#and I’m telling you HOW and WHY and WHO hurt me

[luveline]

jadey, could I request some hurt/comfort with hangman (or Steve or Eddie if you’d prefer) where he asks reader out and they’re like “are you sure this isn’t a joke? or a prank? or a bad decision you’ll regret tomorrow?”? and he’s really sweet and kind about it? cause ngl with how shitty my dating life’s been so far, any man that approaches me with romantic intent is gonna have to do so with the same gentleness and tact as someone who rescues and rehabilitates neglected dogs.

“Look out,” Liv says, nodding toward the front of the arcade and then quickly turning away, “Harrington’s back.”

Why she says it like a chore you’ve no idea. You hurry to clip your mirror compact closed and shove it under the desk into a bucket of Chinese finger traps and pencil toppers. You look ridiculous in your polo with your Palace nametag taking up a solid two inches of your chest, but Steve Harrington used to wear a little sailor’s uniform with tiny teeny shorts, so perhaps he doesn’t hold it against you. You really hope he doesn’t. 

Steve looks less smiley than usual —he isn’t surrounded by his usual troupe of friends, the younger kids Nancy Wheeler’s brother and the gaggle of dorks that keeps getting bigger. He pretends they piss him off, and sometimes they really do, but when Max needs to go stand outside for a minute he always goes with her, and when Dustin flinches at a seriously loud noise, he clasps the boy by the shoulder and tells him it’s alright. He clearly doesn’t mind that he’s inherited a brood of younger siblings.

But today he’s frowning, nearly, something steeled about him as he stops at the desk. You smile carefully and he smiles back, but it quickly fades as he opens his mouth, you assume to talk. For a second, nothing comes out. 

“Hi,” he says finally. 

“Hi, Steve.” 

“How are you?” 

“I’m good, yeah. Thank you.” You raise your eyebrows. “How are you?” 

“Nervous.” He scratches the back of his neck, peeking quickly down at his hand and then wiping it roughly into his thigh. “Shit. Listen, I think you’re so pretty, and I practised this part in my head but it’s not– I got another look at you as I was coming in and I forgot what I was gonna say.” 

You don’t mean to ask, but, “You think I’m pretty?” 

“It’s dire,” he says seriously, hair flopping into his eyes and half-heartedly batted away. “You’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, it doesn’t compute. 

“Oh. Well, thank you,” you say softly. 

“Shit.” Steve shoots a look at the door. You follow his gaze, wondering what the hell he’s looking at. Did he bring somebody with him? You’d thought he was alone, but maybe he’s not. 

“Steve, are you okay?” 

“That’s why. This is why I’m– I’m fucking up monumentally. I didn’t think I’d be nervous. Like, sure, I felt like I was gonna throw up all morning but I’m usually better at the asking part.” Steve straightens up. A light beige polo is neatly buttoned at his neck, and his hair looks nicer than usual, super shiny under the overhead. When he turns to you, the red light coming off of Dig-Dug paints him with a pink hue, emphasising the dash of blush filling the tops of his ears. “You wouldn’t want to hang out some time, would you? Or– shit. I don’t want to hang out. I do, but– Do you want to go on a date?” 

“With you?” 

He winces. “With me, yeah.” 

You’re quiet for so long it makes you both uncomfortable. Slowly, Steve’s face starts to lose the squirmy nervousness he’d brought in with him, and a familiar softness fills his eyes, his brows pinching at their starts, lips pursed. 

“You look upset,” he says. 

In the tens of times you’ve seen Steve Harrington come in here, and the fewer times he’s come up to the desk to talk, you can’t confess to thinking he’d ever ask you that. You’d imagined it once, how he’d lean against the display of teddy bears and smile at you just so, like you already knew what he wanted. 

“No,” you say, watching his expression for some sign that this is a trick. It doesn’t seem like it is. You can’t say you think he’d be that cruel, but you can’t not ask, either. “I’m wondering if this is a joke.” 

“A joke? No.” Steve frowns. “Did someone do that before?” 

“Just doesn’t make any sense.”

Steve is a nice guy. He’s asked you so many questions about yourself you can’t remember what he knows and what he doesn’t, but you aren’t eager to tell him why you think what you’re thinking now. 

You shy away from him, letting your eyes fall to the pencil erasers. 

“Hey,” he says softly, reaching across the desk without touching you, “hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m not kidding around, I’ve wanted to ask you out for ages, but I– guess I thought this would go better if I waited. You don’t have to say yes.” 

“You really want to go on a date with me?”

“Yeah, I do.” 

“You swear?” 

“I swear. I mean, duh. Who wouldn’t want to go on a date with you? I sort of wake up thinking about you.”

Your eyes fly to his face. “What?” 

“Not in like, a loser way. In a cool way.” 

You still don’t really believe Steve wants to take you on a date until he’s knocking on your door, 7PM sharp, handing you a bouquet of twelve red roses and a hopeful smile. “Told you,” he says, grinning as you step down onto the path with him, something you recognise as nervousness in his smile, but elation, too, “Jesus, I knew you’d look pretty, but this is just something else. Who wouldn’t want to take you out?” 

You hit him very gently with the flowers. “Stop.” 

He grins. “No. Don’t think I will, babe.” 

[demonic0angel]

Piggybacking off the protective Jason one, can you please do one where Danny is actually on his side for once/approves of him and tears the JL a new one for arresting his sister. (Idk if Danny is ghost king in your au so if not maybe like a diplomat or something so he can still give her diplomatic immunity.)

(Hell yeah 🫡)

Part 1

“We can’t just allow this to happen!” Green Lantern demanded. “If this just goes on, then what example are we supposed to be setting?! And Batman, how come you never told us that you worked with a literal crime lord?!”

Superman looked despondent. “I heard that he killed hundreds of people and once put decapitated heads into a bag. Batman… why were we not informed?”

Batman was silent. It was Flash who asked, “Wait, what’s going on?”

Green Lantern turned to him and said, “Spooky over here has a son that he never told us about that bailed out his partner that we captured! Wolf was ready for interrogation when the Red Hood came and took her out! Wolf is one of the most biggest figures in the underworld right now! Even if Red Hood’s your son, why did you just let him go with Wolf?!”

Phantom suddenly spoke up for the first time. His tone was very curt. “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Wolf’?”

Everyone paused. Phantom was young, yes, but no one could deny his power and strength. If it wasn’t his raw power on the battlefield, it was his experience as king and god that made everyone pause in place to listen.

Green Lantern looked sullen but nodded. “Yes, Wolf. Y’know, the bombshell in all black leather, wearing a helmet, taller than 6 feet?”

Phantom’s gaze grew cold. “When did you capture her?”

Superman asked, “Do you know her?”

Wonder Woman suddenly spoke up. “We captured her only a few hours before she was broken out of the interrogation room. She faced no harm, but she did mention someone during her stay here. She mentioned that her little brother would have words with us if we hurt her…. Is her little brother you?”

Everyone’s eyes widened. Phantom scowled. “That’s right. Wolf is my big sister, and while it is partially my fault that you were not aware of her status, I know her very well. She must’ve tried to argue for herself, didn’t she? Did you lock her up even when she tried to talk you out of it? Did you let her speak at all or did you just throw her straight into the room to be interrogated?”

Wonder Woman’s eyes widened in guilt. “I—!”

Even Martian Manhunter winced.

Phantom growled and stood up. “As you know, my people and I came here to this world for diplomatic reasons to learn from and protect this place. It is my fault for not telling you about my sister’s identity, but I am sorely disappointed by how you handled this situation. As heroes, you should’ve been willing to listen and hear her out, even if you believed that she was a criminal.”

Frost began to form under his fingertips before they receded as the Ghost King forcibly calmed himself. “My decision is this: the Red Hood has done nothing wrong by protecting my sister. Since they are both my citizens, I will do my best to protect them and I say that we cease this persecution. I owe the Red Hood many debts, so if we continue this idea and you insist on capturing both of them… do not blame me if I pick a fight with you all to protect my people.”

Stunned silence.

After all, what could they say to that? After he just dropped several bombs at once?

Everyone agreed to his demands. After all, no one was really that suicidal to hunt down the man who was owed debts by the Ghost King and said Ghost King’s sister.

[corpsedogs]

✿ birthday gift (req)

jason todd x f!reader

( ♡ jason asks what you want for your birthday. )

“What are you doing?” Jason asks, “Wrapping up a present,” you replied. “It’s for my friend’s birthday.” Jason looks at the several gift wrappings and ribbons scattered on the table, “Why so many?” he said while sitting down next to you.

“I had all of these saved in the closet, it was about time I used these things.” you answered, cutting a long pink ribbon with some scissors “I bought these wrappers for Christmas, it’s a good thing they aren’t all holiday themed.” Jason nods at you as he watches you tie the pink ribbon on the box. After tying the ribbon, you look at the present box for a bit “Does this look good?” you asked as you turned to his direction.

Jason hummed as leaned closer to the present box “Looks nice to me.”

“So, who’s the present for?” he asked. You picked up the pieces of wrapping on the table, “My friend who I haven’t seen for a long time.” you replied. Jason helped you in gathering loose wrappers in a pile on the table and put it aside, he humored the thought of making a paper ball out of the pile of wrappers but decided to shelf it for another day.

The two of you sat in silence as you stare at the empty present box for a while until Jason breaks the silence, “What do you want for your birthday?” You raised your brow at him, “My birthday isn’t coming anytime soon.”

“It won’t hurt to tell me your wishes earlier than your actual birthday.” Jason shrugged, “Maybe if you’re really lucky, I might even give it to you.”

You thought about it for a moment, “That’s kind of a hard question to answer.”

“Why?”

“I feel like it would be too much to ask for.”

He shrugs and looks at you, “You have no idea how loaded my family is, my family could easily afford it.”

Your eyes trailed to the pink ribbon on the table, “Well, there's only one thing I want.” you took the silky ribbon and tied it around his bicep, “I think its a very reasonable gift.” he blinks a couple of times, “And that is?” you smile at him as you tighten the knot on the silk ribbon, “You’re my gift silly.”

He stares at you for a moment until he bursts into laughter, “Was that your real answer?” he asked teasingly.

You blush and pout at him “It’s the truth!”

He pulls you closer to him by wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your shoulder. “I’m sure you have at least one big wish.” he murmurs “So why won’t you tell me?” you sigh as you lean onto him, “I’ll tell you on my birthday.”

The ribbon on his bicep suddenly breaks as the both of you stay silent. Jason looks at the broken ribbon for a moment before looking at you and raises his eyebrows “Did you really have to tie it that tightly?”

You looked back at his gaze, “I didn’t, you’re just so bulky.”

🍓 hellooo, i dont really like this one cause i ran out of ideas but whateverrrr… please reblog and comment thankchu

[annoyinglilbro]

Prince who starts invalidating himself and going to royal events as a princess to please his family, knight who corners him later, not following any orders nor letting him come unless he admits he's a boy. (After all, the knight's job is to protect the prince)

Prince being pushed into an abandoned corridor and glaring at the knight.

“What is your problem?!”

“What’s yours? What is all this? Where are your button ups, your trousers? Why are you parading around in corsets and lace?”

Prince who scoffs and crosses his arms. He looks away from the knight and forces his eyes on some random tapestry on the wall.

“Father is done entertaining me. They let wear my hair short and wear my brothers clothes for years. But now I’m an adult, it’s time to stop playing pretend and be the princess the kingdom needs. They’re giving me some time to let my hair grow, and then I’ll be presented with suitors. Each from our ally kingdoms, and I will choose one to marry.”

Knight who shakes his head. It can’t be true. He has been at the prince’s side since they were kids, he’d know if he was protecting a girl. Even with the corset and light flowing fabrics, that’s a boy. That’s his boy.

The same boy who would wrestle with him in his room, and get scolded for stealing extra bread from the kitchen. There was never a princess, always a prince. And he was a damn good one. Whatever is happening here is hurting him, and as his knight it’s his job to make it right.

