#and i will support him even if he goes evil | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ugh-yoongi · 4 months ago

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ex-conomics | csc

you supported seungcheol through years of being an aspiring athlete, and all you got to show for it was your undergraduate degree and an awkward, stuttered apology when he dumped you to go semi-pro. now he’s back after an injury derailed his career, and there’s only one problem: you’re the only one available to tutor him. you - 0; the universe - 1. talk about no return on investment.

⚽ pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader ⚽ genre: exes to (lite) enemies to lovers; university au; angst, fluff ⚽ rating: while there is nothing explicit in this fic, there are two brief references to smut. while i can't stop anyone from reading this, i would prefer minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⚽ warnings: cheol is some degree of famous, reader is a grad student/TA, mentions of an injury and coping with the aftermath of it, lots of economics talk that even i do not understand, swearing, one mention of alcohol, some misplaced jealousy, rom-com tropes, dino is kind of a loser but we love him anyway. probably a lot of other things i missed, but this is actually pretty tame for a fic of this length. ⚽ word count: 13.4k ⚽ thank you: a lot of people looked this over for me in the process and i'm sure i will forget some of them so if i do i'm sorry: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, @highvern, and @haologram, who also gave me some wonderful ideas for the vlogs. thank you to MIT for opencourseware existing. i took microeconomics and dropped it, so i couldn't have done this without you. everyone in the discord server for helping me along the way and keeping me motivated. ⚽ author's note: i haven't posted a fic in nearly seven months, so i think it goes without saying that there are parts of this i like and a lot more i'm not 100% happy with. i'd love if this was more fleshed out and 10k longer, but i was able to write anything at all so it's good enough. this was written for the back to school with seventeen collab, hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you both for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories! everyone worked so hard and this collab was a ton of fun to participate in. <3

You look down at the paper. Back up at who handed it to you. Down at the paper again.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The poor freshman kid laughs, all nerves, and even though the sound is grating, you remember what it’s like to be forced into work study. How far away graduate school seemed; how large your professors loomed over you with all their power and knowledge and credentials; how you constantly felt like the dumbest person in nearly every room you walked into for four straight years.

“Um—”

You sigh, just barely resisting the urge to slam your head onto your desk. “I—it’s fine, don’t worry about it.” Your words do little to ease Freshman’s nerves. He’s still hunched over in the doorway of your office, wringing his hands as he shifts his weight back and forth, in for a lifetime of body pain with the way he’s squaring his shoulders. “You’re sure about this, though? Like, I’m really not being set up?”

“I don’t think so?” he offers, slowly starting to turn green right before your eyes. “Dr. Lee ga-gave me the paperwork himself, I don’t think he would’ve messed it up? Oh no, did I mess it up? Should I go back to Student Services and conf—”

Good god, this kid’s anxiety is gonna stink up your office for weeks. “No need!” you interject. “I’ll just…” Sign it, you want to say, but the longer you stare at the sheet of paper the quicker you’re losing your resolve.

TUTORING REQUEST FORM Student Name: Choi Seungcheol Degree: Undergraduate Major: Business Course: ECON04101 Introduction to Microeconomics Instructor: Lee Yeonseok, PhD. Recommended Tutoring: High (3-4 hours per week)

You curse under your breath. Of the two names on the paper, Dr. Lee’s does not come as a surprise. He’s a notorious hard-ass with an infamous attrition rate—most students don’t last more than a week in any of his classes—but he’s also the sole reason you were able to pay for someof your grad school tuition out of pocket with all the tutoring money you made.

That, however, was two years ago.

“Does he know I don’t tutor anymore?” Stupid question. The kid stares blankly back at you, as if to say I don’t know any more than the people in Student Services, let alone Dr. Lee. It is literally my first year here. “I’m Dr. Ahn’s TA this year. I’ve got my hands full with her bullsh… stuff—”

Immediately, you know you’ve said something wrong, because the kid’s eyes light up, all that previous anxiety disappearing like smoke. “Wait, the same Dr. Ahn that teaches the crypto course?”

“No, that one died,” you say quickly. Kid deflates. “Anyway, I don’t really tutor anymore, especially for econ. As you can see”—you gesture vaguely around the cramped four walls of your office—“they’ve upgraded me. They even put my name on a little placard by the door! Go look! They spelled it wrong! If that doesn’t sum up this university I don’t know what does.”

You heave another sigh. Try to school your face and tone into something that exudes professionalism and finality. “Look, I’m sorry I can’t help you. I tutored Dr. Lee’s students for, like, three years in undergrad so I’m sure they just… forgot that wasn’t my actual job here. Who’s in charge of tutoring these days? I’ll shoot them an email and explain all this.”

Freshman gives you a name, and it takes less than a second to find them in the employee directory. You expect that to be the end of it, but he’s still taking up space in your doorway. You quirk an eyebrow. “Yes?”

The hand-wringing returns, along with an embarrassed flush that disappears beneath the neckline of his school-branded sweatshirt. “I just—um. Maybe you could, uh. Send that now? Before I get back there?”

You blink. “Don’t you have to go all the way back across campus? How slow do you think I type?” He shrugs, and you give up on the idea of getting rid of him. “Fine. What’s your name, anyway?”

“Lee Chan. I’m a sophomore. Do you know that guy?”

“Oh. I thought for sure you were a freshman, but you’re gonna need to be more specific, Lee Chan, Sophomore.”

“The guy they want you to tutor.” You freeze. The guy they want you to tutor is—“Choi Seungcheol,” Chan tacks on, and, yeah, you know—knew, you correct yourself—someone with that name, once upon a time.

But there are a lot of Chois and a lot of Seungcheols. It’s been years since you’ve spoken to the Seungcheol you knew, and that was when he’d broken up with you to—“I heard he’s a football player? Well, used to be, I guess. The girls in the office were freaking out so I guess he’s pretty famous, but I don’t know anything about sports, do you? They said they have photocards of him. I thought they only did that for idols.”

You think about being kids together in Daegu. Think about the exasperated looks you’d share when your parents would drag the two of you to festivals: Palgongsan in the autumn, Biseulsan in the spring; transformation and rebirth. Think about being eight years old and watching your father cram into the small space of the Chois’ living room, standing around the TV with Seungcheol’s dad, shouting at Park Jonghwan. Daegu FC made the FA Cup quarterfinals that year, and you think, of everything, that’s what you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You think about falling in love slowly. Sixteen and clueless, the pair of you were. Didn’t really know any different, just that you’d look at him and feel butterflies. That you’d hold hands in secret. Text beneath the dinner table. That you’d watch him on the football pitch and be consumed by pride. That the future felt impossibly far away, that life would never catch up to the two of you.

You think about all the football jargon you didn’t understand—the academies, the teams, the implications. You think about, I’m thinking about trying out for the FC Seoul U-18, I just don’t think there’s much more I can do here in Daegu. You think about replying, Oh, I applied to university there.

You remember thinking it must’ve been fate, how easy that had worked out. How easy that first hurdle had been overcome.

You think about how fast everything happened. The try-out, the acceptance, the explosion. Remember being unable to go anywhere those first few months without seeing Seungcheol’s face, touted as the next big thing. Think about applying for scholarships when he was applying for international visas. Think about studying for midterms when Seungcheol was studying English for interviews.

You think about the last few weeks of your relationship, when it felt like you were desperately trying to cling to ghosts. Think about how Seoul had once felt endlessly big, both in opportunity and size, and how it now felt suffocating. You think about, So you’re just giving up? Is that what you’re saying? Think about, I don’t know what else to do. It doesn’t feel fair to you.

You think about all the places you’ve watched him. On countless football pitches; shy glances in school hallways; in the passenger seat, wracked with nerves on the drive to Seoul; poised above you in bed, hairline dotted with sweat as he rolled his hips, telling you how much he loved you.

You think about watching him walk out the door, and how you never watched him again.

So you fire off your email, concise and to the point about why you can’t tutor Choi Seungcheol in Introduction to Microeconomics, and turn to Lee Chan, Sophomore.

