her a glance, his eyes cold as steel. “Tch.” The sound escaped him, low and filled with irritation. “If you’ve got that much energy, save it for training. I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

His tone was flat, final. But the girls, undeterred by his usual icy demeanor, pressed on. They were always like this—young, naive, thinking they could charm their way into his good graces with fluttering eyelashes and coy smiles. One of them leaned in, her smile widening, though her nervousness was palpable.

“Maybe… maybe you could give us some private lessons?” she said, her voice dripping with a poor attempt at seduction.

Levi stopped what he was doing, his hand freezing on the map in front of him. His head turned slightly, just enough to give them a glimpse of the disdain simmering behind his expression. Before he could give his inevitable reply, you walked into the scene, your footsteps halting at the sight of the awkward situation unfolding in front of you. You observed from a distance, your curiosity piqued but also feeling a strange sense of irritation bubbling under your skin, though you couldn’t quite explain why.

Levi’s eyes flicked to you for a split second—just long enough to notice you watching—but he turned his attention back to the cadets almost immediately, his expression hardening further.

“You think batting your eyelashes will get you somewhere?” Levi’s voice was a low growl, his words sharp and cutting. “This isn’t some tavern where you can flirt your way into getting what you want. You’re soldiers. Or at least, you’re supposed to be. Act like it.”

The girls flinched at his words, the confidence they had mustered quickly crumbling under the weight of his icy stare. One of them opened her mouth, maybe to protest or offer some kind of excuse, but Levi wasn’t interested in listening.

“Save it,” he snapped, cutting her off before she could speak. “If you’ve got time to stand around wasting air, you’ve got time to run ten extra laps around the field. Each.”

Their faces flushed with embarrassment as they muttered weak apologies, turning and scurrying off to avoid further humiliation. The sound of their hurried footsteps faded into the distance as they ran toward the track. Levi watched them go, his expression unreadable, though his irritation was clear in the tight set of his jaw.

You couldn’t help but smirk a little at the sight. Levi never minced words, and seeing the cadets scramble away was almost amusing in its predictability. But then, as if sensing your amusement, Levi turned his attention toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Enjoying the show?” His voice was dry, but there was a flicker of something behind his sharp gaze—something less cold, though you wouldn’t dare call it soft.

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest. “Just making sure you haven’t gone soft, Captain,” you replied, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Levi grunted, stepping closer to you, his sharp gaze locking with yours. There was a tension there, but it wasn’t the kind born from annoyance. It was something else, something unspoken but undeniable. He stopped just close enough for his presence to feel overwhelming, though his tone remained as gruff as ever.

“Don’t get cocky, brat. The only one around here who gets any of my attention is you.” His words were blunt, no-nonsense, as always, but there was something deeper beneath them—something only you could sense in the way his gaze lingered just a little too long.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, even though he delivered them in his usual gruff, almost dismissive manner. You knew Levi well enough to understand that this was his way of showing he cared. He didn’t waste time with flowery language or empty gestures. His loyalty, his attention, when given, were always earned, never given lightly.

You shrugged, keeping your expression casual, though you couldn’t suppress the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Whatever you say, Captain.”

He gave you a long, considering look before nodding toward the training field. “Get back to work. I don’t need you slacking off just because those brats don’t know how to act like soldiers.”

You nodded, hiding the grin that threatened to break through. As you walked away, you glanced over your shoulder, catching one last glimpse of Levi standing there, his arms crossed, his posture rigid but somehow… at ease. He had made it clear—without so many words—that his focus wasn’t swayed by anyone else. His attention, sharp and unwavering as ever, was yours alone, even if he would never say it outright.

[soobnara]

like clockwork / c.sb

soobin x reader

summary: in a world where love is given an expiration date, you find your forever home in an unexpected place.

word count: 10.1k

tags: soulmate!au, best friends to lovers, mostly romance + fluff, fake dating if you squint, reader is afab w/ gender neutral pronouns + fem terms (noona) used

author's note: finally got around to finishing this... it's been a long while coming and i couldn't get myself to write for various reasons and i'm so happy it's all done and out there! (also for any black mirror fans out there, yes this is loosely based on the 'hang the dj' episode but way more lighthearted and with a dash of soulmate brainrot) hope you enjoy and wishing everyone a wonderful holiday season <3

For as long as Soobin can remember, he’s been counting down the days. 

To summer vacation, to the end of his shift at his part time job, to the start of a long awaited trip, to anything. But there’s something else that counts down on his behalf, something that he doesn’t particularly want to count.

That something is inlaid in a nondescript watch wrapped around his wrist. Everyone gets one once they turn 18, and as far as he’s concerned, its only purpose is to ruin relationships. The cruel hands of time assign a “best by” date to each romantic encounter, flashing on the screen from the first meeting, with each failure promising to lead the user closer and closer to their fated lover. If you ask Soobin, it’s all bullshit. How would a stupid watch know anything about fate, anyways?

It’s a typical Thursday night, and Soobin’s mindlessly scrolling through Time to Love, the government mandated dating app that all phones come with, as per usual when he can’t decide on something to watch. He has yet to meet the weekly two date quota, having only gone on one on Tuesday (important to note that he’s already forgotten his name), and he’s running out of time, and he really can’t afford to pay that 100,000 won fine this week. Well, he can’t afford to pay it at any point in time, but this week’s been especially rough on him, and he doesn’t want to shell out any more of his meager savings just because he couldn’t get a date, of all things. 

The names and faces on his phone screen are a blur as his thumb swipes left aimlessly– he doesn’t really give that much of a shit who he ends up with, because at the end of the day, he’ll say “No” when the app asks him if he’d liked them and give them a terrible review saying they were incompatible, because frankly, the algorithm seems to always be wrong when it comes to his matches. Either that, or it’s because he cares so little that he doesn’t bother properly vetting his matches.

He’s resigned himself to his fate anyways; he’ll fill up his progress bar with a bunch of shitty matches until the algorithm decides it’s time for him to settle down, then when he finds his “soulmate” (if you could even call it that), he’ll just be doomed to a loveless arranged marriage set in place by a computer and die unhappy. He can’t envision happiness ever coming out of something so lifeless, so cold, so that’s just how it has to be. At least it gives him something to do instead of rewatching the same three anime series over and over again.

Whatever– he’ll just swipe right on the next person and go on yet another unmemorable date tomorrow. Lee Saerom, the profile reads. She’s exceptionally pretty, he has to admit, and she’s an artist, (and she’s older, but don’t ask him about that) so he’ll just ask her about her work and let her ramble for the allotted two hours while he smiles and nods.

He swipes right, and a bright pink heart pattern fills his screen, signifying a successful match. Obnoxious. It’s replaced with a time and a place, and he lets out a groan. Congratulations! Your date is scheduled for 6pm, at the Coffee Shop. He was supposed to meet you at 7 tomorrow for your usual Friday night updates. 

Fuck. What if the date goes on longer than an hour?

He’s never been late for your weekly meetups, but he figures you’ll understand, since it’s completely out of his control.

Surely you won’t kill him, right?

Just in case, he recites a prayer to himself before he tucks in for the night.

You’re already nursing your third vodka soda of the night and Soobin is still nowhere to be found, which is unusual. He’s never been the most punctual person, but standing you up for an hour after your usual meeting time isn’t like him, either. He said he’d be late, but he didn’t specify how late… you’ll grill him later when he explains himself, and you’ll make him buy you a drink or two as compensation. With the comfort of a free drink in mind, you’re about to order your fourth round when Soobin finally stumbles in through the door of the bar, eyes scanning each booth until his gaze lands on you, and with an apologetic smile, he’s sliding into the seat across from you. 

He gestures to your glass, brow curled upwards, which you know means he’s teasing you. “What number is this one, noona? You always polish these things off like they’re nothing.”

“This is number three, with number four on the way, and that’s because they are. You owe me at least two for taking so long to get here, asshole.” You let out an indignant huff as you slurp the last of the cocktail through your straw, lips jutting in a comical pout.

“Okay, okay. Next one’s on me.” Soobin relents with an endeared laugh, waving down the waitstaff and ordering a beer for himself, along with another vodka soda for you. 

“Okay, now spill.”

“What? Am I supposed to have some hot gossip for you? Don’t make me guess about what drama I’ve somehow found myself in on accident.” He’s visibly confused, brows knitted together, and you roll your eyes at him.

“Obviously the only reason you would ever skip out on your dear noona was if TTL scheduled you for a date during our usual time, so spill. How bad was this one?” 

His lips part in understanding, (you can practically see the figurative lightbulb flickering on) head bobbing in an exaggerated nod before pulling his phone out, hand outstretched to show you his date’s profile. “I mean, she was okay, I guess. Pretty girl, and she was older, but she spent the entirety of our time slot babbling about her latest art project and how it’s supposedly going to blow away the industry. Which is fine, I guess, because you know I hate talking on these dates, but if she said “brush technique” and “negative space” one more time I think I would’ve tried to drown myself in my caffe mocha. The app thought so too, I guess, because when we checked our expiration date, it was exactly an hour from the start time, so it’s not like I missed out on my forever soulmate or whatever.”

Each TTL date is scheduled for an arbitrary amount of time, depending on your expiration date, which is determined from the first moment you meet– sometimes it’s just a few minutes, an hour or two, and anything longer than 24 hours is given a two hour time slot maximum. There’s supposedly an extremely rare case where you aren’t given an expiration date from the get go, regardless of your progress, meaning that you’ve found your soulmate by sheer luck, but it’s almost unheard of– most people don’t find their soulmates until they’ve completely filled up their bars, something about needing ample data to calculate optimal compatibility.

You ogle at his phone screen for a bit– she really was stunning– then guffaw at the thought of Soobin nodding halfheartedly, listening to a pretty girl talk his ear off, when most men would probably kill to be in his position. “Damn, if even an older woman that pretty can’t hold your attention, and the app confirms that, you know it’s bad… So, where does that put your progress at? Weren’t you at like, 80% last week?”

Soobin’s face practically scrunches in on itself at your remark, tapping the app once more to check his updated progress bar. “I’m going to ignore that. I’m at… 88% after I reviewed Saerom and that guy from earlier in the week. Guess it wasn’t a total waste if I got 8% closer to completion. What are you at now?”

You lift your phone to open TTL, your progress bar only having inched 2% closer to completion after your date yesterday. “75% now. I think the algorithm is personally fucking me over, or something. My last few matches have been nice enough, but I cannot keep up with their energy. It’s wringing me dry. I must be the only person in the entire world who doesn’t want a golden retriever for a partner. My date yesterday just about knocked me out for good, he was that energetic.”

“Tell me about it,” Soobin commiserates. “I’ve very clearly expressed my distaste for bubbly and talkative people who probably peaked in high school, but that’s all they’re spitting out in my for you page. No offense to them, I don’t think I’ve met any straight up assholes since that one girl from last year, but it’s like the app is purposely recommending the most incompatible people to me– wait, yesterday? And I didn’t hear about this?”

You give him a pointed look, silently conveying that he also didn’t inform you of his date today until ten minutes ago. He gets the message and holds his hands up in defeat, then gestures for you to speak, dimples peeking out as he purses his lips. You sigh, rubbing your temples as you recall the most chaotic two hours of the week, maybe even your life.

“Okay, look… for the record, he was very nice to me, a perfect gentleman, but my god, could that guy talk. He was practically falling at his knees trying to impress me, which would’ve earned him a few points in my book, but his mouth was moving maybe five miles a minute at all times without a moment of rest. It was like watching a child hopped up on sugar, to be honest. He talked for forty whole minutes nonstop about pizza. Don’t even get me started on how passionate he was about his workout routine.”

Your drinks finally come around, and Soobin hands you your frosted glass, which you gratefully take a long sip out of before continuing. “And before you say anything, no, he was nothing like Kai. Also, Kai is literally like my child, and just because I babysat him all those years does not mean I want to date someone like him.”

Soobin parts his lips to respond, then scrunches his nose in distaste as you take the words right of his mouth, opting to down his drink instead. “You’re no fun.”

“But that’s why you love me, right?”

“Sure, noona, sure.”

“That’s it, asshole, you owe me another drink.”

Sunday rolls around, which means you’ve got to start scoping out this week’s dates– you hate leaving anything to the last minute, and you like to leave the end of your week as free as possible (no one is prying your precious rest time from you, not even a beautiful person with the world’s best personality). 

Which means you’re mindlessly swiping through a sea of profiles, hoping you find someone that’s at least remotely interesting. You’re prepared for a long night of doom scrolling, but you stop cold in your tracks as you come across a familiar name and face, and a lump forms in your throat.

Choi Soobin.

The algorithm is really fucking with you now. It has to be. You’ve never once even considered your best friend as a potential suitor, not because he isn’t insanely attractive and charming (and funny, and easy to talk to, and…), but because he’s your best friend. You’ve known him for so long, you’ve seen him cry when he couldn’t get the Pokemon card he wanted when he was young enough to need allowance to buy it, and he’s seen you for long enough to know you threw the nastiest toddler tantrums over being denied an ice cream purchase– the point is that you know him a little too well, and you know from experience that that’s not always ideal in romance. 

But you have been having terrible luck with your matches for so long, and two hours of Soobin’s undivided attention doesn’t seem so bad, and it would be a good time, at least…

You kick yourself mentally for even thinking of it. He’s your best friend, for god’s sake.

Yet your thumb continues to hover over his profile, quivering as you make the motion to swipe right on him without touching the screen. The guilt and the risk of maybe ruining your friendship forever clearly isn’t enough to stop you from considering him. 

The gentle, familiar smile that he’s sporting in his profile picture pierces your heart, and you’re not sure why. Maybe you’ve always had a thing for him unconsciously, maybe you just want someone who actually gets you, maybe you’re just running out of options. Or maybe you’re just tired of chasing after something you know is futile, and you want to take a chance on something, on someone, that might actually be good for you. On someone that you know would be good to you, and for you.

And so, with bated breath, you swipe right.

[Time to Love: Y/N has liked you! Open the app for more details.]

To say Soobin is struck with disbelief would be an understatement. He’s practically gaping at his phone, and he knows you’d be laughing your ass off and making fun of him if you could see him. But it’s precisely that typical flippant attitude of yours that’s got him perplexed about this development.

He’d be lying if he said he’s never once thought of you that way– he’s always thought you were pretty and kind hearted, despite your temper, and you’ve always been there for him, through thick and thin, even when he was being kind of a dick. That definitely counts for something. But he’s never thought about crossing that boundary, because 1) he’s not allowed to pursue anyone he doesn’t match with through the app anyways, and 2) matching with you could make or break your bond forever (he’s leaning towards break, though, because like he said, the watch is bullshit). In short, he’s a fucking coward and a little too cynical for his own good. 

But here it is, an opportunity for a date with you, in all its glory, and initiated by you, no less. He should be celebrating, or at least hyped up, because maybe it’ll all work out, maybe this is the solution to all his lukewarm matches over the last few months, but instead he’s downright terrified. There’s absolutely no way that you both come out of this unscathed. There’s no such thing as a perfect forever if it’s decided by a computer. There can’t possibly be a happy ending at the end of this road.

He shakes his head, as if it would clear his head of the panicked thoughts. You’re still his best friend, at the end of the day, he tells himself, and he’s sure that you’ll fight just as hard as he will to keep him in your life. So he holds onto the tiniest sliver of hope that somehow your relationship doesn’t crash and burn spectacularly, opens the app, and swipes right on you.

Congratulations! Your date is scheduled for 3pm, at the Aquarium. 

A new notification pops up. Soobin’s heart stirs.

y/n noona: see you tomorrow ♥️

He feels guilty as a wave of excitement washes over him. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. You’re his best friend. His dear noona. He may as well be signing away your friendship for good. But it’d be worse if he didn’t match your enthusiasm.

soob: yup, see you tomorrow noona :]

It’s only 5 minutes past the scheduled meeting time, and already Soobin’s panicking that you’ve changed your mind and cancelled on him, writing this off as a mistake. He’s trying his very best to remain nonchalant, it’s just a date with his best friend, who he might have a sapling of a crush on, no big deal, right? Or maybe it is for the best if you cancel, then he’d have one less crippling fear to worry about.

He’s rethinking his outfit for the umpteenth time– he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, not in front of you because you’d probably think it was silly, but he also doesn’t want you thinking he shows up to dates looking like a slob. (For the record, he thinks he’s got a decent sense of fashion. He’s better than Kai, at least, though that isn’t saying much.) He’s internally debating if he should’ve gone with the navy polo shirt instead of the grey cardigan draped over his shoulders, or if he should’ve gone with the black slacks instead of the light wash jeans, but his jumbled thoughts dissipate as you tap on his shoulder, shit-eating grin and all. 

“What’s with you, Soob? You look like the fate of the universe depends on you, and you only have 5 minutes to save all of humanity.” You tease, nudging your shoulder against his. Oh, if only you knew what was really weighing on him.

He has half a mind to swat your shoulder, but he’s a little too aware that the two of you are supposed to be on a date, so instead he shoves his hands into his pockets. To his surprise, you’re more dressed up than usual, (he’s used to seeing you exclusively in oversized hoodies) and– wait, you two are practically matching, from the grey cardigan, light wash jeans, all the way down to the white sneakers. The only difference is that you’ve buttoned up your cardigan so that it functions more as a blouse, but you two clearly have definitely mastered the art of accidental couple looks.

“Okay, awkward… one of us has to change.” He teases in an attempt to ease his own racing mind, dimples peeking out as he stifles a laugh. You let out an indignant huff, pushing his massive frame with no success. He doesn’t even budge.

“Not my fault that you’re trying to steal my look. I wore it better, by the way,” You retort, but truth be told, you’re reeling at the sight of him. You’ve only ever seen him in his stuffy work attire and the worn-out, faded shirts he refuses to throw out, and seeing him in a comparably softer, more preppy look is making you see him with new eyes.

You shake your head, as if doing so will reset your perspective to factory settings and make you see him as just your best friend again. (spoiler alert: it doesn’t. Soobin is still handsome and he looks very cute, and you’re still very much affected by it.) “Okay, so. First things first. Should we check our apps? To see if, like, we’re compatible, or I don’t know.” Your voice is stiff, like you’re buffering, and you don’t think you’ve ever been this awkward around Soobin, at least not since the day you met.

Soobin turns up his nose in disagreement and covers his watch screen and yours. “Nah, that’s bullshit. It’s already all decided, isn’t it? It’s been decided from the second we stepped into the aquarium. No point in checking now, we should decide for ourselves if this is something we want to pursue, instead of letting some computer dictate that. When it’s over, it’s over, and we can just go back to being friends, right?”

“Well, I think it’s probably better to know when to give this a rest, instead of constantly wondering if my best friend is set to be my long-term romantic partner, or whatever.” You had a point. But a part of Soobin didn’t feel ready to face the fact that you might not want to see him again like this. A much smaller part of him is still fearful that you two might not be able to turn back from this.

“Okay, okay, fine. We can check it–but not now. If we make it to a third date, then we can check how long we have. But you have to be honest and not touch it whatsoever.” Soobin doesn’t make any move to mention that he isn’t interested in seeing you again, but you don’t want to just assume that he’s into you, so you test the waters.

“Okay, I promise to be honest. But why the third date? Are you really that keen on seeing me?” You’re trying to be teasing, but you feel more desperate than anything.

Soobin doesn’t answer for a moment, and you think that you’ve said the wrong thing. Just as you’re about to apologize, he replies, “If we make it to a third date… then I’ll know whether we’re actually giving this a proper shot and not just for shits and giggles or as an escape from our other failed connections.”

His sincerity both surprises and flatters you, and you can’t tell if you’re supposed to be frozen in shock or hugging him, or a secret third thing, so you just stay still, absently fiddling with your fingers.

When you look up again, Soobin’s holding out his hand, and you look at him with obvious confusion. Rolling his eyes, he takes your hand in his, lips pursed into a thin line. You want to make some clever jab at him, but his hands are warm and soft and they practically swallow up your much smaller ones, and you’re filled with a wash of emotions so intense that you can’t muster up the strength to retort.