That’s why he doesn’t hesitate when he takes the sword to the dress. When he chops away at the skirt and watches the way it tears.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

“Reminding you who you are! This isn’t you, you’re not a princess. You’re not some dainty girl who needs protecting, who falls in line and does whatever she’s told. Where’s your fire? Where are you? You’re an imposter standing infront of me. My prince would never-“

“Oh please! I was never your prince. You’re being ridiculous.” Prince that tried to push past the knight, only to be slammed backwards into the wall once again. “Stop that!”

“I don’t follow orders from any princess. Only my prince can command me.” As he pushes his hands under the torn fabric, feeling for that spot between his legs that he knows oh too well. His fingers quickly find the bundle of nerves that they’ve called his cock on many occasions.

“Oh fuck…”

“How can you say you’re a girl, hmm? When you get so worked up from having your cock played with. Silly boy, so confused. I’ll remind you, don’t worry.”

Pulling his head back by his hair and kissing all the spots he knows drives his boy crazy. Nobody knows the prince better than him. Teeth piercing into flesh, breathing uneven, and eyes glazed over with lust. Even in a dress, he can still see the boy buried underneath. Beautiful, breath taking, in need of rescue.

Prince’s hands cling to the knight, just as they have many nights before. It isn’t fair, the prince can only feel cold armor, while his knight is spoiled in the warmth of his cunt. Fingers rubbing and prodding, sliding through slick and pressing him further and further.

“Please please I have to cum please.”

Fingers that pinch at the small bud, making the prince moan and writhe.

“Who’s asking to cum?”

“Ah…fuck.. your princess is telling you. M..make me cum.”

Knight that clicks his tongue and stops the movement of his fingers.

“I only take orders from my prince.” His hand leaves his hair and instead wraps around the prince’s throat, both glaring at the other with no real hatred to fuel them. “Dress up is fun. But it’s time to stop playing around, little prince. My sweet boy. I know you’re in there. Come back to me and I’ll make you cum until you so many times you lose track.”

Prince letting out a shakey breath. He doesn’t want to disappoint his father, but it’s so hard. So hard pretending to be something he’s not and maybe that’s why he can’t stop the sob that leaves him as he falls forward and wraps his arms lovingly around his knight.

“Please…please? Get me out of here. Take me back to my- to our chambers and have me. Take me. Please, I need you.”

Knight who pauses, his arms falling to his sides.

“Who’s asking me?”

“Your Prince.”

Knight who wraps his arms around the trembling boy, kissing the top of his head before he picks him up.

“Anything you want, my darling prince.”

[luv-lock]

... # ☆ TV GIRL .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : Yandere Batboys as Tv Girl songs.

☆⁠ NOTE : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

⎯ BRUCE WAYNE - "Lovers Rock"

Bruce doesn’t sleep much. On the rare nights he does, it’s not the weight of Gotham that keeps him awake. It’s you. Every shadow in Wayne Manor feels heavier, sharper, when you’re not there. He watches the footage from the hidden cameras he’s placed in your apartment, the glow of the Batcomputer casting his face in a cold, eerie light. It’s not paranoia, he tells himself. It’s protection. You’re too important to him to leave vulnerable. He’s already lost so much. But tonight, the feed shows you out. You’re laughing with someone—a stranger whose hand brushes your arm. Bruce’s jaw clenches. His hand tightens on the desk until his knuckles go white. You belong to him. Whether you realize it or not, you were his the moment you crossed his path. He closes the feed and stands, his cape sweeping behind him as he makes his way to the Batmobile. You won’t have to worry about that stranger again. Bruce will make sure of it.

⎯ DICK GRAYSON - "Cigarettes out the Window"

The breakup wasn’t your idea. Dick made that decision for both of you. “For your own good,” he’d said, tears brimming in those piercing blue eyes. But you didn’t see the cracks forming beneath his charming smile. You didn’t see him unraveling the moment you walked away. He shows up at your door one night, drenched from the rain, a bouquet of half-dead flowers in his trembling hands. “I needed to see you,” he says, his voice soft, broken. “Just for a minute.” You hesitate, but you let him in. He always had a way of making you feel guilty for his pain. Once inside, he’s all over you—his hands brushing against yours, his eyes locked onto your every movement. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs. “Just… let me be here. Please.” When you finally ask him to leave, his face hardens for just a moment before he forces a smile. “Of course,” he says, stepping back. But later, you find a small camera tucked behind the bookshelf, and you realize Dick never really left.

⎯ JASON TODD - "Not Allowed"

Jason’s love feels like a storm—violent, relentless, impossible to ignore. He shows up at your doorstep at odd hours, blood on his knuckles and a wild look in his eyes. “You don’t get it,” he says, pacing the room while you watch him from the couch, too afraid to speak. “I do this for you.” You’ve tried to push him away, to draw boundaries, but Jason doesn’t understand boundaries. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. “No one’s ever going to hurt you,” he promises, crouching in front of you. His hands are rough as they cup your face, his touch both tender and possessive. “Not while I’m here.” There’s a body on the news the next day. Someone you’d fought with recently, someone who’d made you feel unsafe. Jason doesn’t say anything, but when you confront him, his expression darkens. “I told you,” he says, his voice cold and even. “No one gets to hurt you. No one.”

⎯ DAMIAN WAYNE - "Birds Don’t Sing"

Damian doesn’t understand why you don’t see it—why you don’t understand that every step he takes, every calculated move, is for you. You accuse him of controlling you, of isolating you, but he knows better. He’s protecting you from yourself, from the world, from anyone who dares to look at you the way he does. “You’re too naive,” he says, his voice sharp but laced with a tremor of desperation. “You don’t see how dangerous the world is.” You flinch at the last part, and something in Damian snaps. “I warned you,” he says, stepping closer. “I warned you not to test me.” His hands, once gentle, grip your throat with a force that makes you gasp. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “And I won’t let anyone take you away from me. Not even you.” Later, you find yourself staring at the locked windows, the reinforced doors, and the absence of your phone. Damian’s words echo in your mind: “This is for your own good. One day, you’ll understand.”

𝒍𝒖𝒗-𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 ☆ 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[starzify]

pain *ೃ༄

pairing sam x angel!reader

warnings smut | fingering | p in v unprotected (wrap it before you tap it HAHA) | reader is innocent

MASTERLIST

You’ve been grumpy all day, unsure of the reason but pondering the rush that filled your blood whenever you kissed Sam, puzzled by this new different sort of heat that you've been feeling lately. Your panties have been a little wetter than normal when you'd come home and you thought it was some kind of illness.

Sam on the other hand was far from innocent, he knew exactly what you were feeling. He liked having you as his little angel. After all, he looked huge besides you, making his desire of touching you increase more and more.

You had very serious attachment issues, needing to be close to him at all times to be fully fulfilled and happy. Even though he tried to use that as an advantage, you were not very fond to touch him sexually. Whenever he'd take a step further, you would just push his hand away or make up an excuse. Maybe because you felt a little dirty, a little naughty. Angel and sex being in the same sentence never made sense to you. It also didn't help that he looked giant beside you. No matter how powerful and strong you were, you felt like he could easily crush you whole with his hand if he really wanted to.

Though you were both happy in this relationship, Sam wanted to move a little forward. He wanted to feel you and your body. But he never did, afraid it would demolish your innocence and your fragility. what you didn't know at the time was that his hands would easily help cure your little "illness".

"Alright, lets go home" he said taking you by the waist after you'd shown Dean some attitude which was not very usual of you. "Why?!” you whined, annoyed with his bossiness. “Baby, come on.” You gave in, following him to the door of the apartment. The walk home was rather odd. When a girl gave you a disgusted glance at you, you were fed up. “Fuck yo-“ your sentence got cut short when your boyfriend picked you up and put you over his shoulders, something that happened more often than you would think. "What is up with your attitude recently?" he questioned his sweet and fragile girlfriend that had recently developed a strange habit of taking back.

You were now sitting on Sam’s lap reflecting about what just happened. He would never admit it but your usual straddle of his lap would always leave him rock hard. At first, he would just try to hide it but after seeing that you were rather naive, he never really hid it anymore. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" he questioned after a long minute of silence "it’s just embarrassing" "Why would it be embarrassing, baby? You can tell me anything." You sighed "It’s just that…i've been feeling hot lately. Especially when i see you or when you kiss me. When i get home and go to the bathroom, I’m all soaked down there" You began sobbing in the crook of Sam’s shoulder, convinced that something was wrong with you. Sam, on the other hand, had a huge smirk on his face. Who would've thought that his ego would go up in less than 5 minutes?

"Where does it hurt baby? Here?" He asked, putting a hand on your stomach. "Lower" He lowered his hand, playing with the waistband of your shorts. "Can i take these off?" You nodded. That action reveals the sight of your glistening pussy, something he had never seen before but certainly fantasized about. You unexpectedly take his hand and place it right on top of your clit, throwing your head back and moaning at the slight touch. Sam knew your vessel wasn’t a virgin but you mentally were. “Let’s go to my room." He whispered, taking your hand and leading you to your room. He shut the door behind him. "Do you wanna learn how to relieve this feeling, baby? I can teach you.” Your legs trembled as you eagerly nodded. You both sat on the bed, facing your front to the mirror. "Open your legs, sweetheart" He whispered in your ear, giving you goosebumps on your skin. "There are plenty of ways to feel good. You can do it like this…" He muttered, rubbing your clit slowly as you let out a sigh of relief. “You can do this too…" He teased a finger to your core before entering it, pumping it in and out of you which elicited a moan from you. “You wanna learn more?" He offered and you nodded eagerly.

And there you were, watching him layed down on the bed with his massive cock sprung out. "It won’t fit, Sam" you said concernedly, examining his length. “Come on, you haven’t even tried the best part yet. You’ll feel so much better, my love." He beckoned you to come over and you listened to him, crawling on top of him and aligning his dick with your wet entrance. "Just sit on it, trust me.” He looked at you with reassuring eyes and that’s what did it for you. You nervously lowered yourself onto him, letting out a moan that’s almost pornographic. "It’s too big, i can’t do it.” You only had the tip in but that already too much for you. "That’s just the tip, baby. You’re not even halfway there." You exhaled, sinking down completely. “There you go…” He smiled proudly. “My beautiful girl took all of my cock huh?” You stayed silent, trying to catch your breath first. You felt a stinging pain, falling forward on his chest. “You gotta move baby” he whispered in your ear.

You started to bounce up and down his cock, loud moans escaping from your mouth each time you made a movement in the slightest. He loved the sight of you being cockdrunk and he would pay any amount of money just to see it for the first time again. You quickly switched positions, him being on top of you. The movement of his hips speeded up. “Sam!” You cried out as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten. “Shit!” He exclaimed, pulling out and releasing himself on your tits. He laid down beside you as you both panted. “Did I fix the pain, angel?”

tags: @ultravi0lence14 @bluemerakis @frosttbitessam @lanadelreyscokewhor3 @beausling @figthoughts @deansbeer @deanangel @titsout4jackles @haunteres @inspiredangel @pointocean @whisperingdaze @misatxox

cassie chats: sam x angel!reader is so underrated what the flip dude 🙁

[insidekatmind]

His favorite- Mason Greenwood

Wearning: slight smut

Request: yes!

You’re crouched beside the injured footballer, your hands steady as you apply pressure to the wound. The stadium is filled with the echoes of distant cheers, but here, in this small corner of the medical area, it’s just you and the player.

Then, a familiar voice cuts through the air—sharp, irritable, and unmistakable.

“I don’t trust you enough to take care of it,” Mason Greenwood’s voice growls.

You don’t even need to look up to know who it is. Mason’s tone has always had that edge, one that could leave anyone in his path on edge. You’ve seen it often—his fierce loyalty to those he trusts, his unwillingness to let anyone near what’s important to him.

“But—” comes the quiet, uncertain voice of a medic you’ve never seen before, interrupted immediately.

“I said no,” Mason snaps, and you can practically hear the glint of frustration in his voice. “I want y/n to have a look at it, not you.” The words are sharp, filled with authority, and you feel an involuntary rush of warmth at his insistence. “No offense,” Mason continues, his voice turning slightly colder as he shoots a stern glare at the medic.

You can hear the faint shuffle of footsteps as the medic steps back, clearly unwilling to argue with the player. But now, your focus is divided—on the footballer in front of you and the unexpected tension that's beginning to build in the air around Mason.