“No,” you finally answer. “Never heard of him.”

For all intents and purposes, your rejection should’ve been the end of it.

A few days go by. You hold office hours, attend lectures, work on your thesis when you have both the time and the energy. Try to ignore the feeling of bees beneath your skin, anxiety needling each time you check your email. You were well within your right to decline the tutoring request, but you can’t help but feel like you’ve done something wrong. That someone somehow knows who Seungcheol was to you and will pull you up on it. That those girls who’d gushed about him to Chan are somewhere laughing at your expense.

But you don’t hear anything at all about it… until you do.

Sunday evening. You haven’t moved from your couch in hours, some variety show playing in the background, barely audible over your keyboard clacking. Much to your detriment, you don’t write many papers these days, so you’re out of practice. Feels like you haven’t done anything besides formulas in years, all of your academic knowledge reduced to fucking math, so you’re about ready to toss your laptop out the window long before the email even comes through.

You see, From: Lee Yeonseok. You see, Subject: Choi Seungcheol - Tutoring.

Your stomach plummets to the floor.

You scan the body quickly. You see the words personal favor… friend of his father… urgent matter… and your hands start shaking. Whether it’s from the sheer audacity of this man or anxiety, you aren’t sure, but it’s not like it matters. There aren’t a whole lot of people on campus brave or dumb enough to go up against him twice.

“Motherfucker,” you spit, bitter the only taste in your mouth.

Where did you go wrong to wind up here? You’d followed the script: got the grades, passed the exams, received half of the required education for the Respectable Career, helped a few others along the way chase dreams that may or may not have been their own. You’d fallen in love. Only had a broken heart to show for it, but that’d been in the script, too: The First Love, followed by The First Heartbreak.

The split from Seungcheol was supposed to have been the end of that chapter. You’d planned on never seeing him again, and you never would have, had it been up to you. Apparently the universe has other plans, participation required.

“Did you spill onion dip on the rug again?” You startle, sending your laptop flying. Kaori, your roommate, is perched halfway in between the living room and the kitchen like a cryptid, clearly not expecting your reaction. “Oh. Were you watching porn?”

Face burning, you fetch your laptop from the floor. “In a common area? Kaori, please, I have far more decorum than that.”

She snorts, resuming her trek to the fridge. “See, that’s what I thought, but then I walked out here and you threw your laptop so fast it was like watching my ex get caught watching furry porn all over again.” She pries the lid off a large container of yogurt. “You think this is still good?”

“Dunno. What’s it smell like?”

She sniffs it and pulls it back to check the label. “Vanilla, I think, which is concerning because it’s supposed to be strawberry.”

You shrug. “What’s the worst that can happen, you get extra”—you pause, trying to remember the correct order of things, before giving up entirely—“...biotics?”

“Mm, so close. Care if I just eat this with a spoon?”

Nose scrunched, you wave her off. “Couldn’t pay me to eat yogurt on a good day, let alone if it’s expired. All yours, babe.”

Spoon in hand and a pleased smile on her face, Kaori collapses onto the couch beside you. You try to return your attention to your paper, try to find your momentum again, and it works for all of ten minutes before you’re groaning and slamming the top closed.

You don’t even need to look over to know Kaori’s staring. “What’s up with you?” she asks. Before she can answer: “Wait, is this serious? Because I can’t have a serious conversation in this t-shirt.” You steal a glance sideways. Ask Me About My Hemorrhoid! it says, and you exhale loudly. “Don’t breathe at me, I lost a bet.”

“And continued wearing it?”

She jokingly rolls her eyes. “God forbid a girl has hobbies.” Nudges you with her foot. “C’mon, spill.”

Kaori doesn’t know about you and Seungcheol. Most people don’t, aside from a few old classmates from Daegu who found you on social media and tried befriending you once he started making a name for himself in Seoul. After that, it was just easier to keep things private while you were together. New friends knew you were seeing someone but not their name or how long you’d been together. Any curiosity surrounding why the Choi Seungcheol was following you on Insta had been waved away easily. Our parents are friends, we grew up together. Then you broke up, and there wasn’t any evidence to delete, and he wasn’t following you on Instagram anymore, and it was easier that way.

So, yeah—even though you hadn’t met her until years later, Kaori knows you have an ex. She knows you’ve had a few flings and situationships in the time since, too, and it’s why she’s none the wiser when you ask, “It’s nothing, really. Just—do you follow football at all?”

“Nah, not really. The new guy’s pretty into it and keeps trying to get me to watch the games with him, but it’s so fucking boring? I dunno, I can’t get into it. Not in real life, anyway—I binged all of Captain Tsubasa in an embarrassingly short amount of time, though. Why?”

“Student Services asked me to tutor someone the other day and I had to turn it down. I just don’t have the time, you know? This semester’s already killer, and Dr. Ahn’s been riding my ass nonstop about grades. Turns out it’s some football player, so Dr. Lee emailed me asking me to do it as a personal favor, which means, on top of all the other shit I have to do, I’m now tutoring some football player four hours a week in Microeconomics.”

Her face distorts. “God, that guy’s such a prick. Like wow, you’re good at the economy! Good for you! Who cares! Why don’t you go balance the national debt or something instead of torturing university freshmen!”

You also wrongly assume that’s the last you’ll hear of it from Kaori.

Two days later, after Student Services replies to your email with the days and times you’ll be tutoring Seungcheol, she materializes in the living room to harass you.

“You didn’t tell me your football player was Choi Seungcheol.”

The panic is instant. You know how she means it, but it’s not how your body interprets it. All of a sudden it feels like an interrogation, an accusation, and a whopping serving of guilt takes up residence in the middle of your chest for not being entirely honest.

“Explains this weird text Ken sent me.”

She slides her phone over to you, open to her text thread with her current flavor of the week. Beneath an article about Seungcheol enrolling in classes at your school:

doesn’t ur roomie TA there Why are you calling her “ur roomie” like you don’t know her name?? Rude. Also yes. ask her to get me an autograph No babe pls he was my fav player before he got injured No 🙄 fine. can i come over later? Starting to think you’re using me for my roommate. Get your own job 🙄

You hand her phone back. “I didn’t think you’d know who Choi Seungcheol even is.” It’s the best you can do, even though it just digs you a deeper grave. “You said you’re not into football.”

“I’m not, but unfortunately I am into that stupid man.” She sighs, wistful and longing. “Babe, you have to understand. His dick is so big.”

You hadn’t wanted to stay in Seoul for your graduate degree, let alone the same university you’d gone to for undergrad.

You’d applied to schools all over—Japan, Europe, even a few in the States. Romanticized the hell out of NYU, went window shopping for an overpriced apartment, picked a favorite pizzeria based on nothing but vibes and online reviews. In those few months after graduation, there wasn’t a whole lot tying you to Seoul. Your and Seungcheol’s relationship had been old history by then, your parents split. Your dad stayed in your childhood home and your mother moved a few hours closer to her sister. They’d waited until your brother was old enough to be out of the house.

And it’d just been… a lot. Overwhelming. Some days you could barely shower or feed yourself, let alone move halfway across the world, so you’d stayed in the familiar and tried not to let it feel like failure.

But the good thing about familiarity is you learn its tricks, figure out the hiding spots. Early on, your first or second week of grad school, you laid claim to a study room on a floor of the library everyone else ignored. You write notes on the whiteboard with faded blue markers that are still there days later. The chair on the opposite side of the table is always exactly where you left it, the space between it and the table enough to only accommodate you. Sometimes you leave books—old paperbacks littered with notes in your writing—or papers, just to see if they move.

They never do.

And all of this is why it feels like a punch to the gut when that sanctity is tainted. When you’re halfway through a stack of Dr. Ahn’s exams and the doorknob rattles behind you. When you don’t even need to turn around to know who it is, because he still sounds the same, still has that overwhelming presence. You’ve always sensed him before you felt him.