Soobin notices that you’re still visibly perplexed, and he mutters. “We’re on a date, you know. We’ve got to act the part.” It’s a half truth at best; he does want to give this date a proper chance, but selfishly, he really just wants to hold your hand for two hours. If you catch onto his white lie, you don’t show it, but he doesn’t miss the rosy hue that colors your cheeks as you nod.

He’s right, you think– it is a date, and you’re the one who swiped on him first, so the least you can do is treat him like a possible suitor and not just your best friend. He deserves that much, at least, and you need to know whether this bundle of butterflies in your stomach is a passing feeling or a dull ache you’ve forgotten about, so you let him lead you into the dimly lit array of fish tanks.

You’re noticing a lot of things about Soobin.

You notice that Soobin’s eyes practically twinkle when he gets excited. It’s never been something you’ve taken note of, but you can’t help but notice it now, every time he points out a species of fish he recognizes. It’s cute. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to find your best friend cute, but you do.

You notice how his comically long fingers slot in between yours, and you’re really starting to like how it feels, though you’d die of embarrassment if you admitted as much. 

Not to mention he’s an absolutely perfect gentleman. He’s constantly asking you if you want something to eat, if you’re tired, if you’re cold, and you let him know that you’re fine each time. When you accidentally pull apart your shoelaces, he’s quick to kneel down and tie them up for you. When he stops to grab himself a bottle of juice, he offers one to you, too.

Had Soobin always been this pretty? So cute? And so sweet? How had you never taken notice of him like this all these years? (You know the answer to that, but you’re still surprised at what you’re noticing nonetheless.)

Soobin catches you staring at him while you’re both supposed to be looking at a school of clownfish, and you expect him to make some egotistical joke at your expense, but instead he gives you a warm smile, eyes crinkling into crescents, and god dammit to hell, you melt. 

The two hours pass by like nothing, and unlike your past few dates, you’re dreading the end of it, and you wish that the beep signifying it’s over would never come. To your disappointment, he releases your hand as you approach the entrance, and your hand is already missing his warmth. You turn to face him; well, not really, because you can’t bear to make eye contact with him, not when you spent the better part of two hours shamelessly ogling at him.

His voice cuts in between the thoughts rattling around in your head, and he sounds so apprehensive that it worries you. “Can I ask you something? No, wait, can you promise me something?”

You know how seriously Soobin takes his promises, so you’re a little scared for what he’s going to say next, but you nod anyway.

“Promise me that if this doesn’t work out, we’ll still be friends. Please.” The last word is so quiet that you almost miss it, and when you finally muster the courage to meet his gaze, he’s giving you a pleading look so earnestly that it breaks your heart a little. 

“I promise– no, I pinky promise. We’ll be friends, no matter what.”

Since he was younger, Soobin’s held the belief that pinky promises are binding, and he knows that you know this, so you hold out your pinky, hoping that this can ease whatever worries he has on his mind.

You pinky promised. Soobin knows that it’s your unspoken way of assuring him (you’ve never been the most verbally affectionate, anyways), a quiet way of letting him know that he means just as much to you as you do to him. He links pinkies with you to seal the promise, feeling just a little bit lighter as you both make your way to the subway station together, shoulders bumping all the while.

Soobin just really, really hopes that you’ll be able to keep that promise.

[How would you rate your date?]

[★★★★★]

Congratulations! Your next date is scheduled for 8pm tonight, at the Night Market.

You shouldn’t be surprised that your next date with Soobin comes so soon– you still have your weekly quotas to meet, and the app always schedules dates within 24 hours of matching or a positive rating, but truth be told, your surprise is solely because you just don’t know how to face him. You two had made that pinky promise to stay friends regardless of the circumstances, but you’d also resolved to treat him like a potential suitor while you two are seeing each other, so where does that leave you? 

Well, it leaves you in front of the closet with no idea what to wear. You want to look good (for Soobin, but you’re in denial at the moment), but it’s just a night market, and you know you’ll never hear the end of it if Soobin catches on that you went through lengths just to impress him.

Speaking of the devil, your phone flickers on to reveal a text from him, and you scoff as you scan its contents.

soob: so i hear you enjoyed our date

y/n noona: ignoring that. anyways

y/n noona: what’s the deal for tonight

y/n noona: i need to know asap

soob: aw, noona, do you want to see me again that badly? i’m excited, see you later tonight ♥️

y/n noona: shut up, you clearly want to see me again too. don’t be late or i’m stealing your wallet later 

y/n noona: i'm asking what’s the dress code, are we matching again :p

soob: i mean, if you insist… 🙄 i knew you wanted me

y/n noona: nvm you’re getting me in a hoodie and my raggedy sweats with the hole in the knee, fuck you

soob: no no i take it back i’m sorry 

y/n noona: ok fine you get spared just this once

y/n noona: [IMG_3687.jpg]

y/n noona: final outfit check. if we’re going to be matching it will be your decision so choose wisely

soob: wait that’s not fair

soob: noona come back

soob: DON’T LEAVE ME HANGING LIKE THIS

[y/n noona has “Liked” your message]

soob: you are so mean to me

You let out a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding when Soobin arrives, clad in a blue flannel that’s nearly identical to yours, black tee, beige cargos, and a black shoulder bag. You’d been hoping he would follow through, and there’s a small surge of pride at how you’ll be walking around the market, hand in hand, in matching outfits, but there’s something you hadn’t been counting on.

He’s wearing his glasses. 

You’ve always known that Soobin doesn’t have the best eyesight (he’s constantly squinting to see things, but so do you), but now that you’re seeing him in a new light, his usual black frames are suddenly the most attractive thing in the world, and you may as well be holding a neon sign that blares “I HEART NERDS” for him to see.

You make a painfully pathetic attempt to mask your delight by waving at him with a grin, and thankfully Soobin doesn’t notice, or if he does, he doesn’t make any show of it, and instead he simply salutes at you with two fingers and cracks a grin. As he sidles up to you, his large hand slips into yours with a little too much ease, fingers immediately interlocking with yours, and it sends your head into a frenzy all over again. As if he’s aware that your mind is going haywire, Soobin leans down towards you, and for a second you think he’s going to kiss you.

You’re frantically trying to make some motion to stop him, it’s so sudden and your cheeks are way too hot now, and he’s way too close, and your damn arms won’t budge–

“I hope you came ready to eat. I came armed with a fuck load of cash because I am going to stuff myself silly with food, and I am not getting turned away by the ‘cash only’ booths.” There’s a fire of determination in Soobin’s eyes, paired with a wide grin, and you don’t know whether to be concerned for him or for yourself, but nonetheless, you’re a little relieved that you completely misread the situation. Before you can say anything in response, though, he’s dragging you towards the sweeping lines of booths, already making a beeline for some takoyaki. 

The tray full of octopus balls in Soobin’s hands is steaming and they smell absolutely mouthwatering, and, in true Soobin fashion, he gets over excited and tries to pop the entire thing in his mouth in one go. He immediately regrets it, of course, because immediately he’s whining over the fact that his tongue is now most definitely burnt and numb from the piping hot orb of batter he’d just tried to scarf down. You might be finding him insanely attractive now, but he’s still as clumsy as ever, and you can’t stifle the laughter that bubbles in your throat at the sight.

“Dumbass… you should know damn well that you shouldn’t put a whole takoyaki in your mouth like that.” You tease, snickering as he fans his tongue once he swallows.

“Shut up! I couldn’t help myself!” He lets out a childish huff, stuffing another ball into his mouth with a comically exaggerated pout, and consequently huffing and puffing at the heat that blooms in his mouth once more. The whole display is undeniably adorable, and it takes all of the willpower you have to resist the burning desire to squish his cheeks. 

The tray of takoyaki is polished off in no time, and a bowl of bingsu, a cup of fish cake soup, two sticks of tanghulu, a plate of sweet rice cakes, an ice cream cone, and a million other things you lost track of follow suit into the bottomless pit that seems to be Soobin’s stomach. He wasn’t kidding when he said he came ready to eat– he’s plowing through the booths like it’s his last meal on Earth. He’s gracious enough to offer you half of his portions, at least, so it’s not like he’s leaving you to starve. (you’d kill him if he did, though.) Once he’s had his fill, his lips curl up into a mischievous grin as he jabs his thumb in the direction of a different section of the market, one filled with countless games: target shooting, beanbag toss, darts– the row of booths seems to stretch on forever. 

“Oh, you’re on, Soob. Don’t think I’m going easy on you because we’re on a date.”

“Yeah? Don’t think I’m going easy on you because you’re older.”

Contrary to both of your words, Soobin is absolutely fucking terrible at the beanbag toss, despite his long arms definitely giving him an advantage, and you’re no good at shooting or throwing and aiming at anything, really, so the two of you leave each booth with empty hands, though you’re laughing as if you’ve hit the jackpot.

Even though you two fail spectacularly at every single game they have available, you’re suddenly aware of how much your cheeks hurt. From smiling. From laughing. When was the last time that happened on a date? Or ever, even?

Soobin ventures off on his own while you’re lost in thought, and he returns from his little solo adventure with yet another serving of tanghulu (the third one of the night: strawberry for him, tangerine for you this time). You’re reaching out to grab the sweet from his outstretched hand, when suddenly you jump as loud popping sounds blare overhead. There’s a beat of silence before a flurry of colorful lights blooms in the sky, and your shoulders relax once you realize it’s just fireworks.

You’re admiring the colors and shapes of the fireworks display as you crunch on your tanghulu, and you’re so enraptured you almost miss the feeling of someone’s gaze on you. Almost.

When you turn to confirm your suspicions, you’re right, it’s Soobin who’s staring at you, but he’s staring at you so intently, with such intensity, that you immediately grow flustered– he’s never looked at you like that before– and you’re immensely thankful that the flashes of light in the sky mask the rosy hue that’s surely staining your cheeks. Just when you’re about to swing your head away to focus your attention on the fireworks once more, his hand flies out to cradle your chin in his palm, keeping your gaze fixated on him. 

Then he’s closing the distance, slowly but surely, fixated on you all the while to gauge your reaction, and even though you’re frozen in shock, you don’t think you would’ve moved, anyways. Your eyes flutter shut at the last minute, nerves getting the better of you, until his lips brush against yours tentatively, as if he’s hesitating, holding back.

You meet his gaze once more, and neither of you say a word, you just nod in response to the pleading look in his eyes, as if asking your permission. He breaks out into the most beautiful smile, one that you wish you could snap a mental photo of and tuck away in a safe place in your mind, and then he’s kissing you. Actually kissing you.

He kisses you with such fervor, as if he’s been wanting to do this his whole life, and you can’t help the way you practically melt in his hold, pressing yourself against his broad figure. The fireworks display is all but forgotten, the only thing on either of your minds being the way your lips meld into each other, and the way your hands clasp together.

Soobin’s in a daze when you two finally break away for a much-needed breath, and you’re sure you look like you’re in an equally hazy state. For a moment, you two are dead silent, staring at each other, with only the sound of your soft pants and the popping of fireworks in the background to fill the silence.

Soobin is the one who breaks the silence first, smiling sheepishly as he rubs the nape of his neck. “To be honest, I’ve… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”

Your eyes are as wide as saucers, and you can feel your jaw go slack in shock. Soobin had been wanting to kiss you. Soobin has thought about kissing you. Your best friend Soobin wanted to kiss you.

“Why didn’t you?” You reply without thinking, but really, you know very well exactly why he’s never done it. He’s your best friend, always has been, and he’d be doing much more than fucking up your friendship by kissing you before you two matched. Naturally, Soobin leaves that question unanswered, posing a question of his own instead.

“What made you match with me?”

“Well…” You don’t know what to say. You don’t want to rattle off a list of qualities that make him desirable– you’re already feeling flustered enough after he kissed you like that, and you’re not looking to inflate his stupid ego or risk being the butt of his teasing. But you want to be honest with him. You don’t want him thinking his suppressed desire has been one-sided all this time.

“I guess I’ve always wondered what it would be like to go on a date with you. We wouldn’t be bored, we would know how to keep each other happy, and understand each other, that kind of thing… and I was a little tired of seeing you go through all those people you didn’t click with, who didn’t get you, especially not the way I did. You know I’ve never liked the people you were seeing, and I was always annoyed by the idiots you dated in high school, and all your stupid matches… I always thought everyone took you for granted, and no one seemed to care about actually getting to know you. I thought I was just looking out for you, caring about you, as your best friend, but maybe I was actually just jealous.”

“Jealous? Really?” He looks so incredulous it embarrasses you that you have to clarify further. 

“Yes, jealous… I especially hated what’s-her-name, Hyeji? That one student council girl who dumped you in front of the whole school.”

Soobin grimaces at the mention of her name, and you can’t help the relief you feel at his response. “Ugh, her. Led me on for months because she thought I was cute and then when we started dating she nitpicked every single thing I did, all because I wasn’t the suave drama lead of her dreams and then dumped me because she couldn’t change me. You know she threw away a whole pack of my Pokemon cards because she thought it was ‘too nerdy’?”

“See? This is what I mean. None of your romantic partners actually seem to appreciate you as you are. And so I don’t know, something came over me, and I wanted to see if I could do a good job because I  know I appreciate you for who you are and now I’m confused, and I feel like I’ve ruined our friendship forever, and–”

To your relief, Soobin doesn’t laugh– instead he cuts your rambling off with a quick kiss, and it flusters you into silence. “Shh. We promised, remember?”

“I mean, we also promised each other when we were in high school that we’d settle down and raise ten dogs on a farm together.”

Soobin laughs this time. “Yeah, I remember that. But this is a pinky promise, isn’t it? It’s different.”

“You’re right… but it’s scary, you know? Coming to this realization about you, and thinking about you this way, and enjoying it, but also worrying about how we’re going to get out of this after our relationship expires... I don’t want to get too carried away and change our dynamic forever.” You’re chewing the skin off your lower lip nervously (you never did break that habit, so now your lip is bleeding), and, while Soobin’s voice is gentle, you know him well enough to detect the subtle tremor as he speaks.

“I know. But we’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. I won’t let anything remove you from my life for good. Especially not the watch.” His voice is so low, so quiet, you’d miss it if you weren’t fixated on him, as if he’s trying to convince himself, and you squeeze his hand in what you hope is an admirable attempt at reassuring him. “The app hasn’t told us our connection’s expired yet, so I just really, really want to give this a chance. A proper chance, so I can say I did it before I get matched with my ‘real’ soulmate, or whatever. I don’t want to think about what could have been, especially not with you. I think that’d be worse for us.”

You know exactly what he means. Harboring dormant feelings for your best friend never bodes well, at least not in the movies and the books, so you may as well get this pining out of your system, and let it become a distant memory as soon as possible, if it’s not meant to be. It’s only fair, for both of your futures, and for your friendship. (and though neither of you want to admit it, the thought of not being each other’s soulmates is depressing.)

“Look, Soob… I really want to give this a chance, too. I want to see where it takes us while we’re allowed to. I want to try. It’s scary, it’s fucking terrifying, but you’re my best friend, Soob. I promise you won’t lose me because of some stupid watch. Pinky promise.” You try to keep your voice upbeat as you hold out your pinky towards him, offering a tender smile. He links his pinky with yours, and you can see his frame visibly relax once he does. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, pinkies still linked, and silently hope that you’ll be able to uphold your promise to him. You’ve never been any good with breakups. Soobin knows that.

But you’ll be okay with him, right?

He’s your best friend, after all.

[How would you rate your date?]

[★★★★★]

…

Congratulations! Your next date is scheduled for 2pm tomorrow, at the Botanical Gardens.

Soobin decided on his own that he’s picking you up for the third date, and he let you know as much.  After last night’s events though, this means that you’re turning your entire closet upside down trying to find the sweet spot for your look today, because your head is jumbled with far too many thoughts, all of them about Soobin. Every outfit you think up is either too dressy, or too casual, or too out there, or too bland, and you have half a mind to reschedule with your mind in the state that it is. Unfortunately for you, Soobin is already on his way, and you’re not the type of asshole to tell him to head back home and forget the whole date, so you just stare at your pile of clothes on the floor, hoping that somehow you’ll be enlightened with the perfect outfit idea and get yourself looking presentable before he comes knocking.

The universe is clearly not on your side, though, because your doorbell rings not even a minute later, and all you’ve picked out is your jeans and you’re still very much topless. You shoot a message to Soobin, thumbs flying frantically as you let him know you’re not quite ready yet– he might be your best friend in the entire world, but you’re not ready for him to see you under your clothes just yet, especially now that you’re properly seeing each other.

You’re still not sure what to wear, but you figure a beige knit sweater should be safe– you won’t look like you’re trying too hard, but you also won’t look like you’re not trying at all. When you swing the door open to finally greet Soobin, your breath quite literally gets taken away, because he trips and almost knocks you over with his lanky frame, but also, he’s breathtaking.

He’s clearly put a lot of thought into his outfit, which is very cute, and he looks absolutely stunning. A sleek black cardigan with white striped accents on the sleeve, a white dress shirt that clearly looks freshly pressed– hell, he’s even wearing a tie– and those godforsaken glasses that have you in a chokehold somehow. You don’t even bother hiding your delight– he’s so beautiful, and you know he needs a little validation after he probably spent hours putting his look together.

He catches you staring wordlessly, and he flushes with embarrassment.“What? Too much? I knew I should have skipped on the tie–” He grumbles, making a move to loosen it, but he’s stopped by your hand over his.

“No. You look great, Soob. Seriously.” You’re not used to being verbally affectionate, especially not with him, but when he looks that sad, like a kicked puppy, you know better than to tease him when he’s unsure of himself. Despite that, you’re still shy as you reassure him. “You look beautiful.”

The way he brightens when he hears your words is almost cartoonish, and this time, you can’t hold back your laughter, which earns a pout from him, which in turn only fuels your laughter further. You appease him by lacing your fingers with his (he’s apparently a lot easier to please than you remember, but maybe that’s your imagination), and he responds by placing a kiss to the back of your hand. The gesture is tender and sweet, and you think about what it’d be like to have Soobin do that to you every day.

“Well, shall we?” He bows exaggeratedly with his free arm, giving you a blinding smile.

You mirror his smile, and playfully curtsy in return. “We shall.”

When you two arrive at the botanical gardens, it’s jam-packed with people (a worker explains that their tulips are in full bloom, so everyone’s vying for their social media moment), and Soobin is visibly startled, though he recovers quickly as he turns to you. 

“You okay? There’s so many people... I think this is twice, maybe even thrice as many people as there were at the night market.” You don’t do well with crowds, the crowd at the night market was probably the most you could handle, but you know that you don’t have a choice– you have to follow through with the date as scheduled, or risk a fine that neither of you can afford, so you just nod, your grip on his hand tightening. 

Soobin somehow finds a slightly less crowded area of the tulip fields for you two to stroll in after doing a quick sweep (thank god for his height, and that he uses it to his advantage), but you still feel tense as you walk hand in hand. There’s still a decent amount of people, with more spilling in excitedly, phone cameras in hand, and you have a bad feeling the crowd will only grow in size as the day drags on. You just hope you’re as convincing an actress as you think you are, and that Soobin won’t notice as he reads the identification cards for each flower.

You’re caught off guard when he gently pushes you down onto a nearby bench, and crouches in front of you, clasping your other hand in his so that both of them are occupied. The concerned expression on his face tells you that you’re nowhere near an Oscar for your performance, and that he’s most definitely caught on to your discomfort. Normally you’d be embarrassed at the display– you hate making a scene in public, but your anxiety is getting the better of you, and it’s nice to know that he still knows you as well as you thought.

“Noona… look. I know you don’t like crowds, especially excitable and hectic ones like these. If you really, really feel like this is too much for you, we can cancel the date and go home. I want you to have a good time, and I know it’s hard for you when there’s so many people.”

You’re chewing at your lower lip again, and Soobin lets go of one of your hands to thumb at your lip to stop you before you tear it open with your teeth. “But Soob, we came all this way. And you dressed so nicely for me, for this date, and I spent all this time wanting to look good for you, and spend time with you…” You trail off when your breath catches in your throat, your chin trembling as your eyes well up. “It’d be such a waste to cancel after all our time and effort.”

Once again Soobin’s thumb is gently swiping over your cheeks when the tears finally spill over, hushing you with the soft sincerity that he’s prone to when he’s not teasing you. 