You glance up, locking eyes with him. His usual composition is fractured by a flicker of something—concern? Protective instinct? You don't know. His eyes soften when they meet yours, as though he's trying to gauge your reaction.

“Y/n,” he mutters, voice quieter now but still laced with authority. "Please, I need you to check him over." There's a vulnerability in his voice, a subtle shift that makes you realize just how much he values your expertise.

You nod, finishing up with the injured player before standing and walking toward Mason. There's no question about it. You're trusted by him—and in this moment, that trust feels like more than just words.

“Hey pretty boy” you murmur, moving closer to him.Mason glances sideways at you, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smirk.

“Don't call me that,” he grumbles, the sternness of his voice immediately betrayed by the flicker of a smile.

You smile and crouch down next to him. "What happened to you?"

Mason shrugs slightly, wincing as he does. "Just a little collision. Nothing too serious," he responds quietly, though the tension in his body suggests otherwise.

You roll your eyes not believing him at all and begin to take care of him.Mason fidgets as you work on him, clearly attempting to seem unaffected but failing quite spectacularly.

“Ugh, stop,” he mutters as you prod a particularly sensitive spot.

"Does it hurt?" you ask looking at him."Nah, it's all good," he replies automatically, and a flash of skepticism crosses your face. You press against the spot again, and he winces, a small gasp escaping his lips.

"Okay, so maybe it does hurt a little," he grudgingly admits.

Take some cream and put it on him. “You need to rest,” you say softly.

Mason reluctantly allows you to apply the cream, a hint of reluctance flitting across his face. But when you tell him he needs to rest, he shakes his head.“I’m fine,” he says adamantly, though you can see the strain in his eyes. “I have a game tomorrow, I can’t just take a break.”

You look at him sternly. "No Mason, you will rest tomorrow".Mason holds your gaze for a moment, the stubbornness in him clearly unwilling to back down. But he seems to see something, a determination in your eyes that he’s familiar with, and he lets out a sigh.

“Fine, but just for tomorrow,” he relents, the hint of a pout on his lips.“we'll see how you feel tomorrow” you say and put some gauze around him. "Why did you attack the other doctor?"

Mason looks away, a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes.“I didn’t attack him. I just told him I wanted you to take care of it,” he mutters. “I don’t trust him as much as I trust you.”

"Hmhm" you murmur in amusement.Mason notices your amusement and shoots you a glare.

“Don’t give me that look, you know it’s true,” he mutters. “I trust you more than any other doctor here. You’re…you’re different.”

You smile and look at him. “He has more experience than me,” you say softly and hand him a bottle of supplements. "drink it".

"More experience, but not more skill," Mason grumbles, accepting the bottle but looking at it with disdain."This stuff tastes vile," he complains, but he unscrews the cap and downs it in one gulp.

You shake your head in amusement and massage his leg to ease the tension in his muscles. “They're supplements, they're good for you,” you say softly.

Mason leans back slightly, a sigh escaping his lips as you begin massaging his leg. The tension he’d been holding seemed to ease as your hands worked over his muscles."I know, but they taste like absolute crap," he grumbles, though the complaint is more for show than real anger.

You smile and continue massaging his leg. “stop complaining” you say looking at him amused. Mason tries to maintain his grumpy expression, but the way your hands are working on his leg, combined with your amused look, is enough to break through his facade. He lets out a heavy sigh.

"Fine, I'll stop complaining," he grumbles, though there's a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Good boy,” you say and continue massaging him. That simple phrase, ‘good boy’, has an almost instantaneous effect on him. His body seems to relax even further under your touch, a small shudder running through him.“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, but the usual annoyance in his tone is noticeably lacking.

"You don't like it?" you say amused. Mason’s cheeks redden slightly, and he stubbornly avoids your gaze.

"N-No, I don’t," he protests, his voice faltering.He’s lying, and you both know it. You smile as you look at him, knowing full well it was a lie.

His cheeks redden even more under your gaze, and he avoids eye contact, clearly embarrassed to be caught out in a lie.“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters, trying to sound irritated, but mostly just sounding flustered.

You look at him with a smirk. "Like what?" Mason glances at you, and his already flushed cheeks turn an even deeper shade of red when he meets your smirk.

“Like…like that, “ he stammers, clearly flustered by your gaze. “Just…stop it.”

You continue to look at him with your usual smirk. “You need to be more specific,pretty boy” you say teasing him. That damn nickname again.Mason is clearly struggling to maintain his usually cocky demeanor under the weight of your gaze. You can practically see the thoughts racing through his head, conflicted between annoyance and a growing heat in his stomach.

“Just…stop teasing me,” he mutters after a few seconds. “It’s not fair.”

You smile and move closer to him. "Do you want me to stop?" You say in a sappy, seductive voice. Mason’s breath catches in his throat as you move closer. The defiant glimmer in his eyes falters, replaced by a mixture of surprise and growing need.

He swallows, visibly affected by your tone, and shakes his head slightly.“No,” he whispers, voice hoarse and strained. “Keep going.”

You continue moving closer to him, amused by his reaction. He’s struggling to hold onto his usual aloof exterior, your proximity and tone affecting him more than he’d like to let on.As you get closer, he looks up at you, eyes meeting yours. His breathing is slightly labored, and he swallows again.“Don’t tease me too much, or I might do something stupid,” he murmurs, both a warning and a plea.

You smile, enjoying seeing Mason flustered. He's usually so cocky and confident, seeing him off-kilter is both amusing and a little pleasing to you."Is that a threat or a promise, pretty boy?" you retort, your voice still low and seductive, your face mere inches from his now.

Mason’s throat tightens, the proximity of your bodies causing a surge of adrenaline to race through him. Your words, spoken in that sultry tone, almost drive him over the edge.He’s quiet for a long moment, his normally steely gaze vulnerable and torn. He looks like he’s waging an inward war with himself, clearly struggling against impulses that threaten to overtake him.Finally, he lets out a low sigh, his voice hoarse. “Both,” he responds, his words barely higher than a whisper.

Your smirk deepens as he whispers that single word, “both.” There’s a dark heat in his eyes now, a look of desire that he’s no longer trying to hide.“Both, huh?” you say, leaning in a little closer, your lips almost brushing against his ear. “And what exactly might you do, if I keep teasing you?”

Mason’s breath hitches as he feels your lips brush against his ear. The tension between you is nearly tangible now, the air heavy with anticipation.He shudders slightly, and a soft noise escapes his parted lips, a mingled sound of need and frustration, as he struggles to maintain his already shattered composure.“I’d…I’d do something stupid,” he mutters, voice raw with barely suppressed desire.

Your smile widens, his reaction a clear sign that your teasing is affecting him exactly how you want.With a slow and deliberate motion, you move even closer, pressing your body against his, feeling the heat radiating off him, the way he’s taut and tense with the weight of his restraint.“And what exactly would you consider ‘stupid’ right now?” you murmur, your lips hovering near his neck, so close you can feel his frantic pulse.

Mason’s body tenses as your body presses against him, your words sending a shiver down his spine. The last of his restraint is quickly unraveling, replaced by a growing need that’s nearly overwhelming.He swallows, trying to maintain some level of control, but it’s a losing battle. His voice, when he responds, is strained, full of restrained hunger."Anything," he whispers hoarsely, his words a confession and prayer. "Anything you'd let me do."

Your smirk turns into a sly smile as you hear the raw honesty in his voice. This powerful, usually so confident man is practically at your mercy, teetering on the edge of control because of your teasing.You move even closer, so that your face is just mere millimeters away from his, your lips tantalizingly close to his.“Anything, hm?” you murmur, your voice a sultry whisper. “You sure about that?”

Mason’s breath comes in ragged pants, his eyes wide and feverish, staring at your lips as if hypnotized. The heat of your bodies pressed against each other, the way you’re teasing him with your proximity and tone, is almost too much for him to bear.He swallows, and it takes him a couple of seconds to croak out a response. “Yes,” he stammers, voice ragged. “Please….anything.”

Your smile turns victorious at his eager response. He's unraveling so beautifully under your touch, so quickly losing his usual composure. It's a power trip, seeing him this vulnerable when he's usually so untouchable.You brush your lips against his, a ghost of a touch. "Anything," you repeat, the word a sultry promise against his skin. "I can be very persuasive, you know."

A soft moan escapes Mason’s lips as you brush your lips against his. The sound is a clear admission of his desperation, and a sign that he’s rapidly losing control.His body trembles beneath your touch, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, as he struggles to restrain himself. He looks like a marionette whose strings have been cut, helpless and at the mercy of your actions.“Y-yes,” he stutters, his voice barely a breath. “Please, I’ll do anything—“

You relish the sounds that are escaping him, the way he's coming undone with just your touch and whispers.You move even closer, your lips ghosting over his again, almost but not quite kissing him. This game is too much fun, and you're enjoying seeing this man, who's usually so composed, unravel before you."Anything, huh?” you murmur against his ear, your lips just barely skimming his neck. "You're really desperate, aren't you?"

Mason makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a whine. He’s so on edge that the slightest touch or sound from you sends a wave of need through him.“Yes,” he whispers, the admission ripped from him, unable to lie in a situation like this. “I…I am. I need you…so badly.”He closes his eyes, a shudder running through him as he surrenders to his need.

You smirk, loving how easily you’ve reduced him to begging. It’s a power trip, being able to manipulate him so shamelessly. But you’re not done yet.You lean even closer to him, your body pressed flush against his. You can feel his heat, the thudding of his pulse, the need that’s making him shiver. You whisper in his ear again, your voice a sultry purr.“How badly?”

Mason lets out a shaky breath as your body presses against his. The feel of you against him, the way you're whispering in his ear, it's all too much. He's so close to the edge, and he can barely think straight.“So badly,” he breathes out, his words a desperate confession. “I need you so badly it’s driving me insane.”He moans softly, leaning his head back to give you better access to his neck.

Your smirk deepens as you see him submit further, his body arching under your touch.You take advantage of his offered neck, placing kisses there, trailing your lips along his vulnerable flesh. At the same time, you murmur against his skin, continuing your sultry questions.“How badly do you need me, pretty boy?” you ask, your tone soft but commanding.

Mason’s breath hitches as your lips touch his neck, the sensation sending a shockwave of need through him. He’s completely at your mercy, all his usual composure shattered.“Very badly,” he gasps out, his words punctuated by soft moans as you continue to kiss his neck. “I need you so badly I can’t think straight.”He’s practically pleading with you now, his voice wavering between need and desperation.

You smile at his words and bring your lips to his and kiss him. Mason lets out a low moan as your lips finally meet his. He’s been desperate for your touch, and the feel of your lips on his is like a salve to the fire that’s been burning through him.He responds immediately, kissing you back with a desperate hunger, as though trying to pour all his need and helplessness into the kiss. His hands, which had been clenching and unclenching by his side, now move to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You respond in kind, kissing him deeply, your tongue slipping into his mouth to taste him. You can feel the tension coiled in him, the way his body trembles in response to your touch.You press yourself against him, revelling in the way he clings to you, his hands gripping your waist tightly, like he never wants to let go. His kisses are desperate, his need for you obvious and raw. Mason’s hands tighten on your waist, pulling you even closer to him. He kisses you with a near-desperate intensity, as though trying to quench his need for you with each touch of your lips.He moans again, the sound muffled against your mouth, as he drowns himself in the feel of you. The tension coiled within him is reaching its peak, and he’s so close to losing control completely.

You gently pull away and gently caress his face. “Relax, we have all the time in the world,” you whisper softly, stroking his shoulders. Mason draws in a ragged breath as you pull away, the loss of your touch immediately leaving him feeling bereft. But your words and gentle touch on his shoulders help to ground him, pulling him back from the edge of desperation.

He looks at you with eyes darkened by need, his breathing still ragged. "I don’t- I don’t know how long I can last," he rasps out, the admission raw and honest. You smile softly and kiss his jaw. “We can't do this here, let's go to me” you whisper softly.