“There you are,” Dr. Lee says, ambling into the room before you can protest. He, too, is overwhelming, just in different ways. Immaculate posture that anchors his slight frame that’s always dressed impeccably and expensively. Wears a watch that’s triple your tuition. Shoes polished so bright they’re nearly blinding. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

This time it is an accusation.

Well, you found me, you want to say, but just knowing Seungcheol is behind him, lingering in that half-study room, half-hallway space, is enough to keep you quiet. Like if you speak you’ll summon him closer and you’ll no longer be able to pretend this is nothing more than a nightmare.

You plaster on a polite smile. Say, “Ah, here I am, kyosu-nim,” and put all your energy into trying to glue Seungcheol to the floor with your mind.

Which is fruitless, because Dr. Lee moves further into the room. Gestures for Seungcheol to follow him with an impatient huff, and the study room is small, sure, and with three people it feels cramped, but that’s not the reason it feels like all the air’s been sucked out of the room.

Seungcheol looks… different. He looks as anxious as you feel, and he sticks close to the wall like he’s trying to disappear. Dr. Lee introduces him with grave importance, unaware of your history, and the forced smile he offers you almost looks embarrassed.

You know Dr. Lee is still hammering away, probably giving you a stern talking-to for rejecting his request the first time, but you can’t tear your eyes away from Seungcheol. Feels like the world around you has reduced to a pinhead, all hyperfocus; feels like your lungs are sucking in stale air one at a time.

“...his father is a very good friend of mine, so I expect…”

You expected to feel nothing. Seungcheol had left to chase his dream—one you’d always been so supportive of that it sometimes felt like your dream, too—and, perhaps naively, you thought the distance and the years would’ve been enough. You expected your heart to have hardened. You expected all those nights you spent crying to hit you at full force. You expected anger, hurt—indifference, at the very least.

“...as many hours per week as you both can manage…”

But you should’ve known better. Should’ve expected the butterflies, the way your palms grow clammy, the way your heart rate spikes. Should’ve expected everything to feel upside-down. You should’ve expected to look at Seungcheol and feel sixteen and in love all over again.

“...you are responsible for his academic progress…”

And that simply will not do. You’ve spent the last few years pulling yourself out of that hole, clawing your way back to something resembling normal. You’ve purged the thought of him from your mind—let his scent fade from your sheets, an old sweatshirt he’d left behind; forgot the way his lips felt against every inch of your skin; forgot the way his entire being lit up when he laughed; forgot the safety he encompassed, the way he whispered all those sweet nothings.

You cannot go there again.

So you roll your shoulders back, smile politely. Say, “Ah, kyosu-nim, Choi Seungcheol-ssi seems very intelligent, I’m sure he is capable of being responsible for his own academic standing, don’t you think?”

Dr. Lee cannot disagree without all but calling Seungcheol an idiot, so he hovers before you in shocked silence. Makes a show of huffing and checking his watch, like he’s all of a sudden remembered he’s late for something and being inconvenienced by this conversation he started, and then he’s halfway out of the library with a terse, “Discuss and figure this out amongst yourselves,” thrown over his shoulder.

You have an entire dramatic exit planned in your head. Gather your things, fake a phone call that makes you sound authoritative and important, and brush past Seungcheol wearing your nicest perfume as if all of this is so far beneath you you can’t even bring yourself to care about it.

Of course, you actually have to brush by him for any of that to happen, and since you’ve already decided you will not go there again, you quickly scribble your email address onto a piece of paper and slide it across the table at Seungcheol, who has steadfastly remained planted just outside the door. “Here’s my email. I don’t have time to discuss this right now.” Seungcheol cocks an eyebrow. You start throwing things into your bag haphazardly. You know you look frantic and affected, but there’s not much you can do about that. “What? Send me a copy of your syllabus and what you want to prioritize. It’ll be easier to get through this if we have a plan instead of winging it.”

He seems to catch on to your distaste because he mirrors it. Scoffs as he rolls his eyes and says, “Yeah, no use spending more time together than we have to,” and if you hadn’t gone years without speaking, you would’ve seen right through it.

But you did, so it stings all the same.

As it typically does, the planet keeps spinning after your run-in with Seungcheol.

You grade Dr. Ahn’s coursework. Try running off your anxiety at the gym, even though it’s pretty good at keeping pace with you these days. You meet Kaori’s maybe-boyfriend sneaking out of your apartment early in the morning and he has the good sense not to mention your ex, but you chalk that up to the mess of hickeys covering his neck and not any sense of social decorum.

Other people’s embarrassment saves you a ton of your own, you’ve come to learn.

Throughout all of this, Seungcheol only emails you once to send you his course syllabus. Doesn’t mention tutoring or provide you with his schedule or ask for yours, so when you’re sitting in a bar with your friends, three or four drinks deep and feeling a little petty, you forward him the original tutoring request and make sure to bold, underline, and highlight the “Recommended Tutoring: High” part for good measure.

He doesn’t take your bait—electronically, at least—but he does show up to your office hours the following Tuesday.

Bag tossed onto the floor, he flops unceremoniously into the chair across from you and says, in lieu of a greeting, “They spelled your name wrong. On the door thing.”

“I know,” you reply, your smile polite and terse. Incredible how he has the ability to raise your blood pressure in milliseconds. “What can I help you with?”

“Depends. How long do you have?”

“Well, considering you’ve shown up to my office hours on time, I’m assuming you already know I’m here every Tuesday and Thursday from four to six. So”—you glance at the clock above the door—“assuming no one comes by who needs my help more than you do, you have approximately one hour and fifty-eight minutes.”

Seungcheol is quiet for a moment as he takes you in. His stare is weighted; it makes you feel a little green around the edges. Clinical and sharp, so far removed from the way he used to look at you. You clear your throat. “I looked over your syllabus. The good news is there’s only a midterm and a final and the rest is problem sets. The bad news is there’s only a midterm and a final so they’re weighted quite heavily. You really need to know this stuff inside-out to have any hope of passing.”

“That’s why you’re here, right? Dr. Lee specifically requested you.”

You huff a breath through your nose. “I’m here as supplemental help. I can’t take your exams or do your readings for you. What else are you taking this semester?”

He sighs, sinking further into the chair, very much playing the part of the heir who has no interest in any of this. Which… is unlike him, you think, if you’re even allowed to. The Seungcheol you knew years ago took everything so seriously. Never clipped corners or took shortcuts. Anyone else would think him a spoiled, petulant child. “Business Accounting and International Trade.”

“Could be worse,” you note. “At least those three courses are tangentially related.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “Easy for you to say. I haven’t taken a fucking math class in years.”

You return it. “You remember how to add and subtract, don’t you?”

“I ruptured my ACL, not my…” He trails off, looking a little embarrassed that he can’t name a part of the—“Brain.”

Whatever you were going to quip back with dies on your tongue. It's the first time Seungcheol has broached the topic of his injury—the first you’re hearing of it at all, actually—and he says it like it’s a joke, like it’s not a thing at all, but the pain is all over his face. The bitterness of the situation he’s found himself in. The unfairness of it all.

And there are so many questions you want to ask that aren’t your place: if it’s fixable, if he’ll ever play again, how he’s coping. But you don’t really need to—you can’t imagine how you’d feel if someone suddenly pulled the rug out from under you. If everything contained within the four walls of your office suddenly disappeared.

Not that the man sitting across from you hadn’t already done that, but.

“Right,” you continue, as if he hadn’t said anything at all. You know Seungcheol—know he wouldn’t want you prodding, sticking your fingers in that particular wound. “I want you to take a look at this,” you say, handing over a printout you have saved from your undergrad tutoring days. “Tell me what looks familiar, what doesn’t; what does and doesn’t make sense.”

He looks down at the paper. Back up at you. Down at the paper again. “What the fuck is this?”

“I—what? Cheol, it’s my old notes on recitation. Surely you’ve already covered this—the syllabus says this is week one stuff.” He looks down at the paper again, and it’s so familiar, watching the life drain entirely from someone’s eyes.

You barely resist the urge to slam your face onto your desk a second time.