“Hey, hey… we can reschedule for another day, can’t we? We don’t have to do this, noona. There’s always next time. It won’t be a waste, I promise.” You feel so apologetic you could die. Soobin’s being so patient and sweet and understanding with you and here you are, kicking up a fuss. The least you could do is power through and follow through with your scheduled date, and you’d hate to miss out on this time with him that you’ve been looking forward to. You were excited for this date, and you want him to know that.

“I think I’d feel worse if we cancelled after we went through all this trouble, and especially if it was all because of me… just give me a moment to calm myself down.” Soobin nods in response, cradling your cheek in his palm, and you sigh appreciatively at the tender gesture. He doesn’t say anything as you wipe away the remnants of your tears and blow your nose– he just holds your hand, letting you gather yourself, and you think for a moment that this must be the benefit of falling for your best friend.

Once the tears have finally subsided, and you’ve had a moment to calm your nerves, you meet Soobin’s eyes, which are searching yours, as if scanning for any lingering signs of discomfort. When he can’t find any, and you give him a reassuring look and a grateful smile, he seizes the opportunity to steal a peck from your lips, grinning cheekily with his tongue between his teeth when he pulls away. 

“H-hey! What was that for?!” Your shock and surprise is real, but your indignance certainly isn’t, if your rosy cheeks are any indication. Your discomfort is forgotten, at least temporarily, so you’re glad for that.

“Oh… just because. You liked it, though.” He’s so smug, that stupid asshole, but he’s right, so you pull him in for another quick kiss before you try to make a run for it. Unfortunately for your escape plan, you’ve forgotten that your hand is still very much interlocked with his, and he’s significantly stronger than you, so he easily pulls you back into his embrace. You can’t say you mind, though– he’s warm and he smells good, like jasmine and sandalwood and the faint scent of vanilla, and if you weren’t already so flustered you’d bury your face in his broad chest.

“Feeling better now?” The words fall from Soobin’s lips with a teasing lilt, but you know it’s his way of genuinely checking in on you, so you answer sincerely.

“Much better. Though I’d still like to avoid the crowds and find somewhere else to have our date… if you don’t mind? The tulips are pretty, and as much as I would like to admire them too, there’s just so many people fighting for a good photo…” 

“Of course, I get it. I saw a sign pointing to a field of azaleas over there that is probably getting a lot less foot traffic than the tulips, so we could head over there?” He gestures in the opposite direction of the tulip field, and you’re more than happy to oblige, letting him tug you along.

Thankfully Soobin’s guess is correct, because there’s only a handful of people at the azalea field when you two arrive, and the tension in your shoulders finally lets up. The dainty red and pink flowers have their own quaint charm, and they’re vibrant and eye-catching. You crouch down to get a closer look, taking hold of a delicate petal in between the pads of your fingers to admire them.

“Did you know red and pink azaleas represent love and romance? Roses aren’t the only flower of love like everyone seems to think.” Soobin’s deep voice rings in your ear and you startle a little, partially because he’s way closer to you than you expected (it’s going to be a while before you get used to maintaining close proximity with him) and partially because you had no idea Soobin was just casually carrying the knowledge of flower meanings in that pretty head of his.

“They’re so pretty… they’d make a much more unique gift than roses for special occasions, too. Not that there’s anything wrong with roses, but they’re kind of done to death, don’t you think?”

Instead of answering, Soobin looks both ways, then plucks a flower, and you hiss in disapproval at him. “Hey–! What are you doing? The sign says that we can’t pick the flowers!” Luckily, none of the staff has taken notice of his mischievous little act, but even if they did, you can’t help but wonder if they’d even care, when he could charm his way into anything.

Soobin tucks the flower behind your ear, seemingly ignoring your disapproval as he hums a tune under his breath. “A gift for our special occasion, and a little commemoration of our budding romance, or something. And look, noona, you’re so pretty. Just like a flower.” He punctuates his statement with the sound of his phone camera flashing, followed by four more, until you’re blushing profusely with embarrassment.

“Soobin, that’s enough–” Your cheeks are beet red– you can feel it from the sheer amount of blood running into them– and though you really like that Soobin’s taking pictures of you for him to keep, you’re extremely camera shy, and he knows that, which is probably why he’s so insistent.

“Actually, the issue is that I didn’t take enough. Now smile for the camera!” You have to practically wrestle your way away from the camera, but not before he snaps a few more of you smiling bashfully at him. He catches up to you with ease (damn those long legs of his), arms secure around your frame as you squeal, though you’re secretly pleased that you’re in his hold.

The time once again ticks by like nothing as you walk side by side, admiring the blooms around you and snapping photos of each other (“For wallpaper usage purposes,” Soobin says, and you blush again), and before you know it, your watches are beeping to signify that your two hours are up. Soobin sobers up almost immediately, expression unreadable, and though he doesn’t say anything as he takes your hand, you know what’s on his mind, because the same thing is on yours.

There’s a palpable tension hanging in the air once the two of you reach the entrance of the gardens– it’s the third date, after all, and you promised you’d find out your expiration date if you made it this far. You’re relieved that your watches haven’t blared just yet, signifying the end of your connection, but you’re still struck with the nervousness of finding out how long you’ll last. You think you’ll never get over it if you only get a few months– or worse, a few days with him– after all this secret pining and yearning.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Soobin was somehow eerily calm about the whole thing. But you do know better, and you know that he’s just trying to put on a brave face for you, and for himself. The two of you open Time to Love in silence, hands still interlocked, swiping to the ‘Love Countdown’ tab with your free hands, and brace yourselves. Soobin gives you a reassuring nod, and you respond back with what you hope is an equally reassuring smile, and that your expression doesn’t betray the fear bubbling deep within you.

Soobin takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Okay, on the count of three,”

“One…” “Two…”

“Three!”

When both of you tap the in-app tab, there isn’t an array of numbers indicating an expiration date with a ticking countdown, as you expected and had grown accustomed to on your previous dates– in fact, there isn’t a single number on the screen– and instead there’s an infinity sign.

You two don’t have an expiration date.

You and Soobin look at each other, then at your watches, then at each other again. 

“Wait, we don’t have an expiration date–”

Then the realization dawns on both of you, and it hits you like a truck.

“Wait, we’re soulmates?!”

Both of you are sporting the same bewildered expression, and you both go to check your progress bars, just to be sure– they’re full, just as you’d expect after being matched with your soulmate. So that’s why your watch alarms haven’t gone off. You two were the one in a million. Once the shock finally wears off, it’s replaced with pure, unbridled joy, and when Soobin sweeps you off your feet to gather you in his arms, there’s an emotion bubbling in you that’s equal parts unfamiliar and yet welcome.

You’d thought all this time, all these years, that there was no way you should feel this way about your best friend, of all people. That you shouldn’t fuck this up, because Soobin has always been there for you, and you’ve always been there for him. As his friend. As your friend. 

But here is the universe, telling you that you’re fated to love him, and that he’s fated to love you in return. 

And love him you do. You love Soobin. And when you look at him, and see the way he’s looking at you, with fondness practically dripping from his gaze, you know he loves you too. 

Maybe the watch really is bullshit. Maybe it is statistically impossible to decide someone’s life partner based on an algorithm.

But maybe it’s onto something, because it seems silly to have ever thought of being with anyone except Soobin. You never would’ve thought to look for your forever right next to you, and yet, here he is, in the flesh. Was it a coincidence that he made it onto your recommended matches that fateful night? Was it a coincidence that he felt the same way you did?

Soobin’s lips capture yours in a searing kiss, and you melt in his heat, kissing him back with a fierce fervor, as if desperately communicating the depth of the feelings you’ve let build up silently after all these years. You decide that there’s no such thing as coincidences– he’s always known what’s best for you, and you’ve always wanted what’s best for him. You just didn’t know that the answer to both of those things was each other.

“I love you, noona.” He whispers with a bashful, dimpled smile, and your heart swells.

“I love you too, Soob.”

Soobin has always been counting down to something. 

To the end of another grueling workday, the next League of Legends patch update, to anything, so he always has something to look forward to. But he’s never looked forward to this.

The love countdown has always been something he despised and dreaded– he’s always wanted to be the master of his own fate, without the shackles of the app tying him down with each new connection. He’d always thought that his soulmate would be some poorly matched individual who he’d have a mediocre life with, but all that seems to be proven wrong as he looks at you.

He hates being wrong. But when he sees the way you smile, the way you regard him with the utmost love and affection in your gaze, the way you hold his hand as if you’ll lose him if you let go– he thinks he’s willing to concede defeat, at least this time.

Maybe that stupid watch does know a thing or two about love. Maybe it doesn’t. Maybe this is all just pure coincidence. But despite it all, Soobin is thankful that this is where he ends up. That both of you had been counting down all this time to each other. 

Because if there's anyone he can count on in this world, it's you.

[spatialwave]

"all mine."

pairing: lee russell x fem!reader word count: 2.5k summary: as the youngest teacher on staff, you enjoy taking your peers out for a night of dancing, drinking and gossiping. lee russell was one of the few who joined, the married man you’d fallen hopelessly in love with. warnings/tags: mdni! smut, affair/cheating, dirty dancing, oral (m-receiving), verbal degradation, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, i feel like i made lee a little ooc so forgive me!

“oh, come on, lee,” your voice was soft and gentle, humming sweetly like a songbird, “it’s friday night, and you’d rather go home? really?”

hazel eyes settled on you as you shared a table in the staff room. it was sixth period and you had a planning period. you may have been the youngest member of staff, but you were the most organized, meaning you could waste the hour away with your favourite person at north jackson high.

vice principal lee russell.

your bottom lip was jutted out in a pout as he stared at you with his chin in both hands. he kept a straight face for a few moments until he scoffed and waved you away, “don’t give me that fuckin’ look, you’re too good at guiltin’ people into doin’ shit. you’re a bad influence.”

you gasped, sitting up straight, “that’s rich coming from you. i recall you asking me to help you dig dirt on gamby when he was pissing you off last year, and i followed him around for an entire saturday like some serial-killer stalker. a saturday when i was supposed to hang with my girlfriends, mind you, so don’t get all grouchy with me about being a bad influence.”

he pursed his lips and his gaze flickered between your eyes, “fine, if you must know, i’m starting to feel old as shit, okay? everytime we go out i end up at home at four in the goddamn morning with a migraine and the luxury of a two-day fuckin’ hangover” lee admitted, “it’s a real pain in the ass, you know. if it isn’t for you pukin’ your guts out and needin’ help home every weekend, i’d be back home in the comfort of my own bed at a normal fuckin’ time.”

you lips curved into a small smile as you listened to the man whine and complain, “not my fault that someone buys me shots all night.”

“and that was the last time because i learned my fuckin’ lesson. you can’t handle your alcohol,” he pointed a finger at you, lips lifting at the corners to match your sweet, little smile.

lee russell was smitten with you, and it was a slippery slope that he’d been sliding down. he was a married man, after all, but the marriage came with its own complications.

“great talk. i’ll see you tonight, lee.” you winked at him, taking your coffee, and giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze as you walked past him. lee’s eyes stayed on your body, watching your hips sway with each movement.

you had him wrapped around your finger, and he fucking hated it.

loud music and flashing lights filled your senses as you sipped on your vodka soda, waiting for your peers to arrive as time ticked away. amanda, bill and jen were always ready to crush back shots and forget about the bullshit week of classes with you, but even they were late.

you checked your cellphone as you leaned up against the bar, seeing if you had any missed messages from your colleagues. nothing.

you downed the rest of your drink and made a stop in the washroom to touch up your makeup and adjust your outfit—something special you wore in hopes to impress lee. a short, black skirt that hugged your curves and a black halter top held with thin straps that did little to cover your skin.

staring at yourself in the mirror, you felt a mix of emotions, mostly disgust and embarrassment. lee was married, and here you were hurting your feet with four-inch heels and wearing an uncomfortable skirt in hopes that he’d see you and want to ravage you.

all for him to not even show up.

you swallowed your pride. maybe you would forget about the married man if you met someone nice on the dancefloor. someone single and your age.

your heels clicked against the tiled floor as you left the bathroom, eyes flickering around the busy club when your gaze settled on the man you’d fallen madly in love with. he was at the bar with two shots in front of him, hazel eyes eagerly searching for you. you stayed in the shadows a bit longer, your heart rate skyrocketing as you watched him standing there in his dark grey suit with red-patterned button down peeking from underneath.

he was such a dork—a nicely dressed dork.

those eyes you loved flickered in your direction, and your stomach filled with butterflies when his lips pulled into a toothy grin. he hadn’t even needed to beckon you, your legs working beyond your brain as you sauntered to his side.

“lee,” you beamed, wrapping your arms around your friend and giving him a quick hug, smelling the expensive, intoxicating cologne, “you’re the only one who showed,” your breath tickled his ear as you spoke, pulling back with a coy smile in your lips. you were quick to notice the way he looked you up and down, settling on your revealed skin until he met your eyes.

“really? no one else came?” he was shocked as he spoke, “well, those assholes are missing out,” he slid one of the tequila shots over to you, “because tonight is the fucking night we party our goddamn brains out. we’re not goin’ home until the sun is risin’, baby, i promise you that.”

the casual pet name sent a shiver up your spine, “what happened to being too old?” you asked with a smirk.

“a moment of weakness,” lee replied, “i’m lee fuckin’ russell, i’m fuckin’ invincible. i wanna’ get goddamn wasted!”

the tequila was warm down your throat, but you cringed at the taste. your work companion cheered, inhaling through his teeth sharply, “shit, that’s good,” he breathed, waving for the bartender to bring another round as he laid out cash on the counter to pay.

the second one went down smoother than the first, a lazy grin smeared along your lips as you focused your attention back on lee. he was already staring at you, smirking.

“why are you looking at me like a piece of meat?” you teased, licking your lips, and smoothing down the front of his suit with a delicate hand. your nails were painted a deep shade of red that matched his shirt.

“i’m allowed to admire a pretty woman,” he replied oh-so confidently, and you knew that he had showed up to the club with a few drinks already in his system, “did you dress up for me?”

this was the side of lee russell you always enjoyed seeing. the side that focused his attention solely on you, and made you feel wanted.

“you’re so full of yourself,” you laughed, cheeks warm, “i may have kept you in mind when i was getting ready.”

“i can tell,” he cocked his head to the side, unashamed in the way he reached forward and brushed your hair behind your ear. this was wrong on so many levels, but the thrill was a high that you chased, and you dared not to think about the consequences.

with the alcohol coursing through your body and the loud, bass-heavy music guiding your thoughts to the filthiest parts of your mind, you snagged lee’s hand in your own and laced your fingers together. lee russell was in a trance as he watched you lead him where the crowd of clubbers danced together—bodies grinding and arms strung around necks.

you glanced over your shoulder at him, the hunger in his eyes easy to spon even under the unpredictable lighting.

you were about to spin around and face the man, but you were surprised when his free hand landed on your hip, squeezing over the fabric of your skirt. his chest pushed flush against your back, lips tickling against your ear and causing a shudder to escape your lips.

it had been a long time since you danced like this with anyone, most nights you’d jump around the dancefloor with amanda and jen, sharing drunken laughs as lee watched you from afar. this was better.

his hips moved effortlessly with the music, yours moving in tandem as your ass bumped and swayed against the growing hard-on underneath his suit pants. your arms lifted above your head, his hands sliding up and down your sides, feeling over the bare skin revealed by your skimpy outfit.

you looked around the club, blinking and unable to focus on anything with the bright flashes of neon lights and tens of couples in the same situation as yourself. the alcohol had skewed your vision and all you could focus on was how wet you were between your legs, and the feeling of lee’s fingers caressing your exposed skin

“lee,” you breathed his name out as your head lolled back to rest against his shoulder, able to brush your lips against his jaw while hands tightened over your hips, “this is… wrong,” you could hardly speak.

your morals were showing, but you hadn’t the willpower to stop.

“it’s okay,” he hushed, head tilting enough that his lips barely brushed against yours, and it was then the alcohol seemed to hit you all at once.

you were quick to turn around in his arms, wrapping them around his neck and forcing your lips together in a kiss that had been dangling between you two for months. he licked into your mouth, parting your lips until he could slide his tongue against yours, fighting for dominance that wasn’t hard to win and leaving you wanting more.

everything happened fast.

one moment you two were tongue-fucking each other on the dancefloor, the next you were hidden away in the washroom on your knees with lee’s hands in your hair. his length was pushed deep in your throat as you sucked him off, addicted to the way his face twisted in pleasure as your tongue glided along the underside of his cock.

the music was muffled, but the washroom was loud with the sounds of girls chatting and laughing. doing coke together in the stalls, pouring alcohol out from the flasks they snuck in, and making so much noise that you weren’t worried when lee would choke out a moan or gasp your name.

your hands pressed against the front of his thighs as you bobbed your head, lips perfectly wrapped around him as his cock twitched in your mouth.

“get up,” he moaned shakily, taking your hair in his hands and yanking you from his cock. lips parted from it with a soft ‘pop’ and lee wanted so badly to keep going until your makeup was streaming down your cheeks, but he needed you, “i want to fuck you, baby,” he murmured, staring down at your eager, young face, “you won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“mhm,” you whimpered as you stood, and he pinned you against the door of the stall, “it’s our secret, just ours. i promise—”

he shut you up with his lips, a hand reaching down, so his fingers could push past your panties and waste no time in making you squirm and moan. two fingers plunged inside your cunt, and he smiled against your lips, “you’re so easy, aren’t you?”

the degradation wasn’t surprising, and you welcomed it wholly.

“bet you’ll take my cock so fuckin’ easy too, won’t you, baby?” he breathed heavy against your jaw, leaving sloppy kisses against your skin as his fingers stretched you just right, “do you want it? tell me how bad you want my cock and i’ll think about giving it to you.”

“lee,” you squirmed, hips twitching as you tried to stay upright with your legs spread for him, “i want it bad, really fucking bad. please, i need it.”

that’s all it took for lee’s impatience to get the best of him. he hooked one of your legs around his hips and replaced his fingers with his cock, slow as he filled you and pulling back to watch your pretty mouth go slack as your cunt ached around him.

“i’m not on the pill,” you were quick to whisper in his ear, your hips shaking as he started rocking his. you buried your face against his neck, scared to scream his name and let everyone in the bathroom know what you were doing.

“fuck,” he groaned into your ear, one hand on your thigh wrapped around him, the other against the metal stall door next to your head while yours tugged on his hair for dear life, “it’s okay, we’ll be okay. just—fuck,” he couldn’t finish his scrambled thoughts, his mind going blank as he fucked you slow and steady, “just shut up and take it.”

you listened obediently like you always had with him, your head falling back against the door as he fucked you, surprisingly tender in his movements. his hips rocked against yours slowly, stretching deep into your heat and leaving you a pathetic mess that could hardly stand on one foot.

“you’re so tight,” lee grunted, biting underneath your ear hard enough to leave a mark, “and you’re all mine, all fucking mine.”

you pressed a hand to your lips, shutting yourself up as lee’s movements quickened. the stall door started squeaking with each forward kick of his hips, and neither of you cared at this point. all you could do was take it like he told you, legs parted and cunt squeezing around his cock until he came, filling you like he dreamed about doing every night.

the following monday had rolled by too quickly for your liking. you’d spent most of your sunday alone in your apartment, recovering from your night out and wallowing in the guilt that came with being lee’s mistress of the night. he’d gone home before sunrise, dropping you off at home in your shared taxi and sending you off with a kiss that had you feeling all kinds of confused.

your stomach twisted as you thought about seeing him today.

the morning bell hadn’t rung yet, and you were lounging in the staff room with a coffee in your hands and listening to the chatter of teachers having their last few moments of freedom.

“bummer that you had to cancel saturday night,” amanda’s voice caught your attention as she walked into the staff room, “but i hope you’re feeling better. there is nothing worse than wasting your weekends being sick.”

you perked up, confusion on your face as she poured her coffee.

“after lee let us all know you weren’t feeling good on friday he planned for us to go to this new bar on the other side of town. it was actually really fun, but can you believe this?” she peered over her shoulder to look at you, “he didn’t even show up.”

