#and i said that i knew because i observe him observing

[melminli]

Dirty Cash (Money Talks)

summary - you had nothing against your colleague, but you weren't stupid enough to be fooled by his innocent smile and appearance since you knew exactly what kind of corrupt person was hiding behind that costume. after all, you were wearing the same one.

pairing: (gong yoo/ji-cheol) the salesman x fem. recruiter reader

word count: 1.4k

contains: talk about gambling + death and murder, sexual tension?, crack and just evil morals tbh

a/n: i watched maybe the first fifteen minutes or so of bullet train, but i thought of the two funny dudes from it while writing this bcuz their dynamic was funny af. also, i will use the actor's name in this fic since the character itself doesn't really have an official one that was mentioned in the series!

You straightened your tie with your free hand while watching your train approach from the side. The station was always pretty empty at this hour, which saved you the jostling and squeezing as you entered. After that, you sat down comfortably with a light sigh - next to the free seat beside your devilishly handsome colleague. “Are you alright? Don't tell me that you had a exhausting day?” he asked you worriedly with his typical innocent smile on his face but you've known the guy for a while now and you knew exactly how dishonest he sounded right now.

You returned his gaze for a second, uninterested, before turning it back in front of you to observe your surroundings from the window. “Exhausting day? Don't make fun of me or I'll punch you in the face,” you replied monotone and Gong Yoo didn't doubt your statement for a second - or Ji-cheol as you preferred to call him since you weren't a big fan of nicknames. “I had a great time punching those bastards in the face one by one. It feels kinda therapeutic, so I'm actually feeling pretty good right now,” you told him, talking about the subject as if you were talking about the weather.

Your colleague grunted with delight at your good news. “And I would never disagree with you on that.” he said and then just watched your figure silently for a while before speaking up again. “Since you're in such a good mood, would you be willing to play a more private game between the two of us?” he suggested, making you look at him in utter disbelief.

“A private game? With you?” you repeated, amused and laughed in his face. “Hell, no. But don't worry, I'll let you know next time I want to get totally screwed by a freaky pervert,” you added, your voice dripping with sarcasm. Which will be, never.

“Come on, don't be like that,” he asked you sweetly. As sweet as the wolf who pretended to be the mother of the seven little goats before he ate them all one by one. “It's just a tiny, harmless game. It's been so long since we've played anything together.” he complained to you earnestly as if you actually cared, and you didn't.

Yeah, you remembered the last time very clearly, even if you would much rather prefer that you didn't. You hummed. “Is that so? Huh. I mean, it could be because you almost killed me in a fucking game of tic-tac-toe the last time, but that's just a theory.” You said with a shrug, clearly still resenting him for that. However, he just rolled his eyes unaffected by your grudge. “But you didn't, right? It was the other guy who got the bullet in his head.” He replied, not even remembering his name. Not that he had to.

You just glared at him while you rubbed your forehead. “Yeah, maybe. But I'm tired of risking my life just because it makes you horny and you can jerk off to it.” You made your feelings on the matter clear. “You know that the whole living on the edge of death thing isn't really my cup of tea. At least try to understand me a bit here, too.”

I suppose she's not entirely wrong, I could give it a try. I never thought about it like that before, did I? He thought to himself in his head as he ran his tongue over the back of his teeth while he pondered. How selfish of me. “So what exactly do I have to do, to convince you?” He asked you while he already had a few ideas in mind.

You grinned. “You know that very well, don't play dumb.” You demanded as you leaned closer to him so that he could hear what you were singing softly. “Money talks, money talks - dirty cash, I want you, and dirty cash, I need you, oh ~”

He raised an eyebrow, not particularly surprised. “So you want to play for money?” He repeated it, not outright rejecting your request. “Don't you have enough of that already? You're really insatiable when it comes to cash and now you want mine, too?” he joked just to get you worked up.

Though, you didn't get the slightest bit offended by what he said. “Can you ever have enough money? Besides, I'm not forcing you to give it to me, am I?” you said with a smile, already knowing that he would agree to your terms. “But if you want me to play with you, I want eight million won for every round I win.”

She's so greedy for someone who is already more than wealthy. “Aren't you exaggerating a bit? Most people don't earn that much in a month,” he continued his act of - whatever this was - because he just loved arguing with you.

“So? We both have the same salary, I know you can afford it,” you said, holding a hand in the air as soon as you felt that he wanted to stretch this unnecessary conversation even more. “You have to decide now what you want to do or I withdraw my proposal again.”

Gong Yoo closed his mouth and started grinning even wider. “You don't even want to know what kind of game I want to play?” he asked curiously, nodding and accepting whatever you wanted as soon as he saw that you actually weren't interested. You couldn't even imagine how gladly he gave in to you at this moment. “All right, I agree with your request.”

You stood up with your briefcase in hand after your station was announced. “Good. Text me when you have something in mind, I'll be there as long as it fits timewise.”

Your colleague continued to watch you with a look on his face that used to make you more than just uncomfortable back in the day - though it didn't even bother you in the slightest now. “You don't want to accompany me to the...office?”

You smiled while the train started to slow down. “Au revoir, Ji-cheol.” you just said your goodbye to him and stepped out of the doors. You didn't even spare the poor guy a second glance when he waved his hand at you from the window. She can be so heartless sometimes, he thought to himself, even if you were like this pretty much all the time. I'll have to think of something good to ask for in return should I win. I'm definitely not going to hold back when there's this much money at stake.

You didn't give a second thought to anything as you made your way home after a day's work like any normal citizen would do. However, your steps slowed considerably when you noticed a beggar in your field of vision and even though the rest of the crowd ignored the man and his entire existence, you couldn't help but focus your full attention on him. You looked at your watch, I've been off work for a while now. But even then, you couldn't help but notice that he was one of the people on your list to recruit for the game. He'll still be here tomorrow, but I don't mind another round of Ddakji. I love money more than anything - but I'm not doing this job for only that since I don't even have anything against working a bit of overtime when it comes to this.

“Excuse me,” you spoke to the man with a polite smile on your face, and he only submissively avoided your gaze as he listened to you. After all, one rarely approached people like him and why would they? He held his cup of loose change out in front of him, probably expecting you to give him a small donation, but you wanted to give him so much more than that. Even if the guy didn't know it right now - you wanted to give him another chance in life, so that he wouldn't continue to be just a miserable failure.

You ignored his donation cup. “I was wondering if you might have a moment because I'd like to make you an offer,” you continued politely and the man met your gaze at that. Yeah, you were really looking forward to what was about to happen - after all, you were known for letting your opponent only win if you allowed them to.

[kiryoutann]

warning(s): MDNI, ANGST, simon riley being an asshole (like really), kind of gore description as metaphor for REAALLYY desperate love??? non-consensual tracking by reader (SURPRISE!!)

Simon might be the worst denialist ever. Because, how could he say it was all casual?

“I forgot something in your car.” You tell him.

Simon's frown deepened, his head tilting slightly as he seemed to contemplate your words. It was absurd—after all these weeks, here you are, standing in front of his apartment, having somehow discovered the address, and claiming to have forgotten something in his car.

But he doesn't say anything, just continues to make his way to the car. You follow closely behind him. He opens the door to the passenger seat, then steps aside to let you check the car. You stretch your hand under the passenger seat, blindly feeling for anything, brushing through the dust and small gravel collected there until you finally touch something cold and metallic.

Pulling it out, the phone you had planted there weeks earlier came into view. You knew this meant Simon had laid his eyes on it too. It wouldn’t take long for him to connect the dots and figure out you had been tracking him this whole time.

Fucking hell. Simon remembered what he had said about modern phones. He closed the car door with a sharp click, then turned to you.

“So you’ve been followin’ me, then?”

“You didn't return my texts,” you stated bluntly.

"I asked you a question." He growls, almost like he's threatening you.

You observed the anger brewing in the depths of his dark eyes, radiating from him like a hot flame. Good, you thought silently. At least there was something that riled him up; otherwise, you would be suffering alone while he goes to fuck any willing bodies he can get his hands on.

"Why didn't you call me?" You ask again. “Why does it say your number is no longer in service? Why didn't you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” he snap, voice dripping with venom. “You think I owe you an explanation?”

Your blurry vision missed a flicker of change in his expression. When the tears escaped and the world came into focus again, all you saw was Simon gritting his teeth, jaw locked. He turned and began to walk away.

You followed him, quickening your pace to catch up. “Simon! Simon, wait!”

Despite your best efforts, he continues to keep his back turned to you, refusing to even spare you a glance. He fixed his gaze straight ahead, seemingly hell-bent on creating a vast gulf between you. You called out his name once more, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night, but he kept right on walking.

“Yes, I deserve an explanation! I don’t know why you’re being like this. We were fine the last time we were together. What happened? Why did you just disappear on me?”

You reached out, your fingers brushing against the sleeve of his jacket to get him to stop and face you. He came to a halt. A jolt of electricity surged through you as he encircled your fingers with his own, but it soon faded as he let go of your grip on the leather. Something inside you dropped away, leaving a shameful hollow space inside.

Simon towers over you, his stature imposing and intimidating. He locks a hard glare on you. “I asked you a question, didn't I?” His voice fell to a dangerously low tone. “Why the fuck have you been following me?”

The dam holding back your tears broke, leaving you choking on your own sobs. How could he not know? All these tears, all these cries… how could he still fail to see that it was all for him? To be stripped bare only for him to overlook it. Should you skin yourself alive then? To tear your heart out, to hold the raw, bleeding organ in the palm of your trembling hand as an offering?

“Because I want to know where you are,” You settle for the simpler version, hyperventilating as you take a breath. “You know my place, my workplace... You even went to my cousin’s wedding. And yet, I know nothing about you, Simon. Nothing.”

“You think just ‘cause we fucked a few times, that gives you the right to pry into my life?”

A sharp pang of pain shot through your chest. The world was ruby-colored, either from your boiling anger or the hemorrhage from the sharpness of his words. Your jaw clenched, your gaze sharpened.

“Fuck you, Simon,” you spat. “You know we’re not just fucking.”

The clenched fists at your sides tremble, and you don’t know if it’s from anger or hurt or the weight of your own expectation to make him see it. Or perhaps it’s all three. How could he speak like this when there's a specific section in your dresser for the clothes he frequently brings and leaves, when he constantly returns and stays longer even as the morning has risen, when he drove you to the countryside and dances and twirls you around like those old couples do? Not when he embraces you until your tears subside, nor when each of his kisses offers that one thing you've chased your whole life.

There’s no way this isn’t love. He just needs to stop denying it.

Simon's eyes narrowed into slits. "Then you read it all wrong, darlin'."

The way he said it was cold, without a shred of sympathy—but nothing was colder than the way Simon continually turned his back to you as he continued to walk farther and farther away, as if all he wanted was to get as far away from you as possible. Disgusting woman in love. But you never got the hint, did you? You kept following him, running after him like a stupid little dog created solely to love, love, love, and never be loved back.

[sneak peek of chapter 13 of "A MAN'S HEART IS TRULY A WRETCHED, WRETCHED THING.".]

SUPPORT ME THROUGH KO-FI! CHECK MY WRITING COMMISSION.

[iichfilwypj]

little devil | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x reader: with the special participation of their dog, Zoë! ღ warnings: none? idk i think it's a bit dumb and funny ღ wc: 1.081

She had completely lost track of how many times she had to wipe the sweat off her forehead and lean over the famous ‘blue cookies’ recipe once again. Her arm was aching from the  effort, and she swore she could feel her body burning.

Percy remained asleep in their room, likely covered up to his head and snuggling with Zoë, the little Golden Retriever they had adopted a few weeks back, when they moved together. 

The girl was very excited to be the one cooking breakfast for her boyfriend, even though it wasn’t going great; the color of the batter was green, there was flour everywhere, and the mixture was way too thick. 

“This shit-!” Her hands shot to her face after sending the whisk flying somewhere across the countertop. “What did I do wrong?”

Her elbows slammed hard against the cold marble as she leaned closer to the paper, scanning the lines for her mistake. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had forgotten; the eggs. 

“Are you serious?” 

She didn’t hear her boyfriend’s grumbling about Zoë licking his face, footsteps drawing near the kitchen, or his whistle when he spotted her in the kitchen. Percy did make sure she felt the smack on her butt.

“Hi love,” he said, his tone far too casual as he opened the fridge to grab a bottle of water. “How are you?”

She turned her face toward her boyfriend, scanning him; Percy was barefoot, with his dark hair messy and wearing nothing but pajama pants despite the chill. Contradictory, with how hot he looked.

“Bad.”

“Oh, okay—What is this?,” He approached her side, one hand on his girlfriend’s lower back and the other on the bowl, inspecting its contents. “Is this… edible?”

“Don’t touch that!” she said, slapping her boyfriend's hands away. “Your mom told me you'd do this—and it’s not even done right!”

Percy’s face was picture-worthy at her outburst, all surprised and confused. As she grabbed the bridge of her nose, he glanced at Zoë, who was sitting in a corner, observing everything with her tongue out and tail moving happily.

“What is wrong with it?” He blinked, baffled. “If it’s because it’s not baked, I'll turn on the oven and we can—”

“I forgot the eggs,” she murmured, crossing her arms.

“What’d you say?”

“I forgot the eggs!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “And there are no eggs!”

“Oh—” Percy couldn't help it. A small laugh escaped him before he quickly looked away, clearly trying to hide his laughter.

She saw it. His shoulders shook slightly as he fought to suppress his grin.

“Are you laughing at me? I—” she had to bite her lip to stop herself from joining him. She couldn’t deny it; it was kind of funny.

“No—no, I’m—” Percy couldn’t hold it in anymore. He burst into laughter. “How do you forget the eggs?”

“Don’t laugh at me about eggs!” 

Soon, they were both laughing, tears threatening to spill as Percy leaned against the counter for support; she knew it was probably because he had just woken up, adding to his amusement. 

“Are you done yet?” she huffed, still smiling.

“Oh, God, I adore you,” he said between gasps, pulling her into a tight hug.

“Yeah, yeah, me too.” She rolled her eyes but melted into his embrace, sighing as his hand traced soothing circles on her back.

“We’ll go out for breakfast,” He pulled away just enough to look her in the eyes. “Thanks for trying,”

She stayed quiet for a moment, her hands resting on his chest. Then they moved to his hair, making her stand on her tiptoes to plant a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a smile, before softly adding, “Asshole.”