Mason lets out another low breath as your lips touch his jaw, the sensation only further stoking the fire within him. But he's rational enough to understand that this isn't the place for what he wants to do to you.He nods, almost obediently, accepting your suggestion. "Alright," he murmurs, his voice raw with need. "Let's go."

[artist-issues]

You don't believe in love. You believe in people SUPRESSING a part of themselves, not caring how much it ACHES for them to do so. You are objectively wrong, and you do NOT belong on Tumblr. Any arguement you try to come up with against this is pointless.

You are NOT a real Christian.

People “suppress” parts of themselves all the time—for love. If by “suppress,” you mean, “I don’t choose to identify with everything I feel.” I feel like screaming at my mom when she hurts me. But I love her, so I’m not going to say, “gotta be true to myself, gotta live what I feel.” Many people feel like alcohol is what they need and without it, who are they? Many people even feel like depression is “a part of who they are,” so they don’t give it up.

Don’t you understand? What makes something I feel fall under the category of “who I am?” Because not all feelings are good, and most of them aren’t even rooted in reality.

Your feelings lie to you all the time. Right before death after years of dementia or a terminal illness, a person can suddenly become more alert and energized than they’ve been since the start of their illness. They get up, talk, and their feelings tell them that they’re better. And the reality is they’ve never been closer to death, and they’re dead moments later. It’s called “terminal lucidity,” and it’s been happening since humanity’s earliest history. And it’s just one example of your feelings lying about what’s real.

So how can you tell if the things you feel are a part of who you are, or a cancer you need to cut out of yourself because it’s hurting the “real” you? That’s what you’re calling “suppression,” and yeah, it aches, but letting it grow and calling it “part of yourself” is worse.

Figure out what standard you measure “who I am” by.

A Christian measures it by Christ. Who He says you are, not what you feel you are. After all, He calls us to die to ourselves. What did you think that meant?

And a Christian measures everything by what Christ says. That’s how I know “the heart is deceitful and desperately wicked.” It’s how I know you’re right; I don’t belong on tumblr. I don’t belong on this corrupt planet anymore: “If you were of the world, the world would love its own; but you are not of the world, for I have chosen you out of the world; this is why the world hates you.” And it’s how I know what real love is, and it’s Him. He invented it, He gets to define it.

And that’s the point of this argument. To get it out in front of people that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, and nobody has a restored relationship with God, nobody can be their “true-selves” unless they die to their old-corrupt self and come to God through Jesus Christ.

So thanks for giving me the opportunity to answer and get that out in front of people again.

[genderqueerdykes]

I still feel really iffy about transandrophobia (a bit less so after your explanation) but the main thing confusing me is why is it considered the intersection of being a man + being trans when it stems from transphobia and misogyny? It can’t really stem from misandry because misandry is systematically not a thing. I’m starting to understand it a bit but i’m still SUPER confused. I also feel really bad that So Many ppl who believe in transandrophobia are really rude to transfems.

hello there. i hope i can explain things that help make sense of it a bit better. i appreciate you coming back to ask more. please note that i'm saying this to be productive and not to hurt your feelings or anything. i just need to point out some key things that i see repeated often in these conversations

it's not "believing" that transandrophobia exists, it is acknowledging that it exists. this is not a religion. this is much like gravity in that this form of oppression doesn't cease to exist just because someone doesn't believe in it. it's not like god, belief is not necessary. it will happen regardless of whether or not you believe it's happening

i really need you to understand that transmascs and trans men are PEOPLE above all else and talking over them and telling them they don't actually know what they're going through and need someone else to explain it for them is so fucking horrible. please don't do that to an entire group of people. transmascs and trans men ARE reliable narrators on their own lived experiences. why is it okay to freak the fuck out when trans men speak for trans women, but trans women are the only ones we can listen to when it comes to trans manhood? please consider how screwed up this double standard is. if you refuse to listen to trans men talk about trans womanhood, do the same when trans women talk like they know everything about trans manhood.

why is it considered the intersection of being a man + being trans when it stems from transphobia and misogyny?

because that's not what it refers to! trans men and transmascs experience misogyny but they're not using "transandrophobia" to mean "misogyny 2". it's specifically because they are trans MEN and nothing else. we did not reinvent misogyny, this is a specific experience that we face that people can learn about if they just listen to us talk about it!

transandrophobia is a specific type of transphobia that is directed towards trans men and mascs that is specifically directed at them because they are trans MEN and trans MASCS. it's NOT stock standard transphobia, transmascs & trans men are specifically being targeted because they are trans MEN. being told that you're "not a real man" because you're trans isn't misogyny. being told you're "not really a gay guy" because you're trans isn't misogyny. mocking trans men for not having deep enough voices or enough facial hair to pass isn't misogyny. telling trans men they're not real men because they don't have penises isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they like women's clothing isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they work in a female dominated field isn't misogyny.

mocking trans men who can't grow body hair for not "being real men" isn't misogyny. telling them they're not real men because they have feminine interests isn't misogyny. telling them they're too short to be a man isn't misogyny. telling them their face or body isn't masculine enough to be a man isn't misogyny. trans men getting misgendered for their voices isn't misogyny. getting called a "tranny dyke" or a "cunt boy" when someone finds out a trans man is trans isn't misogyny... all of these things are transandrophobia. these no longer have anything to do with being perceived as a woman, these have to do with being perceived/attempting to be perceived as a man/masc.

trans men are affected by misogyny too, but it's not the same as transandrophobia. as a matter of fact, telling a trans man that they're experiencing misogyny when they aren't IS transandrophobia..

I also feel really bad that So Many ppl who believe in transandrophobia are really rude to transfems.

i'm going to lay it down painfully easily for you, but when you say things like that, it really comes across as virtue signalling. i'm going to be blatantly honest with you here. it really sounds like you're trying to suck up to transfems for brownie points by saying trans men don't suffer any forms of oppression at all and that people who acknowledge that transandrophobia exist are mostly rude transmisogynistic assholes. you're participating in silencing trans men & transmascs for the sake of trying to look more Trans Friendly to transfems and trans women and we can see it for what it is. please stop. this isn't flattering. it scares transfems and trans women when you do this because we don't know when you'll turn that hatred, malice and ignorance toward us whenever the narrative shifts again. this does not make us feel safe around you.

acknowledging that transandrophobia exists doesn't mean someone is attacking trans women and trans fems. like i'm sick and tired of the "people who believe in transandrophobia are really mean to transfems" shit. it's not true! this is way over exaggerated for the sake of making trans men and mascs look bad. i cannot stress how much this is NOT true for every single person who acknowledges that transandrophobia exists. i have a lot of friends who acknowledge that transandrophobia exists, trans men, transmascs, and all other kinds of genders, including trans women and transfems! you know how many of them are ACTUALLY rude to or attack trans women?

0. none. i'm not saying those people don't exist but they are NOT the norm. hell, there are literally trans women who acknowledge transandrophobia exist. the world is not as tiny as you've been made to feel it seems. there ARE shitty people out there who acknowledge that transandrophobia exists, but it's not the norm. it's not the vast majority of us. we have to stop having this knee jerk reaction of "trans woman = defenseless pure cant ever hurt anyone constant victim always hurt by men no matter what the context is" and "trans man = evil because man subhuman deserves to die literally an attack to every and all trans women around them"

i would suggest actually reading the anons i get about transandrophobia if you want to learn more about it! please stop listening to people who AREN'T trans men and transmascs when it comes to what kinds of oppression they face. nobody else actually knows what they go through. please actually listen to THEM. it's not helping trans women by refusing to listen to literally every other kind of trans person. it's not alleviating trans women of the oppression we face to deny that other people can be oppressed, too.

also whether or not ppl wanna accept it, transmascs and trans men are human and you really, really do need to care about that. like genuinely. please just open your heart and care about transmascs and trans men in a way that doesn't involve throwing them under the bus to attempt to look better to transfems. it's not helping anyone. put your ego down for a good few hours and actually listen to other people- and yes, i really do mean more than just trans women. listening to trans women is great. we appreciate it. but stop silencing other people in order to do that. it's not necessary.

[pepstarvanmoon]

Someone please get El out of there

Is it not obvious what this is? Do you really not know what you should be doing? SAY THE DAMN WORDS.

Why do you think she’s doubting you? Can you really not tell?

Mike, sweetheart, your relationship balancing skills are a terror to your friends, family, and romantic partners.

This is why people found Midleven cuter in S1/2, because the day you made it official marked the beginning of El’s doubts in your feelings for her.

You cannot seem to grasp that El is your friend AND your girlfriend, and somehow treating El like a girlfriend equates to treating her like shit.

You cannot make this up. El needs WORDS because Mike’s ACTIONS actively make her feel unloved. She does not feel it, so she wants some kind of verbal/written affirmation because of how emotionally distant Mike feels.

(someone talented please edit Elmike to Hamilton’s Burn or send an existing edit my way, thank you ♡)

His actions do not align to her expectations of love, not that it’s a good idea to let TV define romance for you, but you’re allowed to want/expect certain things in a relationship, and El isn’t getting that.

And let’s not act like Mike isn’t good at making people feel loved/cared for. Will is in love with him for a reason. El loves him for a reason.

(It was difficult to pick scenes for this because I’ve read arguments for how these aren’t really romantic at all, but from 12/13-year old, “fresh out the lab” Eleven, it’s as romantic as romance gets imo)

El has been trying to convince herself that their relationship is better than it is, because once she admits to herself that it’s not working, what does she do?

Her day-to-day life isn’t that great. Sure, she has her new family in the Byers, but her dad recently passed away and she’s being bullied at school. She has no friends outside of Will, and while I’m sure their relationship is great (wasn’t explored that much tbh), he can’t keep her from feeling isolated, and his own trauma with bullying keeps him from standing up for her.

One good, unchanging thing she has is her relationship with Mike. He’s the one who took her in and housed her, he taught her what it meant to be a friend, and… I’m having a bit of trouble here lol. I was going to say:

Never used her for her powers (not true lol)

When she was burnt out, he never expected more from her (not true LOL)

Never treated her differently for her powers (for this one, he found her awesome in an awestruck way rather than a Brenner “I’m gonna exploit this” way, but when he thought she lied about Will/hurt Lucas he was on her ass lmao)

My girl has those ‘first love’ blinders on. I keep having to ask myself what she sees in him besides ‘first person to accept me + we kissed’ like besides the latter, Dustin was right there. A lot of the parts of Mike I enjoy don’t reveal themselves around El outside S1 (barely S2). He’s shown as caring and protective, but he’s like that for all of his friends?? Especially when they’re in danger so idk what’s different. I’d have to peruse the milkvan tag to get a hint, but I’ll probably get a better idea watching Sleeping Beauty.

I’m a firm believer that Mike kept it ambiguous because he didn’t want to admit what the real problem was to Will.

“I couldn’t tell El that I love her.” - simple as that. Must be something about Will that has him holding his tongue because after S3 I doubt he’d have that much trouble telling Lucas.

Are you embarrassed? If you thought it wasn’t that serious you wouldn’t have told Will that it was something you “can’t come back from”. Is love serious to you, Mike? Because you can’t love El in the way she wants, do you think you’re incapable of it? Do you feel wrong? Do you not want Will to know?

Hit a little too close to home, huh.

(and let’s not get into the "team, friends, best friends" scene they had together like what was the point in having them make contact a SECOND time.

They already established a connection between them. Mike could’ve asked to be a team after the "guess it's gonna be up to us again," and Will could’ve taken the painting offscreen (the focus shot of Will grabbing the painting gets me so bad like WHY), but instead they wanted them to blush and giggle over each other AGAIN before they got to the van.

Make it make non-Byler sense I'm begging.)

You’d think that’d be good enough, but Mike still feels conflicted and has to make it Will’s problem (actually, Will kinda made it his problem. The way they shot the triple take makes it seem like Will dragged Mike away for another talk because of how spacey he was being. Who knows.)

Tf do you mean you didn’t know what to say? “Maybe if I said that thing” so you DO know? It’s painfully cut and dry if you take emotions out of it. El wants Mike to say that he loves her, so to fix this, to come back from that fight, Mike has to say he loves her.

Why is it such an internal battle for him? If I were to take it at face value, I’d chalk it up to what he said in the van scene.