[the-winter-spider]

Under Pressure | one

Bucky Barnes AU

Word Count: 11.6k

Warnings: Angst, swearing, depression, mental health, mentions of su!cide

A/N: I just wanna say, I have ADHD so i will always have multiple stories going at once 🤪

two

The muffled hum of life beyond your bedroom window felt like a cruel reminder of how the world kept spinning, indifferent to the weight pressing on your chest. The sun had begun its descent, streaking the sky with a melancholy palette of orange and pink. It was beautiful, you supposed, in the way things could be beautiful when they didn’t matter.

You sighed and tugged at the loose thread on the sleeve of your hoodie—Bucky’s hoodie, though you’d had it so long it might as well be yours now. It still smelled faintly of him, a mix of pine and something warm and earthy, like home. That smell was your lifeline some nights, when the storm in your head raged too fiercely to sleep.

A sharp knock rattled your apartment door, interrupting the quiet.

“Hey! Open up!” Bucky’s voice, firm but familiar, carried through the thin wood. “Don’t make me kick this door in. You know I’ll do it.”

You groaned, dragging yourself off the couch. “It’s unlocked,” you called, not loud enough to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

The door creaked open, and there he was—Bucky, your best friend since middle school. His broad frame filled the doorway, but it was his eyes, those piercing blue eyes, that caught you. They scanned you like a checklist, searching for any signs you weren’t okay. You hated how well he knew you sometimes. “Y’know, you shouldn't leave your door unlocked especially here, anyone can just come in.”

“Hi,” you mumbled, ignoring him and retreating to the couch. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I—” He stepped fully inside and shut the door, the look on his face a mix of exasperation and concern. “You haven’t answered your phone all day. Natasha’s convinced you’re dead. Steve’s ready to call the cops. I told them to chill, but…” He gestured at you, his brows knitting together. “You look like you’ve been living on this couch.”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “Just tired.”

“Bullshit,” he shot back, his tone softening when you flinched. He moved to sit beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. “What’s going on?”

The question hung between you, heavy and unwelcome. You could feel his eyes on you, waiting, patient but unyielding. Bucky was relentless like that, never letting you retreat too far into yourself. It was part of why you loved him—or at least, why you were glad to have him in your corner.

“I’m fine, Buck,” you lied, curling your arms around your knees. “Really, just one of those days.”

Bucky didn’t respond immediately. He leaned back, stretching one arm along the back of the couch, his fingers almost grazing your shoulder. It was a casual gesture, but you knew him too well to miss the tension in his posture.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “If you say you’re fine, I’ll let it go. For now. But…” He hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip like he was debating whether to say something. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything. You don’t have to deal with this shit on your own.”

Your throat tightened, the familiar ache of wanting to believe him warring with the part of you that never could. You nodded, though, because it was easier than arguing.

“I know,” you whispered.

The room fell into silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Bucky didn’t push further, didn’t demand answers you couldn’t give. Instead, he stayed, his quiet presence grounding you in a way nothing else could.

After a while, he nudged your knee with his. “Wanna order pizza or something? My treat.”

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “Only if I get to pick the toppings.”

He grinned, and for a moment, the storm in your head quieted.

Bucky stretched out on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest as he reached for his phone. “What are we getting, then? Don’t even say pineapple, or I’m leaving.”

You rolled your eyes, the corners of your mouth tugging upward despite yourself. “Meatlovers, extra cheese.”

“Classic,” he said with a nod, punching it into the app. “It’s on the way, Should be here in like twenty.”

You stood up, brushing invisible lint off your borrowed hoodie. “I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you mumbled, tugging at the hem of your sleeve.

Bucky smirked, leaning back against the cushions. “Good, you smell.”

You shot him a glare, shoving his shoulder with just enough force to make him chuckle. “Asshole,” you muttered as you headed toward the bathroom.

“Love you too, sweetheart!” he called after you, his voice laced with humor.

The bathroom was small and dimly lit, the fluorescent bulb above the sink flickering faintly. You shut the door behind you and leaned against it for a moment, letting out a long breath. The mirror above the sink was still covered with an old towel, hastily taped over it. You didn’t want to see the evidence of last night—the cracks radiating out from where your fist had landed.

Your hand throbbed beneath the makeshift bandage you’d wrapped around it earlier, but the pain was manageable. You were just glad Bucky hadn’t noticed. Hiding it under the hoodie had been a small victory, one you clung to.

Turning the shower knob, you waited for the water to heat up. Steam began to rise, fogging up the edges of the covered mirror. As you stripped off your clothes and stepped under the hot spray, the water cascaded over you, but it didn’t wash away the heaviness that clung to your chest.

It’s happening again.

You could feel it—the familiar slide into the darkness, like slipping down a slope you couldn’t climb back up, you never could no matter how hard you tried. The kind of heaviness that made it hard to breathe, let alone function. You’d felt this way before, so many times, but this was worse. This was deeper. This time felt final.

You hadn’t told your friends about losing your job. How could you? They’d try to help, and you couldn’t bear the thought of being a burden, even to them. Too many sick days, they’d said. Too many excuses, not enough productivity. And with that, the safety net of insurance vanished. No more medication. Not that it was working, anyway. You weren’t even sure it ever had.

The water ran over your face, and you tilted your head back, letting it sting your eyes. At least you didn’t have to worry about rent. Your parents made sure of that—not out of love, but because it was easier for them than dealing with you directly. They’d never wanted a child, not really. They made that clear in a thousand ways, subtle and not-so-subtle. Dismissive words. The quiet regret in their voices when they thought you weren’t listening.

Maybe that’s where the darkness came from. Or maybe it was just in your blood. Your aunt had taken her life when you were a kid. You remembered the way people whispered about her, like it was contagious. Maybe it was.

For the first time, you felt a strange gratitude for your parents. Not for their love—they’d never offered that—but for their money. It kept the lights on, the water running, even if you didn’t deserve it.

Bucky’s voice shattered the spiral. “Pizza’s here!” he yelled from the living room, his voice muffled through the door.

You blinked, startled, and realized you were still standing under the water, your skin pruned from the heat. “Okay!” you called back, shutting off the shower. The sudden silence was deafening.

You dried off quickly, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and the same oversized hoodie. Your hand throbbed as you tucked it into the sleeve, hiding the cuts from the glass, the already bruising knuckles and the makeshift bandage. Bucky didn’t need to know. He’d only worry, and you couldn’t handle that right now.

When you emerged, he was already opening the pizza box, the smell of melted cheese and pepperoni filling the room. “Took you long enough,” he teased, glancing up at you. “You okay?”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just needed to rinse off.”

Bucky studied you for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning your face like they always did. But he didn’t push. Instead, he handed you a slice of pizza, the grease soaking through the paper plate. “Eat up, you look like you need it.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you said dryly, settling onto the couch beside him.

But despite the teasing, you were grateful. Grateful for the warmth of the food, the easy banter, and the way Bucky never left you alone in the quiet.

The smell of pizza filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of laundry detergent lingering on Bucky’s hoodie. You were sitting cross-legged on the couch, a slice in your hand, while Bucky leaned back, gesturing animatedly as he recounted some story about Steve.

“So then Steve—being the genius he is—decides that the best way to move this stupidly heavy shelf is to tilt it, right? And I’m like, ‘Steve, no, that’s a terrible idea.’ But does he listen? No. He ends up pinning himself between the shelf and the wall, and I swear, Nat had to stop me from laughing before we helped him.”

You gave a faint chuckle, shaking your head. Bucky’s smile widened as he nudged you with his elbow.

“Speaking of Steve,” he continued, reaching for another slice, “he said he sent you the invite to his party this weekend. You haven’t RSVP’d yet. I told him you’re obviously coming, but he says he needs you to click yes for the numbers or some shit.”

You paused, setting your pizza slice back on the plate. “I, uh, haven’t seen my phone since last night. Didn’t realize he sent it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, dramatically exasperated. “Typical. Losing your phone in your own damn house.” He stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’ll find it for you. Probably stuffed in the couch cushions again.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Hey, I’m just saying,” he teased, fishing between the cushions. “You’ve always been this way. Remember when you used to lose me at the mall? Or the park? Or on the street?”

You got up, heading toward your bedroom to search. “I didn’t lose you,” you called over your shoulder. “You just liked to wander.”

His laugh echoed from the living room. “Fair point. I’ll check the bathroom.”

You froze mid-step, your heart skipping a beat. You turned too quickly and hit your head on the shelf above your desk, wincing at the sharp pain. Panic surged through you as you clutched your throbbing hand tighter, trying to keep your breathing steady.

“Bucky!” you called, your voice tight.

“What?” he answered from the bathroom. “Hey, uh… why is there a towel over your mirror?”

You clenched your eyes shut, the blood rushing in your ears as you heard the unmistakable sound of tape being peeled. He’s not going to be mad. It’s Bucky. He’s not going to be mad, you repeated to yourself, your breaths coming faster now.

“Y/N?” His voice was closer now, cautious but soft. “Why is the mirror broken?”

You didn’t move, clutching your phone in your injured hand like a lifeline, your fingers trembling against the cracked case. You felt the room spin slightly as the anxiety clawed at your chest. Breathe. Focus. He’s not mad. He’s just worried.

When you finally looked up, Bucky was standing in your doorway. His gaze immediately flickered to your hand, and his eyes softened as he pieced everything together.

“Oh,” he said quietly, his voice a mix of realization and concern. “You found your phone.”

He stepped closer, his eyes dropping to the crude, bloodstained bandage wrapped around your knuckles. He froze, his expression shifting into something unreadable. “Sweets…”

You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t handle the weight of his gaze. “It’s nothing,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you clutched the phone tighter, as if it could shield you from the truth between you.

“Nothing?” His voice cracked. “This—this is not nothing.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Every word stuck in your throat, choking you. The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive, until Bucky stepped closer, his hands carefully, hesitantly reaching for yours. He didn’t take your phone away—he just held your uninjured hand gently in his, his thumb brushing over your trembling fingers.

He said your name softly, his voice steady despite the emotion wavering in it, “what happened?”

You shook your head, the tears already spilling over before you could stop them. “I—” You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to.”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly, grounding you. “It’s okay,” he said quickly. “It’s okay. Just talk to me, please.”

You closed your eyes, the words tumbling out in a broken rush. “It was last night. I just… I just couldn’t, my uh emotions, I couldn’t handle it. I—” You exhaled shakily. “I punched the mirror because I didn’t want to—” You stopped, biting back the rest of the sentence, the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

Bucky’s face crumpled, his hand still holding yours as if afraid to let go. “Jesus, Y/N,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you, it was like 3 in the morning Buck” you admitted, your voice raw. “You’re always fixing my messes, Buck. I didn’t want to make it worse, I’m just a mess, I’m sorry.”

“Worse?” His voice rose slightly, though it wasn’t anger—just desperation. “Y/N, you’re not a mess. You’re—” He stopped, his jaw clenching as he searched for the right words. “You’re my best friend. And I love you” His voice cracked “You don’t bother me, okay? Ever.”

You met his eyes then, your vision blurry with tears. He looked back at you with such unflinching sincerity it almost hurt.

“I can’t do this without you,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to handle this on your own. I’m here, we all are you gotta know that. I’ll always be here.”

The weight in your chest shifted slightly, the suffocating pressure easing just enough for you to breathe again. You nodded slowly, your voice trembling as you whispered, “Okay.”

He pulled you into a hug then, careful not to hurt your hand, and held you like he was afraid you might disappear.

Bucky’s arms wrapped around you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you in a way nothing else could. “It’s just a bump in the road,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “You’ve hit plenty of them before, and you’ve always gotten through. We’ve always gotten through, and I’ve got just the remedy.”

He pulled back, his blue eyes sparkling with a glint of mischief. Before you could ask what he meant, he strode over to the corner of your room where your record player sat, surrounded by a modest collection of vinyls. He thumbed through the stack, muttering to himself, “Where is it… aha.”

Your heart stuttered as the familiar static of a spinning record filled the air. And then you heard it: the unmistakable opening beat of Under Pressure.

A smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it. You turned around to see Bucky already moving, his shoulders bouncing in exaggerated rhythm. His grin was wide and goofy as he started lip-syncing Freddie Mercury’s part with gusto, his voice just slightly off-key but no less enthusiastic.

“Pressure, pushing down on me, pressing down on you…”

“Bucky, what are you doing?” you asked, though the smile was impossible to hide.

“Cheering you up, obviously,” he replied, spinning in place before striding toward you. He extended a hand dramatically as he transitioned into the next line. “No man ask for…”

“Under pressure!” you couldn’t help but join in, stepping into your part with Bowie’s deeper, sultry tone.

Bucky’s grin widened as he grabbed your good hand and spun you around. You laughed despite yourself, your heart pounding—not from the anxiety this time, but from the sheer joy of the moment. Together, you sang, danced, and twirled through the song, just like you had so many times before.

When the final notes faded into silence, the two of you were left standing face to face, breathing hard and laughing, cheeks flushed. He looked down at you, his eyes softening as he smiled. “Works like a charm every time. It’s why it’s our song.”

You didn’t respond, just let the warmth in your chest grow as you caught your breath. But before you could lose yourself in the moment, Bucky gently took your hand—the injured one—his expression shifting to something more serious.

“Alright,” he said, tugging you toward the bathroom. “Let’s take a proper look at this.”

“What are you doing?” you asked, panic creeping back into your voice.

“We’re getting a proper look at this hand, is what we’re doing,” he replied, his tone leaving no room for argument.

He guided you to sit on the closed toilet lid and opened your cabinet, pulling out the first-aid kit you barely used. His movements were quick but precise, his focus intense as he knelt in front of you. “Let me see,” he said softly.

Reluctantly, you held out your hand. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage carefully, his brow furrowing as he examined the bloody knuckles beneath. “Y/N,” he sighed, shaking his head, though there was no judgment in his voice.

“It’s fine,” you said quickly. “Really, it doesn’t even hurt that much.”

“Uh-huh,” he muttered, grabbing antiseptic and gauze. “Sure it doesn’t.” He worked quietly, cleaning the wound with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

The sting barely registered—if anything, it felt grounding, something to focus on as you came down from the high of dancing with him. The silence stretched between you, comfortable and steady, until he finally broke it.

“Are you taking your meds?” he asked, not looking up from his work.

“Of course,” you lied, the words slipping out automatically.

He glanced at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn’t push. “Okay,” he said after a beat. “Are you still seeing Dr. Jones?”

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I… haven’t been in a while.”

Bucky sighed again, his fingers stilling briefly before he started wrapping your hand with fresh gauze. “Maybe you should schedule an appointment,” he suggested, his voice gentle. “I can do it for you, if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly. “I can do it.”

“Alright,” he said, finishing the bandage with a neat knot. He sat back on his heels, his expression soft but serious. “I know I sound like a broken record but I’m always here for you, okay? No matter what. I don’t care what I’m doing—if you need me, I’ll drop everything, Id do anything for you.”

And that was what terrified you the most: the thought of Bucky regretting you. The fear that one day, he’d look at you and finally say what you’d always told yourself—that you were a burden. That would be the thing to push you over the edge. You hated how much you relied on him, how much of your brokenness you placed on his shoulders. It’s why you fought so hard not to bother him with every little thing, even when it felt impossible to hold it all in.

Still, when he looked at you like that—steady, unwavering—it was hard not to believe him, if only for a moment. You nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. “I know.”

The sun filtered weakly through the gray clouds as you wandered through the bustling streets of New York with Natasha, the two of you weaving in and out of shops in search of outfits for Steve’s birthday party. The buzz of the city was as alive as ever, but it felt far away, muted in your mind like someone had turned down the volume on the world.

Natasha was in her element, flipping through racks of dresses and skirts, holding up pieces with a gleam in her eye. “This one’s cute, right?” she asked, twirling a hanger with a little black dress on it.

“Yeah, it’s nice,” you replied, your voice distant as you thumbed idly through a rack of jeans.

Natasha turned, narrowing her eyes at you as she hung the dress back on the rack. “Okay, you’re way too quiet. What’s up?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, forcing a small smile. “Just… a headache.”

She tilted her head, studying you with that sharp gaze of hers, the one that always seemed to see right through you. “You’re okay, though, right?”

The words hit you harder than they should have. You hesitated, gripping the edge of a hanger as if it would steady you. What would you even say to her? No, I’m not okay. The colors are fading again, and the world feels dull and dark. Every step feels like walking through quicksand, and I can’t remember the last time I felt like myself.

But you couldn’t say that. Not to her. Not to any of them. Natasha was thriving, living the life she’d always dreamed of. She was a force of nature, juggling her job, her relationship with Steve, and somehow still managing to look flawless while doing it. Your friends were all like that—thriving, succeeding, building the futures they’d worked so hard for.

You couldn’t, wouldn’t take that away from them. Not because you were sad. Not because you were lost.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the weight in your chest. “Just a headache.”

Natasha gave you a look, her lips pressing into a thin line. You knew she didn’t entirely believe you, but she let it go. “Alright,” she said slowly, grabbing a pair of sleek black heels from the shelf. “But if you want to bail on shopping and go grab a coffee or something, just say the word.”

You shook your head, mustering another smile. “I’m fine, Nat. Really. Let’s keep looking.”

She studied you for another second before nodding. “Okay. But you’re not getting out of trying stuff on,” she teased, holding up a sparkly red dress that was very much not your style.

You rolled your eyes, the faintest laugh escaping before you could stop it. “No way.”

“Come on,” she said, grinning. “It’s Steve’s party. Let’s make an impression.”

As she turned back to the rack, chatting about Steve’s plans for Friday, you let her words wash over you like white noise. You didn’t have the energy to keep up with her excitement, but you let her carry the conversation anyway. It was easier that way.

The fitting room was cramped, the air thick with the faint smell of fabric and perfume. You stepped into the first dress Natasha had handed you—a sleek black number that hung too loosely on your frame. You tugged at the straps, sighing as you opened the door.

Natasha spun around from where she was scrolling on her phone, her eyes immediately lighting up. “Okay, this is hot, but… it’s too big.” She tilted her head, studying you. “Wait, are you going to the gym again?”

You froze for half a second, your mind racing. You couldn’t tell her the truth: that eating felt like a chore most days, that you barely had the energy to make yourself a bowl of cereal, let alone go to the gym. “Uh, yeah,” you lied, forcing a smile. “A little.”

“I can tell,” she said, beaming. “But don’t go too hard, okay? You’re perfect just the way you are.” Without waiting for your response, she grabbed two smaller sizes from the rack and handed them to you. “Here, try these. I bet one of them will be perfect.”

You nodded and ducked back into the fitting room, slipping into the smaller size. The dress hugged your figure in all the right places, the soft shimmer of the fabric catching the light. For a fleeting moment, you felt pretty—maybe even beautiful—but the feeling slipped away as quickly as it had come. It wasn’t enough. It never was.

When you stepped out, Natasha’s jaw dropped. “Wow,” she breathed, clapping her hands together. “This is it, i mean you still have to try the others on because what if they're better, but this is the top contender. You’re definitely gonna blow everyone away. Maybe you’ll even find your future husband at the party.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, right.”

She grinned, her tone turning teasing. “You never know. He might be closer than you think.”

You froze at her words, your heart skipping a beat as you glanced at her. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a knowing glint in her eye that made your stomach twist.

“Nat,” you said slowly, trying to steer the conversation away before it went anywhere dangerous. “This dress is nice, but…”

“No buts,” she interrupted, grabbing your shoulders and spinning you toward the mirror. “Look at yourself. You look gorgeous.”

You stared at your reflection, trying to see what she saw. The dress was beautiful, and it fit perfectly, but it still felt… wrong. Like it was a mask you couldn’t quite wear convincingly. You wanted to feel the confidence Natasha had, the joy that radiated from her so easily. But no matter how hard you tried, it just wasn’t there.

Natasha didn’t notice your hesitation, too busy admiring the dress. “You’re getting it either way, end of discussion.”

You smiled faintly and ducked back into the fitting room to change. As you slipped out of the dress, Natasha’s voice floated through the curtain.

“By the way, I know I’m only twenty-five, but… I think Steve might propose this year.”