Before he could reply, a sudden loud clatter from the counter shattered the moment, making them both freeze in place. They glanced at each other, their eyes wide. Without moving, Percy broke the silence.

“Zoë’s eating the batter, isn’t she?”

She didn’t even need to look, already knowing the answer. A resigned look appeared on her face as she sighed.

“Yeah, probably,”

“Your dog is a little devil. This is the third time since she learned to reach the counter.” Percy muttered, stepping away from her and scanning the kitchen for Zoë.

“Sorry, you mean our dog?” she shot back, already grabbing some paper towels to start dealing with the mess. 

But Zoë suddenly appeared from behind the island, her little nose covered in green batter, grabbing their attention. Percy’s eyes widened in disbelief as the puppy bolted toward the living room, a happy glint in her eyes. 

“Absolutely not!” he said, abandoning all pretense of dignity as he took off after her, his voice rising in panic. “Zoë, stop! Get away from the couch!”

And his girlfriend didn’t stay behind. She was quick to run after them, grabbing the digital camera from the nearby table and turning it on to record the scene. She filmed how Percy cornered Zoë, scooping her up in his arms, only for the dog to reward him with a batter-covered lick straight to his face. 

“Gross, Zoë!” he exclaimed, trying to wipe his cheek with the back of his hand as he struggled to hold the squirming dog.

But it didn’t help. The batter was stuck there, and Zoë kept wriggling in his arms, her tongue swiping at his face again.

He sighed deeply as he stretched his arms out, carefully pulling Zoë away from him. 

“Just Gross!”

“You’ve had worse stuff on you!” 

His gaze shifted to his girlfriend standing in the doorway, laughing uncontrollably, her cheeks flushed with tears. Seeing her like that softened his chest, and a grin tugged at his lips.

“Want some?” he asked, not giving her a chance to respond before he moved toward her with Zoë still in his arms.

Her eyes widened in mock horror, and she lifted the camera like it was a weapon. “I’ll kill you!” 

Zoë barked happily, her tail wagging excitedly, and the sound was contagious, making them both burst into laughter.

hii! i just wanted to make something basic, i wasn't finding myself with my writing and this wouldn't fail!! promise i'll be more creative! but how are youuu?

[sjyzip]

ᯓ ✈︎ paradise found .ᐟ ˎˊ˗

⤷ 18. okay kat stratford!📍

wc: 1.8k

after a good week, all you seemed to need to place the cherry on top was a nice night out with your friends and what better timing cause yeonjun was hosting a party. things had gotten even better cause not only you and your friends were going, but also jake was going too. you got ready for the night out, feeling extremely good cause both your hair and makeup had come out perfect, giving you a huge confidence boost. once you were ready, you left your apartment to go meet with your friends and get to yeonjun’s house.

the music was bustling and could be heard from far away, yeonjun’s house was packed with people and the smell of alcohol and smoke. you and your friends entered the house, getting through the crowd, waving and saying hi to people you knew.

once you were out of the extremely crowded area you scanned the room, unconsciously looking for someone special, like jake. you didn’t realize it but your friends surely did. “you know.. i saw sunghoon and riki close to the entrance” giselle said, stirring her drink. “maybe jake is with them now” giselle continued, sipping her drink afterwards. “really? i was about to go there” you said, trying to play it casual. “mhm, it’s okay, we know you wanted to see him” yunjin said with a smile, patting your shoulder. you rolled your eyes as you took your drink “i’ll go walk around, maybe i’ll casually get to see him that way” you said with a smile. “call us if you need anything!” yunjin shouted so you could hear her clearly through the noise. you turned around and nodded your head “i will!” you shouted back before you turned around again, entering the crowd.

you walked around the house once again, scanning every single inch of it to at least catch a glimpse of jake while finishing your drink. minutes that felt like eternity and yet you hadn’t caught either jake or at least his friends. you decided to take a small break, getting another drink and sitting on a random couch, people-watching as you drank until someone tapped your shoulder, you reacted slower than usually, the alcohol from the drink already kicking in.

“yn?” a voice asked, a voice you could recognize everywhere, it was jake’s voice. “oh hey! didn’t expect to see you here” jake said with a smile on his face. “oh hey, how are you?” you asked him, taking a few sips from your drink. “i’m good, i just got here” he replied, observing you and the drink in your hand. “oh that’s why i didn’t see you before!” you giggled. “you know, i was looking for you earlier” you continued, giggling once again. jake stared at you, confused. “why were you looking for me?” jake asked, sitting down next to you. “because i wanted to see you” you replied, smiling from ear to ear. “ohh, cool” jake replied, with a shy smile. “are you here alone?” jake asked once again. “uh no, i’m here with my friends but i left earlier to go look for you.” you said without thinking, sipping your drink. “i really wanted to see you tonight” you continued. “i like to hangout with you and also when you called me ynnie” you giggled. “yeah i also like to hangout with you” jake smiled, getting flustered more by each second. “hey, can i ask you something?” you asked him. “oh yeah sure” jake nodded his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “what would you do if when you say okay so he said yes would go?” you bursted laughing even before finishing the sentence. “i think you should stop drinking.” jake said, reaching out to take your drink. “no, i’m okay” you shook your head, crossing your arms so jake couldn’t reach your drink. “come on, your face is flushed and you’re saying weird things” jake whined, still trying to reach out for your drink. “weird things like what?” you chuckled. “i don’t know, like wanting to see me” jake replied, almost whispering the last part. “but i said that because i like hanging out with you!” you giggled. “just hand me over the drink.” jake insisted. “alright..” you nodded your head, about to finish the rest of your drink before handing it over but jake took it and drank what was left.

you stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds before reacting “i was going to drink that?” you complained. “i know, but if you drank that, you would keep saying weird things” jake stated, grinning while observing the empty cup. “whatever you say.. anyways when you said that my face was flushed, your face was also flushed, so you should stop drinking too” you innocently said, patting his shoulder. “i should, huh? alright i will” jake smiled.

“i guess yn did find jake after all” yunjin chuckled. “i hope something happened between those two or ill force it” sunoo rolled his eyes. “ill text to check on her” giselle said, going through her phone.

hey, are u with jake?

yupyupyuppp iim hre with jakeyyy

don’t drink more, ill go there in a while x

dontt need tooo, jskey is taking me to my apt!! apt apt apt apt hahahahhaha

wait i’ll call you

“hello..?” giselle spoke into the phone. “heeey!!” you replied “yn, could you pass me the phone to jake?” giselle asked. “alright, hereee” you gave the phone to jake. “giselle wants to talk to youu” you told jake. jake nodded and took the phone to his ear. “giselle? yn’s with me” jake said. “are you taking her to her apartment?” giselle asked. “yeah, uhm by the way, what is the apartment number? yn isn’t cooperating much” jake chuckled. “it’s ynnie!! not yn” you complained loudly that even giselle could hear it. “it’s 615 and under the doormat there is a backup key” giselle told jake. “alright thanks, just to reassure you, she’s fine just a bit.. tipsy” jake smiled, glancing at you. giselle smiled too “okay, thanks for taking care of her” giselle thanked. “yeah, no problem” jake nodded. “wait jakey pass me the phone, pleaseeeee” you begged. “here” jake handed you your phone. “hey gigi, i’m okaaaay, jakey is doing a gooood job so don’t worry. okay bye gigi love youuuu, mwah mwah” you reassured her. “bye ynnie, love you too” giselle smiled before ending the call.

“are you holding up okay?” jake checked on you. “yeah i’m alright, i could run the whole way back, wanna race???” you giggled, about to start running. “no cause you could get hurt and i don’t want that” jake said “fine.. but if you don’t want me to get hurt, could you piggyback me pleaseeeee?” you begged. jake stared at you for a few seconds before agreeing “hop on” jake slightly leaned down so you could get up. you got on his back, wrapping your arms around his neck. “this is sooooo fuuun!!!!” you laughed. “fun for you, you’re so heavy jeez..” jake teased you. “i’m not heavy..” you pouted. “i was joking, good news tho, we’re pretty close to your apartment now” jake said, looking at the building nearby. “awh, this was too short” you whined. “what do you mean? i can go around the block if you still want a piggyback ride” jake suggested. “no, i meant us hanging out, it was too short” you pouted “i like being with you, it’s fun and you understand me” you mumbled, leaning your head on jake’s shoulder. “i guess you aren’t sober yet.. but i also like hanging with you ynnie” jake smiled softly.

a few minutes of walking in silence to your apartment and a quick glance at you made jake realize that you had fallen asleep. the silence made him replay in his mind what you had said throughout the night, how you enjoyed hanging out with him, and he wondered if what you said was entirely platonic or not. now he was in front of your apartment building and focused again on what he had to do, get you to your apartment.

the elevator ride was a quiet one, so quiet it made jake wonder back to those thoughts but was snapped out of it with the ding of the elevator. he got out of the elevator, heading towards your apartment, once he got there he couldn’t get down to get the key so he had to wake you up even if he didn’t want to.

“yn.. ynnie” jake whispered, hoping it would wake you up, it obviously didn’t wake up and jake had no other alternative (in his mind) than to get you off his back, get the key and open the door quickly and pick you up.

and he surprisingly managed to do it. he closed the door with his elbow and started looking around where your bedroom was, once he found it, he quietly opened the door and dropped you in your bed as softly as he could. he sighed as he looked at you in your bed, sleeping peacefully, he smiled softly at the sight of you before turning around and heading to the living room. he sat down in the couch and texted giselle.

hey it’s jake, i just arrived and yn is sleeping, everything is okay.

thanks jake, i really owe you :)

your welcome and don’t worry it’s okay

jake turned his phone off and looked at the half closed door of your room. he stood up and headed towards the bedroom, looking around your desk before finding what he wanted. a sticky note and a marker, he wrote a short message and stuck it on your desk. he checked up on you before leaving to go to the kitchen, jake got you a glass of water and searched for some medicine to leave next to your bed. once he found some he grabbed the glass of water and left the medicine and water next to each other. jake checked on you once again (just in case in his words) and left your apartment.

the walk back to his apartment was weird. not because it was silent; it was because it felt odd without your presence, even if it was an extremely tiring experience to piggyback you for 10 minutes and then worrying about not waking you up. it was something he would do for you anytime; anything you asked him he would try to get it, he would do anything for you no matter what. although jake felt silly for caring for you so much when you were just friends but he just couldn’t help it. maybe that’s when jake realized that he actually needed to make a move on you or he will regret it his whole life.

previous masterlist next

taglist: @domfikeluva, @keylimejake , @starry-eyed-bimbo, @rairaiblog , @tkooooop , @right-person-wrong-time

[clone-anon-after-dark]

The Time It Takes

(A Crosshair x Reader fic in 3 parts)

Written for @lightwise

Word Count: 2,513

Warnings: Some discussion of sex, but nothing explicit

A/N: Reader’s appearance is not described. This fic contains some soft and hesitant Crosshair and early relationship stuff. Also Tech Lives and is on Pabu and he is in this fic so deal.

Part 1

Only a few days into a new rotation and you were already wondering what the year had in store. A hectic holiday season followed by some difficult conversations with someone who would never be yours. You’d known this for a while, but sometimes discussions still needed to be had. While he lived on the other side of Pabu, you didn’t see him as often as you’d think given the size of the island. That seemed to be both a blessing and a curse for while you longed for that connection, it would never be as fulfilling as you needed. You stood by the dock as you watched his shuttle leave for another trip; thoughts only disturbed by a single “hmph” behind you. Internally rolling your eyes, you knew exactly where that came from.

You turned to find Crosshair sitting next to Batcher on a bench along the dock. She was ready for a nap after no doubt spending the morning chasing fish while he went for his morning swim. He often swam further away from the busy side of the island and along a quieter part of the beach. You weren’t sure what brought him over here on his walk home.

“Problem?” you asked him.

He raised an eyebrow at hearing the single-word question he so often posed to others.

“No,” he replied. “You?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” you answered.

You were immediately distracted from your melancholy and somehow drawn into him. The man who often stood away from everyone and observed everything always managed to pull you in. You weren’t sure what it was about him that made you a little bit giddy. For his part, Crosshair pretended to be aloof, but it was increasingly hard for him to avoid you. It wasn’t that he couldn’t find a path through the community that would exclude you entirely. It was more that without planning and without thinking, he wanted to see you. His feet simply took him there.

You stood next to him while Batcher lightly snored. Crosshair petted her back until finally deciding to break the silence.

“Do you….” He uncharacteristically scratched the back of his head. His brothers did that when they were unsure, but like Tech, Crosshair rarely behaved this way. He always seemed so sure of himself.

“Do I what?”

“We should get lunch,” he said.  Internally, he was screaming at himself. He wasn’t a romantic, but this was probably not how it was done.

“I’d like that,” you replied. “In fact, I’m hungry now.”

Crosshair got up and Batcher followed. You meandered up to a small restaurant that always served the same things, but it didn’t matter because the food was always good and because she was on her best behavior, even Batcher was welcome. It took a little time to get into a groove of talking and eating, but Crosshair made a good effort. He wasn’t usually one to beat around the bush, so he came out and asked.

“What’s with you and that man? He’s married, isn’t he? Are you a trio with room for a fourth?”

You nearly spat out your food. His attempt at humor and honesty left you speechless for a moment, but you tried answering as embarrassed heat set on his cheeks.

“No, umm, well, yes, he’s married, but we’re not polyamorous and,” you sighed, “He was something I wanted or thought I did, but I’m not the person he can commit to. He’s with someone else. We’re still friends, but I guess I wonder what-if since he’s the closest thing I’ve had to a life partner.”

Crosshair wasn’t sure what to say. He had never been in a position to think about a partner. Tech’s survival and later reappearance on Pabu meant that he and Phee were together, but the concept of something like marriage was never introduced to the clones. They were made for a war that was over. They hadn’t even been taught about the basics of sex and anatomy until as a cadet, Tech managed to dig up information on the first data pad he’d made. The thought of being with someone felt like a cruel joke and yet in your presence and now that the Empire was behind him, he felt like maybe it wasn’t a joke after all.

“What about you?” you asked. “I thought you had a thing for one of the fishers.”