So your solution is to push your relationship to a point that has El crying and throwing all the loveless letters you sent to the floor? To tell her that she’s incredible and a superhero and that she should know how you feel about her because, despite the tears streaming down her face and her DIRECTLY asking you if you still love her, she must know how amazing she is too?

NEWSFLASH, Queerler! She’s learning just how much she doesn’t need you right now, so I guess it’s time to face your fears!

This isn’t what I meant, but go off ig (don’t, actually, this is awful for everyone involved).

No way you expect El to buy this. You’ve expressed this fear of "losing El" to Will, I’ll give you that, but nothing you’ve done IN FRONT OF EL has conveyed this. Your letters weren’t helping, and you being there in person only made it worse.

Eagerly awaiting the day Michael Wheeler stops lying.

Well, I guess he doesn’t lie ALL the time.

[ragingbookdragon]

Note To Self, Can't Make Somebody Be Made For You

Tyler Owens x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: A teeny tiny filler for the series! Read the previous part here!

**********************************************************************

She sat in the back of her father’s workshop, attention focused on the piece of wood she was whittling away at. Her gaze barely lifted as her father walked in and set his cup of coffee on the workshop table, pulling up another chair beside her as he sat down and began reading the morning paper. The morning sun cast rays through the glass panes along the wooden floor, dust shimmering in the warm air, and she sat in a comfortable silence with the man, listening to the sound of pages flicking.

“That supposed to be a duck?” he asked, eyes not moving from the paper he read, and she huffed through her nose.

“Well, I was going for a pigeon,” she answered humoredly, and he smiled, sipping his coffee; she looked at him. “Mom send you out here?”

His nose scrunched. “You’re in my workshop. What if I came out here to do work things?” She simply looked at him with an arched brow and he huffed. “Your mom’s worried, sweetheart. You’ve been awfully…quiet since you came back from Oklahoma.”

“I’m fine,” she said. “I’m just dealing with things.”

He looked at her. “Talk to me, pumpkin. What’s going on?” his hand found hers and he brushed his thumb over the back of hers. “You don’t leave during storm seasons unless something is really wrong.”

She looked away, gently pulling her hand back to continue whittling; she stayed silent for a moment, then murmured, “You remember Tyler?”

“Hillbilly from Arkansas you never shut up about?” he smiled when she glared at him. “Yes, I remember Tyler. He only comes to the house for every other summer.”

“I’m in love with him.” when he didn’t say anything, she glanced at him, seeing him staring back expectingly. “What?”

“I asked what’s wrong, not what’s obvious.”

“That’s what’s wrong!” she griped. “I’m in love with him and he’s in love with another woman.” She shoved his side. “You’re a man. Tell me why he didn’t notice sooner.”

“You really don’t want me to, pumpkin.”

“Hit me.”

“Men are idiots,” he deadpanned, and she made a noise in agreement; he took another sip of his coffee. “So, you left because he didn’t love you back.”

“No,” she growled. “I left because I couldn’t stand watching him fall in love with her.”

“Who’s her?”

“Kate,” she snapped. “All perfect and pretty and…and…” she deflated. “And smart, and funny, and kind…and all the things Tyler likes.”

“But not you,” he murmured, and she lowered her head.

“Dad, he called me and told me he missed me making his coffee.”

“Did he say it exactly like that?”

“What?”

“I mean did he literally say, ‘hey I missed how you made my coffee since I left’?”

She frowned. “I mean…not exactly. I…didn’t exactly give him a chance to explain how he felt.”

“Because you were mad?”

She looked down. “Hurt.” She sighed. “Dad, I did so much for Tyler and the group. I called and made motel reservations, I called weather agencies ahead of time. I made sure everyone had food and drinks, and gear ready, and so much more. And I did it all for him and he never noticed a single time that I did it because I loved him.”

He watched her for a moment before he murmured, ���I loved a woman before I met your mother.” Her gaze lifted, but he looked far away. “Her name was Rosita. And…she was my everything. I loved that woman more than life itself.” He stared into his coffee cup. “And I did everything for her. Everything I could to make her feel loved, and happy, and comfortable.”

“But it wasn’t enough?” she asked softly.

He smiled sadly. “She never knew I loved her,” he said, and her eyes widened.

“You never…?”

“She was married to my best friend,” he answered. “And I had to watch as the woman I would’ve given everything for just a moment of her time, fall in love with the man I was supposed to support through anything.” He looked at her, and firmly, but lovingly said, “Pumpkin, you can’t make somebody be made for you. And you can’t make Tyler’s heart be yours just because you did everything for him.”

Tears swam in her vision, and she felt her chest tighten. “I just…I just wanted it to be him.”

“I know, pumpkin,” he murmured, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “But Tyler’s his own man just as you’re your own woman. And your hearts are your own to give to whoever you choose, not to who you’re indebted to. If Tyler loves another woman, you should be happy that he found someone he loves and who loves him too.” He looked her in her eyes. “Your other half is out there, even if it isn’t him, and you need to let him know that. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t feel the same. Just like it wasn’t Rosita’s fault she didn’t feel the same for me.”

She bit her lip to keep it from wobbling. “I don’t know if I can, dad,” she whispered.

“Why not, pumpkin?” he asked softly.

“I told him I didn’t want him to call or text me…or talk to me…”

He sighed wistfully. “Women, their emotions, and their broken hearts.” He laughed when she swatted at him. “Give him a call, pumpkin. He’ll answer.”

“What if he doesn’t?” she asked, and he shrugged.

“Men are idiots, I don’t know, send that pigeon-duck you’ve got there,” he said, nodding to the carving in her hand.

“If I send it, I’m throwing it at him.”

“Good deal, give him a real headache to deal with other than you. Now, get out of my workshop. I’ve got work to do,” he ushered her from the chair and up towards the door.

“What work?” she shot back. “You sit in here and do nothing the entire day.”

“Out,” he swatted with the newspaper, and she paused as she stopped by the door.

“Thanks, dad,” she said, and he smiled.

“Anytime, pumpkin.”

***

She kept thumping at the steering wheel of her truck, fingers twitching to call, but the worry in her chest kept her from it.

What if he didn’t answer?

What if he did and he was angry?

What if he did answer and he told her that he loved her?

She groaned and grabbed her phone, flicking through her contacts until she found his; with a sharp breath, she pressed “Call” and waited.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang, until,

Hey, you’ve reached Tyler Owens. I’m busy at the moment but if you leave me your name and number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks!

She felt her heart tighten, but then it beeped, and she exhaled.

“Hey…Tyler, it’s me. I know…I know I said I didn’t want you to call or text, and, well, I’m calling. I…look, I owe you…an apology.” She let out a breath as she saw the light turn green. “It wasn’t fair of me to put my feelings on you. And I’m sorry. My feelings are mine to deal with and I shouldn’t have left you and the team high and dry.” She stepped on the gas and began turning. “Look, I know you asked if we could still be friends…and I’d like that. I’d like to keep being friends. If you could give me a call when you get this message…I’d like to talk again.” She pulled out into the center of the intersection. “You mean a lot to me, Tyler. You…your friendship means a lot to me. And again, I just wanted to say—”

Metal tore against metal as 40 tons of steel t-boned the side of her Dodge, slamming her against the driver’s side door as the truck lurched and rolled across the asphalt, glass and shards of semi and truck scattered across the road. Her phone lay in the back seat somewhere, still recording as countless other drivers got out of their cars and began running over.

***

Tyler watched as Kate smiled at the cashier as she ordered, a warmth in his chest at the sight of her. They’d certainly grown closer since going into the storm chasing business together. Two meteorologists sticking their heads together worked better than one. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and he pulled it out, a frown crossing his lips as he saw her name flashing across the screen. He hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button, but something stopped him, and he waited, watching as it rang and went to voicemail. It went on for what seemed like forever until his screen went black and then he tapped it, looking down at the notification of her voicemail.

Something twisted uncomfortably in his gut as he unlocked his phone and went to his voice messages. His thumb hovered over the message, but he struggled with what he wanted to do. She wanted to be left alone. She didn't want him to call or text her, and here she was, calling and leaving him a message. Tyler stared at her name, feeling a mix of emotions, and he slid his thumb over it until the red bar covered it, and it disappeared.

"Tyler?" Kate called softly, holding the to-go boxes of their food. "You, okay?"

He looked up at her, feeling a calm settle over his chest and he nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. Here, lemme get that for you. Ladies shouldn't carry heavy things." He took the bags from her and looped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as he led her back to his truck. “Now, you have got to tell me more stories about you as a kid, ‘cause the ones your mom told back in Oklahoma were hilarious.”

Kate huffed. “I am not telling you anymore stories from my childhood.”

“Why not?” he teased. “Afraid I’ll laugh.”

She smiled. “No…”

“Yes…” he smiled back at her. “Tell me, I wanna hear them.”

Kate sighed. “Oh fine…but only because you sound so sincere.”

[mikanotes]

heavenly way to,

hyunju x gn!reader

genre: angst comfort, established relationship. » warnings: death, blood, mentions of injuries, murder, firearms, canon divergence. » note: yes i’m back to writing for the series that basically started this blog. hello! i love her.

synopsis: Is sacrifice for your lover a gift to be grateful for, or a burden worth being cursed for? The thought grows heavy on your mind the longer you spend in the games.

“Why?”

Hyunju’s voice has never sounded so broken. She’s too astounded to even think of not letting her guard down, simply weak and vulnerable as she stares up at you. The shake in that one word, the sickening concern in her eyes— It almost makes you regret what just happened.

Almost.

“Because I care about you more than—”

“Nevermind…” she scoffs, eyes widening. She presses her lips together but it doesn’t stop the tremble of a sob waiting to escape her throat. Her gaze averts to a wall in the dormitory, silently putting a stop to whatever you were going to say.

You decide to give her space.

The bathrooms are empty, leaving you silence and space for thinking. You look at your reflection in the mirror, the blood on your face and neck. You did not kill anyone. You assured your safety. You did not kill someone. They were a problem. The thought repeats steadily in your mind as you turn on the faucet, letting water flow into your palms.

It’s as if you can see the overflowing blood on your hands, still. That player you fought to throw out of that room, the sight of the bullet shooting through their head once the door finally locked, the weight of their grip of the other the side of the handle loosening until a thud confirmed the end of a life. But they were in the spot she needed. You could not risk it. What if she had died? It was only right.

The blood washes off. The thought remains. You aren’t sure how long you spend staring at the mirror, barely even really looking at your reflection. You just know you’re asked to return to the dormitory, and that you go to bed, then the lights turn off.

You think Hyunju hates you.

You thought she would come to hate you here over trying to protect her, maybe. Now you realize, now that the blood is there, that she could simply hate you for taking away someone’s life— Even if indirectly. It makes sense to hate a now-murderer.

Yes.

Then, if she hates you, you’ll be able to sacrifice yourself for her sake if need be without wondering how well she’ll take the loss—

“Don’t just disappear.” A familiar soft voice speaks behind you. Hyunju’s arms circle around your waist and her head presses gently into your nape. She’s so warm. You almost forget your train of thoughts.

Once it comes back to you, your expression pulls into confusion. “Sorry,” you whisper, “I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Were you trying to give me space?”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, but hugs you tighter. “Because I was angry? Angry that you got yourself in so much unnecessary danger for my sake? Try making some sense.”

Your body relaxes into her hold before you even realize it, and soon, you’re turning over to look at her. She just seems a bit sad. Your hand slowly moves to her face and cradles her cheek, caressing the skin with care. “I pushed someone straight to their death and you’re telling me you were mad because I was in danger?”

She doesn’t respond, simply pursing her lips. A silent yeah. Exactly that.

“In danger? Me?”

“One second off and they could’ve switched you out of the room. And then I would have been alone with someone who practically killed you. And that would have been it. No more you at all,” she explains, and her voice begins shaking, “No more— I wouldn’t see your face anymore, wouldn’t have you with me, wouldn’t have the knowledge you’re there for me when life fucks me over— Think about it, come on.”

She’s trying so hard not to cry and stay quiet you wonder how much it must hurt. So you were wrong. It isn’t at all that person’s death that made her look at you this way. It’s somehow even worse.