You peeked out, raising an eyebrow. “You think tonight?”

“Oh, God, no!” She laughed, shaking her head. “I just mean… before the year’s over. We’ve been together since freshman year of college, and I feel like the next step is coming. You know?”

You nodded, even though the thought made your chest tighten. Natasha didn’t stop there, her voice full of excitement as she continued.

“I’ve already started planning, by the way. Mostly on Pinterest,” she admitted with a grin. “And obviously, you’re going to be my maid of honor.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “Wow, Nat. That’s…so kind of you.” A lot of pressure is what you meant but didn’t say.

“Oh, please,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “Of course its you, you’re my best friend and you know me best, I’m not one of those bridezillas. I just—” She sighed dreamily. “I’m ready, you know? Everything’s going so perfect. I’m so happy.”

She looked at you, her smile radiant. “Oh, my God, did I tell you I got promoted last week?”

“What? No!” you said, stepping out of the fitting room, now in a different dress. You pulled her into a hug. “Nat, that’s amazing. I’m so happy for you.”

“Thank you!” she said, hugging you back tightly. “Bucky said you lost your phone, and that’s why you weren’t answering. But yeah, they made me head of social! Everything just feels amazing. Life’s amazing.”

“Of course it is,” you said softly, pulling back to smile at her. “You deserve it.”

She beamed, holding up the sparkly red dress she’d chosen for herself. “Anyway, I’m totally getting this dress. Now it’s your turn, that colour washes you out, next one."

She handed you a few more options, her energy as boundless as ever. You couldn’t help but envy her, even as you forced yourself to match her excitement. When you tried on the next dress and stepped out, Natasha clapped again. “This one’s even better! You’re going to turn so many heads. I’m telling you, babe, this is your year. You’re gonna meet someone, I just know it!"

You laughed weakly. “Yeah, we’ll see.”

But as you changed back into your clothes, her earlier comment lingered in your mind. He might be closer than you think. You knew who she meant. Of course you did. But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it—or even think it for too long. Because no matter how beautiful the dress was, it wasn’t enough to make you feel whole. It wasn’t enough to make you feel worthy of someone like him.

The faint sounds of music drifted from your speakers as you stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, adjusting the dress Natasha had insisted you buy. You ran your hands down the shimmering fabric, trying to ignore the pit in your stomach. You didn’t love it, but you didn’t hate it either. And for tonight, “not hating it” would have to be enough.

Outside, the New York cityscape buzzed with life, the faint hum of car horns and chatter filtering through your window. You glanced at your phone, which you’d finally found after last night’s chaos. A text from Sam popped up on the screen.

Sam: Be there in 5. Don’t leave me waiting in the hall, you know I hate that...Remember when you forgot about me? :-(

You smiled faintly, slipping your phone into your small clutch and double-checking your makeup. There was a knock at the door just as you spritzed on a bit of perfume. You hurried to the door, your heels clicking lightly on the wood floor.

When you opened it, Sam stood there in a sharp button-down and blazer, flashing you his trademark grin. “Well, damn. Don’t you clean up nice?”

You laughed, stepping back to let him in. “Thanks, Sam. You look pretty dapper yourself.”

He swept into your apartment, looking around with the same casual ease he always carried. “You ready to make an entrance? I promised Steve and Nat I wouldn’t let you sneak off and ditch.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not going to ditch.”

“Good,” he said, turning to face you. “Because I’ve got a plan to make tonight one for the books. Trust me, sweet stuff, by the end of the night, you’re gonna be grinning from ear to ear.”

The warmth in his voice was infectious, and you felt a flicker of excitement you hadn’t expected. Sam had always been like this—bright, energetic, and effortlessly fun. It was one of the reasons you’d clicked so easily in college. Back then, he’d been the life of the party, and so had you. At least, that’s what everyone thought.

You remembered the first time you’d met Sam. It was at a college house party, the kind of event where the music was loud, the air reeked of beer, and everyone seemed to be smiling a little too brightly. You’d been three drinks in, already feeling the buzz in your veins, and Sam had been across the room, making everyone laugh with one of his outrageous stories.

You’d wandered over, laughing along with the group, and somehow, the two of you ended up talking. About nothing. About everything. You were drunk, and so was he, but you connected in a way that felt effortless. For a while, the weight inside your chest lifted.

“You’re a riot,” he’d said, clinking his beer bottle against yours. “We’re gonna be best friends, I can tell.”

It had been a joke at the time, but it stuck. Drinking was an escape for both of you—his way of letting loose, your way of numbing the ache. Together, you were unstoppable, the life of every party you touched, at least back then.

Seeing Sam now, with that same bright smile, stirred something inside you. “So,” you said, grabbing your coat, “what’s the plan? Besides celebrating Steve, obviously.”

“Well,” he said, holding the door open for you, “I figured we’d pre-game a little on the way. Maybe remind everyone why we were the reigning champs of fun back in college.”

You laughed, genuinely this time. “Pretty sure I retired my crown years ago.”

“Please,” he said with a snort. “You’ve still got it. And if not, don’t worry—I’ll carry the team.”

The two of you stepped out onto the street, the cool evening air nipping at your skin. As you walked toward the subway, you felt a flicker of something you hadn’t felt in a while: anticipation.

Because if there was one thing Sam was good at, it was helping you forget. And for tonight, forgetting sounded perfect.

The buzz of the city enveloped you. The streets glowed with streetlights and neon signs, the cool air carrying the faint hum of laughter and distant music. Sam walked beside you, his hands in his pockets, a casual swagger to his step.

“So,” he said, pulling something small from his jacket pocket, “I know you’ve been stressed lately. Thought this might help.”

You glanced over and saw him holding a joint between his fingers, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Sam,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Come on,” he said, stopping to light it with a quick flick of his lighter. He took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the night air. “It’s Steve’s birthday. We’re celebrating, aren’t we? Besides, it’s only twenty or so minutes to his place. Let’s take the back roads.”

You hesitated for half a second before shrugging. “Fine, but only a little.”

“That’s my girl,” he said, passing it to you with a wink.

The two of you took a quieter side street, the world softening around the edges as the haze of the joint settled in. The conversation grew lighter, and before long, you were giggling at almost nothing. A little ended up being the whole joint.

Sam glanced at you, shaking his head with a grin. “Man, Bucky is gonna kill me.”

You raised an eyebrow, holding in another laugh. “Why?”

He took another hit before passing it back to you. “Do you not remember how mad he used to get in college when we’d get high? ‘You’re gonna get caught,’” he said in a mock-serious tone, imitating Bucky’s deep voice. “‘Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in?’ Total party pooper.”

You snorted, nearly choking on the smoke. “Oh my God, yes. Him and Stevie, always the buzzkills.”

Sam laughed, a low, easy sound. “You think they ever figured out Natasha was the one who dealt it to us?”

“Absolutely not,” you said with mock seriousness, passing the joint back to him. “That secret stays with us till the grave.”

He pointed at you with the joint. “Damn right.”

By the time you reached Steve’s apartment, your head was light, and everything seemed a little funnier than it should have been. The music was already spilling out into the hallway, the faint bass reverberating through the floor. You paused just outside the door, looking at Sam.

“Do I look stoned?” you whispered, your voice full of mock urgency.

He leaned back slightly, pretending to inspect you. “Nope. Do I?”

You mirrored his motion, squinting at him dramatically. “Nope.”

“Good,” you both said in unison before bursting into laughter.

Sam opened the door, and the warmth of the apartment hit you instantly. Steve’s place wasn’t huge—it was New York, after all—but it was bigger than most, with a cozy vibe that still somehow fit a surprising number of people. Music pulsed through the room, and the sound of chatter and laughter filled every corner.

You slipped off your coat, handing it to Sam as he found a spot for both of yours on a nearby hook. He turned back to you, already moving toward the drink table. “Alright, let’s get you something.”

You followed him through the small crowd, people offering nods and greetings as you passed. Sam handed you a drink—something fizzy and fruity—and raised his own cup. “Cheers to Steve,” he said, clinking it against yours.

“To Steve,” you agreed, taking a sip.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the far side of the room. “Let’s go find the others.”

The apartment was packed, a mix of Steve’s friends, colleagues, and your usual crew. You let Sam lead the way, weaving through groups of people chatting and laughing. The warm glow of string lights strung across the ceiling gave the space a cozy, celebratory feel.

Eventually, you spotted a familiar flash of red hair across the room. You nudged Sam with your elbow and pointed. “There’s Nat.”

“Let’s go,” he said, grinning as he took another sip of his drink.

As the two of you made your way over, the tension that had been weighing you down earlier seemed to lift, if only for a little while. For the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe tonight could be okay.

As you and Sam wove through the crowd, Natasha’s bright red hair came into clearer focus. Beside her stood Steve, his broad frame relaxed, one hand casually holding a drink. Next to him, Bucky stood, his focus glued to his phone, his brows furrowed as Steve said something to him. Natasha noticed you first, her eyes lighting up as she tapped Steve on the shoulder and pointed in your direction.

Steve followed her gaze, his face breaking into a grin. He nudged Bucky with his elbow, saying something you couldn’t hear. Bucky’s head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours. You saw the tension in his shoulders ease as he spotted you and Sam, his phone slipping into his pocket.

When you finally reached them, Bucky’s gaze lingered on you for a beat before he asked, “What took you guys so long?”

Sam, ever the smooth talker, shrugged. “We walked.”

“You walked?” Bucky repeated, his tone laced with mild disbelief. “That’s like an hour.”

You blinked, surprised. “Was it really that long?”

Sam grinned, his voice light and teasing. “Didn’t feel that long.”

You giggled, the sound slipping out before you could stop it. “Felt like we were moving with the wind.”

Steve groaned, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”

Natasha laughed, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly as she looked between the two of you. “You guys are stoned.”

“No,” you said quickly, at the same time Sam said, “Yes.”

You glared at Sam as Natasha burst into laughter, while Steve just sighed like a disappointed parent. But it was Bucky’s reaction that hit hardest. His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, his expression shifting into something between worry and frustration.

Sam leaned closer, his voice low in your ear. “Oh boy, your daddy is mad at you.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, shoving his shoulder, though a small grin tugged at your lips.

“Anyway,” Sam said, stepping back, “I’m gonna go play some beer pong. You have fun over here with your parents and your cool aunt.” He nodded toward Steve, Bucky, and Natasha with a mischievous wink.

Natasha scoffed, clearly amused. “Absolutely not,” she said, grabbing Steve’s arm. “Come on, Stevie, let’s go show them how it’s done.”

“Wait!” you said, reaching out to grab Steve’s other arm. “Happy birthday, Steve.”

Steve smiled, his expression softening as he pulled you into a quick hug. “Thanks, Y/N,” he said quietly. Then, his voice dropped lower, just for you. “Please be careful, okay?”

You pulled back, confused. “What?”

But before he could answer, Natasha tugged him away, laughing as she led him toward the beer pong table. That left you standing there with Bucky, his gaze fixed on you.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just looked at you like he was trying to figure out what to say. His shoulders were still relaxed, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable. You shifted under his gaze, feeling both self-conscious and relieved to see him.

“You’re mad,” you said softly, breaking the silence.

“I’m not mad,” he replied, though his tone suggested otherwise. He crossed his arms, sighing as he glanced around the room before looking back at you. “I’m just… worried.”

“Bucky, I’m fine,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Really.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to find something you weren’t saying. Finally, he sighed again, his shoulders relaxing further. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I was worried you wouldn’t come.”

You blinked, surprised by his honesty. “Of course I came,” you said, your own voice softening. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he finally looked away. “Okay. Just… stay close tonight, alright?”

You nodded, unsure what else to say, as the noise of the party swelled around you. But even as the crowd moved and laughed, your focus stayed on Bucky, the knot in your chest tightening and loosening all at once, while the darkness loomed over your shoulder.

The party was in full swing, laughter and loud music filling every corner of Steve’s apartment. Drinks sloshed in plastic cups, people cheered at the beer pong table, and the warm buzz of alcohol kept everyone loose and carefree. You, Sam, and Natasha had slipped away to a quieter corner near the balcony door, passing a joint between you as you watched the chaos unfold.

Sam took a slow drag, exhaling smoke into the cool night air before chuckling. “I’m actually gonna get in trouble with your future husband for this,” he said, nodding toward Natasha.

She rolled her eyes, taking the joint from him. “Please. Steve smokes it with me.”

You gasped, your eyes wide. “What? Since when?”

Natasha grinned, holding the joint between her fingers like it was a glass of wine. “A couple of months ago. He thought it was a cigarette.”

That sent you and Sam into peals of laughter. “No, he didn’t,” you said, struggling to catch your breath.

“Oh, he absolutely did,” Natasha said, laughing along. “Took one drag and started coughing like his life depended on it. I had to explain it to him after.”

“That’s the most Steve Rogers thing I’ve ever heard,” you said, wiping at your eyes as you giggled.

Sam shook his head, still laughing. “Man, we just need to convert Bucky now.”

Natasha waved a hand dismissively. “There’s no way Bucky hasn’t smoked pot.”

“He has,” you said, shrugging when they both stared at you.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “How do you know?”

You looked down at the joint in your hand, turning it idly before taking a small drag. “He did once. In middle school. But it ended up being mixed with something… not great.. panic attack. He hasn’t touched anything since.”

“Damn,” Sam said, leaning back against the wall. “I didn’t know that.”

You nodded, the memory flickering in your mind like a distant flame. “Yeah. It was a rough weekend for him. After that, he just… swore it off. No smoking, It’s like his personal rule now.”

Natasha frowned, her usual confidence softening for a moment. “That makes sense. Poor Buck.”

The three of you fell into a comfortable silence, the joint passing between you. The sound of cheering caught your attention as Steve and Bucky won another round of beer pong, their laughter cutting through the party noise. And then, as if the universe had planned it, the unmistakable opening notes of Under Pressure began to play.

You froze for a moment, the familiar beat washing over you like a wave. Slowly, you brought the joint to your lips one last time, inhaling deeply before handing it to Natasha. She said something, but the music had already pulled you away. You heard Sam mumble, “It’s the song,” and Natasha sighed, “Oh, God,” as you stepped out onto the balcony, leaving them behind.

The cold night air hit you immediately, biting at your skin and cutting through the haze of warmth in your chest. You lay down on the balcony floor, the rough texture pressing against your back as you stared up at the inky black sky. The stars were faint, drowned out by the city lights, but you could hear the music drifting through the open windows behind you, every note clear as day.

Pressure, pushing down on me, pressing down on you…

You let the song wash over you, your body sinking into the cold concrete as if the world were swallowing you whole. The weight in your chest loosened just enough for you to take a full breath, but the sadness lingered, wrapping itself around you like a second skin.

Can’t we give ourselves one more chance?

You felt like you could disappear here. Listening to this song, knowing the people you loved were safe and warm inside, laughing and living their lives, it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. The thought made you sick, but it clung to you, stubborn and persistent.

And love dares you to care for the people on the edge of the night

Why does this always happen? you thought bitterly. You hated yourself for it—for letting your mind wander to that place when you were surrounded by nothing but love. Sam, Natasha, Steve, Bucky… they all loved you. They would do anything for you. But still, the darkness crept in, whispering lies you couldn’t silence.

And love dares you to change our way of caring about ourselves

You closed your eyes, the music continuing to play as Freddie and Bowie’s voices intertwined. For a moment, you let yourself feel the weight of the song, the way it seemed to echo everything you couldn’t say. It was bittersweet, but it was yours. Yours and Bucky’s.

This is our last dance

This is our last dance

You lay there a while longer, letting the cold seep into your skin as you listened to the life happening just beyond the glass.

This is ourselves

The sound of the patio door sliding open—aggressively, almost slamming—pulled you out of your haze. Your eyes shot open as you instinctively sat up, startled. When you looked toward the doorway, Bucky stood there, his shoulders tense as his eyes darted around the balcony, searching. His gaze landed on you, and you saw the relief wash over him in an instant.

Under pressure

“Jesus,” he muttered, stepping out onto the balcony and sliding the door shut behind him. The music inside softened, muffled by the thick glass.

“Everything okay?” you asked hesitantly, sitting up fully now.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling a little too quickly. “Natasha said you came out here.” He paused, his voice softening. “I was looking for you.”

You blinked, confused. “I’m fine, I just needed some air.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning you again like he was making sure you were still intact. “They played our song,” you said quietly, your voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, his lips curving into a faint, fleeting smile. “That’s why I was trying to find you.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, glancing down at your hands. The weight of the moment pressed against your chest. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Is everything okay?” you asked again, looking up at him now.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, reaching a hand down to you. You hesitated for a second before taking it, his grip warm and firm as he helped you to your feet. The two of you stood there, the cold air wrapping around you, but his hand lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“Buck?,” you said softly, your brow furrowing.

He hesitated, his hands flexing at his sides as though he was wrestling with something. Finally, he swallowed hard and said, “I was worried.” His voice barely audible.

"Worried about what?” you asked, tilting your head, though you already felt the answer forming in the pit of your stomach.

His eyes flickered away from yours for a moment before coming back, the raw emotion in his gaze almost too much to bear. “That you would jump,” he said quietly, the words hitting like a freight train.

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your mind reeled, struggling to process what he’d just said. “What?” you whispered, staring at him in shock. “Bucky…”

He didn’t flinch, his eyes locked onto yours, unflinching and raw. “I was scared,” he said softly. “I couldn’t find you, and Natasha said you were out here. I know how you’ve been down lately, like before... And I—” He stopped, exhaling shakily. “I just… I couldn’t not check.”

You stared at him, speechless, the weight of his words settling deep in your chest. For a moment, all you could do was look at each other, the world around you fading into the background.

“Bucky,” you said finally, your voice trembling, “I would never do that, not with my friends right there, not at Steve’s birthday party, at his home. I would never—”

He cut you off, his gaze hardening slightly. “You mean you never would in general, right? Not just because it’s Steve’s birthday and we’re here?”

His question hit like another blow, and your mouth went dry. You couldn’t answer, couldn’t speak. You just stared at him, and he stared back, the air between you thick with unspoken fears and truths neither of you were ready to face.

Before you could say anything, a knock on the glass patio door startled you both. You turned to see Natasha waving at you from inside, her face cheerful as she gestured toward the living room. Through the glass, you could faintly hear her say, “Cake time!”

“That’s our cue,” you said softly, breaking the silence, but neither of you moved. Bucky’s eyes stayed on you, his expression unreadable. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words died on his lips.

“Y/N,” he said finally, your name heavy with meaning. But before either of you could say anything else, the door opened again.

This time, it was Sam, stepping out with his usual carefree grin. “Come on, you two,” he said, gesturing back toward the party. “It’s happy birthday time.”

The spell broke, and you finally moved, stepping past Bucky toward the door. You felt his presence close behind you as you stepped back into the warm, bustling apartment. The sounds of laughter and music swallowed you whole as Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder.

“You good?” Sam asked him, his tone light but tinged with concern.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, his voice steady now. “I’m good.”

The two of you followed Sam into the living room, where everyone had gathered around Steve, who stood behind a table piled high with cake and candles. Natasha beamed at him, and the entire room erupted into a cheerful chorus “Happy Birthday to you, Happy birthday to you…..”

Bucky jogged up the steps to your work building, balancing a paper bag with subs and a drink tray in one hand while holding his phone to his ear with the other. The midday sun cast a warm glow over the streets, and the city buzzed with its usual energy. On the other end of the call, Steve’s voice was loud and insistent.

“Just ask her out, man,” Steve said, exasperated. “Olivia’s obviously into you.”

“I know, I know,” Bucky replied, his tone distracted as he checked his watch. “It’s just—”

“‘It’s just,’” Steve interrupted, mimicking Bucky. “If you’re not gonna man up and ask out Y/N—or, I don’t know, figure out if she feels the same way—then you need to move on. Because if you’re not willing to make a move, she’s gonna move on, Buck, and you’re gonna get left behind.”

Bucky stopped walking, rubbing the back of his neck as he considered Steve’s words. “She’s never given me any signs that she feels the same way, Steve. And she’s always saying stuff like, ‘I don’t think have the capacity to properly love anyone.’ That’s kinda her answer right there, isn’t it?”