“Just because I lifted crates for her once doesn’t meant anything. I was being nice, if you can believe it.”

“Ah.”

Crosshair ate another bite from his noodle bowl and then ventured another question.

“What does partnership mean to you?”

You looked at him with surprise and answered after some contemplation. It was having an equal. Someone to help and be helped by. Sharing struggles. Lifting each other up. Fixing the house. Doing chores. Staying in bed late whenever work could wait. Listening to the rain together. You wanted stability. You wanted to not be alone. You wanted to be loved and to love and you weren’t going to settle for someone who couldn’t do their part.

“And getting laid now and again wouldn’t hurt either,” you added.

He grinned at that.

“And what about you?” you asked, returning to seriousness.

“I only recently started thinking about it,” he answered. “It sounds like something I never thought I’d have.”  He took a sip of his drink and then added, “But I would like to try.”

Part 2

Crosshair loved to steal kisses. The single peck you left on his cheek after your second date gave him all kinds of flutters. Maybe it was the sniper in him, but he loved pulling you away into the shadows even just to kiss the crown of your head. He was used to being out of sight. It’s where he felt safest and so it stood to reason that he felt safest having you all to himself and tucked away in a corner, on a balcony, or - at one point - up a tree. It wasn’t surprising that he was good with his mouth. His oral fixation was not limited to the toothpicks he routinely rolled between his lips.

For his part, Crosshair loved having someone he could make smile and laugh. He was still his dry, snarky self, but he smiled much more often, sometimes picking you up when he’d visit after a day’s work, just so he could hold you as close as possible. He could feel your heartbeat. He could feel you breathing. He could feel your happiness and it fueled his own.

Then one morning some weeks later you just happened to be ready to walk to the beach.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I thought I would come swim with you.”

“I swim alone,” he answered, guard coming back up.

“No, you don’t. Batcher is always with you,” you retorted; feeling brave and a nervousness at the fear you had overstepped.

“She’s different,” he countered.

“Can I join you anyway?” you asked, now more unsure.

“Just today.”

You walked together in silence, but the curtain that had almost drawn between you started to lift. He was cautious and you were trying to figure this out. Once on the beach, he put a towel down and – with his back to you - took off his cybernetic hand. He swallowed harder than he wanted to and it was clear that was the source of his insecurity in this moment. Tech had made him that cybernetic, but losing his hand and now gaining a different one had changed him. He still had to take it off whenever possible before getting in the water to avoid salt affecting its functionality. Taking it off and putting it on was a reminder and he wasn’t sure he wanted to be seen like this by you.

Crosshair took a breath, walked to the edge of the water, and looked back at you just as waves splashed his ankles. You looked at him, then his stump, and then back up at him and smiled. You realized you loved him. Walking into the water next to each other, you both started swimming until you reached a spot that was familiar to him. He closed his eyes, face to the sun, and took some deep breaths while treading water. You laid back and started floating, waves moving you in a comforting lull. He kept close, still treading softly while meditating on his own thoughts; somehow able to reflect and find calm despite Batcher doggie paddling close by and trying to snag a fish. Every so often he reached out to you to keep you from drifting too far. You sat up in the water, fingers tracing down his right arm before coming to the end of his stump and kissing it. He pressed a kiss to your lips like his life depended on it.

After about an hour, you both had enough and made your way back to shore. You dried off and he put his hand back on, this time not hiding. Taking a step toward him, your fingers interlaced with his - both biological and cybernetic.  He leaned down to kiss you, briefly pulling you into his chest before Batcher charged up the beach trying to bark with a large fish half hanging out of her teeth.

He walked you home hand-in-hand.

Things progressed to the point that he was spending the night. It was a lot quieter than staying with his siblings. Although they were nice, Wrecker was always there to elbow him and make it awkward. Crosshair would rather come to your house and snuggle on the couch.

He never pushed for more than you were ready for since he preferred to take his time anyway. He was nervous to be intimate with you and was scared shitless to tell you that, but somehow your gentle spirit made it okay for him to say something when the time came. You brought up sex and he avoided eye contact for several moments until you caressed his cheek.

“It’s okay,” you said, kissing his temple. “There’s no hurry. We can take the time it takes.”

“I don’t want to ruin this,” he whispered. “I can’t mess this up.”

“Then we talk,” you replied. “Communicate. We can do whatever we both want.”

You wanted him left in no doubt as to how you felt. He was vulnerable and you knew it. Crosshair liked being competent. He liked control and knowing what he was doing. With this, he was so far away from experienced that he couldn’t even pretend.

“Tell me what you like,” you implored.

“I don’t know what all I like.” He managed to look into your curious eyes and relaxed a bit. “In war, there’s no time. I would simply get the job done as fast as possible and get back to work.”

“Well that’s no good here,” you answered. “We can take our time.”

“Maybe you show me something you like and we can start there,” he suggested.

As much as it was a challenge for him to let go of control, he trusted you and that night he discovered a lot more about himself.

Crosshair was game for helping you in more constructive ways too. While he’d never fixed a sink, Tech gave him some pointers and he spent the better part a day on yours. He got down and dirty and made sure the job was done right while you tried catching up on work for the job you were actually paid for. It wasn’t a fun day, but it was more help than you’d had in a long time. Maybe ever. The citizens of Pabu helped each other, but it was hard to ask for help after being hyper-independent for so long. Crosshair started taking note about things around the house that could use some attention before they got worse.  The more time you worked together, the more you found your strengths complimented each other and you fell into a familiar routine.

Part 3

It was another sunny day on Pabu and you were grateful for a day off work without anything looming in the distance. You enjoyed lunch with Crosshair at what was now your usual spot while Batcher sat at his feet and gobbled up the occasional snack offered by him. You sat next to each other and shared a smile as you finished your meal. Just out of the corner of your eye, your ex appeared.

“Hey,” he said, walking up to you and trying to analyze the situation. “You weren’t there when I landed.”

Crosshair’s arm instinctively wrapped around you as a sudden jolt shook your chest. The man in front of you represented the past. The man next to you was your future.

“I assumed you were fine,” you answered. “You said it was going well when we talked last.”

“I’m just used to seeing you right when I get in,” your ex said with a hint of disappointment.

“You’re seeing me now,” came your reply. “You know Crosshair?”

“I’m familiar,” your ex replied with a nod in your boyfriend’s direction. “Maybe we can get dinner. All of us, if you prefer. Catch up.”

You nodded and he left.

Crosshair pulled you closer and left a firm kiss on your temple.

“I don’t like him,” he growled while leaving money to cover the tab.

“Why?” You sipped the rest of your drink.  “He’s actually nice. He was just surprised to not see me.”

“I don’t like the thought of you waiting around for him and being heart broken. I don’t like you not getting what you need.”

You looked up at him and only found sincerity and concern on his face. Maybe some frustration, although you knew it wasn’t directed toward you.

“I’m not broken-hearted anymore,” you reassured. “I just want you.”

Crosshair stood up and pulled you up with him. You walked home and waited until you were alone to bring up the subject again. Crosshair was interested, but as he preferred not to be pushed for information, he also didn’t push you.

He lay back on the sofa and you curled up against him. The skies darkened outside as he traced circles on your back. The story of your past relationship came out of your mouth in a stream of consciousness. Crosshair listened and held you a little closer as you got more emotional. You described your hopes and wishes, the ways your life was different, how things fell apart, what happened since. You went quiet and a peaceful chorus of soft rain fell on the window above you. It was a relief to let go of the past.

After some time, Crosshair broke the silence.

“I want to give you what you need.”

“You do.” You looked up at him and kissed the back of his hand. “I love you and I want to give you what you need. And what you want.”

“I love you too,” he replied. He pulled you into a fiery kiss and mumbled something about being more comfortable in bed with you.

[mimikyusrealform]

physics problem

Spencer Reid x Reader.

Word Count: 1,127.

Notes: S2 Spencer Reid, my beloved. I'm not a Physics student, though technically I use a lot of it in my career.

The world liked to demonize an ambitious, career-oriented woman. You were extremely proud of your mom, who achieved her undergrad in Physics when you were eight, despite having to take a five-year break because you were born. But then, at seven-years-old, you hadn't particularly enjoyed when she made you watch her recorded lectures and take notes for her. The fact you were capable of writing down fairly comprehensible notes at that age was remarkable, but it left you with a distaste for physics that you didn't grow out of until you were twenty-six.

If that growth could be attributed to anything, or anyone, you would be hard-pressed to admit that it was, lamentably, because of Dr. Spencer Reid. The fact you had an embarrassingly juvenile crush on your unit's resident genius had nothing to do with it. Rather, you would begrudgingly say that his enthusiasm was contagious. Terminal.

And while you were almost always down to hear him rambling and you were never inclined to interrupt him, it was hardly efficient to be listening to him while you worked in last case's property inventory. Sue you, but you never quite learned how to multitask.

He didn't seem to get the memo, though, still chatting with you from his desk, which was conveniently next to yours. “... so from 0.01 to 200 seconds after the Big Bang, the first hydrogen nuclei begin to form. And then large, large clouds of hydrogen and helium gas start to form as well, and they contract under the force of gravity. As the clouds become smaller and smaller, the energy generated from the contraction creates enough kinetic energy to overcome—”

“—Coulomb repulsion,” you said absentmindedly as you continued working—laptop, Apple iBook G4, transferred to Evidence Locker 23B—before you noticed he stopped talking.

You looked up, a minute frown already pulling at your eyebrows. “What?” you asked him.

He blinked slowly, like a cat, observing you as if you were a newly discovered specimen. A new earthworm specimen, no less. Unflattering.

“Uh, nothing,” he mumbled, shaking his head. “It's just... yeah, that's what I was about to say. Coulomb repulsion, I mean. The repulsive force between like-charges. But, uh, I knew that. I didn't know—I didn't know that you knew.”

Oh. That's right. You never showed any indication that you knew of what he was talking about when he rambled on physics, and physics specifically. You did like to share and exchange knowledge on Anthropology—your undergrad—with him, and sometimes about other areas of study you happened to be a bit cognizant on, but never about physics, the bane of your young existence. Furthermore, you actively acted as if you did not know anything related to physics. Half because you liked it when he showered you with such earnest little lectures, and half because you didn't quite want him to know you were decently knowledgeable in that field.

“Uhhh,” you said dumbly, elongating the syllable. “Lucky guess.”

It was his time to frown. “That was not a lucky guess,” he said. “You clearly know about this topic. But—you never showed it before. Why?”

He was acting as if this was a great offense, you realized. As if he was defending you from being underestimated. But he was defending you from yourself. You didn't acknowledge the irregular palpitations of your heart; it was too shameful. You were twenty-six, dammit.

“Look, Doctor,” too affectionately, you were addressing him too affectionately, “it's not a big issue. I just... I mean, it never came up, okay? I just happen to know a bit about Coulomb and whatnot. No big deal.”

“No big deal,” he echoed. “Right, no big deal. Sorry for overreacting.”

You relaxed back into your seat, offered him a smile, and returned to work on your report. Some time after that, he called your name. You made a vague humming sound.

“Hey,” he said from his desk. “I always forget.” That should have been the first red flag, but you were too distracted to notice. “After you overcome Coulomb repulsion, what's the only way for an atom to lose energy?”

You didn't have to think for that, it came naturally. “To fuse with another atom. During nuclear fusion, the energy released counteracts the inward pull of gravity.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding far too amused. “I see. Thanks.”

“You're—” Wait. “Wait.”

“The verb to wait comes from Norman French, ultimately deriving from Proto-Germanic: wahtwijaną,” he supplied unhelpfully, all happy-go-lucky from his desk as he ‘read’ through a file.

“You—motherfucker,” you whispered. “You trickster. You cheater.”

“Says the woman who plays the dirtiest game of Blackjack known to man,” he was quick to quip back. “I can confidently say that you're the filthiest cheat I've ever met.”

“Dr. Counting Cards can not be talking,” you countered defensively.

“Then I guess we're even.” He was smiling in that stupidly boyishly charming way.

“No, we're not. No, we're not.” Yes, they were. “Morgan still plays cards with me. The same can not be said about you.”

Too fondly, he said, “That's because he hasn't realized you cheat.” He paused. Then, he added, “Just like I didn't realize you knew so much about physics.”

You sighed, leaning back into her seat. “It's not your fault,” you told him. Firmly. “I purposefully acted that way, as if I didn't know.”

He hesitated, “Are you—are you embarrassed of knowing?”

You shook your head. You knew what he was thinking, and it pained you. “No, not at all. I'm the opposite of embarrassed, why would I? But... I guess I don't have fond memories of physics. My mom used to make me write notes for her lectures when she was busy with her night work, but I hated it, I only wanted to play with my dolls. She used to say it was the only thing she ever asked of me, that I shouldn't be such an ungrateful kid. I guess it stuck with me. It somehow killed the magic of learning physics for me for many years.”

He was silent for a moment, deep in thought. You bit the inside of your cheek. You wondered if he was gonna try to comfort you, say something motivational. While you weren't opposed to the idea, he must know you hated those kinds of talks. Especially considering the environment they were in.

Finally, he said, “For the record, being good at physics is like being good at the second most popular sport in the world.”

That pulled a smile at your lips. “You don't know what you're talking about, do you?”

He made a noncommittal noise. “Golf?”

You snorted, “Yeah, golf is the second most popular game in the world. If golf's the second, what's the first?”

“Chess, obviously,” he was smiling. You were, too.

“Obviously.”

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Unspoken Attraction CL16

Sorry for the delay on the new chapter, I was on holidays but now I'm back for the end of the story ! Here is the next chapter I hope you will enjoy it ! Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist :)

Warnings : none

Chapter 17 : Padel games

The sun was shining brightly as the small group made their way to the court, excitement in the air. The heat of the Monaco day was balanced by the gentle sea breeze that fluttered through the palm trees. Y/N, Charles, Pierre, Kika, Lando, and Max were ready for an afternoon of fun, and there was no better way to blow off some steam than a friendly game of padel. 

“Alright, who’s ready to lose?” Lando teased, swinging his padel racket playfully as he glanced around at the others. His eyes gleamed with mischief, but he had a competitive edge to him that everyone knew well. 

“You’re on, Norris!” Pierre grinned, his competitive streak coming to the surface. He had a reputation for being fiercely competitive, and padel was no exception. “I’m going to wipe that smile off your face.” 