You turn fully to return her embrace, hugging her firmly and kissing her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t risk dying for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She hides her face in your neck. “I love you.”

She says it with every single fiber of her being. After all, her touch, her tears, her words before this— They’re all marks of love. You feel her hand brushing over your arm, an injury you earned yourself during that game. She traces it gently and you think you could never promise her not to die for her.

“I love you too.”

[gauntletgirlie]

So, I have a confession to make. Long post to follow, sorry.

Anyone who follows my blog knows I post the thirstiest bullshit, alright, and I love it but…

… there’s a part of me that doesn’t agree with the sexualisation sometimes. I’ve often wondered if my brain just works in different ways to other people’s, maybe I have some aroace in me yearning to come forth? But there are a lot of ships that sprung up from TROP where I have nothing against them at all, I firmly stand on ship and let ship, but what they were founded on I did not interpret as sexy or romantic.

For example, Adar is shipped with all and sundry and it’s brilliant and peak comedy at times, fuelled by Sam Hazeldine’s fantastic chemistry with his co-stars. But there are certain scenes where I get why they were interpreted that way, but I also think a lot can be missed by jumping to sex/romance.

One instance is Adar telling Elrond he has the beauty of his forebear Melian. In modern society, a man calling another man beautiful probably is flirting, since men (generalisation) struggle to compliment each other apparently without feeling the need to caveat “no homo”. But in the context of Tolkien’s world and even medieval norms, that wasn’t the case. If anything, Adar is showing off his knowledge and also baiting Elrond by asking if he’s as wise as Melian.

Also take the scene where Adar chokes Elrond to get Nenya from around his neck. Often interpreted as kinky (which is valid). Sometimes choking is just violence though. Adar needed to get Nenya and overpower Elrond. He’s in the middle of a literal battle. Maybe I’ve watched too much true crime and seen the effects of countless domestic abuse cases, but choking can just be violent and violently intended. Probably a boring and obvious take, but that’s how I perceived it when I watched.

Does Adar look sexy as hell doing it? I think so but others might not. Could you also see it as Adar flirting with Elrond and ship them together? Of course! Why the hell not! I just sometimes miss the non-romantic aspects of analysis and discussion.

Same with Maidar. I totally get where that ship comes from, it makes sense, it has a lot going for it. I also personally adhere to the notion there was no sex or romance between them. I think there was alluring, I think there was admiration, I think there was a codependency, I don’t think it was sexual or romantic. To me, having your best friend and/or most trusted, loyal follower stab you in the back would hurt more than a lover. I might be falling back on my own thoughts on how I’d feel and I would personally be more devastated at being betrayed by my closest friend than my husband. I’ve lost friends and I’ve lost loves, the friends hurt more.

Adariel is another one. Again, I think there are strong grounds for that ship and I love so much of the art for it, but a lot of what is interpreted as romantic for me was just tactical manipulation, coupled with genuine admiration on Adar’s part and the fact that Galadriel is beautiful so most people would be attracted to her if we’re being totally honest. Adar used her to get what he wanted. His methods might have included flirtation or creating tension in closeness, but for me, they were all about tactics to defeat Sauron. Galadriel and Nenya were a way for him to do that so he did want he needed to facilitate that.

I’m not even going to touch on Haladriel or Saurondriel because this post is already hella long and my anxiety is already sky high so I’m chickening out.

Sorry this is such a weird random word vomit, it was nerve wracking to write and post, but I just needed space to let this part of me out. I know it’s so contradictory to how I’ve presented myself on here so far, but I felt like if I’m allowed to let the thirst flow, I should be allowed to let this version of me out as well.

I’m literally this:

Guess which one gets fed more? 😂

Fear not, folks, I will resume my thirsty bullshit forthwith.

[pursued-by-the-squid]

ii. 'round the block

pairing: eventual gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 5.4k

ao3 | masterlist

“I’ll explain everything. Just let me in.” The door creaks softly, perhaps shifting under the weight of a hand being pressed to one side. “Please.”

You shake your head firmly, not that he can see it. “I don’t trust you.” You did. Really, you did, but then that businesswoman walked into your life and screwed with your head. Now you don’t know what or who to trust anymore, or if you should even be trusting yourself.

The moments tick by. Gi-hun’s presence still looms just outside. You hear his shoes on the carpet, how they quietly shh-shh when he adjusts his stance, but nothing else. Part of you – the sane part, however small it is – wonders if you should call the police.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “I’m sorry I did. Please, let me explain.”

If he plans to explain, there’s a lot that needs answering. The mystery he wears like a second coat had been almost appealing at first, had lent itself to the fantasy of a kind stranger who plucks you from among the thorns, choosing you above all others. Some fantasy that turned out to be. You’re an idiot.

But then you peer through the spyhole in your door and catch the heavy slope of Gi-hun’s shoulders. You see his face twist with despair. You see him bow his head down to his chest, eyes squeezed shut in defeat, and your resolve falters.

You’ve never once considered him dangerous. Not the type. All that sorrow and misery, it never scared you before. If anything, it only endeared him to you more than it should have. Is it possible you’re overreacting, or that Gi-hun isn’t as terrifying as the strange businesswoman makes him appear?

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

The hope that blossoms across his face is all the proof you need, foolishly or not, and it shatters whatever resolve you still have left. “I swear to you,” he says, desperate, pleading, so, so kind and so terribly broken. “I only want to help you, [___]. Please. Let me apologize to you properly. Let me explain.”

You really hope he doesn’t secretly turn out to be an axe murderer with a penchant for charity cases.

It’s strange to see him inside your home. As long as you’ve known him, Gi-hun has been a man of the streets, coming and going without a trace. But standing among lounge chairs and your half-eaten dinner with only the light of your laptop to illuminate his face, he looks out of place. He looks taller, somehow, though you can’t imagine why. Maybe it’s the comparison of seeing him next to everyday items as opposed to, like, a tree.

The laptop goes dark a moment later and you scurry to turn on the closest light source, the little study lamp at your dining table (hardly more than a glorified TV tray, really). There’s just the one chair since no one ever comes over, so you decide to wander over to the sofa and deposit yourself there until something less awkward happens. Or he kills you. Either one.

He trails after you. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Your cheek doesn’t sting anymore, thank goodness. Besides, it’s not your face that hurts.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

You study him carefully as he moves to sit on the far end of the sofa, as far away from you as he can manage. Your eyes dart cautiously over the bend of his fingers as they splay out atop his knee. “Will you tell me who you are?”

“That’s… not important,” he sighs. “This game that you played, that’s what matters. That’s what bothers me.”

Yeah, clearly. The dozens of missed calls and ignored texts on your phone are proof enough that Gi-hun disapproves. It’s just that you don’t understand why. If he does work with that ddakji businesswoman, why would he be upset that you interacted with her? And if he doesn’t, then why does it matter at all? And why is he dodging your questions?

He leans forward so both his hands are braced against his thighs, his face and body bowing beneath the weight of whatever strange emotions are playing across his face, things you couldn’t explain even if you tried. “Why did you play?” he asks. “Am I not giving you enough?”

So he knows, then. About the money. But more than that, he thinks that you need more from him. The whole reason you played was because the guilt of taking from him was eating you alive.

“Are you starving, that you need money that badly?”

You reply with a fierce shake of your head. “No, it’s not… That’s not why.”

“Then what?” he presses, his voice strained and gruff. His eyes, so wide and dark, seem to hold the sorrows of the entire world when he looks at you. When you hesitate to answer, he dares to shift himself closer by a few inches. The sofa cushions indent under his hands when he moves. “I have enough,” he murmurs. “If you need more–”

“I don’t.”

“Then why? Why would you endanger yourself like that?”

You don’t think about what he means. You don’t think about the implications of the question, of how much danger you’ve unknowingly put yourself in, because all you can hear is the distressed, incredulous ‘why’ that he somehow has the audacity to strike you with.

“Because I can’t keep taking your money, Gi-hun!” You’re so flustered that your brain skips right over the usual honorifics you use with him. It’s not even a thought in your mind. “I feel wrong every time you give me more, it’s like I’m using you. I hate it.”

The room is quiet for a moment, and then – “Using me?”

“I don’t do a damn thing to earn any of the money you give me. You don’t even talk to me. Every time we meet, it’s like… like a one-night stand but worse, somehow.”

At his perplexed and mildly horrified expression, you realize you’ll have to elaborate further. Exactly what you didn’t want to do.

“I’m grateful. God, I’m so, so grateful that you want to help me, Gi-hun, you have no idea.” Already, your throat is constricting with tears, tightening until it feels impossible to do anything more than breathe. It muddies the quality of your voice until you sound as pathetic and stupid as you feel. “But you throw money at me every few months and then disappear the rest of the time. Like you’re ashamed of me or something.”

Gi-hun’s entire jaw is trembling, his mouth hanging open in shock. He’s staring at you like you’ve just insulted him, his country, and God himself. “Ashamed?”

You nod. “Yeah. Or, or maybe like I’m some kind of chore you wish you could get rid of.”

“Why? Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, I guess…” You’re not even sure when the notion first came to mind, but it feels so pervasive that it’s almost like it’s always been there, lurking in the back of your head. Maybe it has. “I thought maybe you regretted wanting to help me. Or you didn’t think I deserved it anymore.”

That’s certainly true, though they’re not the real reasons behind your feelings. More like momentary doubts slipping through your thoughts when you were at your lowest this past year, driven by your own insecurities and self-loathing. No, the truth is –

“I’ve thought about staying. I wanted to anyways, but then you offered to help me if that’s what I wanted, and I started thinking about all the things I could do, stuff I wanted to buy for the apartment, extra things that I don’t need. Things I should be working for myself instead of leeching off of you to get them. And I feel awful for it because you’ve been so kind to me and I don’t even know you, but you saved my fucking life, Gi-hun. You got me back on my feet when I had nothing and you won’t even let me talk to you long enough to say thanks.” You sniffle, messily wiping your nose with the palm of your hand. “When that woman approached me and told me I could make money, I felt so relieved. Like I could finally buy myself the things I want without feeling like I’ve betrayed you somehow. Without feeling like I’m the greediest, most selfish, most horrible person alive for wanting to take whatever you give me.”

After nearly a year of being made to feel, however unintentionally, that you’re little more than a distant thought in the head of a man with far more important things to do, Gi-hun touches you. Not for the first time. Your fingers have brushed once or twice before in the exchanging of cash, but it is the first time he touches you without a scowl on his face, his eyes alight with an apology he doesn’t seem to know how to speak aloud. His thumbs move soothing semi-circles over the back of both your hands.

“Promise me you’ll never play ddakji again.”

You’re quick to nod your agreement, even if it is a bizarre request. “I won’t. I promise. Just… why? Who was that woman?”

Gi-hun’s mouth twists into a grimace. “It’s complicated,” he says.

“So uncomplicate it.” You’ve decided to be incredibly foolish and let this man into your home; the least he can do is answer a few questions. “At least tell me you’re not part of some weird drug ring, gang thing.”

One of his brows arches curiously at you. “Is that really what you think?”

“I don’t know what to think.” You certainly hope that he’s not a deranged criminal, but you’d have no way of knowing even if he was. That’s the problem. “You never tell me anything. I don’t know anything about you, I just know you have a lot of money and you’re nice to me, and it… it doesn’t make sense.”

He chews on that for a minute, his eyes unfocused and distant. You can only imagine what he’s thinking. You can only imagine who he really is.

“The less you know,” he finally says, “the safer you’ll be.”

Ugh, is this man actually the most stubborn human alive? That’s not even a real answer. Are his actions truly so terrible that he has to hide his connections to you to avoid… what, exactly? What kind of people would come after you simply because of your arrangement? And why?

Gi-hun frowns when you ask. “The ddakji woman. She’s just a small part of a larger scheme that I’ve been trying to take down for the past year. She’s dangerous, [___], and anyone like her is dangerous too.”

“But why is she dangerous? What scheme? What does that even mean?”

His teeth flash pale white in the lamplight. “Just trust me.”

“I-! I’m trying to. But you won’t tell me anything. How can I trust you when I know you’re keeping things from me?”