Steve sighed, the kind that made it clear he was done having this conversation. “Stop torturing yourself. Ask out Olivia already.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, clearly uncommitted. “I’ll do it.”

He ended the call as he reached your office building, pulling out his phone to text you.

Bucky: I’m here.

A minute passed, and then his phone buzzed.

You: ????

Bucky: Your office.

You: I’m home. Left early.

His brows furrowed as he read the message. He typed back quickly.

Bucky: Okay, be there in 15. I have food.

At your apartment, you froze, the panic hitting you like a freight train. He almost went into my work. He almost found out. Your hands trembled as you paced the room, glancing around at the chaos that had become your home. Dishes in the sink, laundry spilling out of the hamper, notebooks and loose papers scattered everywhere. It had been weeks since Bucky had last been over, and you’d let things slide—just like everything else in your life lately.

You moved like lightning, shoving clutter into drawers and closets, wiping down surfaces, and sweeping crumbs off the coffee table. You almost tripped over a pile of shoes, catching yourself on the edge of the couch as you cursed under your breath. By the time you checked the clock, only five minutes had passed. Good, you thought. Plenty of time.

You ran to the bathroom, splashing water on your face before quickly reapplying some concealer and lip balm. Then you threw on a fresh sweater, lit a candle, and sprayed the room with a light mist of air freshener. As you grabbed the scattered pages of a journal you’d been writing in, you shoved them into a drawer just as the knock came at the door.

“It’s unlocked!” you called out, trying to sound casual as your heart pounded.

Bucky stepped inside, frowning slightly as he looked around. “What did I say about leaving the door unlocked?”

“It wasn’t long,” you said quickly, giving him a small smile. “I just got home.”

Bucky set the bag of food on the counter, eyeing you suspiciously. “Why’d you leave early?”

You shrugged, avoiding his gaze as you grabbed plates from the cabinet. “Finished all the work I needed to do,” you said, keeping your tone light. It wasn’t a total lie, you told yourself. You just weren’t doing that work anymore.

He didn’t press the issue, though his expression lingered with curiosity. Instead, he handed you your sub. “Here,” he said. “Proof that you’re eating.”

You gave a soft laugh, but his tone wasn’t joking. You took a bite, more to appease him than anything, and he watched closely, satisfied only after you swallowed.

“Have you talked to your parents recently?” he asked, leaning against the counter.

You almost choked on your sandwich. “Come on, Bucky, you know I haven’t talked to them in years.”

“Still,” he said quietly, his gaze soft but insistent.

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I saw online that they renewed their vows. Some friends and family were there.”

“They didn’t tell you?”

“Nope.” You forced a shrug. “It’s fine. At least they’re still paying for the apartment.”

Bucky frowned, his jaw tightening, but he let it go. “What do you think about Olivia?” he asked, changing the subject.

You blinked, confused. “Olivia who?”

“The blonde from my work,” he said, tilting his head. “The one who sang Journey at the Christmas party.”

“Oh,” you said, the realization hitting. “What about her?”

“I’m thinking of asking her out,” he said, his tone casual, but his eyes searched your face for a reaction.

Your chest tightened, the words cutting deeper than you’d expected. You’d always love Bucky—always. It had always been him for you. But it was never you for him. And as much as it hurt, you wanted him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you. If anything ever happened to you, you wanted to know he’d have someone. Someone who could give him the love you couldn’t.

“You should,” you said, forcing a bright smile. “You guys would make such a good couple. She’s super sweet, and she’s really pretty.”

Bucky stared at you, his eyes searching again, like he didn’t quite believe you. “That’s what Steve said,” he muttered.

You tilted your head. “Wait, you asked Steve first? I thought I was the number one best friend,” you teased, trying to keep your tone light.

Bucky’s face dropped, panic flashing across his features. “No, no, no, no,” he said quickly. “You are. I—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, smiling faintly. “I’m kidding. It’s fine.”

"You'll always be my number one everything, I hope you know that."

After Bucky left, the apartment felt quieter than usual. You sat on the couch, the remains of your lunch untouched on the table in front of you. Your phone sat heavy in your hand, and on a whim, you opened a new text message and typed out a simple line.

You: Congratulations on renewing your vows.

You sent it to your mom, watching the “delivered” notification pop up. Moments later, the message shifted to “read,” but no reply came. You sighed, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips. Typical. Shaking your head, you typed the same message to your father.

This time, at least, you got a response.

Dad: Thanks.

You stared at the message for a moment before typing back.

You: Your welcome, love you.

And then nothing. The little “read” notification popped up at the bottom of your screen, and that was it. You were left on read.

A laugh bubbled out of you, hollow and sharp. Of course. It was absurd, really, how predictable it all was. The silence was deafening, and you could feel it creeping in again—that familiar darkness that sat heavy on your chest, pulling you down.

You leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. The air felt heavier, the edges of the room seeming to blur as the minutes ticked by. You didn’t know how long you sat there, lost in the swirling mess of thoughts in your head, when your phone buzzed in your hand.

It was a text from Bucky.

Bucky: She said yes...... :-)

You stared at the screen, the words feeling like a slap and a balm at the same time. You had told him to ask her out. You wanted him to be happy. So why did it hurt so much?

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you finally typed a reply.

You: Of course she did, It’s you, Bucky <3 Any girl would be lucky to go out with you.

You hit send, feeling the ache in your chest grow sharper. Somewhere in his office, Bucky read your message, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. But as he stared at the words, his heart twisted.

If only you felt that way about yourself, he thought. Because it wasn’t Olivia he wanted. It was you. It had always been you.

But instead of saying that, he typed back a lighthearted response, masking the weight in his chest.

Bucky: You’re gonna make my ego blow up. I don’t wanna end up with a head as big as Sam’s.

When you read his text, you managed a small laugh, even as the heaviness lingered. You typed back a simple “lol” and set the phone down, your fingers trembling slightly.

The apartment was quiet again, the only sound the faint hum of the heater kicking on. You sank further into the couch, the ache in your chest spreading as the hours stretched on. Somewhere, Bucky was moving forward, and you were still here, stuck in place, sinking deeper and deeper.

The rest of the week passed in a blur, the days melting into each other like one endless stretch of gray. Morning, afternoon, evening—it didn’t matter. You spent most of it lying in your bed or on the couch, staring at the ceiling or scrolling aimlessly through your phone. Sometimes, when the weight became unbearable, you ran a bath, sinking into the warm water until it turned ice cold, letting it numb your skin as much as it could.

You texted your friends back when they reached out, just enough to keep them from worrying. You gave vague answers, dodged invitations, always with an excuse at the ready.

Natasha: Wanna grab lunch tomorrow? Maybe hit up that new place near the park?

You: Wish I could, but I already made plans with Sam. Next time?

Sam: Movie night at mine tomorrow? You in?

You: Sorry, can’t. Nat’s got me booked for the day.

Bucky: What’re you doing this weekend? I miss you..

You: Wish I could, but I promised Nat I’d help him with something.

The lies came easily, but they still stung. You weren’t proud of them, but it was the only way to keep them at bay. The thought of facing any of them, of seeing the concern in their eyes, was too much to bear. You weren’t ready to tell them the truth. Hell, you weren’t even sure you could say it out loud.

The thoughts crept in quietly, like they always did, settling in the corners of your mind and growing until they were all you could hear. You’d been here before, countless times, but this felt different. Worse. You didn’t think you’d ever been this low.

You’d always wondered what it would be like not to feel. To let the darkness swallow you whole, to just… stop. You’d thought about it so many times, toyed with the idea in the dead of night when no one else was around. You’d even tried, once or twice.

But there was always something—or rather, someone—who pulled you back. Bucky. He’d always been there, always managed to find you just before you slipped too far. And the guilt that followed was unbearable. Knowing that your pain hurt him, that it made him worry. It made you feel selfish, even though you knew deep down that wasn’t what he would want you to feel.

But this time… this time was different. Your friends were happy. Their lives were coming together, piece by piece. Natasha had her promotion, Steve was thriving at work, Sam was always chasing his next big project, and now Bucky was moving forward, too. And more importantly they all had each other.

It should’ve made you feel worse, knowing you were the only one stuck. But instead, it comforted you in a strange, twisted way. They were happy. They were thriving. And if they were thriving, it meant they were okay. It meant they didn’t need you dragging them down.

The days eventually bled together in a monotonous cycle: waking up, lying in bed for hours, moving to the couch when you couldn’t stand the silence of your room. Sometimes you’d scroll through social media, letting the curated happiness of others wash over you in waves of apathy and bitterness. Other times, you’d stare at the ceiling, letting your mind drift to places you didn’t want it to go.

You thought about your friends, about how they’d fight for you if they knew how bad it had gotten. They’d drag you out of bed, force you into the sunlight, tell you that you were worth it, that they loved you. But the thing was, you didn’t know if you wanted to fight anymore. Not this time.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe them. You knew they loved you. But love didn’t fix the heaviness in your chest or the static in your head. It didn’t stop the days from feeling endless, didn’t make the darkness any less suffocating.

And the worst part was, you weren’t even sure you wanted it to stop. The thought scared you, but it was the truth. Fighting felt exhausting. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to let it win.

The warm hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled Natasha and Steve’s living room. The four of them—Natasha, Steve, Sam, and Bucky—sat around the table, laughter occasionally punctuating their lighthearted arguments about whose turn it was to grab the next round of drinks. Bucky sipped his whiskey slowly, only half-engaged in the conversation, his mind drifting elsewhere.

“Hey,” Natasha said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “When’s Y/N getting here?”

Bucky frowned, setting his glass down. “Weren’t you with her earlier today? Shouldn’t you know?”

Natasha blinked in confusion. “I haven’t seen her since Steve’s birthday party.”

Bucky froze, the words hitting him like a punch. “What?” His voice was low, the edge in it unmistakable. “That was weeks ago.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed as she looked at Steve, then Sam, before turning back to Bucky. “Yeah, I know. Every time I reach out to her, she says she’s with you or Sam, dodges my calls and everything.”

Sam, who had been leaning back lazily in his chair, straightened up. “Wait, what? She told me she’s been hanging out with you, Buck.” He shrugged casually. “I haven’t hung out with her in a while. But it’s life, right? People get busy.”

Bucky’s chest tightened as his mind raced. “She told you she was with me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” Sam said, confused. “Why?”

But Bucky was already up, his coat in hand, his boots being shoved on in record time.

“Where are you going?” Natasha asked, standing now, her confusion quickly morphing into concern.

Bucky paused at the door, his eyes flickering between all of them. “She’s sad again,” he said, the words coming out like a realization, heavy with dread. Without another word, he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

Bucky ran through the streets, his heart pounding in his chest. By the time he reached your apartment, he barely noticed the ache in his legs or the sting of the cold air. He pushed the door handle, and it opened easily. Unlocked again, he thought bitterly, stepping inside.

The apartment was dark, the kind of oppressive darkness that came from too much time spent with the blinds drawn. The bag of subs he’d brought over almost two weeks ago was still sitting in the exact same spot on the counter, untouched. His heart sank further as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

He called your name his voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

A moment later, your bedroom door cracked open, and you poked your head out, your face pale and tired. “Bucky?” you said, your voice hoarse and more hostile than you intended. “What are you doing here?”

The harshness in your tone stung, but Bucky held his ground. “What are you doing?” he demanded, stepping closer. “Why are you doing this?”

You stepped out of your room fully, arms crossed over your hoodie, your posture defensive. “Doing what?”

“You know what,” he snapped, his frustration breaking through, his voice filled with emotion. “Why are you pushing us away? Why are you pushing me away? Why are you doing this again? You know I’m here for you, please let me help you.”

Your fingers played with the hem of your, his hoodie as you stared at the floor. “I’m not doing anything,” you muttered.

“Bullshit,” he said, his voice rising. “I just left Steve and Nat’s place. Guess who was there? Sam too. And guess what I found out? You’ve been lying to all of us.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, anger and shame swirling in your expression. “You don’t get it,” you shot back, your voice raw. “You don’t get to judge me.”

His face softened, his tone lowering. “I would never judge you,” he said firmly, taking a step closer. “You have to know that. I’m here for you, but you’re not letting me be here. You’re not letting me help you, just let me in.”

“Maybe I don’t want your help,” you snapped, your voice breaking. “Have you ever thought of that? Maybe I don’t want it.”

Bucky froze, his jaw clenching as he stared at you. The words hit him harder than he expected, and his face dropped, the hurt clear in his expression. “Are you taking your meds?” he asked quietly.

You let out a bitter laugh, a tear slipping down your cheek as you wiped it away angrily. “Meds?” you repeated, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “The meds don’t work! They’ve never worked! ”

His brows furrowed in concern. “When did you stop taking them?”

“When my insurance ran out!” you admitted, your voice sharp and full of bitterness, as frustrated tears started to spill.

Bucky stilled, the pieces falling into place. “Why did your insurance run out?” he asked carefully.

“Because I got fired months ago!” you shouted, the words exploding out of you. “I lost my job, okay? That’s why! Are you happy now?”

The room fell silent, the weight of your admission hanging heavy between you. Bucky’s face was a mix of shock and hurt, his mouth opening and closing like he didn’t know what to say.

“Leave,” you said suddenly, your voice trembling with anger and exhaustion. “Just leave me alone, Bucky. I want to be alone. I don’t want you here! I don't need you here! Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Y/N…” he started, his voice soft, but you cut him off, yelling louder this time. “Get out!”

He stood there, frozen, the internal battle raging across his face. He knew he shouldn’t leave you—not now, not like this. But your words had cut deep, and the sheer overwhelm of it all was too much.

“Fine,” he said finally, his voice cold. “You want to be alone? Be alone.”

He turned and walked to the door, pausing only to lock it behind him before slamming it shut. The sound echoed through the empty apartment, and you stood there, the silence swallowing you whole.

It was what you wanted. But as you sank back onto the couch, the ache in your chest grew heavier, and the tears you’d been holding back finally broke free.

You didn’t want to be here anymore.

This is our last dance

This is our last dance

[hitlikehammers]

regular-guy!Eddie absolutely did not expect the emotional gut-punch of the ✨RED CARPET INTERVIEW✨ from famous!Steve's movie premiere (or: Part Nine)

He kinda already knew that, and sure he feels exactly the same but…

Fuck if hearing it out loud isn’t something else.💛🎥

<<< back to the obligatory dose of lingering insecurity // back to the beginning

It’s a whole eight-and-a-half hours since Steve left, and Eddie’s opening the door to a delivery guy who’s holding a box from Eddie’s favorite bakery. Eddie didn’t even know they did delivery, but like—

He shouldn’t even be fucking surprised anymore. He’s not surprised by how his heart fills, and trips over itself for how clumsy it gets when it’s a giddy-lovedrunk fool like the rest of him, beating Steve-Steve-Steve through his veins, stumbling like it’s never moved before which is true in a way, maybe the biggest way, because this territory of loving his Stevie demands blissfully, and consumes entirely, all that Eddie is in a way he’s never known before, or feltbefore so yeah, yeah his heart can just shiver madly with it as long as it goddamn wants.

(And it wants forever, so.)

And this is apparently who Eddie is, now, what he’s be reshaped into for the love of Steve Harrington. And fuck, but he wouldn’t trade it; wouldn’t change it for anything.

His pulse does an extra little tumble when he unfolds the note waiting for him in the fold of the box:

you are what my heart is for

for always, if you’ll have me

~S <3 <3

He doesn’t fight the way his face stretches into a smile, so soft and just, just…so in love, right, and he laughs with the size of the warmth flooding him when he opens the box to see his favorite donuts—Boston Cream and chocolate glazed—nestled alongside enough varieties of the flakiest, butteriest croissants to feed a small army. He shakes his head and checks the clock: not too late for a coffee, so he goes to the machine and—

Finds it all set up, ready to brew. Cup set next to it and everything, complete with a post-it with another <3 scrawled in the middle, stuck to the handle.

Eddie cannot fight the way his eyes prickle as he switches the machine on and takes the note from the mug, holds it to his chest like it’s precious.

Because it is precious. This feeling, this…this this, is so fucking precious he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know how he found something this profound, this invaluable and dear to its core, to his core, he’s, he just…

If his fucking coffee gets a couple tears in it, he figures that’s just, like, the taste of true fucking love, so he’s actually really goddamn grateful for it.

Maybe it makes him heartsick a little, for how much it already feels like his home is empty without Steve, just for a few hours now, but…he thinks maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be, how he’s supposed to feel.

He…he’s not going to willingly sign up for this feeling way again, though. He’s gonna get over his bullshit and give in to what it feels like to love this big and complete, fuck his discomfort and his hangups, he’s never letting his world feel this dull and bereft again if he can fucking help it.

Maybe he googles tuxedos, then…maybe he googles ‘what do men wear to the red carpet’ because maybe it’s just really nice tailored suits, he doesn’t fucking know, he just knows he’s going to fucking get one, he’s going to buy it himself and have it ready for the next time Steve asks him to come with him, so he can show his Stevie that he’s in this in every way, no caveats, no heartbreak, even the little temporary going-to-work kind.

Then he looks at the clock, bites at his lip, and decides no, it’s not took early to search for the most unhinged network to have started their coverage of the premiere.

Because seriously. He was always gonna fucking watch his boyfriend be amazing, and beautiful, and just…

Everything.

—

Eddie nearly drops his pain au chocolat when he sees Steve’s perfectly swooped hair peek on-screen in the so-far-kinda-interminable premiere coverage. Like…Eddie knows he’s watching with a deeply single-minded goal, but seriously.

How are these other people taking up time that could just be Steve, instead?

Insanity.

“Steven,” the interviewer greets him in that over-friendly way the press has with celebrities, that Eddie always thought was weird as fuck because it’s not like those vultures were the famous people’s friends.

“I hate to say this because it feels cliche,” the woman smiles that sort of apologetic-but-only-because-people-are-watching smile that’s fucking nauseating; “but you’re looking exceptionally striking tonight,” she nods to his outfit, and ‘striking’ is an understatement but then she once-overs him head-to-toe and…

Fuck.

Fuck, but Eddie did not anticipate the welling of rage in his limbs, the protectiveness that surges in him laced with a potent possessiveness he should maybe be ashamed of but…no, he’s fucking not, because his Stevie isn’t a pice of meat and he’ll fucking fight anyone who treats him like a paycheck or a prize or a—

But Steve laughs, and it sounds real, so…Eddie can let it slide.

For now.

“Am I?” Steve asks, playful almost, coquettish—he’s got a handle on this, has these bastards eating out the palm of his goddamn hand and if his masterful command of the encounter from the jump, here, isn’t sexy as fuck, leads to something wholly different but just as red-hot as the protective ire in Eddie leaping through his blood all over again? Well.

Fuck him, then, because: dayum.

The interviewer laughs, comfortable, and Eddie gets the impression that maybe they’ve done this dance before; a lot of times, even. There isn’t camaraderie, there, but there’s a…collegiality.

Eddie will table his desire to key the interviewer’s car and…stuff.

For now.

“Is it weird to tell you you’re glowing?”

Steve does what Eddie imagines is the movie star equivalent of the snort that he lets loose so often, so freely, so unguarded in Eddie’s home, next to Eddie and it’s like his smiles that don’t reach his eyes versus the ones that do.

And Eddie’s fucking floored all over again at what a privilege it is, what a gift he’s living, to know the difference. To be able to hold the difference close.

“Maybe,” Steve huffs across the feed, and Eddie watches the little expressive quirks run across his face, framing that blinding smile because fuck, the man is kinda radiant, but then: Eddie knows for a fact that Steve is radiant always, so it’s not a surprise this lady’s pointing it out.

S’just obvious.

“But I don’t mind at all,” Steve adds as the interviewer ducks her head a bit, a little reticent all of a sudden though Eddie can’t tell how much of it’s an act, if it even matters: because Steve’s a master at reading people, at getting the body language and subtler cues just right—the number of times already that he’s picked up something’s off, from a frustrating work call to a headache from a coming storm, before Eddie even processes it for himself is unreal—but Steve always notices, so he leans in kind of conspiratorially as he grins, and invites her to share the energy:

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” and he winks, and she chuckles, and Eddie…

Eddie cannot help but imagine what it could be like to stand next to him. To brush his arm against Steve’s arm as he works the line of cameras. To smile at this woman and all these bloodsuckers and just…watch as they fawn over the man he loves, who loves him and who will go home with Eddie, and trust Eddie with all the intricacies of him that the world isn’t privy to, and Eddie could watch them fall over themselves and just…just know.