Max gave a smirk from the side. “Let’s see who can actually hit the ball. You’ve been more interested in talking than playing lately, Lando.” 

“Are we playing or are we gossiping?” Charles asked, taking off his sunglasses and giving everyone a playful look. “Because I’m ready to dominate.” 

“You dominate, Charles?” Kika laughed. “You’ve never played a sport with all of us. I’m expecting you to get schooled.” She was obviously enjoying herself already, looking at Charles with teasing amusement. 

Charles raised an eyebrow, not one to back down from a challenge. “We’ll see about that.” 

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the banter among her friends. She had never been one to join in with such teasing before, but now, seeing everyone interact so freely, it felt so natural. Even Pierre was letting go of his usual intensity, laughing and joking with Lando as they prepared to play. 

They quickly divided into teams: Charles and Lando vs. Pierre and Max. Y/N, despite being competitive, decided to sit out this round, wanting to enjoy the fun but not wanting to get too caught up in the chaos. 

“Alright, I’ll be the official referee,” Y/N declared, standing to the side with a grin. 

“Good luck with that,” Pierre said with a chuckle, tossing her a bottle of water. “You’ll need it to keep track of Lando’s ‘questionable’ serves.” 

Lando shot Pierre a mock glare. “I’ll have you know, my serves are perfectly legal, thank you very much.” 

The game began, and the court quickly turned into a whirlwind of racket swings, laughter, and playful taunts. Pierre’s powerful shots often had the others scrambling, but Lando’s quick feet and Max’s precision put up a good fight. Charles was the wildcard, surprisingly nimble for someone used to the high-speed world of F1, making it hard to tell which team had the upper hand. 

As the game progressed, there were plenty of funny moments: Lando accidentally hitting himself in the face with his racket, Pierre trying to show off by doing a high jump to smash the ball and nearly landing on his back, and Max making an exaggerated dramatic dive that ended with him face-planting into the sand. Kika, ever the observer, was laughing along with Y/N, commenting on the chaos around them. 

After a particularly hilarious round in which Pierre tripped over his own feet trying to reach a fast-moving ball, the game paused for a break. Everyone was out of breath and still laughing, leaning against the fence of the court to catch their breath. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll admit it, Charles is pretty good at this,” Pierre said, still panting. “I’ll give him that.” 

Charles laughed, looking pleased with himself. “I told you! Who says I’m only good at racing?” 

“I think the key is just not trying too hard,” Max quipped, wiping his forehead. “Look at me — I’ve barely moved.” 

“Yeah, that’s obvious,” Lando replied with a grin. “I’m surprised you’re still standing after that dive you did earlier.” 

“Not my fault!” Max laughed. “I was going for the ball, and the ball just wasn’t cooperating.” 

Y/N chuckled, enjoying the light-hearted atmosphere. She turned to Kika, who was standing beside her, grinning. “This is so much fun,” she said. 

Kika nodded. “Definitely. You’re fitting right in with this group.” 

Y/N smiled, her heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. But as the laughter died down and the group readied themselves to get back into the game, her mind shifted, and she realized there was something she needed to do — something important that had been on her mind for a while. 

After a few more rounds, she found herself pulling Pierre aside, away from the others. They walked a little way away from the court, the sound of their footsteps echoing in the quiet. Y/N could feel the weight of her words pressing on her, and she could see the familiar protective glint in Pierre’s eyes. 

“I need to talk to you, Pierre,” Y/N began, her voice more serious than it had been all afternoon. 

Pierre turned to her, immediately sensing the change in her tone. “Of course, what’s going on?” 

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to gather her thoughts. “I understand why you’re so protective of me. You’ve always been that way — you’re my big brother after all. And I know you only want what’s best for me.” She paused, watching him carefully. “But I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m capable of taking care of myself.” 

Pierre frowned, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. “I know you’re not a child, Y/N, but I just want to make sure you’re not getting hurt. I care about you too much to let anything happen.” 

“I know, Pierre,” Y/N said softly. “And I appreciate it, really. But this is something I’ve thought about a lot. I’m not just talking about being in a relationship with Charles. I mean… about everything. I’m growing up, and I want to make my own choices. I want you to trust me.” 

Pierre hesitated, clearly grappling with the idea of letting go of his constant need to protect her. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’ve seen how people can be... especially in this world.” 

Y/N nodded. “I’ve seen it. But I’m not blind, Pierre. I know who Charles is, and I know how he feels about me. I feel it too. I don’t want to hide anymore. I want our relationship to be real, to be official. I want to be with him.” 

Pierre looked at her, searching her face for any signs of doubt. For a long moment, there was silence, broken only by the sounds of the other group members still playing on the court. Finally, Pierre sighed, his shoulders dropping in resignation. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N,” he said quietly. “But... I can see how much you care about him. And I know Charles. He’s not like the others. If you’re sure about this, then… I’ll support you. I just want you to be happy.” 

Y/N’s eyes softened, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Thank you, Pierre. That means the world to me.” 

Pierre gave a small smile, though there was still some uncertainty in his eyes. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. Always.” 

“I know,” she said, her voice full of warmth. “And I’ll always be here for you, too.” 

They stood there for a moment, taking in the conversation, the bond between them strengthened by the honest exchange. The protective older brother had given his blessing — slowly but surely, they were moving forward. 

When they returned to the group, the atmosphere felt lighter, the tension that had hung between Pierre and Charles no longer as heavy. Y/N felt relieved, ready to fully embrace the relationship she wanted with Charles, knowing that her brother, while still protective, was starting to accept it. 

As they resumed the game, Pierre clapped Charles on the back with a grin. “Alright, man. Let’s see if you can keep up now.” 

Charles raised an eyebrow but smiled. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Laughter filled the air once more, but this time, Y/N felt a sense of peace settle in her heart. She was no longer caught in the middle. She had taken the step toward the future she wanted, and the people who mattered most to her were beginning to understand. 

And as the game went on, it was clear: everything was falling into place. 

Taglist : @linnygirl09, @prttylight, @itsblowssoms, @leila-030304

[elwenyere]

I would like to see who you stuck in an old guard au 👀

Thank you for the ask, Serie!!! Titles are from this list. I hope you enjoy the always-unfinished-but-much-beloved Old Guard AU (MCU, eventual Sambucky, canon-typical deaths and undeaths):

*****

The first time Sam Wilson died, he had the theme song from The Golden Girls stuck in his head.

Riley had been singing it into his combat boot while they suited up for the last mission: everyone had their own ways of channeling the pre-flight adrenaline, and Riley’s sounded like two cats going at it in an alley. Sam had rolled his eyes and chucked a towel at him at the time, but then sure enough, the fucking tune had been playing on a loop in his mind all the way from Kandahar. 

He couldn’t say for sure whether that had anything to do with his lapse in attention as they flew over a low stone wall just east of Belal. Much later, his mind would play tricks on him, adding to his nightmares a blur of movement and a flash like moonlight reflecting off metal. Had he seen it at the time and failed to register what it meant? Could there have been a moment - a split-second when a different choice might have saved their lives? Sam turned the question over and over, but no answer could ever be as final as what had happened: in the instant when it mattered, he hadn’t done shit. He’d flown them both straight into the path of the RPG.

That was the first time: a jagged line of fire tearing through his tissue as the combined voices of his dead wingman and Cynthia Fee thanked him for being a friend. 

But even when Sam woke up hours later, thrashing at the canvas sheet covering his face and causing the unit’s medic to leap backward with a choked-off curse, it would still be a full day - twenty-four hours of medical tests and conversations with increasingly concerned military superiors - before the other half of the truth sunk in. That he was alive again meant he was going to die again.

And again and again, according to the man who was sitting in front of him now. 

The dude looked exhausted - and this wasn’t Sam’s first tour, so he knew from exhausted. He’d been cussed at and screamed over by some of the most worn-out motherfuckers in the U.S. Army, but the guy sitting in front of him - all 200 pounds of muscle, thick beard, and furrowed brow - looked tired on a level that strained Sam’ ability to render in language. Bone-tired, his mind tried, and then he had to suppress a shudder as the sensation of fire and metal ripped through his insides again.

“I’m just not tracking with what you’re saying, man,” Sam said out loud, dropping the chain-of-command honorifics, because what the fuck. His best friend was in a body bag, and here he was, with a guard outside the door and not a scratch on his face, so he was pretty sure he couldn’t dig himself much deeper in shit than he already was. “You’re saying I actually died?”

“I know it’s a lot,” the man said. “And you’re in shock.”

Great fucking guess, Sam thought to himself. No shortage of goddamn expert medical opinions around here today. 

But even he wasn’t quite reckless enough to voice that observation where it could be used against him in a discharge hearing, so instead he asked,

“What did you say your name and rank were again?” And then, just belated enough to be pointed, “Sir?”

He expected a rebuke, or at least a scowl, but instead a small smile crept across the man’s face, sloughing off almost a decade of age as it grew.

“I didn’t,” he replied. “And I won’t: not here. My associates and I are going to take you somewhere safe, where we can explain the situation more fully. You’ll be safe with us.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening,” Sam said calmly. “People are already pretty tense here, and I’m going to have enough to explain to my sister without going AWOL on top of it. You come back here with a signed order from my CO, and I’m at your service. Until then, I’m sitting right here.”

The smile on the man’s face turned a little sadder.

“My associates said you’d make me do this the hard way,” he said. And Sam barely had time to realize the man was moving for his gun before a sharp pain cracked through his skull and the whole tent went dark.

–

A hundred years passed before the next impression, or after it - a strip of rusted wire around his windpipe, a blade opening her curled muscle at the seam - and then thousands - the shield’s edge a red welt across his nape as he walked for leagues in the blistering sand - and then there was nothing but pain - white-hot, licking raw, split lashes through his nerves as his shoulder shredded and he burned from the inside, again and again and again.

When thoughts returned, they returned wrong, like someone else was having them too.

“Did you really have to go for the head, Rogers?” a woman’s voice was saying - familiar as the woozy wash of a concussion. “He’s taking an awfully long nap.”

“I forget how long it takes to come back when you’re new,” the man from the tent replied, sounding old and tired and only mildly apologetic for someone who’d shot Sam in the head.

And wait: something about that was definitely wrong.

Sam hurtled upward, breath punching through his lungs, and by the time he’d gotten his fists between himself and his captors, he recognized them all: the man and woman who’d fought each other to the death in a burnt-out building in Berlin, the ancient motherfucker who’d killed thousands before killing Sam. But something was wrong, still. Something was missing.

“Hey, pal,” the blonde man who’d been garroted was saying. “We’re here to help -”

“Where’s the other one?” Sam demanded. “Where’s the guy in the chair?”

All three of them tensed: a shift like the air convulsing inward toward the split shell of an IED. The man they’d called Rogers staggered, just slightly, as if he’d been caught in the blast.

“The guy in the chair,” the woman repeated. “You saw him?”

“I felt him,” Sam corrected. “I felt him screaming. I felt him dying. Where is he?”

The woman looked at the man who’d killed her - whom she’d killed - and he shook his head, his lips forming a quiet fuck. Then she looked over at Rogers, the briefest flash of pain crumpling her expression before she smoothed her features back into their deadly, porcelain calm.

“He was taken,” she said. “We don’t know where. We looked -”

“I lost him.” Rogers’ voice was heavier than ever, and Sam could hear the break in it now: the split bone in his center, ossified around a hole. “They were looking for me. They found him first.”

“Who is he?” Sam asked, because he could still see through the captured man’s eyes, still feel the captured man staring through his. I know him, he thought, and it echoed back from the dream: the man in the chair screaming as the missile split Sam’s chest into shards, I know him, I know him.

Rogers gave him another sad smile.

“His name’s Bucky,” he said. “And he’s immortal, like you.”

[thevoidstaredback]

Danny couldn’t tell you when he joined the team. The first time he’d met Zatanna, she’d invited him to join the Justice League Dark. He’d denied, but had decided to stick around anyway. Then, somewhere along the line, Constantine had given him a JL communicator and that had been that. There was no initiation, no paperwork, and no official title given. One day, Phantom just showed up.

The Justice League, according to Raven who heard from Red Robin who was told by Nightwing who’d been in the room when Batman had found out, had had a bit to say about not going through the official process.

Phantom still wasn’t an actual member of either team, but he wasn’t upset about that. Sure, he didn’t get any of the perks that everyone else did, but he wasn’t the slightest bit upset about that.

As far as legalities and technicalities were concerned, Phantom wasn’t a part of the Justice League Dark. So why, pray tell, was he in a meeting between the JL and the JLD? Again?

The threat was an unknown being of supernatural origin. At least, that’s what he’d been told. Deadman had contacted him half way through the meeting to tell him that they’d probably need his expertise on this matter. Which, Danny would like to point out, was a very niche area. But, Deadman is one of his team - whenever that had happened - as well as one of his people. He was inclined to believe him.

Turns out that showing up to that meeting when called was a good idea. It was a larger scale than when he’d first dealt with something like it, but he knew this particular pattern anywhere.

As King, the Infinite Realms fed him information about where his people were and what they were doing. If they were in one of the infinite realms, if they were in the in between they all called home. She even let him know when someone joined or rejoined their chosen afterlife, seeing as the Realm Between was first and foremost an Afterlife. What She told him most, though, is where Concepts and Gods were and what they were going. The Observants were supposed to keep track of everything, especially because he was dealing with Living business, but they were doing a horrible job.

“Comas.” Superman was explaining, “We don’t know the cause, and none of the people have anything obvious in common.”

“So we need to find the source and take care of it, yeah?” Constantine said. Superman nodded. The Brit turned to Phantom. “So, Phantom, you recognise this?”

Phantom sighed tiredly. He so needs a pay raise for this. “Yeah, I do.”

The heroes in the room straightened up. Deadman smiled, “See? I told you we’d need ya here!”

“Shut up, man, I was having a good break,” he whined. “Besides, I’m not even a part of either team.”

“No,” Zatanna nodded, “But you agreed to be a consultant for the JLD. Now do your job; consult.”

Groaning again, Phantom let his head fall to the table. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll go take care of it.” He stood, “C’mon, Deadman.”

“Me? Why?”

“Because I want ice cream after I’m done and I’m gonna make you buy it.”

“I’m dead!”

“And? So am I.”