You meet Seungcheol at the sports center for your next tutoring session.

He likes the humidity and the smell of the chlorine by the pool. He also likes that it’s not the football pitch, so the two of you sit in the bleachers there and go over his lecture notes. Much to your surprise, Seungcheol talks a mile a minute. Has stars in his eyes when he says he finally understands elastic demand curves, supply shock; tells you he spent a whole hour making flashcards.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so excited since your tutoring began—the first glimmer of hope you’ve felt since Dr. Lee cornered you in your library hideaway. None of this surprises you. Seungcheol has always been smart, even when football was his primary (and sometimes only) focus. He has more determination and grit than anyone you’ve ever met, so you’re not surprised he’s doing well, excelling, but you are surprised—

“Can I ask you something?” Seungcheol shrugs, shoves half a protein bar in his mouth and swallows without chewing. “Why are you… uh. Here?”

“At this university?”

“Not exactly. I mean, I am wondering about that, but I guess… why business?”

Seungcheol hums. Tucks his good knee to his chest and stares down at the pool. No one’s using it, and truthfully the two of you probably aren’t even allowed to be here, but you understand why he likes it. It’s nowhere near as secluded as the library and definitely not as air conditioned, but it is peaceful. Calm. The water laps against the coping in quiet, small waves.

“Ah, I don’t know. You know how it goes.”

You quirk an eyebrow. Never, in all the years you’ve known him, has Seungcheol done anything he didn’t want to do. All that grit and determination. “What about your father, then? Dr. Lee mentioned this was a favor to him. He’s a pretty important person to have in your Rolodex of favors.”

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see what this is: Seungcheol’s father has new money; worked from the bottom up, made some smart investment decisions that finally panned out after Seungcheol left for Seoul. Started doing his own thing, made a name for himself. Last you’d heard from your mother, Seungcheol’s brother was second-in-command. Hell, even your own brother did an internship there.

So you know what this is: a father helping his son after his dream was shattered, life turned upside-down. You can’t blame him, even if you’ve heard the whispers from all the way across campus. That Seungcheol is washed up now, trying to nepo his way into his father’s company because of it; that all he knows is sports and he should’ve stuck to that, what does he know about business, why is he the one Dr. Lee went out of his way to help.

Doesn’t stop any of them from smiling at him, though; doesn’t stop them from asking for autographs or selfies.

But you also know this isn’t something Seungcheol seems willing to discuss, so you crack a joke—“I mean, business. God, who’d wanna go into that?”—and go back to what he was willing to talk about.

You’ve never hated elastic demand curves so much in your life.

Deep in the throes of tutoring—when you can’t tell if it’s week two or week twelve—you make it back to your apartment just before ten, head pounding.

The door flies open just as you’re about to punch in the code, and there stands Ken, looking far more put-off than you’ve ever seen him. Looks defeated, if you’re being honest, like someone mopped up all his emotions and wrung them out like dirty dishwater.

“Oh, hi,” you say hesitantly. The man in front of you seems too much like a caged animal to let your guard down. “Everything okay?”

He aborts a nod halfway. Mutters an apology as he brushes by you and stalks down the hall, disappearing around the corner to the elevators. Usually he’s a talker—you haven’t been able to avoid a Seungcheol-related conversation in weeks—so you’re a little stunned. Stand there stupidly for a while, and that’s where Kaori finds you a moment later.

“You gonna stand out here all night, or…?”

“Oh—yeah, right.”

You follow her inside. Toe off your shoes and put them in the rack. Focus on the sound of the kettle whistling instead of the overbearing tension in the room. Drop your bag off in your room, throw on a sweatshirt three sizes too big and a comfy pair of socks. Rummage through the fridge for leftovers, contemplate what mindless show you’ll watch as you eat, and you do not, under any circumstances, ask Kaori what happened.

You don’t have to. You knew what this was going to be the first time Ken spent the night—the way he looked mortified to be meeting you in the shared kitchen at seven a.m., wearing a look that begged you not to tell your roommate he was sneaking out.

I, uh, have an early class, he’d said. You know how it is.

Maybe you should’ve called him on it then. Issued a warning-but-not-really. She’ll get attached if you don’t tell her. She should know it’s different for you, if it is.

But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t your place. Kaori wouldn’t want you in her business like that, so you stayed quiet, just nodded before watching him slip his shoes on and close the door behind him so quietly you wouldn’t have known he left at all if you hadn’t been looking. Gone, just like a ghost.

So, yeah, you know exactly why your roommate looks haunted.

“I’m a few episodes behind on this if you want to watch with me,” you offer, pointing at the television with the remote. It’s a lie—you’ve never watched this show a day in your life, which Kaori seems to know—but she contemplates it nonetheless. “Also, my mom mailed us some cookies. I think they’re in the fridge.”

“Why are there cookies in the fridge?”

You huff a laugh. “They were outside the door this morning before I left for campus. I don’t know—just saw who the package was from and was like, oh, this must go in the fridge.”

She nods. Grabs the container and joins you on the couch. Sticks her feet beneath your butt and doesn’t mention a thing.

The closest she comes is a few days later. Catches you right before you head out to campus and asks how tutoring is going.

“Not bad, actually.”

Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes when she says, “That’s good. I’m glad things are going well for you two.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore makes his unexpected return at your office hours on an unsuspecting Tuesday.

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just helps himself to the seat across from you. “Maybe,” comes his cryptic retort. “I was thinking about signing up for that crypto course next semester.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you weren’t.”

He sighs. Looks a little panicked, like he can’t believe that didn’t work. “You’re right, you’re right. I, um—I wanted to come say thank you.” He pauses. “You know, for that… email you sent.”

You blink. “No, you didn’t.”

Lee Chan, Sophomore cracks immediately. Thunks his head on your desk and lets loose a pained sound. It nearly sounds like he’s wailing when he says, “I’m sorry! They put me up to it!”

What you’re able to piece together is this: Lee Chan, Sophomore has become a bit of a celebrity in the Student Services department ever since he met you, Choi Seungcheol’s tutor. And, like any smart, previously unpopular university student would do, he took advantage of it. Might’ve stretched the truth a little to make it sound like he knew more than he did, so now here he is, angling for information the girls with the photocards may or may not have paid him to get.

“They want to know about his girlfriend.”

“His what?”

What you’re able to piece together is also this: the Photocard Girls are certain Seungcheol is dating someone, based on little more than vibes. You suspect these vibes are their three degrees of separation, considering there was an abnormal amount of Change of Major files formed after his enrollment, but you tell Lee Chan that you don’t know anything and, even if you did, you wouldn’t put his business out there like that.

But some part of you still has this inexplicable urge to protect Seungcheol, so you match their offer with interest and tell him to say there’s nothing to report—not that you didn’t know, not that he couldn’t get anything out of you. Seungcheol isn’t dating anyone.

You don’t know if it’s true, but you figure that if it isn’t, he still deserves privacy.

Which is a notion you have trouble explaining a few hours later, when Seungcheol strolls into your office with a grease-stained paper bag full of cheese coin bread, offering one to you with a proud smile that drops slowly when you just stare in return.

“What’s wrong?”

Your mouth opens, closes, opens again. Nothing comes out, even though it should be simple. Some sophomore kid was just in here angling for information or the Student Services department is taking bets on whether or not you have a girlfriend would both suffice, but you cannot bring yourself to say the words.

What you settle on is, “Sorry, I just… had an interesting meeting before you got here.”

“Oh. Are you okay?”

You sigh. Tilt your head back to stare up at the ceiling. “It was about you, actually.”

Seungcheol chokes, starts stuttering over words you can’t make sense of. Says, “Me? Why? I passed my last exam—I mean, barely, but I still passed. And that wasn’t your fault! I didn’t study enough! I’ve been losing my mind over my International Trade class, that shit sucks—”

“It wasn’t about your grades, Cheol.”

“Oh.” Then, slowly, a lopsided, pleased smile overtakes his face. “Haven’t heard you call me Cheol in a while.”