He wants that. He wants that…so much.

“Such a compliment,” the interviewer confirms enthusiastically, then tilts her head, her demeanor shifting ever-so-slightly:

“Anything different to credit as the cause? New skin routine?” she asks too innocent, and Eddie’s struck that this must be how the game is played, asking questions without asking the question.

He doesn’t think he could manage that. He’s in awe of Steve all over again if this is what’s demanded of him as a rule, on the regular.

Then he’s in awe of Steve—all over again, again—when Steve’s features soften and then, for the most blink-and-you’ll-miss-it second, Eddie sees the version of Steve that sits next to him on the couch, that strokes Eddie’s hair, that touches him gentle and reverent somehow, that shares his bed.

It’s gone in a second but, the idea that there’s feeling there that, knowing what to look for and how to recognize the known quantity, can leak into the careful public display that Steve allows the world to have of him?

It’s…it’s a heady, powerful thing. It’s fucking intoxicating to witness.

And then the man he loves speaks:

“I don’t think there’s a product money can buy that makes you glow from the inside,” and he sounds so tender, so genuine and fucking, like, just, luminescent with feeling and Eddie…Eddie cannot handle it.

Eddie needs him so much. Needs to reach for him. Needs to hold him. Needs to hold him to his chest and try to fit him inside, needs to make himself small in Steve’s arms to try and fit inside his chest and make a home there forever, he needs—

“Oh,” the interviewer is fucking, like, cooing; “oh, Steven,” and Eddie’s mouth twists instinctually because…okay. Okay, Eddie gets why Steve uses another version of his name for the masses and Eddie thinks he’s only going to use it for really really serious things, if only just to try and salvage the way he suspects this woman isn’t the first, or the worst, to simper around it like it has something to give, rather than exists as something to like…adulate.

Actively.

“You have to know that now I’m obligated to—” she says the words like she knows she’s required to, and maybe, maybe feels some degree of apology for prodding but…not nearly enough degrees.

Not even close.

But Steve just laughs, cuts into her words:

“Of course I knew,” he waves her prevaricating off with such a deft fucking hand, so hot; “I was counting on it.”

And he sounds sly, not quite like he’d played her but not exactly not, like he was pulling the strings all along and she moved exactly where he’d planned for her to.

More…just more sexy. And Eddie’s just really grateful he’s wearing sweats right now and there’s no one to judge him, basically.

“It’s not something I want to hide,” Steve’s saying all soft again, but burning like candlelight and Eddie melts for it accordingly because Jesus fucking Christ: “but you’re only getting the broad strokes, yeah?”

“Broad strokes, excellent,” the interviewer says, nodding like a bobblehead; “that is perfect,” and she’s clearly excited, and Eddie obviously knew Steve was private where he could be but to get this kind of reaction at the admittedly bare-bones he’s laying out as being willing to share?

It has to…mean something big. Has to be a little unprecedented. Maybe Eddie’s heart’s bouncing in his chest, pin-balling against his ribs more than a little for all the implications in it.

Heady, like he said: and then some.

“I met someone,” and Eddie, like: okay.

Okay, he probably could have guessed that’s where it was going via context clues, like, Steve was talking about something personal. Entertainment “journalism” was always rooted in who was fucking who, and…well.

Steve’s fucking Eddie, so, yeah. Context clues.

But tell that to the way Eddie’s heart damn well stops still, freezing all it’s chaotic momentum in his chest in a fucking second once he realizes what’s happening. What is…

Happening, on cable fucking television. On Al Gore’s internet. Fucking…live.

In front of millions. For posterity.

(If Eddie still trusted himself to follow such things—which for the record, after the no-Steve-in-your-contacts disaster, he absolutely does not, okay?—but if he did, he can only begin to imagine the extent of the gifsets, because Eddie found fuckton of a lot of them for the actor-who-he-definitely-didn’t-think-was-his-Steve, and he always did have a pretty good eye for the kinds of events that a fanbase would eat up and make like five-hundred-thousand versions of the same 10 seconds from, and now-definitely-his-Steve is offering a goldmine here, but—)

But see, even if Eddie trusted himself with that sort of thing still, he couldn’t care about it right now, and that would be because his heart’s still decidedly in limbo, twitching maybe with disbelief, with overwhelm, with the gravity of what’s happening because Steve is, Steve is—

About him and—

“I’m with someone.”

And Steve says it with so much feeling, so much…delight and wonder at the fact of it, the mere prospect of it, that it makes sense that the full weight of it hits Eddie as his heart feels like it gasps for air after being held under water, holding so much more inside it in his moment than Eddie thinks, no: so much more than Eddie knows he’s ever felt before and that’s why the way his heart jumps back to beating again is a whole ass the earth-shattering production, because the force of it could crack his ribs or quake the ground beneath him, definitely rocks him where he sits and shakes through his bones because it’s such a, like, volumetric force that cascades through him, that feels like expanding with the breadth of all things and then slamming closed to expel them into the universe to be caught and held by the only person, the only heart and soul that you want, that you need to have your everything—

“I found this incredible human who is,” Steve licks his lips, and Eddie’s hyper-saturated heart probably shouldn’t be able to beat faster when it’s beating with this kind of unprecedented force but it does, somehow, it can because Eddie is that far in love and maybe that transcends all the probablys in the whole fucking world.

“Like, this is amazing,” Steve pivots, gestures at the spectacle around them; “and it’s a privilege, and you know how much I appreciate it, how grateful I am and how much I would never dare to even think about taking any of it as a given.”

“You’ve always been,” the interviewer considers for a second before deciding on her words, and delivering them wholly-honest, and Eddie tries his damnedest to process what she says over the deafening rush of his blood in his ears: “probably the most gracious of your colleagues that I’ve had the pleasure to speak with,” and she shoots him a little grin as she adds:

“Humble, really, which has never failed to be impressive.”

And Eddie feels this…tingling warmth come over him, bubbly and magical like champagne looks in a sunset: he’s so proud, and he’s so…fucking lucky that this man wants him, that this man loves him, that this man lets Eddie love him back, and is willing to…tell the whole goddamn world.

“That is so sad,” Steve grimaces at being called out for being decent as something other than a bare minimum, which Eddie gets but he also knows for a fact that Steve is so much more than decent, and he deserves to be celebrated for it whether or not his own coworkers fucking suck.

Eddie’s gonna make a point to celebrate him. For all that he is and all that he does, for how he is exceptional in all the ways.

Always.

“But, like, you’ve seen that,” Steve gets back to his point, and perks up, goes back to the blinding brightness that pulls Eddie’s heart wide to do the thing where it’s trying to defy physics, to pump the whole unfathomable depth of this feeling; “so you know what it means when I tell you I met someone who blows all of this out of the water. Who puts everything this town, this industry,” he glances around himself again, takes everything in in this encompassing way then shakes his head and grins so true:

“Everything this job has to offer, even at its very best? This person puts all of it to absolute shame.”

And the interviewer is just staring at him, holding her microphone, looking a little dumbfounded, definitely surprised—Eddie knows Steve doesn’t date much, hasn’t been attached to someone romantically for years since a very high profile breakup with the lead from the those 80s-throwback monster movies that Eddie refuses to name, out of solidarity with the man he’s gonna spend the rest of his life with. But the red carpet lady’s thrown for a loop, maybe largely by the subject itself, but maybe likewise by the feeling Steve’s infusing every word with. Unabashed and brilliant.

“They’re so much…more, than all of this, any of this, that I don’t know the word to describe it,” Steve laughs lightly to himself for a second then tacks on:

“If a word for this even exists.”

The interviewer seems to shake herself out of her baffled kind of stupor to nod a little, smile a little—not reluctant, but more kinda…confused.

“Sounds special,” she says, and it’s like she does mean it, but then she adds; “almost like a fairytale.”

And Eddie doesn’t think it’s just his own insecurities—difficult to hold on to in the waves of what his pulse is doing, how his entire body is reacting to Steve’s every word, to the undeniable revelation of just what lives in Steve’s heart in detail, public now and proud of it, kind of fucking unequivocal—but Eddie doesn’t think it’d just be him who picks up the unspoken implication there:

Almost too good to be true..

“I mean every word,” Steve doesn’t even pause to consider that implication, fucking unfathomable saint of a man that he is; “and I am so grateful, I don’t take a breath spent with them for granted,” and fuck if Eddie’s eyes don’t sting because yeah, he kinda already knew that, and sure he feels exactly the same but…

Fuck if hearing it out loud isn’t something else.

“But I found someone who enjoys my company, like, seriously and genuinely enjoys my company, and doesn’t mind at all that I am kind of obsessed with them and want to be with them always,” and if Eddie mouths at the screen same, Stevie-baby, exactly the same with his heart in his throat, no one could even blame him, and he wouldn’t give a shit if they tried; “someone who supports the fuck out of me, who laughs with me, who lets me be stupid and filled with, like,” and Steve grins so big then and chuckles a little buoyant and it’s clear the interviewer is taken aback, had never seen Steve the way Eddie always sees Steve—

“Just, silly joy at the most random stuff,” and Steve’s gaze goes a little distant, a little starry, and Eddie wonders what he’s thinking about, which stupid thing they’ve giggled over’s filled his head just now and Eddie’s chest hurts for how much he wants to reach out and trace those features, wants to kiss the little space between those brows and feel those impossible lashes brush his skin because he leans so close, because he can be that close.

“Someone who takes me out, cooks me dinner, writes me songs, treats me randomly for no reason like I just deserve it as a matter of course,” because of course that should be the standard with Steve and fuck everyone who came before and failed to understand that; there won’t be anyone to come after, though, not if Eddie has anything to say about it: and he’s never going to forget what it means to treat Steve Harrington exactly how he deserves.

“And they let me do the same,“ and Steve sounds so grateful for the give-and-take of them, the way they meet and match, and Eddie just…he wants Stevie next to him right now, and he really and truly knows that after he kisses Steve senseless and they fuck about how much they love each other?

He’s going to promise this man every movie release and awards show and random event he wants for the rest of their lives, if he’ll let Eddie have the honor.

“Doesn’t turn it into like a competition on either side, either, it’s just us both doing what we want to do most in the moment, any given day,” and Eddie is struck all over again at how little time it took, especially given Eddie’s laundry list of hangups, for them both to sink into an established status quo of…not a millionaire and his management-grunt sidepiece, or some fucked up accidental sugar baby, but two men who just…love. As a rule. And show it.

Eddie…kinda didn’t process just how much that was, is, until it’s spelled out: never a competition. Eddie never feels bought when Steve sends him his now-routine gifts whenever he’s away. Steve never makes Eddie feels silly when Eddie makes a point to bring him breakfast in bed just because; kinda makes him feel the opposite, makes him feel like a fucking superhero or something, because they’re just—

“Cherishing each other,” Steve continues, and that’s…that’s it, that’s exactly it; “celebrating, y’know, what it means to feel this way.”

And Steve pauses, a soft smile less curling his lips than suffusing his whole body, softening his features and making him so much like a sun, a brighter star than the event can stand and Eddie’d called it: the world can’t handle that shine all the time. Steve can’t smile with his mouth and his heart and the full force of his everything, lest lesser mortals fall in the face of the magnificence of it.

But then he starts speaking again, and Eddie…Eddie, for his part, maybe falls in a wholly different way:

“I found somebody I want to see tomorrow with, but all of them. All the tomorrows, y’know? Somebody who wants to make my coffee in the morning, just so we can watch the sunrise,” and Eddie sees it as it happens on the little balcony he has, where he’s actually started using the chairs that were mostly for show before but now, now he sits with Steve, and they drink coffee and wake up slow and it’s…it’s perfection and Eddie aches at how much he’s in love with it, in love with Steve and what they have, what they’re making and building and keeping together and—

“Knows just how I like it,” and Eddie does, he makes sure Steve’s coffee has just the right amount of milk, is the perfect temperature—it’s muscle memory now: the knowledge of Steve held sacred in Eddie’s head as much as in his heart; “lets me hold their hand, play with their,” and Steve’s fingers twirl a little and Eddie knows: lets him play with Eddie’s hair, because fuck if they don’t both love that so fucking hard and maybe Eddie reaches for a curl and it’s nothing like having Steve play with it but it’s…it’s something.

“Never waited to call, because why wait,” he says wryly, and Eddie chokes on something between a cackle and a sob because Eddie had feared so hard that he’d lost this, but in truth?

He’d had no idea what he was losing, what he’d have gone without, even when he knew deep down he was maybe losing everything.

So yeah: he hadn’t fucking wasted any time that second go-around.

“Why play games when you can, when,” and Steve stops himself, shakes his head ruefully before thinking better of giving more than he wants to the people watching; “and now we, we’re like,” and this time when he trials off he just kinda sits with it, stares off camera kinda unfocused for a second, but looking so content.

Eddie loves him so goddamn much.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, but not in a way that minimizes any of what he’s said, or any of the feeling behind it; “sorry if it disappoints your viewers,” but Steve doesn’t sound one bit sorry, he sounds sly almost and then:

“But I’m not sorry at all that I found them, this,” and Steve smiles to himself, private-like again when he stumbles upon a reason to underscore the the reality that it’s:

“Us.”

Together. Inseparable. A single entity made of equals given wholly to what it means to love, like this.

Fucking magical, is what it is.

By this point, the interviewer looks a little dewy-eyed herself, and her smile really does read as honest. Like she’s…no one could be as happy as Eddie is, in this. And Steve’s feelings seem…comparable, against all odds but undeniable, though Eddie doesn’t think anyone could be quite as overjoyed by where he’s ended up, and with who.

Like: even if Steve were inexpressibly thrilled about it, and he may well be, the look on his face isn’t vague, but then Eddie…well, he’d just have to be so inconceivably giddy it topples empires; parts seas.

“You’ll head home to them?” the woman asks, and oh.

Oh.

Steve’s smile at that…it reaches his eyes.

“Long as I didn’t piss ‘em off too much, with what I’ve said,” and Eddie absolutely does laugh through the heaving sobs of the sort he’s not sure he’s ever experienced before: like the sheer magnitude of feeling in him just has no option but to crest and burst out of him the only way it can, as he giggles at the absolute absurdity of this man, this man, as if Eddie isn’t tempted to sleep in front of the fucking door for however many days between now and Steve coming home—home—so he can leap into those arms and cling and promise him forever, forever, forever in no uncertain terms, making concrete and certain all that they’ve implied in every possible way to now.

“They value their privacy,” Steve sobers a little, serious with it and Eddie loves him, he loves him and he loves so much more and bigger than privacy, than whatever fear lives and breathes in him: it’s nothing compared to the fact of Steve.

“Our privacy.”

“You were impressively discreet, even by your own standards,” the woman reassures him, as if it’s a question, as if Eddie could ever be pissed at Steve for the fucking declarations he’s given, for the care he’s infused in the delivery, just…Steve.

“Even I don’t think I could track this person down,” the lady tacks on and Steve chuckles at that.

“That’s pretty good, then,” he compliments lightly, like maybe he appreciates her actual journalistic skills in a sea of stolen photos and who-wore-it-best.

“Congratulations, Steven,” the woman leans in and seems to think twice before patting his shoulder or something, but definitely looks like she wants to. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Steve tells her then glances over his shoulder, catches something out of sight and waves before smiling not-quite-apologetically. “Looks like I’m needed elsewhere.”

And then Steve’s off and Eddie…

Eddie starts searching for someone who’s better at technology that he is, and has saved the interview start to finish, so he can watch it again.

💛💛💛

on to THE CONCLUSION // part ten >>>

✨or✨

<<< back to the obligatory insecurity // part eight

for @pearynice 🖤

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[gatorlovebot]

nsfw. mdni. this is self indulgent but its my right as a 20 something who is getting ready to move out on their own for the first time to write about landlord john price ok <3

landlord price who buys a nice looking duplex in the city and fixes it up himself. lives in the top floor because he doesn’t need much space to himself and rents out the bottom unit. so far it had mostly been couples or smaller familes renting out the bottom unit, until you came along.

you, who had been saving money to rent something nice for yourself, something with a little extra space. the two bedroom downstairs unit is perfect for you, but you have pretty mixed feelings about your landlord living right above you. until you actually meet him.

upon moving in your greeted by the warm accent of john price. his eyes crinkle when he smiles at you and you can pick out grey hairs in his full beard. it’s so cliche, feeling butterflies for an older man whose kind to you but what are you supposed to do when he offers to help you bring in boxes, muscly arms on full display?

he allows you time and space to get settled in, with a promise of, “i’m just upstairs if you ever need anything.”

you don’t see him for the next few days until there’s a knock at your door and its him, looking soft and sweet in a grey henley, just in time for the colder fall weather. “would you care to join me for dinner? i tried a new soup recipe and seems like a i have enough to feed a small army.”

and that’s how you end up in his space for the first time. it’s tiday yet lived in. furniture dark and worn. you can tell a man lives here. dinner is nice, soup rich and filling. but john makes it so much better. effortlessly making you laugh with his bad jokes and stories. he’s warm and personable. your little crush grows when he walks you back downstairs to your unit when the sun goes down. you find yourself struggling to go inside to your empty apartment.

some days you see him and some days you don’t. your work schedule is consistent but you can’t get a read on his schedule, coming and going unpredicatably. life of a retiree, you think.

sometimes you catch him when you’ve come home from work. usually you’re thrilled to see him, an immediate smile stretching across your face and a blush on your cheeks as soon as you see his smile and hear his voice.

sometimes you curse his presence. like now, when you can’t even wait until you get inside your place before the tears start to fall. and of course john has to be in the front yard racking up leaves. you try to give a polite hello and walk up the steps inside, but john price can already read you like a book.

he’s pulling you into his chest before you even know it, big, solid arms wrapped around your shoulders holding you snug to him. “what’s got you so upset, huh?”

and you let the tears fall in earnest, feeling safe and secure with john. “work…just fucking sucks.”

“oh you poor thing,” he coos before gathering you up in his arms and leading you up to his place. he brews some tea as you sink into his couch, the leather warm and soft underneath you. once the teas done, he settles next to you and let’s you warble on about how unsupportive your work environment is and how your boss never follows through on his promises. he mostly just lets you talk, letting out an occasional hum in affirmation. that night he’s not very talkative, he’s much more tactile. running his hands up and down your arms, rubbing the tension from your shoulders and back as he allows you to lean on him until you’re practically in his lap. you’ve exhausted yourself crying and he thanks you for being so vulnerable with him and tells you that even though you don’t deserve all the bullshit at your job, you’re such a brave girl for fighting through it.

things continue to get more and more comfortable between you two. you would almost go as far as to say you would consider him a friend. you do still sometimes have awkward moments though. like when you go down to the basement to change your laundry from the washer to the dryer and you find him already placing your garments in. “oh sorry,” he says, flustered, a tinge of pink dusting his cheeks at being caught. “i spilt some paint on myself earlier while touching up the trim outside and really needed to get some stuff in the washer. i was going to message you asking if all this stuff could go in the dryer.”

he’s so thoughtful, you think. “yeah, it can all go in. thanks, john!”

hours later when you’re finally putting away your clean laundry you realize some of your panties are missing. oh well, its an older dryer, must have eaten them.

its months layer when your stomach drops as you read a text from john asking if you could come upstairs later tonight, there was something he needed to talk to you about. you feel a flash of panic, his text sounding serious. did you do something wrong? you had just seen him the previous day and everything between you seemed fine. you thought you were a great renter, but now you weren’t so sure.

you make your way up to his place and he greets you at the door, usual soft smile on his face.

“i just wanted to get something out in the open,” he starts as you both take a seat on the couch. “i’ve noticed an odor coming from downstairs late at night.”

for a moment you have no idea what he could be talking about, an odor, you think and then it hits you. your late night smoke sessions. “oh, yeah.” it dawns on you. “i’m so sorry about that.”