“I-”

“Just go with him, Deadman. Unless you’d rather be stuck in the House?”

It was Deadman’s turn to sigh. “Yeah, fine, alright.”

“I told you I’m a younger sibling, right?”

“Gasp! No. My own King? The betrayal!”

***

Phantom thought he and Nocturn were on pretty good terms. The king of Dreams had been pretty chill since they’d first fought, never really stepping on any toes, but he just had to go pull shit like this!

Well, Phantom wanted to be mad at Nocturn. However, this wasn’t the king of Dreams’ fault. In fact, this wasn’t even the fault of any of his people! It looked like the work of a Realms Being, but closer inspection proved it to be a really good fake out.

“This isn’t Nocturn.” he said to Deadman, “This isn’t anything I’ve seen before.”

“So, it’s just a really good fake?” the ghost asked.

Phantom nodded. “Yeah. Sorry for doubting you, Nocturn.” There was no response, but he didn’t expect one. He knew the ghost heard, however.

“So, what do we do now?”

“We should probably report back and get a bigger team on this.”

“You’re going to willingly work with the teams?”

“I do anyway.”

“Fair.”

“C’mon, let’s go get ice cream and call Mister Battison.”

“I still can’t believe you don’t call him ‘Batman’. Have you called him that to his face yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Are you ever going to?”

“Maybe.”

As it turns out, being dead does, in fact, prevent you from buying ice cream. So, Phantom had to go as Danny to get ice cream for himself while Deadman contacted the Justice League. Can he call discrimination? Too much paperwork.

Someone has a huge pair of balls to copy Nocturn and blame him. How, was the question. How did they know how Nocturn operated? Was the copy on purpose, or was it a complete accident? How were they knocking these people out? How were they doing it on such a large scale? Was it one person? Was it an organization? Was it actually supernatural? He knew for a fact that it wasn’t the Realms or Her people, but that’s all he knew.

Half the job is detective work, which is why the Justice League operates as a team. The Justice League Dark keeps their information close to their chest, working with what they know because they already know everything they need to about the cases they work on. And if they don’t know something, the JL has someone find out for them while the JLD figures it out as they go along.

Danny’s never been good at investigative work. When he was a kid, all his heroing was punching the problem until it went away. And if that didn’t work, he got back up and punched harder. Sam, Tucker, Jazz, and Valerie had always been so much better at the whole ‘gathering information’ aspect.

He worked well with a team, but he liked to work alone.

“Constainte,” he said as soon as the man answered his phone, “It’s not sourced from the Realms.”

“Hello to you, too, mate,” the magic user grumbled, “Deadman just finished telling the League. You enjoy your ice cream?”

“Would’ve been better if I didn’t have to buy it,” he muttered. “Are we sure this is a supernatural problem? It looks like Nocturne's work, but it’s got ‘human made’ written all over it.”

“Batman’s been looking into it with his team, minus Red Robin. He assures that it’s magical.”

“Well that limits exactly nothing. I can head to the Realms and see if She can tell me anything, but I doubt it. Maybe try asking the City Spirits?”

“Not every city has a spirit, Phantom.”

“No, but they all have graveyards. Try the protection spirits in the cities of the victims. Maybe even try seeing if the hospitals they’re staying at are haunted.”

“And talk to Hospital Ghosts? No thanks.”

“They’re not that bad.”

“You only say that because you’ve never had to deal with a pissed off Hospital Spirit.”

“Don’t piss off the Hospital Spirits and you’ll be fine!”

“Easier said than done, kid.”

“Send Z if you’re really that nervous about it.”

“She’s even less likely to.”

“Then go with Nightwing.”

“You’d trust a Bat to talk to a Hospital Spirit?”

“I trust Nightwing to talk to a Hospital Spirit. And a Graveyard Spirit. Besides, isn’t one of the victims from Bludhaven?”

A sigh. “What’d he do to get your trust so easily?”

“He’s just a little guy, Connie!”

“He’s a grown ass man. And don’t call me Connie!”

“Exactly!” Phantom’s grin was audible. “He’s just a guy!” His energy dropped a bit. “Seriously, though, take Nightwing and talk to some Graveyard and Hospital Spirits. Also see if Lady Gotham can help out. I’ll go see what the Infinite Realms can tell me.”

“Alright. You’ll be back for dinner?”

“If you’re buying.”

Part 14 Part 16

[wonderlanddreamer]

Chapter 7: Florence is dealt a crushing setback by her editor, leaving her reeling. In the midst of her turmoil, she encounters a mysterious stranger who presents her with an intriguing proposition. This unexpected offer puts Florence's loyalties to the test.

Masterlist here.

“I can't publish this article, Florence,” Mr. Thompson said, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and determination. The dim light from the single, dusty window cast long shadows across the cluttered office, accentuating the creases in his tired face. There was no room for negotiation; his decision was final.

Florence looked at her editor in disbelief, her meticulously crafted piece lying neglected on the edge of his desk like a discarded relic. The air was thick with the smell of ink and old paper, a testament to the many stories that had passed through this room. “Why on earth not?” she demanded, frustration evident in her voice.

Mr. Thompson sighed, spreading his hands in a gesture that suggested she had asked an obvious question. The sound of typewriters clacking in the distance filled the silence. “Where do I begin?” he said, his tone hinting at the gravity of the situation. “You've already attracted the attention of the Peaky Blinders and narrowly escaped a confrontation with Billy Kimber. If we publish this, we'll have not one, but two dangerous gangs targeting the Gazette. It's simply not worth the risk, Florence. Even for a story as compelling as yours."

Florence’s frustration turned to simmering resolve as she leaned forward, her eyes locking onto Mr. Thompson’s. Her heart pounded like a war drum, each beat echoing her determination. “But this story matters. People have the right to know what’s really happening in their city. We can’t just back down because of fear!"

The older man shook his head, though his expression softened. He recalled his own youthful zeal, once as fiery as hers. “I understand your passion, Florence, truly. And I admire it. But our first responsibility is to keep our people safe. There’s a fine line between courageous reporting and reckless endangerment."

Florence’s eyes blazed with defiance as she leaned forward. “So, we just let them scare us into silence? Is that what journalism has come to? Avoiding the truth because it’s inconvenient or dangerous?"

Mr. Thompson sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair, “It’s not about letting them win, Florence. It’s about choosing our battles wisely. We can’t fight every fight, especially when the stakes are so high. Our lives are not expendable."

“But what about integrity?” Florence countered, her voice steady but impassioned. Her hands trembled slightly, betraying the storm of emotions within her. “What about standing up for what’s right, even when it’s hard? We have a duty to report the truth, not just the parts that keep us comfortable!"

“Florence,” Mr. Thompson began gently, hesitating as he observed the fierce determination in her eyes. He knew her too well—her passion, her drive, and her unwavering commitment to her work. Convincing her to see reason was a futile endeavor at that moment

“I want you to take the rest of the day off, maybe even a couple of days,” he continued, his voice soft but firm, hoping to offer her respite. “You push yourself too hard, Florence. You need a break to clear your head and recharge."

Florence recoiled as if struck, disbelief etched across her face. A deep frown creased her features, and she shook her head, incredulous. “You can’t be serious?” she exclaimed, her voice tinged with a mix of anger and hurt.

Without giving him a chance to respond, she turned sharply on her heel, her footsteps echoing with resolve as she stormed out of his office. As she reached for the door, she hesitated for a brief moment, her eyes flicking back to the crumpled article on his desk before she turned and left without looking back.

As Florence stepped out of the Gazette's building, the cool Birmingham air enveloped her, a brisk reminder of the world outside the confines of the newsroom. The city was alive with activity, the rhythmic clop of horse hooves echoing against cobblestones. Yet, amidst this cacophony, Florence felt isolated, her mind a maelstrom of thoughts swirling around the tense conversation with Mr. Thompson.

The streets were teeming with people, their faces a blur as she navigated through the crowd, her focus turned inward. She was so engrossed in her own world that she nearly missed the figure that detached itself from the shadowed facade of a nearby building, seamlessly slipping into stride beside her.

“Miss Fletcher, might I trouble ye for a word?” The voice was smooth, with a slight lilt, and as she turned, Florence found herself looking into the eyes of a man she didn’t recognize. He was dressed impeccably, his polished demeanor and sharp gaze immediately marking him as someone of authority, someone who commanded attention and respect.

“Do I know you?” Florence asked, her tone cautious, her pace unwavering as she continued to move, unwilling to let this stranger disrupt her stride or her thoughts.

“Inspector Campbell,” he introduced himself with a slight nod, effortlessly matching her brisk pace. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you and your tenacity for uncovering the truth.”

There was something unsettling about his presence, a ripple of unease coursing through her. Florence’s instincts, honed by years on the street and navigating the precarious terrains of journalism, prickled with alertness. “And what business does an Inspector have with me?” she inquired, her voice a blend of curiosity and caution.

“I understand you’ve had some trouble with the Peaky Blinders,” Campbell said, his voice light yet carrying an unsettling confidence that belied the seriousness of his words. “But I'd like to assure you, they won’t be a problem by the end of the day. Not for you or anyone else.”

Florence’s curiosity was piqued despite her reservations. The Shelby brothers were notorious, their influence sprawling across Birmingham like an intricate web. “How can you be so sure of that?” she asked, skepticism woven into her words as she scrutinized his expression, searching for hidden motives.

Campbell chuckled, a sound that felt more calculated than genuine, lacking warmth. As they continued walking, his voice took on a more ominous tone, each word deliberate and measured. "Let's just say that Billy Kimber's men are on their way to Birmingham with a very specific task in mind. The Shelbys may find themselves... otherwise engaged," he stated, his tone laced with a chilling certainty that sent a shiver down her spine. The implications of his words were vast and dangerous, and Florence fought to keep her expression neutral, her mind racing with the possibilities and dangers he suggested.

“And why share this with me, Inspector?” she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within, each word chosen with care and delivered with ease.

He stopped and turned to face her, his smile unwavering, yet there was a predatory glint in his gaze that set her on edge. “Because I need someone with your talents, Miss Fletcher. You have a knack for uncovering truths, and I could use someone like you. In return for your cooperation, I can offer you exclusive rights to what could be the most significant story of your career,”

Florence narrowed her eyes, suspicion etched across her features, her mind a whirlwind of questions and doubts. “What kind of favor are we talking about?”

“Nothing too onerous,” Campbell assured, his tone deceptively light, yet underscored with a seriousness that was hard to ignore. “Just a little information, strategically shared. Trust me, it could be mutually beneficial. And consider the potential impact such a story could have—not just for you, but for all of Birmingham.”

His words carried an implicit threat, a warning that choosing the wrong side could have dire consequences. Her journalistic instincts clashed with the need to tread carefully in a world where alliances were as fleeting as shadows.

As Campbell turned and walked away, his proposal hung heavily in the air, a specter of danger wrapped in the guise of opportunity. Florence remained rooted to the spot, her thoughts a tangled web of conflicting emotions. Trusting Campbell was out of the question; his offer wasn't just suspicious, it was a potential pitfall into a world of deceit and danger. The allure of an exclusive story, one that could catapult her career to new heights, was undeniable, yet it paled in comparison to the risks that loomed large in the shadows of Campbell's proposal. The city of Birmingham was a complex tapestry of power and influence, with threads woven by those who operated in the dimly lit corridors of control. Florence was acutely aware of the precarious position she found herself in—a pawn on a chessboard where the stakes were life and death.

As she resumed her walk home, Florence felt the pull of her journalistic integrity clashing with a burgeoning sense of loyalty. Her thoughts drifted inexorably to John Shelby, a man whose path had crossed hers in unexpected ways. Despite the tension that simmered between her and the Shelby family, Florence couldn't erase the memory of John's unexpected intervention during her perilous encounter with Billy Kimber. It was a moment that Campbell knew nothing about, a moment etched in her memory as a reminder of an reluctant ally in a city riddled with danger.

The thought of warning John weighed heavily on her conscience. He had come to her aid when she needed it, and now, armed with information that hinted at imminent peril for the Shelbys, she found herself at a crossroads. Could she, in good conscience, stand by idly when she had the chance to repay a debt of gratitude?

Florence's steps slowed as she contemplated the enormity of her decision. Her journalistic instincts urged her to remain impartial, to let the chips fall where they may. Yet, a deeper, more personal conviction tugged at her heartstrings.

Florence navigated through the bustling throng of Small Heath with fierce determination, her destination firmly set in her mind—the notorious Shelby family’s betting shop. The air was thick with the lively chatter of market vendors and the clatter of horse-drawn carriages, but her focus remained unwavering. Her last encounter with John Shelby had left a lingering tension between them, a storm of unresolved words and emotions. Yet, the urgency of her message eclipsed any personal grievances. She had to warn him, regardless of their past disagreements.

As she approached the betting shop, Florence’s eyes locked onto John, his familiar figure commanding attention amidst his men. He stood with an air of effortless authority, his presence a magnet for respect and obedience. Engaged in conversation, his voice carried a steady rhythm, issuing instructions with the confidence of a man accustomed to being in charge.

“John,” Florence called out, her voice cutting through the afternoon's clamor like a sharp blade. The sound of her voice drew his attention immediately, surprise flickering across his features before settling into a wary scowl.

“Florence,” he acknowledged, his tone clipped, carrying the weight of their past argument. “What brings you to the den of thugs, eh? In case you can't see, we're a bit too busy for a big fuckin’ interview.”

Florence stood her ground, her gaze unwavering as she met his eyes. “Busy? This business wouldn't have anything to do with Billy Kimber, would it?” she asked, her words direct, striking a nerve that halted him mid-thought. She watched as a shadow of unease flitted across his eyes, a fleeting crack in his otherwise resolute facade.

“Who'd you pay for that lil tip off, eh?” John retorted, his voice gruff, straining to maintain his composure, though Florence could sense the tension coiling beneath his words.

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a more urgent tone. “Billy Kimber is on his way to Birmingham, John.”

John scrutinized her, suspicion and curiosity mingling in his gaze. “And why should I give a fuck about what you gotta say?” he challenged, his accent thick, eyes narrowed with skepticism.

Florence remained unfazed, her expression steadfast. “It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not. I’ve told you what I came here to tell you. What you do with that information is up to you.”