“Aish,” he mutters as he suddenly moves to his feet, pacing back and forth in the small confines of the room. His jaw is wired shut, the muscles tensing beneath his skin. There’s an explanation in there somewhere, you’re sure of it, but he refuses to give it to you and you just wish he would help you to understand why.

Some hopeless part of you longs to reach for him. “Gi-hun-ssi–”

His head snaps so he’s gazing at you over his shoulder with that inscrutable intensity of his. “You don’t have to call me that.”

“What, your name?”

This time he shakes his head. “Not Gi-hun-ssi. Just… Just Gi-hun.”

That might actually be a stranger request than the one about ddakji. It feels wrong not to include an honorific. “But isn’t that rude?”

It takes a moment to find it in the low light, but you catch the slight curl of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile. “Not between friends.” He crosses the room again and sits, this time closer to you than ever before, albeit still at a respectable distance. One of his hands finds one of yours. “And as your friend, I want to keep you safe.”

It’s enough to leave you breathless.

This is so much more than you ever anticipated from him. He keeps things so close to his chest that every bit of information you have of him has been patiently pried from his grasp and preserved in the smallest chamber of your heart, yet now your head is reeling. You’re friends. Friends.

“Why?” Why does he choose to call you his friend? Why does he care so deeply? Why you? Just… why?

Gi-hun swallows heavily. “Because I’ve lost too many friends already.” And the silent but sturdy implication is that he will not lose you as well.

Dreams are funny things. Gi-hun used to dream a lot more when he was a kid. He’d dream about making lots and lots of money and moving out of Ssanmung-dong, somewhere fancier where all the rich people live with their nice apartments and designer clothes. Sometimes he’d dream about kissing the pretty girl in his grade who made his stomach feel funny. Sometimes he’d dream about stealing sweets and sharing them with Jung-bae. But it’s been a long time since he’s dreamt of anything nice.

Now, if he dreams at all, he only sees blood and bone and regret that counts itself in multiples of 456. It’s just that he’s never dreamt of you before. Yet he wakes up the next morning realizing he’s done exactly that. The memory of your bloodied face and body pierced with the same bullets that killed his fellow players is so haunting that he finds the image seared into his retinas. He’d tried to save you. He’d failed. It sticks with him the entire day.

He sends Jeong-rae and his men off to the subway, his phone burning in his hand the entire time because the weight of your discussion last night is like an anchor around his neck. You won’t even let me talk to you long enough to say thanks. He thinks about every time you’ve tried to goad him into talking, tried to extend your meetings like he’s tried to stretch out the few minutes he once had allotted with Ga-yeong, all while he’s been fighting to keep your interactions as brief and impersonal as possible.

I don’t even know anything about you.

He thinks about the painfully boring reports Jeong-rae gives him at the end of every night – ‘[___]’s done for the night. Safe & sound.’; ‘Quiet night in, no sign of anyone following us.’; ‘Stayed up late again tonight. Does this kid do anything other than study?’ – and then he thinks that he’s probably the biggest idiot to ever come out of Ssanmung-dong.

You’re lonely. He’s been too miserable and too terrified of getting another innocent person killed to see it.

His thumbs type out the first thing that comes to him, inspired by something you’d said in passing and full of typos because his hands are shaking too much – ‘You don’t need my permission to buy something you want. The money is yours.’ He honestly expects you to ignore it, or to question him further. Or to never speak to him again, even if he keeps trying to give you money. He wouldn’t blame you for wanting to back out after how he handled things.

‘I don’t want to disappoint you.’

Somehow, you keep managing to surprise him.

‘It doesn’t matter to me what you buy. Just take care of yourself.’ It’s curious how easily the sentiment comes to him.

If you were anyone else, spending the money would feel wrong. If you were anyone else, maybe he wouldn’t still be offering. But there’s something of his friends in you – the naivety of an expat in a strange new world, the hard-earned and innate distrust of anything kind that dares to help you, the sharp and curious glimmer of intelligence in your starlit eyes – and, well, Gi-hun has never been able to leave well enough alone. Even when he knows better.

And he does know better. The unconscious memory of a bullet lodged between your brain tissue and your skull comes to him  when he tries to eat dinner, and again when he receives the final notice of the day. The recruiter is nowhere to be found and you are safe in your apartment, but it doesn’t feel safe. Every time he breathes, he wonders if you’re still alive. Has the recruiter found you? Has the Game Master found you? Are you dead? Did he kill you?

Sang-woo’s face and bulging neck swim before his eyes. You have to help her.

Sae-byok, with her freckled constellations and her dark, wet blood. I need you to swear that you'll look after him.

He digs the meat of his hands into his eye sockets until it hurts.

It’s not enough. Paying for your tuition isn’t going to keep you safe. He thinks of the chipped mug you left out on your dinner tray last night, still half full, and the wilted plant by the window, and then he thinks about how easily you were targeted, how, if things had been worse, he wouldn’t have been able to save you in time. Just like his dream. Just like Sae-byok. Just like all of them.

He needs to try harder. Send out more men, search for longer hours, maybe even extend his investigation beyond the train stations. You were approached at a bus stop. Anything could have happened. He won’t let it happen again.

Gi-hun doesn’t sleep more than an hour or two that night, his brain too busy and his body too restless to allow him a moment of rest. He gives Jeong-rae new orders – if only the little boy he’d been in the military all those years ago could see him now, what he’s become, what he’s willing to do – and then he makes the decision. He crosses the line he’s been denying himself since he met you.

He cares.

“Take this with you wherever you go,” he says when he presses the taser into your palm.

You stare at it like you might stare at a grenade with the pin pulled out. “I’ve never had to use one before,” you admit in halting increments.

He shows you how.

“You should get a second lock on your door,” he suggests the next time you go out for food. Finals are finished for the term and you’re ravished. You haven’t been taking care of yourself like you should be, he suspects, so he treats you to something nice. It’s not blood money when it’s you.

You’re not entirely opposed to the idea, but neither are you eager to accept it. Something about the lease agreement and rules about modifications or renovations means that it’s technically not allowed. He can’t blame you for your hesitancy, especially when you still don’t know exactly what it is you’re meant to be protecting yourself from, but he isn’t going to allow you to endanger yourself more than you already have in his complacency.

Still, Gi-hun isn’t entirely without reason. You make such a fuss about the lease agreement that he goes out and buys an assortment of non-permanent security items for your front and bedroom doors. He makes you promise to use them.

It’s what what he would have done for his mother, for little Kang Cheol, for his precious daughter who lives an ocean away. Gi-hun lost the right to care for them a long time ago. But he can care for you here and now in the sad and tormented way that he does, and maybe, just maybe, he can earn his penance.

It is, perhaps, not his best plan, but there’s a sort of freedom that comes with playing the fool. In-ho wonders briefly if it’s the sort of freedom 456 once enjoyed, maybe in the years before his turn in the arena. The thought lingers for a moment and then is gone, dismissed in the blink of an eye when he sees the first student rushing outside.

This is your last class of the day, so he only has about fifteen minutes of play before you’re rushing off to the bus stop. The time is more than ample. A lot can happen in fifteen minutes, a lot can happen in just five. It’ll be interesting to see which offers more reward.

He’s just taking another sip from his lukewarm coffee when you appear. The weather is much colder today than it was the week before, so you’re bundled head to toe, your breath puffing around your face as you meander down the steps. He moves on instinct. It’s almost like being back in the arena, like being back in that final Game with his life and 45.6 billion won on the line. How curious that he feels that familiar spike of adrenaline now, of all times.

Your paths intersect at the foot of the stairs. You’re going one way and he’s going the other, and In-ho’s cup, now suddenly lidless, tips down the front of your coat as he passes. “Oh. Oh, I – I am so sorry. Are you alright?” His hands hover uselessly above your shoulders in some vague attempt to offer assistance.

You’re too taken aback by the liquid seeping down your chest to notice the way he’s watching you, waiting for you to act. Curiosity has been eating away at him since he first saw the footage of you playing with the recruiter. Who are you? What is it about you that sets you apart from the masses, that calls to Seong Gi-hun’s bleeding heart?

“Shit,” you mutter, low enough that he might not have heard it if he wasn’t listening so closely. You’re trying to brush yourself dry. How quaint. “Ah, I… I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s okay.”

In-ho studies the way your mouth wrinkles when you grimace. “I didn’t burn you, did I?”

This time, relief flashes across your face. When you finally look up to meet his eyes, he finds you smiling. A real, genuine smile. “No. You didn’t. Thank goodness.” He sees the gears turning in your head as you take him in, inclining your head politely as he’s sure you do to all your elders and superiors. “I’m sorry if I got in your way, sir. I wasn’t paying attention.”

One of his hands reaches for your elbow, not fully touching but brushing lightly over your sleeve. “Please,” he starts with all the thoughtfulness of the kind and gentle man he once was, “let me make it up to you.” The words are vile and repulsive on his tongue.

Already you’re waving him away, and that simply won’t do. “Oh, no, that’s alright. It’s not that big a deal, I promise.”

“It is to me. Please.” He starts rummaging through his coat pockets, purposefully tripping over his own hands and spilling a bit of coffee on himself in the process. The coffee cup is deposited onto the floor so he can shake his fingers dry, and then, “Here. Buy yourself a new coat. I think I may have ruined yours.”

And oh, how charming it is to see your eyes go wide with disbelief. He doesn’t get to see such carefree expressions during the Games. Everyone is always so horror-stricken, so bereaved – that or they’re too bloodthirsty to feel much of anything, so this is an adjustment. Unexpected, yes, but surprisingly welcome. He presses further.

“How am I supposed to apologize if you won’t accept this?”

Your lips part slightly. “Oh. No, I don’t, uh… I don’t need the money.” Carefully, you tap your fingers against his hand and push the offered money against his chest. “I forgive you, really.”

Where was this humble spirit when his recruiter approached you? You had been so eager for money that you’d won three separate times, and that was only a day after 456 had gifted you several hundred thousand won. In fact, you’d been so eager that In-ho had actually thought he stood a chance at getting you into this year’s games. What a triumph that would have been.

As disappointed as he still is not to have recruited you, he can’t help thinking that perhaps this is the better path to take. He can pick you apart himself this way rather than merely watching others do it from a distance.

“I’m sorry, but I really have to go catch my bus.”

He nods. “Of course. My apologies again.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a cheery smile.

He doesn’t follow you to the bust stop. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he drives himself to your apartment complex and waits in the parking lot across the street, perusing the borrowed files he’s brought with him. You’re an international student, though he could tell that based solely on your Korean; some of the vowels don’t sit right in your mouth. You have a full schedule, dabble in a few clubs when you have the spare time, and you live alone, which certainly makes things easier. A review of your recruitment video shows that you’re decent enough at ddakji, although it’s possible your winnings are the result of beginner’s luck. You’re a bit wary of strangers too, which is ironic considering how often you’ve been meeting with 456 of late.

These are social visits, plain and simple, but even more than that, he can see the way you smile in the security camera snapshots, how your eyes light up when Gi-hun comes to meet you. You’re infatuated. Even if you weren’t obvious about it (and you are), he would recognize the look of it anywhere. Whether Gi-hun can recognize it for himself or not is a different matter entirely.

In-ho waits until your bus comes to drop you off. He studies you from the shade of a tree, his coffee-stained coat left in the car so he isn’t immediately recognizable. You dawdle about for a minute or two, scrolling through your phone, before finally disappearing inside the building, and the cigarette he’d lit is put out a moment later, just in time for the alert on his own mobile to chirp from his trouser pocket. He smiles to himself. The live feed of your modest little kitchen/dining nook/sitting area is coming through without a hitch, as he knew it would.

The first thing you do is start pulling off your coat, already muttering to yourself under your breath, though the microphone is far enough away and you are quiet enough that it doesn’t pick up. Are you cursing his name, he wonders, or are you wishing you’d taken the money?

Either way, it’s no matter. He’ll have further opportunities to test you in the coming weeks, and by then he’ll have figured out exactly how to weaponize Gi-hun’s attachment to you.

“Gamsahabnida, Professor, I’ll see you next week.”