“no, no, it’s fine.” he reassures, “i would be a bit of a hypocrite myself to be honest, i smoke cigars constantly. try to keep it to just the back balcony but sometimes i break my own rules.”

“yeah, i don’t do it in the apartment because that would be rude, but,” you wince, “sometimes i get a little too lazy to go outside so i just do it out my bedroom window.”

“ah, no worries, dear. just wanted to let you know that i know.”

with your panic subsiding you feel a little bold, “would you like to smoke a little, john?”

“if you’re offering, i’ll be on the balcony.”

you would have never imagined sharing a joint with john would lead you here. in his lap, legs splayed open with your pants around your ankles. listening to the wet sounds of your pussy as he dips his big fingers inside you, hitting all the right spots. your brain is floaty and your limbs feel weightless against his big body that surrounds yours.

there’s a constant stream of nonsense and whimpers that leaves your lips as you dumbly watch him pet your swollen clit. but its the filth from his mouth that really gets you. “such a pretty little thing fo’ me, huh?”

“this little cunt ‘s all mine, right?”

“i’ve been thinking about touching you like this since the day you moved in.”

“cum on my fingers, sweet girl, i know you want to.”

and you do, clenching around his fingers as you keen and moan through it. there’s a whispered, “good girl,” deep and gravelly in your ear before you’re being lifted into john’s arms as he carries you back inside, to his bedroom.

[missmarveledsblog]

Never doubt the Matchmaker ( jake seresin x reader )

Summary : nat phoenix trace was well known by her friends and coworkers as being a excellent matchmaker although jake seresin thinks it all bullshit till he finally let her set him up and jake learns never to doubt the matchmaker ...

warnings : goofy , fluffy , miscommunication sort of rom com feel to it , picture doesn't describe the reader just cover art i started making for fics

Natasha trace  was a woman of many talents , she was strong , determined , and calculated . all good qualities that made her one of best female pilots but she also had another talent one that didn't even remotely have to do with the navy and it was her match making skills . when she disclosed the information it got laughs  , didn't bother her she laughed along with them .  then one by one it would start off joking then hinting to outright asking. first it was fanboy then bob then javy then rooster. only one she didn't get asked by was payback giving the man was already married and jake who still thought it was all  crock .  she didn’t really concern herself with what bagman had to say the results spoke for themself .  fan boy was living with the barista she set him up with , bob was married to the animal shelter volunteer , javy was still going strong with the yoga instructor while  rooster only began seeing the nurse it was still good and boy was he already gone . the results spoke for themselves as always but jake still a skeptic , still ready to shoot it all down of course . 

“ he’s just afraid of finding the one is all “ rooster laughed .

“ i mean i don’t doubt your skill but hangman finding the one is a bit far fetched “ bob shook his head amused in the constantly denial of the match making but in fairness they all were  til she did her thing. 

“ don’t worry bagman i wouldn’t subject any woman to deal with you “  phoenix rolled her eyes . 

“ because its not working i mean rooster would fall in love with a rock” he countered as the brunette exclaimed out a “ hey “ 

 “ why does it bother you so much , you feeling left out , a little lonely “ she taunted . 

“ never lonely phoenix i can get a girl to keep me warm at night any time” he winked  taking his shot potting the ball . 

“ why don’t you let her set you up then “ bob suggested . 

“ he’s right you think it’s fake then prove it “ javy added . 

“ ain’t you suppose to be on my side here?” 

“ come on man what have you got to lose”  rooster smirked . 

“ you know what i’ll bit just to show you i’m right” he crossed his arms looking to the female pilot.

“Fine  i’ll set you up bagman “ nat shook her head . 

It had been weeks since the whole agreement in the hard deck and jake constantly being the one to let her know the fact . then like an angel to answer all there prayers she found the one , the one that would have jake seresin eating his words .  then one day during lunch jake was looking at text of details for a date saturday . he promised to give the woman a chance   , knowing full well it would end like all his dates do  and that part wasn’t so bad .  He’d gotten the womans number striking up a conversation , she could least do that only thing was when he asked for selfie she would reply later , later never came then it was “ i forgot next” which didn’t fill him with much fate but still keeping his word he continues to chat . saturday he was on the beach  a regular tradition now playing dog fight football as the guys asked about his  date. 

“ i mean we text but no selfies so not promising “ he called as nat shook her head. 

“ she hot bagman not that it matters “ she rolled her eyes . 

“ all chicks say there friends are hot , i’m just being honest” he smirked . 

“ not al about looks “ rooster pointed out . 

“ says the guy with the hot nurse girlfriend , you telling me if she wasn’t attractive to you in the smallest bit you would be with her ?” he asked . 

“ yeah because of the person , she is” . 

“ again not that it matters but y/n is a hotty and well able to handle you “ nat scoffed . 

“ yeah we’ll see about that phoenix”. 

When he got home  still texting his date asking her what she was going to wear so he would be able find her .  all he got back was long red dress probably something a grandma would wear  he didn’t know why but that was what he thought . then he got ready   thinking the worse as time got closer , like it was set up in a different way , a ploy for phoenix to get back at him and set him up with some lady that had twenty cars the generic mad woman crossing his mind .  he could slip out early that was for sure  although javy was telling him it would be ok also agreed to call with fake emergency. He was glad he agreed to meet somewhere else because if this was a trick least there would be no witnesses that was for sure . checking over least he looked good   as he looked down at his dress pants that fit snugly on his legs of the light blue almost whitish blue shirt that made his chest and arms look great . he was ready to prove natasha trace wrong and make a  lady happy to get the jake seresin experience . he was sure it was going to be a disaster , some sort of catfish situation even though he had yet to she her face expectations were not high. He stood outside  the bar it was classy  place so who he thought he would meet would stand out a mile off already building an image of some desperate woman .   parking and taking one look at his phone both message one to tell him she was at the bar and another from javy to have good time but he was also on standby if needed . heading in there was one woman at the bar in a red dress , long that stopped at her shins , her long legs crossed with a pair of black open toed heels   , spagetti string straps as she looked around she was gorgeous. Maybe if his  date failed he could ? . 

She couldn’t believe she let natasha trace do her whole match maker thing knowing how it was going to fail , from texting the guy it was ok nothing special didn’t seem like he was into it either so least she wouldn’t be the only one who was going to go into it with less expectations , plus she could only imagine what she was going to meet not that she didn’t find  nat’s flyboy friends attractive because they were but they lacked a little something  .  she herself worked as a mechanic not as glorious or as dangerous as  the navy but she and nat bonded over being in a male dominated area even still she was confused as the receptionist . now here she was sitting waiting for some stranger  when she could be in her shop finishing the shit ton of cars that needed to be fixed but maybe a few drinks would be ok  , help take the busy week off her shoulders . one so busy she kept forgetting to send a selfie and then she thought it would be more fun to keep the mystery going . she text him to let him know he was at the bar barely flickering her gaze  when he text to say  he was outside well here it was. 

“ showtime “ she winked to the bartender downing the drink waiting for whatever disaster  that was coming her way . 

“Erm y/n “ the  southern drawl clear his throat she turned to raise her hand. 

“ over here” she smiled ok , so he wasn’t tragic looking maybe it was shallow but hey he was gorgeous blonde so she wasn’t complaining . 

“ well darling nice to meet you “ he beamed , he’d give nat this one she was the hotty at the bar . 

“ jake?  Nice to meet you too “ she held her hand out almost swallowed in his own , lifting it to his lips and kissing her hand .

“ what are you drinking ?” he nudged . 

“ just beer , southern boy huh” her own accent coming out more as she talked . 

“ austin born and raised , you ?” he took the seat  noting the slight disappointed glance of bartender since he came over. 

“ dallas , would you like to go sit down and get some food because i for one am hungry ?”  

“ lead the way beautiful whatever you want it on me “  he beamed holding his hand out and letting her take him anywhere and it would be anywhere damn she was like a siren luring him to sea .  following the sway of her hips like they were personal hypnotizing him and maybe they were , pulling the seat out putting the full gentlemen charm because shit she had him hooked with her body already . 

“ so jake from austin what made you ask nat for her skills “ she asked looking up  ever the gentlemen pulling her chair out and pushing it in for her as she looked up through her lashes at the blonde . 

“ honest answer?” to which she nodded .  “ honestly i wanted to see if she was good as other say kinda a skeptic but maybe not so much “ he winked as her  head tipped back and wondrous sound of her laugh came out. 

“ oh my god same i only agreed because she set my cousin up with ostrich , duck some bird dude “ she laughed . 

“ rooster?” 

“ YES !  i haven’t met him yet but my cousin  ironic dove is singing his praise then when she told me she got a perfect match not gonna lie since your being honest and all but i said no for while stuff at works been well hectic “ she shook her head. 

“ what is you do , you never said in your texts plus you owe me a selfie or two “ he teased . 

“ a mechanic actually while other girls where playing with barbies i was playing with tools and hotwheels i’m only girl of a bunch of boys so i guess when i wanted to be one of them safe to say my mom was little let down to say the least “ she chuckled . 

“ i’m only boy of bunch of girls i’m second born though “ 

“I’m the baby  , i’m actually working in a shop owned by my two older brothers and top at my job not as exciting as being a aviator for the navy though” she winked . 

“ nah i’m impressed least i know if my truck ever  has trouble i know who will take care of it for me” he smirked leaning forward honestly he hated how much he was going to be hearing nat gloat because he was already hooked  this woman was perfect although she was a decade younger but fuck she was making him feel like a teenager.

The date was good he laughed a lot she was funny , she seemed interested in knowing him and   kept the conversation light nothing was felt pushed or awkward . it was perfect date  he hated he would have to tell phoenix  as much he didn’t want that night to end ,  they even made out in the back of his truck  so why was it two days after the date and everything was radio silent . only thing that he was told was she got home safe and would contact him again .  he never had that much fun on a date especially one that didn’t end in sex , he wanted to be respectful , he also didn’t wanna text and come off desperate so he was wondering what hell went wrong .  maybe he could ask nat and swallow his pride at the fact she was good but clearly not good if he was ghosted . 

She wondered what went wrong did she come on too  strong , did he not like her .  the date was perfect and yet she never  got text back after she told him she got home safe .  it was all good even making out in the back of his truck til he stopped it now she was slightly annoyed he ghosted her .  burying herself in the overflowing work she could of been doing instead  when the familiar sound of an engine . to see natasha trace coming her way all smile probably ready to hear about how it all went . 

“ i’m mad at you “ y/n huffed tying her hair up before diving back into the hood of the corvette that needed dire attention.  

“ what did he do ?” she groaned now holding the coffee she brought like a peace offering instead of an early celebration . 

“ ghosted me  , i thought we had a great time  , even made out in his stupid truck and boom nothing even when i offered him to follow me “ she grumbled looking up . 

“ wait what javy said jake had great time i was here to rub it in both of you “ . 

“ well i’ll do that rubbing in your matchmaking skill ain’t all that .. but i love you and you didn’t know this was gonna happen so i guess i ain’t actually mad at you… my vagina might be “ she laughed finally taking the coffee. 

“ i’m gonna find out what going on cause something is  not adding up “ nat brows furrowed as she head off ignoring the protest that came from y/n mouth . 

She couldn’t make sense of it , according to javy he was smitten  like really smitten so what the hell was going on .  she knew y/n was younger than jake by ten years was that it but then she was thinking jake would date younger than himself maybe not that gap but again it didn’t seem to bother him . it wasn’t even to do with the match making anymore ..ok maybe it was could that be it , he was ghosting y/n in his own need to be right.  Now she was pissed  as she drove a little faster ,  parking her car and storming down the halls. She didn’t even look at the guys when she got to jake staring up , eyes narrowed  and hands on hips . 

“ what is your problem how come your ghosting y/n ,  she said she had a great time with you and what  is it your need to be right because that fucked if you don’t like her least be a man and tell her “ she gritted . 

“ what are you talking about  , she ghosted me nat  she should grow up and tell you the truth “ he scoffed . 

“ she looked upset although she wouldn’t show it …  she thinks you don’t like her she offered  her place ?” nat said even more confused .

“ believe it or not i was being a gentlemen because i actually did like the her.. The date “ he corrected pulling his phone out to show the fact he ended up texting her couple times . 

“ oh you stupid man , it concerning your still flying that not her the name is similar but you’ve been texting another woman no wonder she didn’t answer … idiots “ she scoffed as jake looked at his phone he didn’t even realize that name was still in his phone  he just saw the first three letters and was currently cursing the device in his hand .  it all connecting in his mind only for rooster to say it all out loud. 

“ shit you actually ghosted her after all” .

“ where she work  cause she not gonna believe me if i text her now ?” he asked chasing after nat  who honestly was done with life at the moment. 

“ if i  tell you , you gotta wear a shirt that says i was right for three nights of my choosing in hard deck ?” nat mused even though she was gonna help him either way but didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun too . 

“ you know what i’ll let you have six , come on “ he pleaded  ready to dart out knowing he’s morning was free . 

“  don't make me regret this “ nat smirked texting the address . “ make sure you check the right message “ she called as he ran off flipping her off . 

 he didnt know what it was but he was hooked on this girl like some sort of spell was cast on him  . he usually didn't bother texting after the fuck boy tendency  was strong he knew it himself but shit he was so disappointed and turned out to be his fault his fuckboy ways or some sort of self sabotage  .  already losing something so good before it even started he wanted to delete all the contacts in his phone maybe change his number start a new leaf. He was just hoping he wasn’t too late as he got into his truck nat sent another message telling him  the  coffee and baked good  peace offering to bring  as well as his size  maybe he would wear the shirt  an extra night for that. It was a race for what he didn’t know but he wanted to find out.   

She was tired but finally she gotten on top of the overflow of repairs  ones even her brothers were impressed she managed to pull of maybe the frustration of being ghosted was working in her favor , she was ready to grab her coat and head out . 

“ hey kiddo truck coming in can you sort this while i sort something in the office” her brother mikey called . 

“ you gotta be shitting me i’m heading out deal with it yourself” she scoffed. 

“ do it and i’ll give you rest of week off and next week  paid and overtime?” he said holding phone to his ear . 

“ fine after this i’m out for a week and half   “ she rolled her eyes throwing her things down tying her hair up . 

“ yeah she going  i think a date would be a good payment huh trace” he chuckled heading into the office. 

She was huffing and puffing but hey time of and extra money she could be happy with , what she wasn’t happy with was a tall blonde aviator standing by the truck . 

“ we’re closed” 

“ says your open “ he nodded to the neon sign. 

“ busy should of called a head.. Or do you have a phone?” she scoffed hand on her hip  , burning hole in his head with the fiery gaze she had on him . 

“ can we talk please ? i got your favorites here” he held up the container. 

“ you could of talked to me before , my brother is in there i will not hesitate to get the bat from his car “ 

“  hear him out … heres your stuff and thanks for screwing up so i can get a date with nat “ mikey called placing her stuff at the door before heading in and locking the door . 

“ traitor “ she mumbled taking her bag and  only see her car keys missing . “ son of a bitch “ she grumbled .  But it wasn’t going to get her down  no come hell or nothing she would walk her ass home . so she did turning out away completely not even sparing the blonde a second look or care if he was following her or not. 

“ come on please let me explain “ jake called. 

“ explain nothing if nat sent you here tell her it’s all good “ she waved over her shoulder not only was  she pissed she was no embarrassed thinking he owned her explanation .  which he did but one of his own violation and not one her friend force him to make .   she heard his booths hitting the asphalt , she could hear the panting  behind her shaking her head she kept walking . 

“ come on please” 

“ you ghost me , i practical ask you to sleep with me i thought you were doing the whole gentlemen thing  but turned out you just didn’t like me which is fine i mean not everyone gonna like me but shit when are guys gonna be honest and be like look i ain’t feeling it   or some shit “ she snapped not caring about the group of guys walking by .  

“ dude you blind “ one commented as she just groaned walking past them all . 

“ hey hey  i did want to ok and i was trying to be a gentlemen , i wanted to take you in backseat of the pickup if i could “ he yelled only instead of the group of guys passing it was a group of elderly women . 

“ pig “ one scoffed as they hurried passed. 

“ i thought you ghosted me ok …i maybe even worse asshole to admit that i was texting the wrong number because the names were similar which i’m going to have to text that person the same thing cause i’m pretty sure she married now” he winced as she finally stopped walking . 

“ you want me believe and if i did it worse that it was a mistake dude it ok we didn’t click i mean i thought we did … oh shit “ she said as he held his phone up showing her the messages her name but the contact was similar . “ is it safe for you to be flying “ she asked .

 “ yes i  made a dumb mistake but my eyesight is fine “ he snorted shaking his head nat previous statement . 

“ so you didn’t ghost me ?” she blinked up slightly  still trying to piece the new information slightly relieved since lets be real being ghosted is never fun . 

“ i didn’t ghost you be a fool to  ,  if  your in a forgiving mood since i cleared it up would you maybe wanna go on another date ?” he stood not the usually confident or cocky way he was used to he was almost shy when asking a definite new feeling that he would ( would not ) out loud . 

“ i guess since you got me a week and half off work i could least do that “ biting her lip , wanting to kick herself at the urge to twirl her hair in her finger like some smitten school girl . 

“Well then lets get going “ he winked wrapping his arm around her only for the same group of guys from before walking by looking barely 16 . 

“ dude kiss her “ one  not so hushed whisper yell  . 

“  man i was gonna ask her out” another whined. 

“ y’all watching this whole time ?” she snorted while jake was looking like the cat that got the cream having her at his side . 

“ tiktok was done … if things don’t work out with old man  heres my number” the guy winked as jake took the piece of paper instead . 

“She wont need it son “ was all jake could say leading her back towards the shop , back where his truck was least if her brother was doing him the solid he could have a small drive thru  date . he was new to it all actually wanting to see the one person actively and exclusive ( not that he told her , he wasn’t bradshaw ) but he was willing to show it in future .  He also learned never to doubt nat and her matching making skills again well how could he went he was going to be wearing the visual proof .

[mellowwillowy]

"Oh..." Your boyfriend secretly checked your scorecard before you did and was greeted with a line of miserable A until his eyes landed on a B. This would surely take a taxing toll on your mind.

"Hmm..."

He started to hum, what should he do? Hack through the website and change the inputted number for you? What if the scoring system was filed through physical form too?

I really hope you would just shrug it off and say your classic 'It had happened, what more could I do?' instead of stressing yourself with it.

Blue pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squinted shut as he tried to find a solution for this. Your scholarship is at stake, edged to the despairing ending. But there might be chances that your scholarship was only a one-semester thing and this could ease the burden on your mind.

Hacking through the website system is not a problem but ensuring that your score is true to the one inputted online is the real problem here. Bribery would work but should he risk it all? Should he really taint something so pristine, something so you?

Jaw clenched tightly, the urge to throw the mouse across the room is increasing. Why must the professor go through such trouble to give you a ridiculous grade? The unreasonable one here is her and not you.

"God... dammit-!" With a flick of his wrist, the mouse shattered into pieces as it hit the ground. "This fucking pebble-like old hag, why must you trouble me with this bullshit." He cursed under his breath as though he was the one unbenefited from this instance, face darkened while his blue eyes glinted in fury.

Upon a moment of silence, Blue decided to save you from this headache. He started to work on his PC again, this time to hack through the website and change your supposed score into an A.

"Whatever, not a thing that I can't manage. I suppose a visit with a wrapped gun would work or whatever, maybe a wrapped nail-packed lunch... or just poisonous flower..." His mumblings were mostly drowned with the clackings of the keyboard, "or maybe just a branded bag... or something better."

Something of his forte.

"Maybe some fresh blackmail material... or perhaps, debt."

---

"Woahhh~! Look, Blue! Look! I aced it all! A whole A!"

Blue laughed at your excitement as he easily lifted you up and twirled you around, "Guess this call for a celebration? What about a trip to your favorite diner and bust all their menu?"

You urged him to drop you down before you hop excitedly, "Yes! Let's get them now!"

Chuckling to himself, he thought to himself, Today is our good day so I shouldn't bother myself with that old hag just yet. Maybe tomorrow, or the day after. Any day but today.

"Let's fill this tummy with its expected reward, come." He held you by your hand toward the front door.