With a swift turn on her heel, Florence departed, each step purposeful and unyielding. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows that stretched across the cobblestones, creating a tapestry of light and dark beneath her feet. As she walked away, the bustling sounds of Small Heath seemed to fade into the background, leaving an echoing silence in her wake.

Behind her, John stood motionless, his gaze fixed on her retreating figure, the weight of her words settling heavily upon him. The warmth of the sun contrasted sharply with the cold knot of uncertainty twisting in his gut. As the daylight waned, John knew what he had to do. The urgency of the situation propelled him into action, and with a determined stride, he set off to find Tommy.

Chapter 6 • Chapter 8 [Coming Soon]

[jenanigans1207]

1/2/25: Echo

The walls of the cave are cold and distinctly wet as they press against Dean’s back, the moisture seeping between his shoulder blades. He’d care a whole hell of a lot more if he wasn’t struggling to breathe, a hand pressed firmly to his side. In the distance there’s the smoldering embers from a monster that didn’t stand a chance, and in between there’s Castiel, his blue eyes bright as he crosses the distance between them swiftly. 

“You’re hurt.” Cas said as he reached Dean’s side. It wasn’t a question, not really even a statement, more of an observation and a plan for what came next. 

Without another word, his hand reached for Dean, pressing gently above the wound in his side. It wasn’t even the length of a heartbeat before Dean felt the cool wash of familiar and comforting grace flow through him, relieving his pain and giving him back his breath. 

Which lasted for all of two seconds before he glanced up, meeting Cas’s gaze and feeling the breath leave his lungs again before he can even get out a proper thanks. Dean would like to blame it on the gentle glow from the fire making Cas look every bit as ethereal as he actually was, but he knew better than that, The truth was that Cas was beautiful all the time and it was getting harder and harder for Dean to face it without blurting out something incredibly stupid and completely damning. And in this moment, he was in just enough pain to think that he might not actually give a damn about the consequences or the echo of a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like John Winchester.

“You need to be more careful,” Cas says as the feeling of grace recedes, but the warmth of his hand remains as a steady brand on Dean’s side. It takes Dean a moment to notice that Cas’s thumb is tracing a gentle pattern just above his hip bone. “Dean, your life is incredibly precious so please don’t risk it so easily.”

Dean clears his throat as the pain disappears with the grace and his common sense comes back, swelling in the back of his throat and trying to kick him in the teeth. “Right.” He says, glancing over Cas’s shoulder. “Righteous Man and all that.”

“Dean.” Cas says, and Dean had started to notice that Cas said his name in a way that was almost reverent. It was somewhere around the time Cas rebelled that he stopped saying Dean’s name like Dean was his charge and started saying it like he was his friend, like he was— Dean feels a lump forming in his throat. “While it is true that you are the Righteous Man and have completed many incredible things, that is not where my concern comes from. Your life is incredibly precious to me, and I will not have you risking it.”

Cas’s hand is still on Dean’s side, Dean’s head is swimming, and Cas’s words sound just one step to the left of the words that Dean finds himself spending damn near every waking moment trying to swallow down nowadays. He tries to quell the hope in his heart as he looks back up again. But Cas’s gaze is as unwavering as ever, blue burning straight through to his core and pinning Dean into place.

And he doesn’t ask what Cas means— not because he doesn’t want to know, not because he’s afraid to find out, but because he can see it right there in Cas’s eyes. He can see every feeling he tries to tamp down reflected back at him, can see every unspoken word swirling just under the surface. And he’s left with the same two choices he’s been left with since the day he met Cas: confront whatever the hell this is head on, or make some gruff dismissal and extricate himself from the situation. Cas won’t push, he never does. He will let Dean pretend that he didn’t see the red string tying the two of them together, he will never speak of it again if Dean doesn’t.

Dean hears that echo of John Winchester in the back of his mind again.

But all John Winchester ever taught Dean was how to fight, not how to live. And goddamn is Dean sick of fighting. 

He takes in a breath, holds it for the count of three, and then he’s reaching across the space between them and grabbing fistfuls of that godawful trench coat that damned him the day it swept into his life in some barn in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. There’s a split second where Cas— Angel of the Lord, all powerful being— looks surprised and caught off guard, And Dean can’t move Cas if he doesn’t want to be moved, he knows that— he has experienced it more than one time— but Cas comes easily and willingly, yielding under Dean’s hands and putting up no resistance as Dean tugs him in until their chests are flush. 

“Dean…?” Cas asks quietly into the nearly nonexistent space between them when Dean hesitates. There’s no pressure, no assumption. 

Dean closes the gap between them and kisses Cas for all that he’s worth and then some. 

The hand on his hip turns into more of a solid grip as Cas responds easily, kissing Dean back in a way that should probably be surprising given his assumed lack of experience but Dean’s immediately far too distracted to put much thought into anything other than the feel of Cas’s hands and lips against him. It’s not some we-almost-died kiss, which Dean had honestly thought might be the only way he ever got up the guts to kiss Cas at all, but it’s something much better than that. 

And as Cas continues to kiss him, there’s only one thing that echoes in his brain, replacing the vile words of his father and reminding him that everything can be okay.

Good things do happen, Dean.

[justinefrischmanngf]

it is EMBARRASSING how much i lose my mind when people notice things about me

[zvdvdlvr]

imagine ur bd being out of the picture and your little girl running up to si ☹️🤍

   “Daddy!”

   Simon looked down, eyes wide at the little girl wrapped around his right leg. Johnny eyed him carefully. He was thankful none of the other café patrons paid any mind. “I’m not your daddy, love,” Simon said. He tugged his leg away gently but the strength of a child is hard to match.

     “Annalise, get off that man,” a woman cried. In the blink of an eye, she knelt near Simon’s leg and tugged the child away.

     “Dada!” She shrieked. Annalise’s chubby hands reached out for Simon’s. “Is dada, mama!”

     You shook your head. “I- I’m so sorry, sir. Her dad was in the military. Anna thinks everyone in fatigues is dada… Do you want me to get either of you a coffee to pay you back? I’m truly sorry.”

     Soap discreetly elbowed Simon harshly in the side. “‘M quite alrigh’ lass. Simon, here, would take a coffee if your serious. If you’ll excuse me, I got to go. Bye, little lassie,” the Scot rushed, face lightinf up at the way Annalise giggled as his parting.

     Annalise was still cooing and reaching for Simon. You just shifted her on your hip and rubbed her back. “Simon, yeah?”

     “That’s me, ma’am,” Simon nodded, feeling suddenly extremely exposed without the balaclava he had decided not to wear for one single occasion. “You don’t have to pay me back-“

     “Nonsense. I would feel like a bad person if I just let my kid latch herself onto your left and call you dad and then just swoop her up and leave,” you said, reaching for your wallet before walking over to the ordering counter. “What can I get you?”

     Simon ordered a small of his usual, watching you pull the money from your wallet without glancing at how much it costed. He observed you in that split second- a beautiful baby girl on your hip who thought any man in camo was her dad. So he had been in the service… Simon watched you smile kindly at the teen behind the counter who fumbled for your change. You murmured a quiet, “It’s quite alright, take your time.” A well-mannered, well put-together individual who was also very attractive. Simon knew what Johnny was doing when he left and Simon would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought you were a catch.

     “I seriously appreciate the coffee, ma’am, but it was unnecessary,” Simon said as you tucked your change back and waited for the drink. “As long as the kid’s alrigh’, I don’t need anything in return.”

     You smiled. You smiled at Simon and he swore his cold heart jumped in his chest. Clearly your bright smile disarmed Annalise as much as Simon because she let out a bubbly laugh and put her hands on your cheek. “What if I said I wanted to?” You asked coyly.

     Simon watched Annalise play with a baby hair near your face. “Then I’d say it’d be a cruel thing to tell a gorgeous woman no.”

[skrunksthatwunk]

playing dmc1 with my earbuds in (but on low volume bc they're being weird) while my roommate and her shitty bf argue. i feel like i'm recreating the very specific experience of some child of divorce out there

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[solxamber]

Pick Us!

In which you have to choose a club and it looks like everyone wants a piece of you.

Part 2 (Choosing a club)

You were minding your own business, dodging Grim's increasingly creative ways to get you to buy premium tuna, when Crowley swept in with his usual dramatic flair.

“Ah, my dear pupil!” he exclaimed, arms wide like a bad community theater actor. “To better immerse yourself in school life, you must join a club. It’s mandatory!”

Before you could protest or ask any clarifying questions, he disappeared in a swirl of his cape, leaving you standing there with nothing but Grim’s unsympathetic shrug.

Naturally, this information traveled faster than you could process it, because the next thing you knew, Ace was practically dragging you by the arm across campus.

The Basketball Club

“Alright, listen,” Ace began, spinning a basketball on one finger and grinning like he just invented the sport. “You’re obviously joining the basketball club. It’s the best. I’m here, Floyd’s here, and even Jamil’s here, so really, it’s a no-brainer.”

“Is that supposed to sell it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“Uh, yeah!” he said, tossing the ball toward you. It immediately bounced off your hands and hit the floor. Ace, undeterred, caught it mid-bounce and gave you a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you. I’m, like, super good at this. Just ask him!”

From across the gym, some poor guy—bless his heart—tried to nod in support, but you caught the nervous look he shot Ace instead.

“Okay, sure,” you said, “but isn’t this just an excuse for you to show off?”

“Maybe,” Ace said with zero shame, dribbling the ball dramatically before attempting a layup. The ball bounced off the rim and into Floyd’s waiting hands.

“Shrimpy!” Floyd called, tossing the ball behind his head without looking (and still somehow making the shot). “Join the club. It’ll be fuuuuun.”

You hesitated, because with Floyd, “fun” could mean literally anything. “Define fun,” you said cautiously.

“Simple! You, me, and Ace crushing people in games!” Floyd grinned, leaning closer to you. “And if anyone tries to mess with you, I’ll squish ‘em.”

Ace groaned. “Floyd, you can’t just threaten people into joining.”

“Why not?” Floyd asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it’s weird!”

“No, it’s effective,” Floyd countered, shooting you another toothy grin. “C’mon, Shrimpy, you’re already here. I’ll even let you call the plays. Or, you know, not. Whatever.”

“...You’re just bored, aren’t you?”

“Obviously,” Floyd admitted, leaning lazily against the wall. “But hey, if you join, I won’t let Ace hog the ball. Win-win, right?”

And then there was Jamil, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, observing the chaos with his usual exasperated expression.

“Are they done?” he asked, finally standing and walking over to you.

“I don’t think so,” you replied, watching as Floyd tried to steal the ball from Ace mid-dribble.

Jamil sighed. “Typical.” He glanced at you, his tone cool and measured. “Ignore them. They’re just trying to drag you into their antics.”

“Antics?” Floyd repeated, offended.

“Yeah, Jamil,” Ace added, narrowing his eyes. “What’re you implying?”

“I’m implying you’re both terrible at convincing people,” Jamil said smoothly. He turned back to you. “If you’re interested in joining the club, you’ll actually get something out of it. Physical exercise, teamwork, strategy. And if you stick around, I’ll make sure you’re not stuck with them during practice.”

“Hey!” Ace protested.

Floyd just laughed. “Jamil’s still salty about the last scrimmage.”

“Hardly,” Jamil said, arching an eyebrow. “I’m just pointing out that if you want to learn how to actually play, you’d be better off with me.”

You blinked. “Are you… offering to train me?”

He shrugged, but there was a faint smirk on his face. “If it means saving you from their nonsense, yes.”

All you can do is sigh and say "I'll think about it"

Track and Field Club

You barely made it out of the basketball club’s gym alive when Deuce grabbed your wrist like his life depended on it. His expression was that unique combination of earnest and panicked—classic Deuce.

“Wait, don’t decide yet!” he said, already dragging you down the corridor. “You haven’t even seen the track and field club! You might like it better!”

“Deuce,” you began, trying to keep up without tripping. “I haven’t even—”

“Just come on!”

Before you knew it, you were standing on the edge of the outdoor track, blinking in the sunlight as Deuce shoved you forward like he was presenting a prize to a panel of judges. Jack, in the middle of sprint drills, stopped mid-stride to look over at you. His tail flicked once, and he jogged over with that intimidating mix of focus and curiosity he always had.

“You’re trying to recruit them?” Jack asked, crossing his arms.

Deuce nodded, puffing out his chest like he was making the ultimate sales pitch. “Yeah! Track and field’s way better than basketball. No offense to those guys.”

“I take offense,” you muttered, but neither of them heard.

“Plus,” Deuce continued, “we’ve got variety. Running, jumping, throwing—you can do anything. It’s not just bouncing a ball around, you know?”

Jack nodded in agreement. “It’s good for discipline. Builds strength, endurance, and focus. If you want to improve yourself, this is the place to do it.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, glancing at the track. “And what if I… don’t exactly have focus?”

“That’s fine!” Deuce said, grinning brightly. “We’ll help you! Right, Jack?”

Jack nodded. “Of course. We’ll start with basic drills.” He gave you a once-over, sizing you up. “How’s your stamina?”

“Define… stamina,” you said cautiously, because you had a feeling your answer wasn’t going to impress him.

Jack’s ears twitched, and he leaned slightly closer. “How far can you run without stopping?”

“Uh,” you began, nervously shifting your weight. “To the fridge?”

Jack blinked. “...You’re joking, right?”

Deuce coughed loudly, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about that! Everyone starts somewhere, right? Besides, they’re here because they want to try something new.”

You stared at Deuce. “I don’t remember saying that.”

“Exactly!” he continued, ignoring you entirely. “Think of how awesome it’d be to have us training you! We’ll get you in the best shape of your life. Right, Jack?”

Jack, who was still mildly horrified by your fridge comment, hesitated. “...Sure.”

Deuce, now fully in salesman mode, gestured to the track like it was some sort of holy land. “And you don’t have to worry about teamwork stuff! You can focus on your personal goals and—”

“Unless you’re in a relay,” Jack interjected.

“Right, but relays are cool!” Deuce added quickly. “Like… team spirit, you know?”

You glanced between the two of them, taking in Jack’s intensity and Deuce’s enthusiasm. They were both staring at you with a mix of hope and determination, and honestly, it was kind of endearing.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “If I join, do I get to skip the first practice?”

“No,” Jack said immediately.

Deuce grinned sheepishly. “But we’ll go easy on you!”