“Seungcheol,” you correct.

He seems to forget all about the meeting. Tries again to offer you a coin bread before he threatens to eat them all himself, so you acquiesce mostly to shut him up, say you’ll bring the extras to Kaori. For some reason, you tell him about how much she’d loved the cookies your mom sent, and the nostalgia sets him off, gets him talking again, asking if they were the yakgwa she used to make when you two were kids.

They were, but you can’t seem to tell him that, either.

Seungcheol: sorry it’s last minute - running late. can you meet me at my place instead?

Seungcheol shared a location with you

You’re halfway to replying—I don’t think that’s appropriate—before you sigh and delete it. Midterms are only a few days away and you don’t have time to argue over where your tutoring sessions will be, so if Seungcheol wants to meet at his apartment that’s where you’ll meet him.

You read over the midterm notes on the train. Once, twice, and then a hundred more times until they’re nearly memorized, all so you can ignore the voice in the back of your head saying what a bad idea this is. That you have no business being on your way to your ex’s swanky part of town or integrating yourself into his life beyond tutoring at all. You shouldn’t know where he lives. Maybe you shouldn’t even have his phone number or answer his texts.

Not that there’s much you can do about it now, two stops away.

Seungcheol greets you warmly, if not a little rushed. Apologizes for the mess once you step inside, although it’s less “mess” and more “haven’t finished unpacking,” but there’s enough clear space to study at the dining table, so that’s where you set up, determined to keep things professional.

“Sorry again about this,” Seungcheol says, placing a can of cola in front of you as he takes the seat across. “I had to meet with my father and lost track of time, I guess.”

“Oh. How’s he doing?”

Seungcheol sighs, leans further back in the chair as runs a hand through his hair. A light brown, now. “Same as he always was, I guess. Talked about the business, about my brother. Can’t get him to shut up about that stuff most of the time.”

“The business is doing good, though.” You cough, clear your throat. “My, uh. My brother interned there during undergrad. I don’t know if your father told you that.”

You don’t know why you say it, because it’s clear from the brief flicker of pain on Seungcheol’s face that he hadn’t known, that no one had told him. And it hurts you too that they felt the need to keep it a secret, to protect Seungcheol from you even in tangential ways.

“He didn’t,” he admits, “but I’m sure he was happy to see him. He was, uh—he was glad to hear you’re my tutor. Said you were always smarter than all of us boys combined.”

You laugh. Hope it sounds casual instead of strained. “Well, no need to prove him right. Come on,” you say, tossing a study guide in his direction, “let’s get to work.”

Everything is alright for a while—nearly an hour at least. He has the formulas memorized and attributed to the correct equations. He can explain supply and demand, preference and utility, but things start to fall apart around budget constraints and constrained choice.

The formulas get mixed up. He grows frustrated when he doesn’t know the answers to your questions right away. Rolls his eyes and gets a little snappy when you correct him, try to explain things differently in a way he understands. At first he’s able to temper it, collect himself before things truly start spiraling out of control, but the longer the two of you sit there the more it all unravels.

He snaps, you snap back, and you can’t figure out why. You’ve survived this long in Seungcheol’s orbit even though you never thought you’d be around him again, and perhaps it was bound to explode eventually, but…

It’s the familiarity, you realize.

You and Seungcheol aren’t friends, though you’ve been playing at it for weeks now: meeting outside of the library or your office, the personal conversations bordering on reminiscing, being in his personal space. You don’t belong here. You don’t want to be his friend—you can’t be, not for real or pretend.

“That’s not what I’m say—”

“Then explain it better,” Seungcheol fires at you, eyebrows creasing. “You’re the tutor here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m trying, okay? All I meant was—your answer isn’t wrong, but I know Dr. Lee and he’s going to want more than that in a response.”

“Right—not good enough, like I said.”

“I’m just asking you to expand on your answer—”

“And I’m telling you that’s all I’ve got. I’m not like you, all right? I don’t have all this shit just floating around in my head all the time. I’m not smart, I barely have any idea what’s going on half the time, and you sitting here being condescending about it is doing fuck-all to help.”

You inhale sharply, taken aback at the hostility in his voice. Suggest calling it for the night, say neither of you will be productive if you keep going like this, and neither of you bother to apologize.

So much of your relationship with Seungcheol was marred by clichés.

The two of you passing notes back and forth during class. You in the bleachers of all his games, screaming along to the team chants, waving a sign around with his name on it. Not realizing you had a crush on him at all until he liked someone else and it made your stomach hurt. Childhood friends turned lovers.

Another cliché: that it’s starting to feel like that all over again.

Seungcheol sits across from you in the library, econ textbook cracked in half in front of him as he pays no attention. Keeps grabbing his phone each time it vibrates across the table. Can’t fight the smile that forces its way onto his face when he reads whatever’s there.

Stupid, you think—both to do this and to think it’d play out any other way. Seungcheol left years ago. Probably lived ten lifetimes while he was away while you were here in this exact spot doing this exact thing. Barely lived half a life, just stuck your nose in textbooks and forced your way through.

“Cheol,” you say, trying to drag his attention back to the study guide. No use. He’s typing away, presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek as he responds. “Seungcheol,” you try again.

Also fruitless.

You have no claim here, you remind yourself—not to his time, not to him. He’s only here because someone else mandated it. You’re only here because someone else mandated it, but it stings all the same. Another reminder of what used to be, of what ended regardless of what you wanted. Another reminder that the role you used to play in his life is not the role you play now. That the space you used to take up created a vacancy, and eventually it was going to be filled.

And if this was anyone other than Seungcheol, if you were more emotionally evolved when it came to him, it wouldn’t gnaw at you as much. All of this would roll off your shoulders.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“If you’re not going to listen, then—”

“I am listening,” he interjects, but he’s not looking at you. Not looking at his textbook or his study guide. Keeps laughing and smiling at his phone, and it’s sick how bothered you are by it. That it feels like your stomach’s been turned inside-out with jealousy; with annoyance, because you don’t want to be here anyway, don’t want to do this anymore, and you’re wasting your time on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.

Perhaps he never did.

“What are we discussing, then?”

Still not looking up: “Consumer theory.”

You laugh—more a huff of air than anything, grin sardonically out of one corner of your mouth. Seungcheol sees none of it. “Wrong,” you answer, already expecting the way he shrugs it off. “I’m gonna skip ahead a few chapters, though. Consider it a freebie for your business class.”

It must be your tone that finally grabs his attention. Cutting, precise, purposeful. Seungcheol lowers his phone, quirks an eyebrow, wonders where this is going to go. It’s clear he’s pissed you off, that you’re itching for a fight. It’s clear the years of silence are finally coming to a head.

“Let’s talk about ROI. You know what that is?” You barely give him a second. “Return on investment. A performance measure used to evaluate the efficiency of an investment or compare the efficiency of several investments. So, let’s say I make one-hundred-thousand won on a ten-thousand won investment: my ROI is 90%. Are you following?”

He nods.

“Great, now let’s try something a bit more hypothetical.” You suck in a breath. “Let’s say I invest years of my adolescence into someone. A friend at first and then something more. Let’s say I played cheerleader, supported every hope and dream he had—went to every game, cheered him on, helped him practice his English. Held his hand and talked him down when the pressure felt overwhelming, when the only thing that felt inevitable was failure. Now, let’s say all I got in return was a stuttered, awkward apology as he dumped me and walked out the door. Let’s say that guy showed up again after years of silence just to once again waste my fucking time.”

The thing about pain is it’s not linear. What hurt five, ten years ago might not hurt today, but it might tomorrow; what hurt yesterday may never hurt again. The thing about pain is it lets you stick your head in the sand until it can’t anymore, and that’s where you are now: that window of time between Seungcheol walking out the door on the assumption you’d never see him again before he bulldozed his way back into your life has been slammed closed, locked up tight.