You’re glad you decided to stick around after class and chat – the clarification on your most recent assignment still turning over in your head as you meander into the hallway – but you’ve missed your bus in doing so. Since the next one won’t be coming for another half hour and you’ve already worked up a bit of an appetite, it seems the most logical choice to postpone your journey home and head for the cafeteria. Maybe you’ll swing by the library afterward, there’s a book that you think might help with your essay–

“Pardon me.”

You’re not fully paying attention to the people around you, so the voice takes you by surprise. Casting a glance over your shoulder only shows the half-obscured face of a tall gentleman in a dark coat as he attempts to walk around you. You dart to the side of the hallway so he has enough room to pass, but there’s something familiar about him that has you stealing a second, then a third glance, and not even discreetly. The line of his profile, the remarkably distinct voice – it’s the coffee man!

You don’t intend to say anything to him. You’re content enough to let him continue about his life without even knowing you exist, but it seems that the blatant turn of your head in his direction (three incredibly embarrassing times) has caught his eye. He pauses just a few paces behind you, his fancy dress shoes clicking lightly against the floor, and then he turns. You know because his voice isn’t distorted when he speaks to you.

“I remember you,” he huffs, and you think you can hear a smile teasing along the edges of the statement. You confirm it a moment later when you turn to face him.

“Who, me?”

The man nods. “I spilled my coffee on you last week, I believe.” And a bit of pride flares up in your chest for recognizing him, for being so quickly recognized in return.

“Ah, that’s why you looked so familiar!” Yeah, totally pretend you didn’t just do a triple take.

Coffee man tips his head back as he looks at you, a weight to his gaze that you nearly miss because a lock of his hair chooses that moment to fall perfectly over his temple. “How’s your jacket? You didn’t have to replace it, I hope.”

“Oh, no. It came out in the wash without any trouble. But I appreciate your concern,” and truly, you do. It’s sweet of him to care that much about somebody else’s troubles, no matter how minuscule. Strange, yes, but sweet too.

The conversation sags there, too polite to press forward and too casual to probe deeper, so it only ends up feeling awkward as the silence begins to stretch between you. You both dart around the idea of eye contact, though he seems more prone to it than you are. Right. This is… fun.

You clear your throat. “Well, it was nice to see you again. Thank you for not spilling coffee on me again.”

You make to leave, but he beats you to it with a tentative step forward. “Are you in a rush?”

That depends, you muse, though you make an effort to appear personable on the outside. “Not exactly. Why?”

“I’ve been trying to find a particular classroom, but I think I’ve gotten myself turned around. Would you mind…?”

A quick glance at your phone tells you that you have the necessary time if you postpone your bus by an additional 30 minutes, which you suppose isn’t that bad in the grand scheme of things. Besides, it would be rude to turn him down if he’s lost. You’d hate to receive the same treatment if you were in his shoes.

“Sure. Which room were you looking for?”

Coffee man’s smile catches a bit of the overhead lighting, bright and inviting. “I can’t remember the number,” he admits, “but the professor’s name was Lee.”

“That could be a lot of our professors.” There are at least two in your department and others have up to three or four, according to campus gossip. “Do you know their first name? Or the class they teach? I might be able to look it up for you.”

It’s an incredible stroke of luck that the very instructor he’s searching for is the one you’ve just left. The timing is perfect – if he’d arrived any sooner or later than you, he might have missed the classroom entirely. “It’s just down there,” you say, pointing your arm in the direction you’ve just come from. “Number 103, on the left. He should still be in there, but I think he’s getting ready to leave, so you might want to be quick.”

As if it hadn’t already occurred to him that your professor might also want to go home for the afternoon, coffee man checks his watch with a flick of his wrist, his mouth tilting into a slight frown. “Perhaps I should come back another time.”

“He’s usually pretty flexible if it’s an emergency,” you start, but you never get the chance to explain further. Coffee man is already dismissing you with a wave of his hand and a pleasing smile, assuring you that it can wait, whatever it is.

“I’d rather not inconvenience him,” he says. “But thank you for your help just the same, uh…?”

“Oh.” Your hand finds purchase in his. “[___].”

And when he smiles, you find yourself thinking that it’s a rather nice one. “Young-il.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Young-il-nim.”

He nods politely. “Likewise.” You end up missing the next three buses, but for once, the inconvenience doesn’t bother you because you spend most of that time getting acquainted with one of the most fascinating people you’ve had the pleasure of meeting in a very long time.

[undercvrfan444]

For weeks you felt as though someone was shadowing you. Anytime you went out a feeling of paranoia would settle in your shoulders and make you sick.

Whispers of white would grace your peripheral vision. It was always the same messy movement, gone before you could truly get a look at where the color originated from.

You’d been out all day. A close friend had asked you to come over and help her pack up the apartment she’d been living in for the past few months.

“I’m gonna miss you being around.” You said after taping the last box shut. What you really wanted to tell her was you’d miss feeling like you knew someone in this large city.

Nobara smiled softly at you. “I’m gonna miss you too babe!” A comfortable silent falls between the two of you while large cardboard boxes are squeezed together beside the door.

Lost in your own thoughts you almost don’t feel the petite gand on your shoulder, whipping around out of surprise. “Whoa! What’s going on with you girl?”

A small frustrated sigh pushes from your lips. “Sorry, sorry. I don’t know..” Running your fingers through your hair, thoughts race behind your eyes.

“I-I don’t know how else to say this, but…I think i’m being stalked.” Feeling the words come off your tongue left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. To admit something was truly happening to you was to accept the fear that dwelled in your chest when “he” was around.

And possibly the arousal too.

How is it that a person could be stalked and in some sick fucked up way, they could be turned on by that disturbing fact. Your heart rate speeds up as you feel the subtle creeping of heat tickle your cheeks.

Nobara is quick with her response, not letting a single thing slip past her.

“Stalked?” She murmured. “By who? I know there’s a lot of sick fucks out there, but damn.”

“I’m not sure to be honest. Whoever he is, he isn’t stupid. Any time I go out of my house I feel him.”

“Feel him? Babe what-“

“He’s never gotten physical with me! Partially because I think he’s either scared o-or maybe just trying to scare me. I haven’t figured which one yet.”

Thick, uncomfortable silence fills the air. Almost as if “he” could be summoned by a mere whisper of his existence. You can’t be scared. How could you lie to Nobara and tell her you were startled by this person when there was a pool of arousal forming in your panties. It was a sick world you lived in and you were sicker so.

For hours the two of you spoke about your unidentified stalker. You delve into the details of every wispy stray hair you’d see from the corner of your eyes, how his mere presence made you believe whoever he was it was undoubtedly certain strength lies within him. The conversation drew on so long the sun sank and the moon had now rose to show herself.

The cushion your body has been residing on felt as though it melded to be one with your body; signaling your time to leave.

“Y/n I’m not sure you should go home. Wouldn’t you feel safer staying here? I know everything is packed up but at least you would have another person with you.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that. I’ve never been attacked anyway Nobara, i’m sure i’ll be fine going home tonight.”

With that you were sent on your way, multiple opportunities to stay with Nobara were presented and you shot every single one down. Why? Maybe because it intrigued you to think of your stalker finally showing himself to you. You enjoyed the idea of someone caring so much about you that they’d go out of their way to STALK you.

Cool, crisp night air fills your lungs with every shallow breath you take. From behind you footsteps easily mimicked your own. Any other normal person wouldn’t have been able to recognize the sound, but you’d grown to expect the sound. In fact…you craved to hear those perfectly synchronized steps.

The entirety of your walk home, his footsteps echoed behind you. Stuttering heartbeats pounding so hard your ribs hurt. Terror ran rapid throughout your body and eventually morphed into excitement.

Finally reaching your door, you paused for a moment. “Are you still there?” Your small voice was shaky; unsure of what answer you preferred more. The world seems to go quiet around you. Unfortunately there was no sound behind you. No breathing, no steps, no ruffling of clothes, just the breeze blowing past your hair.

AUTHORS NOTE:

so ik this is random but like i’ve got fragments floating in my head and this is one of them

[vanilladollette]

More of jae-jun pls! 🥹🤍

Silent Confessions || Jeon Jae-Joon x reader ||

Summary: Jeon Jae-Joon, who secretly had a crush on you in high school, sees you years later in his store, only to learn you're now engaged. Heartbroken but hiding his feelings, he regrets never confessing his love as you leave, realizing it’s too late now.

A/n: Jae-Joon may have been too ooc. I don't know. I didn't occur to me if you wanted headcanons or not but here is more Jae-Joon.

If someone had ask Jae-joon if he has any regrets, he'll say no but deep down, he does. One. It was him not confessing his feelings for you. He had fallen in love with you back in High school. He was madly in love with you. However, he never confessed his feelings for you. Not once. He never knew why he didn't confess his feelings for you. Maybe he felt you deserved better or feared you would turn him down.

Whatever the reason it was, Jae-Joon didn't confess to you. It was the only regret he had. The only regret that ate him up at night.

Jae-joon told himself that if he ever got the chance to see you one more time, he would confess his feelings for you.

It was until one day, Jae-Joon sees a familiar figure walked through the door of his store. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized you immediately.

You had changed in subtle ways—your hair was a little longer, your style more polished—but your presence still held the same warmth that had once captivated him. His breath caught in his throat as he watched you browse through the store, his mind racing with memories of the days when he had admired you from afar in high school.

Jae-joon watched you as you moved through the store, his heart heavy with emotions he’d buried long ago. He couldn’t help but notice the changes—the way you carried yourself with a quiet confidence, the soft smile that still seemed to reach your eyes, and the faint glow of happiness surrounding you. Despite the years that had passed, you were still the person he had secretly fallen for in high school, and now, here you were, standing in front of him again.

He cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. It was hard to think clearly with the rush of feelings flooding his mind. Gathering all the courage he could muster, he took a few steps forward and greeted you, his voice betraying just a hint of nervousness. "Hey, it's been a long time."

You turned toward him with a smile, your eyes lighting up with recognition. "Jae-joon!" you said warmly, the sound of your voice like a familiar melody to him. "Wow, I didn’t expect to run into you here. How’ve you been?"

He managed a small smile, though it felt forced. "Good, good. Been keeping busy," he replied, unsure of what to say next. The words he had rehearsed in his mind for so long—everything he had wanted to confess to you—felt distant now.

You started to chat, casually catching up as if no time had passed, but Jae-joon couldn’t focus on the words. All he could think about was how he had never told you what had been in his heart all those years ago. It hurt to hear the easy, light conversation knowing that you were no longer the person he could claim as his own, that you had moved on to someone else.

Then, as you paused in your conversation, you did something that nearly broke him. You lifted your hand, revealing the engagement ring on your finger. His gaze immediately shifted to it, and his heart sank.

"Oh, wow," Jae-joon managed, his voice suddenly distant, though he tried his best to mask the hurt. "I didn’t know you were engaged."

You smiled brightly, a soft, contented look on your face. "Yeah, I’m really happy. It’s been a long journey, but I’ve found someone I want to spend my life with."

The words stung, but he nodded, forcing a smile. "Congratulations. I’m really happy for you," he said, his voice betraying none of the turmoil he felt inside. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you how he still felt, how much he regretted never confessing, how much he wished things had turned out differently.

You chatted for a little longer, but it felt like an eternity to Jae-joon. Every word, every glance from you reminded him of the silent love he had kept hidden for so long. And with every passing moment, the reality that it was too late hit him harder.

"I should get going," you said after a while, breaking him from his thoughts. "I’m meeting my fiancé soon. It was so nice seeing you again, Jae-joon."

You waved and turned to leave, and Jae-joon stood frozen for a moment, watching you walk away. The sound of the door’s bell as you left the store echoed in his ears, leaving a painful silence behind.

In that moment, all the regret he had kept locked inside came rushing back. He should have told you. He should have confessed. But now, it was too late. You were gone, and so were his chances. All he had left were the ghosts of the what-ifs that would never be answered.

As he stood there, the empty store around him seemed to echo the one regret that had haunted him all these years. It was a regret that would never fade, no matter how much time passed. He had missed his chance, and now you were someone else’s.