“Jack doesn’t look like he believes that.”

Jack tilted his head, his tail swishing once. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I’m not sure I’ll survive later,” you muttered.

Deuce ignored that, clapping his hands together. “Great! I knew you’d love it here! C’mon, let’s give them a quick demo, Jack!”

Before you could protest, the two of them took off around the track, moving at speeds that made you feel dizzy just watching. Deuce kept glancing back to grin at you, while Jack stayed focused, every stride perfect.

You stood there, bewildered and vaguely impressed, wondering if joining any club was a good idea at all. Still, as Deuce stumbled back toward you, sweaty but grinning like a puppy who just fetched a stick, you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Think about it, okay?” he said, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “We’d love to have you here.”

Jack jogged up beside him, barely winded. “You’ll fit in if you put in the effort.”

“Yeah,” Deuce agreed, nodding earnestly. “So… what do you think?”

You hesitated, glancing at the track, then at them. “…I’ll get back to you.”

Deuce grinned like that was a victory, and Jack just nodded approvingly. As they walked back to their drills, you realized you had yet another club to consider—and these two weren’t going to make it any easier.

Board Game Club

Before you could make your escape—or even fully process the events of the day—your wrist was suddenly seized by Ortho, who zoomed in out of nowhere like a missile with a purpose.

“There you are!” Ortho exclaimed with unsettling cheer. His grip was surprisingly firm for someone who probably didn’t even need to touch you to move you. “Big Brother’s been waiting! Come on!”

“Wait—what? Ortho, where are we—”

“No time for questions!” And just like that, he lifted you into the air like you were a deranged package and he was some kind of express courier. You barely had time to flail before he rocketed off, delivering you with precision to the board game club's headquarters.

You landed with an unceremonious thud, right in front of Idia, who nearly fell out of his chair.

“Ortho!” Idia hissed, his flaming hair flaring. “You can’t just abduct people like that!”

“But you said you wanted them to join!” Ortho chirped. “Mission accomplished!”

Azul, seated calmly at the head of the table, adjusted his glasses and smirked. “Well, well. A delivery service—how efficient. Welcome to the board game club.”

You were still processing the fact that you’d been airmailed when Idia slouched lower in his seat, muttering, “Ugh, so embarrassing. Ortho, seriously…”

“Uh,” you began, brushing yourself off. “Hi?”

Azul gestured grandly to the table in front of him, where an array of meticulously organized board games was displayed like they were ancient treasures. “Here, we focus on strategy, intellect, and the fine art of outwitting your opponent. Unlike other clubs,” he said with a pointed glance at the door, “this one doesn’t require you to break a sweat.”

“That’s actually kind of appealing,” you admitted, still wary.

Idia perked up slightly, his hair flickering a little brighter. “See? I told you it’s cool. I mean, if you like, uh, not running around like some NPC.”

Ortho leaned over, nodding enthusiastically. “And Big Brother’s really good at this stuff! He’s undefeated in our club tournaments!”

“That’s because you’re the only other member who’s not a liability!” Idia blurted, before realizing what he’d just said. “Uh—I mean—you’d totally, like, be an asset. Probably.”

Azul cleared his throat, clearly annoyed at being excluded from the compliment. “Allow me to demonstrate. Why don’t we have a quick match? You against Idia.”

“What?” Idia sat up straight, his hair sparking nervously. “No way! That’s not fair—I can’t just—”

Azul gave him a smile sharp enough to cut glass. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of losing, Idia.”

Idia’s face turned pink. “Fine,” he grumbled, setting up the board. “But don’t blame me if I crush them.”

You sat down reluctantly, realizing too late that this was probably a trap. Idia’s fingers moved at lightning speed as he set up his pieces, muttering calculations under his breath. Ortho leaned over your shoulder, giving you completely useless advice like, “Just believe in yourself!”

To your surprise, you managed to hold your own for the first few turns. Idia glanced up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he were reevaluating your existence.

“Huh,” he murmured. “Not bad. For a newbie.”

“Is that a compliment?” you asked, moving your piece cautiously.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he said quickly, his face turning red again.

Azul chuckled from his spot at the table. “See? A game of wits and strategy. Isn’t this far superior to running laps or throwing balls into hoops?”

“Hey!” you said, pointing your game piece at him. “Don’t diss the other clubs. They’re passionate too!”

Azul raised an eyebrow. “Passion doesn’t win battles. Strategy does.”

The game dragged on, and by the end of it, you were completely out of your depth. Idia, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of an anime boss fight, his hair flaring dramatically as he made his final move.

“Checkmate,” he said, grinning slightly.

“Wrong game, Big Brother,” Ortho corrected.

“Whatever!” Idia snapped, but he didn’t look too upset. “It’s over, okay?”

Azul leaned forward, smirking again. “So, what do you think? Ready to join?”

You leaned back in your chair, your brain fried from trying to keep up. “I… I need to think about it.”

Ortho beamed. “That means they’re considering it! Success!”

Idia muttered something under his breath about “too much pressure” and “why is this so stressful,” but you caught a tiny flicker of a smile as he fiddled with one of the game pieces.

Azul, ever the businessman, handed you a brochure as you left. “Take your time. But remember—intellect always wins.”

You left the board game club feeling like you’d just survived a high-stakes negotiation. And as Ortho cheerfully waved goodbye, you couldn’t help but wonder if all the clubs were this intense.

Film Studies Club

You were rounding a corner, still recovering from your latest club recruitment ambush, when a perfectly manicured hand shot out and grabbed your wrist.

Before you could even yelp, you found yourself being gracefully pulled into the Film Studies Clubroom by none other than Vil Schoenheit. His strides were purposeful, his posture impeccable, and his expression…well, let’s just say it was the definition of I’m doing you a favor, peasant.

“Vil?” you sputtered, barely managing to keep up. “What are you—”

“I need to vet you,” Vil said simply, his voice calm but leaving no room for argument. “The Film Studies Club could use some fresh blood, and you look… adequate.”

“Adequate?” you echoed, mildly offended but too intrigued to argue further.

He led you to the center of the room, gesturing for you to stand under a perfectly angled spotlight. “Don’t misunderstand,” Vil continued, crossing his arms and regarding you with a critical eye. “I’m merely evaluating your potential. Our club requires both talent and diligence—qualities that, if I’m being honest, are rare in this school.”

“Uh, thanks?”

Vil ignored you, pulling out a script and flipping through it like he was deciding your fate. “If you can’t pass the audition, you can still join as a backstage hand,” he said airily. “We’re short on those too.”

“Wow, what an inspiring pitch,” you muttered, but Vil’s sharp gaze silenced you immediately.

“Read this,” he instructed, handing you the script and gesturing for you to begin.

You hesitated, glancing at the lines. “You’re serious? Right now?”

“Do I look like someone who jokes about art?” Vil asked, raising a perfectly sculpted brow.

Point taken.

Clearing your throat, you started reading, trying to put some effort into it. Vil watched you intently, his expression inscrutable. He occasionally tilted his head, as if mentally dissecting every word you spoke, every movement you made.

When you finished, you looked at him expectantly, waiting for his verdict.

Vil tapped his chin, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not hopeless,” he said finally, in a tone that made it sound like a compliment. “Rough around the edges, yes, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly.

“Don’t be smug. You’ll need work,” Vil continued, ignoring your tone. “But I suppose you have potential.”

“And if I didn’t?”

Vil gave a delicate shrug, his expression cool. “Then you’d still be useful behind the scenes. But consider this your opportunity to elevate yourself. Being part of my club means striving for excellence—no exceptions.”

You couldn’t help but smirk. “Is this really about me, or are you just desperate for members?”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement there. “Desperation has nothing to do with it. I’m simply ensuring that my club remains unparalleled. If you happen to benefit from my guidance, so be it.”

“Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse? I'll think about it.”

Vil’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Smart choice. Now, don’t make me regret it.”

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving you standing there wondering what exactly you’d just signed up for—and if Vil’s idea of “elevating yourself” involved a complete personality overhaul.

Science Club

You barely had time to process Vil's dramatic exit when a familiar voice whispered theatrically, “Ah, my muse! Fate conspires to bring us together!”

Before you could react, Rook Hunt appeared—swooped, really—out of nowhere and expertly whisked you away from the Film Studies Clubroom. It was less like being led and more like being caught mid-flight by an overly enthusiastic bird of prey.

“Rook?!” you yelped as he practically danced you down the hallway. “What is happening?”

“Mon ami,” he declared, his eyes glittering with fervor, “you must see the science club! A world of wonder awaits you!”

“Wait—science?” you echoed, incredulous. “You’re in the science club?”

“Ah, oui! Science is but another stage upon which the beauty of nature and humanity performs its eternal dance! The experiments! The cultivation of life! The creation of culinary masterpieces! All expressions of art, no?”

You weren’t sure if he was describing scientific principles or poetry, but before you could argue, Rook had dragged you into the science clubroom.

The room was a chaotic mix of activities. One corner housed a vibrant garden under grow lights, another had chemistry equipment bubbling away ominously, and a third corner smelled suspiciously like freshly baked bread. Trey Clover stood near a counter, pulling cookies out of an oven as if this were the most normal thing to happen in a science lab.

“Ah, there you are,” Trey greeted, smiling warmly. “Rook said he’d bring someone by. I’m guessing you’re deciding on a club?”

You glanced between Rook, who was already gesturing dramatically at a rack of test tubes, and Trey, who held up a tray of cookies like a peace offering. “I… guess I am?”

“Bien sûr!” Rook exclaimed, sweeping an arm toward the greenery in the corner. “Behold! We grow life itself here! Tomatoes, basil, flowers—anything your heart desires!”

Trey added, “We also bake and cook as part of our activities. It’s a great way to learn about chemistry and make something useful at the same time.”

“And explosions!” Rook chimed in enthusiastically. “Occasionally, there are explosions.”

Trey shot him a look. “Not… intentionally.”

Rook turned back to you, his expression radiant. “Think of the possibilities, mon ami! With science, you can cultivate beauty, create masterpieces, and perhaps even unlock secrets of the universe! And, of course, I am here to guide you—to nurture the artistic soul that dwells within!”

“Also,” Trey added, far more pragmatically, “we’re not picky about what activities you want to try. It’s a flexible club, so you could do a little bit of everything.”

You considered this as Trey handed you a cookie. It was warm and delicious, which admittedly swayed your opinion a little.

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “so I could garden, bake, and blow things up all in one club?”

“Exactly!” Trey said with a smile.

Rook leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a stage whisper. “And think, mon cher—if you hone your talents here, you could support Vil in creating the cinematic beauty he so envisions! Science and art, united in harmony!”

You blinked. “Wait, are you trying to recruit me for this club and help Vil at the same time?”

Rook grinned. “Nature does not limit itself to one purpose, mon ami, and neither do I.”

Trey sighed but didn’t deny it.

“Well, this is definitely… something,” you said, nibbling on the cookie. “I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, a maybe!” Rook clasped his hands together like you’d just promised him your soul. “A victory in itself!”

Before you could say anything else, Rook twirled you toward the door, clearly ready to drag you to your next destination—or possibly just keep talking about “the poetry of chlorophyll” until you gave in.

Pop Music Club

Just as you were beginning to suspect Rook was about to wax poetic about “the lyrical mysteries of yeast fermentation,” a sudden voice interrupted.

“Oh-ho, what’s this?”

Before you could even react, Lilia Vanrouge materialized out of thin air, practically glowing with chaotic energy. “Ah, my dear friend! You’re far too bright a star to waste away on science experiments! Come with me—pop stardom awaits!”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

And just like that, you were swept up in Lilia’s whirlwind. He dragged you down the hallway with a skip in his step and a mischievous laugh, leaving Rook and Trey in his dust.

“Lilia, I can walk, you know!” you said, stumbling to keep up.

“But where’s the drama in that?” Lilia replied, cackling as he pushed open the doors to the Pop Music Clubroom.

Inside, the room was a cacophony of sound and color. Disco lights spun, a half-finished banner reading ‘Next Big Thing!’ hung lopsidedly on the wall, and Kalim was gleefully banging away on a drum like it owed him money. Cater sat cross-legged on the floor, scrolling through his phone and periodically snapping selfies with sparkly filters.

“Oh, hey!” Kalim greeted you, waving so enthusiastically he almost hit himself with the drum stick. “You’re here to join us, right? This club is the best! We have music, dancing, and it’s all just super fun!”

Cater glanced up from his phone, his grin wide and just a little too calculated. “You’d fit right in! Think of all the magicam-worthy moments we could create together. Plus, the followers you’d get? Off the charts.”

“Followers?” you echoed, glancing at Lilia.

“Ah, but of course!” Lilia said, flinging his arms wide as if presenting you to an adoring crowd. “The Pop Music Club isn’t just about music—it’s about presence! Charisma! The ability to captivate a room with a single note or a dazzling smile!”

“It’s also about having a good time!” Kalim added, spinning in a circle for no reason other than sheer joy.

Cater nodded, holding up his phone. “And don’t forget—every moment is a potential viral video. You, me, Lilia, and Kalim as the dream team? We’d own the algorithm.”

You hesitated. “Uh, I don’t even play an instrument.”

“Neither does he!” Lilia said brightly, pointing at some unfortunate bystander.

“Hey!” he protested. “I play the Kalimba!” He promptly tried to play a note, missed the rhythm entirely, and Lilia laughed like it was the funniest thing ever.

“See?” Lilia said, unfazed. “Talent is optional here. All we need is your spirit!”

Cater stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “We also dabble in choreography, so if you’ve got two left feet, don’t worry—we’ll teach you how to make them look intentional.”

“Come on, join us!” Kalim said, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like an overexcited puppy. “We could totally use your energy!”

“What energy?” you asked, deadpan. “I’ve been dragged between clubs all day—I barely have any left.”

“Exactly!” Lilia said with a wink. “We’ll channel what’s left into a glorious crescendo of pop music excellence!”

You weren’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or just surrender entirely to the chaos. Lilia’s grin was practically infectious, Kalim’s enthusiasm radiated like the sun, and Cater was already adjusting the angle of his phone to catch you in the best light.

“Well,” you muttered, “at least it sounds… lively.”

“Lively is an understatement,” Cater said, snapping a selfie with you and Lilia in the background. “Hashtag PopStarsInTheMaking! You’re gonna love it here.”