So you don’t even notice you’re crying until the room goes deathly silent and you can hear the drip drip drip of tears on paper. Until you watch Seungcheol’s hands flex and unflex in mid-air, stuck in that liminal space, wanting to reach out but knowing he has no right to. Until your chest aches so bad you’re sure you’re either about to break into stardust or cease to exist.

Until you say, “What, Choi Seungcheol, would you say my fucking return on investment was?” and he has nothing to say at all.

Kaori invites you to a party.

Just something small to celebrate the end of midterms and a classmate’s birthday. Nothing out of control or raucous, not even the kind of thing that’d earn a second glance from campus security. I won’t even make fun of you if you leave before eleven, is how she sold it to you, in addition to a small amount of begging and bargaining and a powerful set of puppy-dog eyes.

After everything the two of you have been through, you find it hard to say no.

So here you are, nearly eleven o’clock on a Friday, a cup of cheap beer in hand. A friend of a friend of a friend is wailing into a karaoke machine and although your ears are bleeding, it does feel nice for that to be your greatest worry. You aren’t thinking about your classes or how you’ve been prioritizing everyone else’s academic success. You aren’t thinking about whatever’s going on between Kaori and Ken. You aren’t thinking about Seungcheol.

At least you aren’t, until he walks through the door.

You’re going to continue not thinking about him at all—not about the fact he’s alone or how good he looks in a simple black T-shirt that’s a little taut in the shoulders. You’re not going to think about the way the air shifts, like the universe knows he’s important and is willing to accommodate. You’re not going to think about how Kaori catches your eye across the room, recognizes him from all her internet searches, and the way she mouths oh my god he’s so beefy at you.

You’re not going to think about how guilty you feel that she doesn’t know, because if you do you’re certain it’ll take over.

You watch Seungcheol work the room; watch as he floats between conversations, as strangers fall over themselves at the sight of him. How eager everyone is to give him something and how reluctant he is to take them. You watch as he winds up in the same circle as Kaori and how she must mention you, oh, your tutor is my roommate, because there’s a question in return before he turns and meets your gaze.

You wonder why the distance between you feels more insurmountable now than ever before.

Seungcheol finds you in your office.

It’s not a Tuesday or a Thursday, far later than four to six in the evening, but he doesn’t even bother knocking before he’s barreling in, stifling your space with his bad energy.

You haven’t seen him in nearly two weeks. Not since the party, if that even counts. Hasn’t bothered to reply to any of your texts or emails, and that was just fine by you, if that’s how he wanted to act, but it isn’t until he’s brooding on the other side of your desk that you realize you’re still aggrieved, too. Feels a little too familiar, him leaving you behind and in the dark.

So you don’t mean to—typically have much more professionalism than this—but when he tosses a stapled stack of papers with a barely-passing grade on your desk and says, “This is your fault,” the words come automatically and without forethought.

“Fuck off, Seungcheol.” It’s not your words that take him by surprise; more so the roll of your eyes, the accompanying huff. The impression that all of this is beneath you and nothing more than a mere annoyance. That however affected you were two weeks ago is not how affected you are anymore. “That’s what happens when you blow off your tutoring for two weeks because you’re a coward.”

He laughs, incredulous; unable to help the sound the tumbles out of his mouth. “I’m a—I’m a coward?”

“Yes,” you reply, tone giving away nothing. All he sees is feigned nonchalance despite the hurricane you feel brewing beneath the surface. “This,” you continue, pinching the corner of the paper between your fingertips and disposing of it in the trashcan beneath your desk, “is all on you, but do please let me know if there’s anything else you’d like to blame me for. I’m all ears.”

You don’t miss it: the way Seungcheol’s eyes grow wide at your ‘I’m all.’ The way he thinks you’re going to punctuate that sentence with yours, and it nearly has bile rising in your throat. Makes you want to scream, rip at your hair. If the last few months have taught you anything, it’s that you are still hopelessly in love with the man across from you—the man that continues to leave before he’s left, always at your expense.

So, yeah—Seungcheol is a coward, but only when it comes to you.

But he doesn’t look much like one now, gripping so hard at the edge of your desk that his knuckles have gone white, baseball cap pulled down low enough his eyes are barely visible. He’s always been overwhelming, always carried himself with an exaggerated arrogance even when it wasn’t warranted, always took everything so seriously, and maybe that’s why you’d thought he’d treat you the same way. Take you seriously. Wouldn’t just throw it all away on a maybe thing, and that’s why it's been years and you still aren’t over it.

Maybe Seungcheol is a coward, and maybe so are you.

Because not once since he’s been back have you been able to say what you mean. Can’t seem to tell him about the anger, the hurt, the heartbreak. Played it all off as petty nonchalance because you foolishly thought that would hurt him, that you’ve been reduced to simmering ash, no hope left for a fire.

“I could never blame you for a goddamn thing,” he says, voice so deep you could drown in it.

You so desperately want to know. You don’t want to know anything at all. You want Seungcheol to explain everything to you in detail and spoil the ending, but only if it’s guaranteed to be happy. Enduring another loss like the first time—you’re not sure you can take it. Not after you two have crossed paths like this, because you’ve never quite believed in fate but you think that has to mean something. That so much time and life had transpired and you two came back together.

Today, though, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get any answers.

Seungcheol straightens, looms at full height. Digs into the pocket of his sweatpants and pulls out a thumb drive. Wordlessly, he hands it over, and then he’s gone just as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Again.

Kaori wants to spend the weekend moping, and you can’t come up with a good reason not to join her.

She doesn’t mention Ken once. Not when she’s sobbing over A Silent Voice and Toradora! after that. Not when she keeps glancing at her phone every couple minutes to see if she has any texts. Not when you—only halfway paying attention between grading and your own assignments—suggest ordering something for delivery, maybe that new burger place down the street you heard was good, and Kaori shuts it down so vehemently you can only assume it was Ken’s favorite place.

Kaori just cries over the man with the big dick she never expected to take so seriously, and not even your stonewalling makes her feel ashamed of it.

And there’s respectability in that kind of openness and vulnerability. At least whatever she’s feeling is honest; at least she can admit she’s sad. You think watching Kaori process her breakup might help you process yours too, years too late, so you suck in a breath and ask, “Can I tell you something or is now not a good time?”

Kaori looks over at you. Dabs a soggy tissue at her eyes. “Well, I guess it depends,” is her answer, and she doesn’t shy away from how waterlogged her voice sounds. “If you’re going to tell me you’re a Takasu and Kawashima shipper, maybe, but if it’s anything worse I’m not sure I could take it.”

“I—what? Who even are they?” She gives you a half-hearted thumbs up. You sigh in response, sink further into the couch. “It’s, uh.” Clear your throat. “Do you remember when we met sophomore year? At that party? And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything and you said, and I quote, why not, I have a sixth sense for this kind of thing and I know that guy will have a huge—”

She hides her face behind her hands. “Ew, god, yes I remember that. My dick whisperer era. How embarrassing.”

“Right. And I told you I wasn’t looking for anything because I’d just gotten out of something.”

“Not really by choice, if I remember correctly. I told you if it was quiet it should’ve been loud, and then you never talked about it again.”

You nod. “I—yeah, that sounds like something I would’ve said.” You suck in a deep breath. “Listen, this is probably gonna sound bad considering I did never talk about it again, but—”

“Hey,” Kaori says, nudging you with her foot. Meant to be comforting, somehow. “It’s okay. There’s a lot you don’t know about me, too… most of which I’m not sure you should, actually.”

A laugh forces its way out, gives you a nice reprieve from the anxiety of the conversation you’re about to have. The need to explain it all, the need for advice. Maybe it’s not her—or anyone else’s—business, but you think you’ve kept this to yourself long enough. You and Seungcheol loved each other, once, and it seems foolish that no one knows.

Maybe Kaori had been right. Maybe love should be shouted from the rooftops; exist out in the open. Maybe something hidden in the shadows can never thrive in the light, and you knew it back then, deep down, but now it seems so obvious.

You think back to a few days before the library. Think about how things didn’t feel good but they felt okay. Think about the frustrated crease between Seungcheol’s eyebrows as he stared down at his textbook and how all you’d wanted to do was smooth it. Think about how you’d rolled your lips and tried not to laugh; how you thought it’d take a miracle to help Seungcheol pass this class.

Think about: What is the difference between the short-run and the long-run from the perspective of production theory?

Think about the short-run of your and Seungcheol’s relationship—that you’d burned bright and fast, even though it’d felt like a million years. Hadn’t dared to consider the long-run because anything beyond that bubble felt impossible.

Think about: Which of the following is not a property of isoquants?

Think about the way Seungcheol’s eyes lit up when he knew the answer. That they’re always linear, he said, and you smiled at his enthusiasm, raised your hand to high-five him and dropped it when he hadn’t noticed.

You think about the explanation—isoquants can be linear when inputs are perfectly substitutable—and what those graphs look like. Downward sloping, left to right. Think about how the graphs change when the isoquants are perfect complements.

L-shaped. Less straight as the inputs become poorer substitutes.

You know what your and Seungcheol’s graph would’ve looked like back then.

So it’s easy, almost, to tell Kaori everything. You tell her about growing up in Daegu, about the smell of the azaleas at Biseulsan in the spring. You tell her about how your parents had befriended the neighbors, how they had a kid your age, that that kid was Seungcheol—yes, that Seungcheol.

She’s able to anticipate the rest from there, but you fill in the blanks of what she can’t: being sixteen and falling in love, holding hands, the clandestine notes. All those football matches and how your throat would be hoarse from cheering. How nauseous you’d felt applying to university in Seoul, how excited you were when Seungcheol said he was coming with you. That, after you arrived, it felt like you were living in fast-forward. Barely any time to breathe or adjust; no time to just be you and Seungcheol. You had to be a student, someone responsible; Seungcheol had to be a phenom.

“Could you feel it was going to happen?” Kaori asks, now sat ramrod straight, all her attention on you. “Like, did you know?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe I did? It’s hard to say now, all this time later. I know things definitely felt different, like life was pulling us in opposite directions.” You laugh, bitterness coloring the edges. “You couldn’t go two blocks without seeing him on some billboard, and I was just… normal, you know? I wasn’t some rising star athlete like he was, I just went to my classes. How was I supposed to compete with something like that?”

Your roommate hums, leans back into the pillows as she stares up at the ceiling. “I don’t think you were. Maybe that’s why Seungcheol was worried—maybe he felt like you were losing your own identity feeling like you had to keep up.”

You want to push back, argue that you weren’t, that you didn’t, but the truth is that it’s possible. That the shadows created by Seungcheol’s dreams were so massive you wouldn’t be surprised if they unintentionally swallowed you up. “It still wasn’t his choice to make,” you say, voice barely above a whisper.

And Kaori already knows all about your hurt, listened as you explained it all and laid everything bare. So when she says, “Sometimes that’s just how it goes, though, babe,” it doesn’t feel condescending. “We do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time. You can say now it wasn’t Seungcheol’s choice to make, because it’s been almost five years and you’ve made a life for yourself separate from him. But the—god, this is gonna sound so patronizing, I am so sorry—but you guys were so young. No one has it all figured out at that age.”

She snorts, runs a hand through her messy hair. “Shit, I’m nearly halfway to thirty and I still don’t know anything.” Adopts a frown. “What do you want now? Do you want closure? Want to try to fix things and become friends?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, biting at a hangnail. “He actually, um. The other day when he stopped by my office, he left me a USB drive? And before you ask, no I did not already look at it.”

“A USB drive? Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?” A pause. “Are you gonna look at it, though?”

You do.

Not until the silver, midnight light creeps in through your bedroom curtains and you’ve stared at the ceiling long enough; waited long enough for texts that never came, for divine intervention to, well, intervene. It never did—fair enough—so you decide to take fate by the reins. Grab your laptop, instant headache from the screen, stick the drive into the port.

It takes a second for it to load, but when it does: dozens of videos, organized by date. Vlogs, by the look of them—some from before your breakup but the majority of them from after.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this.

You click on the first one: a month and a half before both of you moved to Seoul. A fresh-faced Seungcheol appears on your screen, cheeks still round with adolescence. He’s in his room back in Daegu, can’t get the camera angle right. Nostalgia hits you like a ton of bricks as it pans to the side, to the wall behind his bed, and you see all his old posters. Mostly football players you couldn’t name, some girl group he used to love, a few movies. Just below them are some of the notes you’d written him in school, and they’re all you can focus on as he talks about how excited he is for the move.

The next: a few weeks after you’d started classes. By then, Seungcheol was well into the swing of things with Seoul FC. Already a big fish in a small pond, tryout offers from European teams starting to roll in. You can hear yourself in the background stressing over your first exam, wishing a generational curse upon your calculus professor. In the video, Seungcheol laughs, whispers like he’s telling the camera a secret as he talks about how nervous he is for his future. I don’t know why, he says, but it just feels like everything is about to change.

There’s a long pause between that one and the next. You understand why when you look at the date: three months after your breakup. Your hands hover uselessly above your keyboard. Whatever answers you’ve been looking for the last few years are probably in this video, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not right away, at least.

You click on a different one at random. Seungcheol’s somewhere in Europe, judging from the language on the signs behind him. Snow falls quietly—whenever he filmed this, it must’ve been early. No one else is around, and he cracks a joke that it’s a good thing, people would probably think he was crazy if they saw him. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going but he narrates the entire walk: points out a cafe he’s grown to love. The way to get to his practice stadium from where he’s standing. Pauses near a restaurant and laughs ruefully, shakes his head, says, I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but one of my teammates set me up on a blind date here and I got stood up. You’d probably think that was funny.

(You do. It also makes your chest ache.)

One from two years ago: Seungcheol in a hotel room, clearly nervous. He raises his hand to wave at the camera and you can see the corners of his nails bitten raw. Dark circles beneath his eyes; cheekbones more pronounced than you’ve ever seen them. On the screen, Seungcheol sighs, rakes a hand through freshly-bleached hair. Sucks in a deep breath as he says, I’m so nervous. I’m so—so fucking nervous and I don’t. Fuck, I don’t know what to do. I want to call you because you always knew what to say but that’s so fucking selfish. God, we haven’t spoken in years, and it’s my—that’s my fault, I know, so I brought this all on myself. I just want to hear your voice.

Another from a week after that: the color’s returned to his face, and he’s recording from what looks like a penthouse apartment. Sleek, modern; a small white dog napping on the bed beside him. He smiles, looks like he got his teeth fixed, looks like he’s no longer carrying around the weight of the world. Talks endlessly and excitedly about some tournament. Talks so fast you can barely keep up. Talks around words tinged with languages you don’t understand.

Seungcheol wins a championship. Records a drunk vlog from the same night, hair soaked through with god-knows-what—water, champagne, you don’t know. But he looks radiant. Looks like the culmination of two decades of dreaming. He looks happy, free, at peace. He looks like the reason he let you go, why he had to go away.

You scroll to the bottom of the files. Pause at the last video, dated seven months before the term started.

“Hi,” he says, and you can immediately tell everything is all wrong. Seungcheol’s in the dark, face only visible enough to see the tears tracking on his cheeks. “This is going to be the last one of these I make. I don’t know if you, uh—I’m sure you aren’t paying attention to me—my career—anymore, but. I, um. I got hurt. Ruptured my ACL. They’re not sure I’ll…” A sob escapes him. Has you wanting to climb through the screen to hold him, thumb away his tears, tell him everything is going to be okay. “They don’t know if I’ll ever play again.”

Seungcheol no longer looks happy, free, at peace. “Maybe you’ll be happy to hear that,” he continues. “Maybe it’ll help you to know I threw away our relationship for nothing.”

Cut to black.

The sudden silence is deafening. Has you desperately clicking back to the video you’d skipped, the one from just after your breakup. Seungcheol looks the same in that one, too, like the life has been drained out of him.