“Let me guess,” you said dryly. “You’re already planning to upload that, aren’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Cater said with a wink.

Lilia clapped his hands, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “So, what do you say? Ready to unleash your inner star?”

“I… will think about it,” you replied, edging toward the door.

“Think fast!” Kalim called after you. “The bass is calling your name!”

You bolted before anyone could shove an instrument into your hands.

Equestrian Club

As you hurried down the hallway, still reeling from the pop music chaos you'd just escaped, you nearly collided with a flash of red.

"Ah, there you are!"

You blinked up at none other than Riddle Rosehearts, who looked as though he'd been scouring the entire school for you. His eyes narrowed, and his voice carried a tone of stern authority mixed with subtle relief.

"I've been looking for you," Riddle said, crossing his arms. "Ace and Deuce mentioned that you’re considering which club to join. As housewarden, it’s my responsibility to ensure you make a proper choice."

You blinked, still processing. "Oh, uh… thanks?"

"Enough dilly-dallying," Riddle said briskly, taking your wrist with surprising firmness. "You're coming with me to the Equestrian Club."

"Wait, what—"

Before you could finish, Riddle had already begun marching you toward the stables. You were half-dragged, half-guided, catching snippets of his lecture along the way about the merits of horseback riding, discipline, and poise.

When you arrived, the warm scent of hay filled the air, and the sound of soft nickering greeted you. The stables were pristine, the horses sleek and well-groomed. Standing nearby were Silver and Sebek, both tending to the horses.

"Riddle, you found them" Silver greeted you with his usual calm demeanor. He gave you a faint smile as he gently brushed a dappled gray mare. "Perfect timing—we were just about to go for a ride."

Sebek, on the other hand, straightened like a soldier at attention, his voice booming. "THEY WILL JOIN US, OF COURSE! IT IS ONLY FITTING FOR AN INDIVIDUAL OF WORTH TO EMBRACE SUCH A NOBLE ART!"

"Sebek, indoor voice," Riddle said sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I AM OUTDOORS!" Sebek retorted, though he did lower his volume slightly.

You glanced nervously at the horses. "Uh, I don’t know if I’m… horse material."

"Nonsense," Riddle said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Riding teaches discipline, focus, and responsibility. It’s the perfect club for fostering growth—and for avoiding unnecessary distractions like some less dignified clubs."

"Pop Music Club?" you guessed.

Riddle sniffed, his expression sour. "Among others."

Silver walked over, still holding the brush, and gave you a reassuring nod. "Don’t worry. The horses are gentle, and we can teach you everything. It’s a peaceful activity once you get used to it."

"Peaceful!" Sebek exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "It is a pursuit befitting the greatest warriors! EVEN LORD MALLEUS—"

"Sebek," Riddle interrupted, his patience clearly wearing thin. "Focus on the matter at hand."

"Apologies!" Sebek barked, saluting.

Riddle turned back to you, his expression softening just a fraction. "The Equestrian Club isn’t just about riding horses. It’s about elegance, partnership, and understanding. You could benefit greatly from it."

"And the horses are great listeners," Silver added.

"Unlike some humans," Sebek muttered under his breath.

You bit back a laugh as Riddle gave Sebek another glare.

"What do you say?" Riddle asked, stepping aside to let you see one of the horses—a chestnut with a kind, inquisitive gaze. "This is Vorpal. Perhaps a ride would convince you?"

The horse whinnied softly, and for a moment, you considered it. There was something appealing about the tranquility of the stables, the camaraderie of the club members, and the undeniable charm of working with such majestic creatures.

But then you remembered the drum chaos, the science experiments, and Vil’s dramatic vetting process.

"Let me, uh… think about it?" you said, taking a step back.

Riddle sighed, though he looked more exasperated than disappointed. "Very well. But don’t wait too long—indecision is unbecoming."

"Yeah," you mumbled. "Got it."

As you made your escape, you could hear Sebek booming, "RIDING A HORSE WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!"

You weren’t sure about that, but you were certain that escaping club recruitment was starting to feel like an Olympic sport.

Magift Club

As you staggered away from the stables, thoroughly frazzled by Sebek’s enthusiastic yelling and Riddle’s intense lecture on discipline, you barely had time to catch your breath before—

“Yo, gotcha!”

A pair of hands grabbed your shoulders from behind, and you let out a very undignified yelp. You turned to find Ruggie grinning up at you like a mischievous hyena that had just found its next meal.

“Ruggie! What—?”

“No time for questions, boss,” he said, practically dragging you down the path. “Leona’s orders. He told me to bring ya to the Magift Club.”

“The Magift Club?” you repeated, already sensing disaster.

Ruggie nodded, smirking. “Yup. Let’s go, let’s go!”

“But—wait—I don’t even have magic!” you protested as he hauled you toward the field.

“Details, details,” Ruggie waved off, his grip on your arm firm.

Soon enough, you were dumped unceremoniously on the sidelines of the Magift field. Leona was lounging on the grass under the shade of a tree, looking entirely too comfortable for someone allegedly trying to recruit you. Epel was nearby, aggressively practicing his throws while muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “I’ll show ‘em.”

Leona cracked one eye open lazily as Ruggie dropped you off. “’Bout time,” he drawled.

“Leona,” you said flatly, “why would you want me in the Magift Club? I don't even have magic.”

He yawned, looking entirely unbothered. “Yeah, I know that. You’re still better than the other herbivores running around. You can be the manager.”

“Manager?”

“Yup,” Ruggie chimed in, plopping down next to Leona. “You’d handle all the boring stuff—paperwork, schedules, snacks, makin’ sure Epel doesn’t throw a fit when he gets tackled.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Epel yelled, narrowly missing a hoop with his throw.

Leona smirked. “Sure you don’t.”

You crossed your arms, unconvinced. “Why me, though? You’re telling me I’m the best candidate for this?”

Leona sat up slightly, his sharp eyes locking on yours. “I’m sayin’ you’re the least annoying option. I don’t need some herbivore manager who’s gonna cry every time I take a nap instead of practicing. You’re not useless, so quit whining.”

Ruggie leaned in conspiratorially. “Basically, you’re the only one Leona doesn’t feel like chasing off the field after two days.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a ringing endorsement.”

Leona shrugged. “Take it or leave it. Makes no difference to me.”

At that moment, Epel ran up, panting slightly from his practice. “C’mon, you should join us!” he urged. “You don’t need magic to be part of the team. And if you ever wanna learn some tricks, I can teach ya!”

Leona gave him a lazy side-eye. “Don’t scare them off.”

“I’m not scarin’ ‘em! I’m convincin’ ‘em!” Epel shot back, glaring at Leona before turning back to you. “Seriously, we could use someone like you. The club’s fun, I promise!”

Ruggie snickered. “Fun’s a stretch. It’s more like… survival of the fittest with a ball involved.”

“And napping,” Leona added with a smirk.

Epel crossed his arms. “Well, maybe if someone practiced instead of nappin’, we’d win more games!”

Leona waved him off with a scoff.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know, guys. This sounds like a lot of chaos.”

“Chaos is half the fun,” Ruggie said with a grin. “C’mon, boss, think of all the free food we get during games. And you’d get to boss Leona around as the manager. Ain’t that worth it?”

Leona snorted. “Good luck with that.”

You glanced at the trio—Epel brimming with determination, Ruggie radiating mischief, and Leona looking like he didn’t care but also somehow cared just enough to try. It was… weirdly tempting, in its own way.

“I’ll… think about it,” you said finally.

“Fair enough,” Leona said, already reclining again. “Don’t take too long, though. We’ve got a game next week, and I’m not filling out paperwork.”

Ruggie winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll come around. Everyone does.”

As you left the field, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just been almost recruited into something much more taxing than a simple club.

Mountain Lovers Club

Before you could escape the Magift field and all its potential paperwork, you took a sharp turn—only to smack right into what felt like a wall of polite menace. A soft, knowing chuckle sounded above you.

“Oh dear, do be careful,” came Jade Leech’s unmistakably smooth voice.

You took a step back, already dreading the conversation. “Jade,” you said warily, “what are you doing here?”

His sharp smile grew ever so slightly. “Waiting for you, of course. Word travels fast, and I’ve heard you’re in the market for a club.”

“Oh no,” you muttered. “You’re not here to—”

Before you could finish, he was already guiding you away, his hand light on your arm but unyielding, like a vice hidden under a silk glove.

“Come now,” he said, his tone as polite as ever, “I simply must show you the Mountain Lovers Club.”

“The what now?” you asked, bewildered.

“The Mountain Lovers Club,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“And… who else is in this club?”

“Why, just me.”

You stopped in your tracks. “It’s just you?”

“Yes.” Jade smiled serenely, as if this were not a glaring red flag. “I am the founder, leader, and sole member. But with your arrival, that could very well change.”

You blinked at him, unsure if you’d misheard. “Wait, so you’ve been running a one-person club this whole time?”

“Indeed.” His expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “The Mountain Lovers Club is dedicated to the appreciation of all things mountainous. Hiking through beautiful terrain, foraging for wild plants, observing unique ecosystems, and—on occasion—befriending the local fauna.”

“Befriending?”

“Examining, petting, observing closely…” His eyes gleamed. “Perhaps all three.”

You shook your head, trying to process. “So… why me?”

Jade clasped his hands together, the picture of poised enthusiasm. “You strike me as someone who appreciates unique experiences. The Mountain Lovers Club offers a chance to explore the great outdoors, expand your horizons, and develop a deeper appreciation for nature’s wonders.”

“And by ‘great outdoors,’ you mean mountains?”

“Precisely.”

“And it’s just you?”

“For now,” he said, his tone warm but his gaze uncomfortably intense. “But every great journey begins with a single step. Yours could be joining this club.”

You gave a nervous laugh. “Uh… I don’t think hiking through mountains is really my thing.”

“Ah, but how do you know unless you try?” Jade’s smile widened. “Besides, I’ll be there to guide you every step of the way. No need to worry about getting lost… or encountering anything unexpected.”

The way he said “unexpected” made you want to run for the hills (ironic, given the circumstances).

“Look, I appreciate the offer, but—”

“I insist,” he cut in smoothly, his tone polite but with a note of finality. “At least allow me to show you the club’s activities. Perhaps a short hike this weekend? I’ve already prepared a route.”

You stared at him. “You’ve already…?”

“Of course.” His gaze was calm, calculating. “Preparation is key. I’ve even packed a lunch.”

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Jade, I—”

He tilted his head, his smile remaining perfectly composed. “Surely you wouldn’t refuse without at least giving it a chance? I’ve put so much thought into this.”

“Why do I feel like I don’t have a choice?” you muttered.

Jade’s smile was razor-sharp and utterly unrepentant. “Because you don’t.”

You sighed in defeat. “Fine. One hike.”

“Excellent,” he said, his tone soft and victorious. “I’ll see you this Saturday at dawn.”

“Dawn?!”

“Oh yes,” he said, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. “The mountains are at their most beautiful in the early morning light. You’ll love it.”

As he sauntered away, leaving you to process your fate, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just agreed to something far more treacherous than a simple hike.

Gargoyle Research Society

The moment you finally reached Ramshackle Dorm, exhausted from the whirlwind of club-hopping and increasingly bizarre sales pitches, you let out a long sigh of relief. The day had been nothing short of chaotic, and all you wanted was to collapse onto your creaky old bed and forget the words “club activities” ever existed.

But just as your hand touched the doorknob, a familiar voice, deep and regal, called out from the shadows.

“Child of man.”

You jumped slightly, spinning around to see none other than Malleus Draconia emerging from beneath the pale light of the moon, his presence as imposing and enigmatic as always. He stood by one of Ramshackle’s crumbling stone walls, his expression calm but his eyes bright with an unreadable intensity.

“Oh, Malleus,” you said, your voice tinged with weariness but also a touch of warmth. “Didn’t see you there.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly, his gaze never leaving yours. “I was merely admiring the architecture of your dorm. It has a certain… wistful charm.”

You smiled faintly. “I guess that’s one way to put it.”

Then, with the sort of graceful confidence only Malleus could manage, he stepped closer, his presence looming but never threatening. “I have heard,” he began, his tone soft and deliberate, “that you have been seeking a club to join.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “How did you—”

“The winds carry whispers,” he said cryptically.

“Right,” you muttered, deciding not to question it.

Malleus folded his hands neatly in front of him, looking every bit the picture of regal sincerity. “If you have not yet made your decision… I would like to invite you to join my club.”

Your brain, still reeling from Jade’s mountain escapades and Leona’s managerial demands, stalled for a moment. “Your… club?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice brimming with quiet pride. “The Gargoyle Research Society.”

“The… what now?”

“The Gargoyle Research Society,” he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I am both its founder and sole member.”

Of course, he was.

Malleus seemed oblivious to your stunned silence as he continued, his expression softening into something almost earnest. “The society is dedicated to the appreciation and study of gargoyles. We explore the campus, observing their intricate designs and marveling at their history. There is so much beauty in their silent watch over us.”

You blinked. “So… you just walk around and look at gargoyles?”

“Precisely,” he said, his tone unironically enthusiastic.

“And… that’s it?”

Malleus nodded solemnly. “Indeed. It is a noble pursuit, one that nurtures both the mind and the spirit.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words. Of all the clubs you’d encountered today, this might just take the crown for most niche.

Malleus, however, seemed utterly earnest. His eyes bore into yours, his expression sincere and unguarded. “I understand if this does not align with your current interests,” he said, his voice softening. “But should you ever feel the call of the gargoyles… know that you are always welcome.”

There was something so genuine in his tone, so quietly hopeful, that you felt a pang of guilt for even thinking about brushing him off. You sighed, offering him a tired but sincere smile. “You know what? I’ll definitely consider it.”

Malleus’s eyes lit up, his calm demeanor giving way to a flicker of pure joy. “Truly?”

“Truly,” you said, nodding.

“Then I shall look forward to the day you join me,” he said, his voice as soft as a promise.

With that, he gave you a small, graceful bow before disappearing back into the night, leaving you to wonder how you’d managed to end the day not only agreeing to a potential club but also feeling oddly flattered by the idea of studying gargoyles.

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “What a day…”

Masterlist

Part 2: Choosing a club

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is in film studies sorry :(