I don’t know why I’m doing this. It’s not like I’ll ever show these to you now, since I…

I’m sure I owe you an explanation. To be honest, I don’t know what I’m doing, I just—things have been so hard, and I’m still trying to make sense of it all. I feel like my life went from zero to a hundred before I could even blink and now I’m scrambling. I didn’t think it was fair to—to drag you through that. Me being away, moving to an entirely different continent. I have faith we could do it, I just. I don’t know, baby, I don’t…

You deserve to have your own life. Be your own person. I’m so scared that the world will never see you for who you are—so beautiful and intelligent and kind. You don’t deserve to be reduced to my partner. And if you ever see this, I know you’re gonna roll your eyes. Probably call me a mean name because I took the choice away from you, because you think I’m trying to be selfless and heroic, and you’d be right. It’s not fair, and I wish I could tell you I’m sorry.

I wish I could just… pluck out my brain and give it to you, because even if it killed me to do it, at least it makes sense to me. And I don’t—I don’t want you to think I’m not hurting. I’ve been sick to my stomach since I left. I know I’m making a mistake, I know I am, I just—how do I do what I think is right in the long-run when it’s not what I want right now, or ever?

I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want you to get over me, and that’s how you know I’m not acting selflessly, because you should. I want you to always be happy, I just… wish it was with me.

So, I’m going to keep making these. I’m going to take you along for the ride, wherever it takes us, because you should be here but I can only hope you can one day understand why you’re not. I’m so—I’m so sorry, I don’t…

I’m sorry.

I love you.

You fall asleep and dream that you were the one meant to meet him at that restaurant.

The first thing you do is make a call to your mother.

“Could you send another container of yakgwa?”

On the other end of the line, your mother tuts, motherly intuition audibly kicking into overdrive. Is probably wearing that all-knowing, sly grin she always does when you try to be coy and evasive. “What happened to the last container I sent?”

“Ah, you know Kaori loves those. They barely lasted an hour after I told her what was in there.”

She hums an acknowledgement. Sounds like she takes a sip of tea. “I remember someone else being quite fond of those cookies, too.”

“Well, they are the most popular cookies in the country, so.”

After haranguing you into admitting they’re for Seungcheol and not your roommate, your mother promises to send them quickly. A few days at most, which buys you enough time to figure out how you’re going to approach the man in question.

The vlogs have turned your entire world upside-down. Answered questions you hadn’t even known you had. Took all that anger and resentment you’d been holding onto and set it free, and now you’re just left with… a void. Want to mend things, and it makes you wonder if such a thing is even possible, if it’s too late, but you don’t let those thoughts get very far.

Instead, you let them spur you into action. Have you sitting in front of your laptop at your desk, office hours long since over, silence creeping in the more the department empties. The thrum of the airconditioning and the tick-tick-tick of the clock are all the only company you have.

You worry if it’ll show on camera, how out of sorts you feel: sweating from the nerves, dabbing at your hairline; cheeks warm to the touch. But you suck in a breath anyway, steel yourself. Look at your webcam and the daunting red circle…

And start recording.

He hadn’t gotten it at first. Not really.

There’d been a container of yakgwa outside his door with his USB drive taped to the top of it. No note—not that he needed one to know who it was from, but he wasn’t sure what it was. A goodbye? A please fuck off forever and never contact me again?

He’d just taken them inside. Ate too many of the cookies while feeling sorry for himself. Maybe had a glass or two of wine to compound the issue, and never, ever considered contacting you. Didn’t think he could bear it if you never wanted to see him again, but he just…

Well, he was drunk and alone and he missed you, and he’d rewatched all those videos he recorded a million times before when he was like this, so what was a million and one?

It’d been the same as every time before: he smiled at the happy parts, cried at all his old wounds. Wanted to reach through the screen and strangle his past self for including that part about the blind date, because he never wanted to date anyone who wasn’t you, why would he say that, felt mortified at the thought of you watching that—

And then there it was.

All the way at the bottom. A new video. One that hadn’t been recorded by him—

Hi, Cheol, you say, and that’s all it takes to reduce him to a sobbing, yearning mess. I’m not sure what to say here. I don’t really record much—sometimes for lectures when the professors are too busy, but never anything personal like this, but I watched every single one you made for me and I thought I should return the favor.

I wanted to tell you everything I’ve been up to since you left, but it hasn’t been much. I got my degree. Tutored a lot in undergrad—the same thing I’m tutoring you in now, actually. I was good at it and it felt good to have something that was mine, you know? I almost moved for grad school. Thought for a while I was going to wind up in New York, but then my parents divorced and it felt like too much, too scary, so I stayed. Kaori also stayed, so we got an apartment together. It’s not much, definitely not as nice as your place, but it’s good enough.

I don’t think I ever told you, but she was seeing a guy for a bit and he was… obsessed with you, to say the least. Thought you were the coolest person in the world. They aren’t seeing each other anymore. Ended pretty badly, but—speaking of which, maybe steer clear of Student Services for a while, too.

Sometimes it felt like failure that I wound up staying here. That I had scholarships from all these far-away, prestigious places and didn’t take advantage of them. That I gave into my fear. And now… I don’t know. Maybe there’s a reason I stayed behind. Maybe there’s a reason you ended up back here, too.

Whatever happens—I don’t want you to think I still blame you. Kaori says we do the best we can with what we’ve got at the time, and I understand now that’s what you did. Even though it hurt me, you were trying to protect me. I get it now. And I’m sorry you had to go through all of that alone. I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been to go to all these places you didn’t know. To have to deal with your injury, the loss of a dream.

You said in one of your videos that you just want me to be happy, and that’s all I want for you, too, whatever that looks like.

Here’s my address if you ever want to come by to talk.

I love you, too.

—and then he’d been up and out the door, feeling stone cold sober, running to the front of his building to wait for his ride.

Felt like the drive took hours. Must’ve hit every red light between his apartment and yours. Took the steps two at a time just to get to your door faster.

There’s a man already standing outside your door when he gets there. One that looks shocked to see him, stars in his eyes, and when Seungcheol says, “Oh, you must be Kaori’s ex,” he looks more like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. Embarrassed in front of his idol.

He knocks on your door and gets no response. Knocks again, harder this time, and he has to try really hard to stifle his laughter when your voice yells from the inside, “Fuck off, Kenji, I already told you she’s not here!”

“It’s me,” Seungcheol yells back.

There’s quiet again. Just enough time for it to feel like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest and follow Kaori’s ex down the hall.

Then you’re yanking the door open—slowly, so slowly, like you’re scared it’s not actually him. Your eyes are brimming with tears when they meet his own, and he doesn’t let himself think, just goes on instinct, when he grabs for you, hands on your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours.

Somehow you taste the same.

Somehow you taste like redemption.

You taste like home.

Seungcheol kisses you until the tears slow. Kisses you until the universe realigns, until he could map your mouth in the dark. Kisses you until all you’re all he knows again.

When he pulls away, you’re gripping at his sweatshirt, don’t want to let him go. He presses his forehead to yours, offers up a million more apologies, starts talking nonsense. Says he’s going to drop microeconomics, what the hell does he know, he barely has a passing grade anyway, what does it matter, he’s such an idiot—

And then you say, “You came back,” and nothing else matters.

“I always will.”

(Later on, as you’re trying to steady your breathing, slick with sweat, your thigh thrown over Seungcheol’s hip as he stares down at you, dopey smile on his face, you say, “Choi Seungcheol, don’t you dare drop that class. I have worked my ass off to get you to barely-passing.”)

if you’ve made it this far thank you so much for reading! i am still very new at writing for seventeen, so i hope this was acceptable. i'm now going to throw myself into the warped tour vernon fic and will hopefully not go another 7+ months without posting anything. 😭

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

#seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol angst #seungcheol au #scoups angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #jewel writes

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dalishious · 7 months ago

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Dragon Age: The Veilguard’s Familiar Faces and Factions

The trailer for Dragon Age: The Veilguard has dropped, and I couldn’t be more excited. It’s like a new breath of life has entered my lungs!

Within the trailer, we now have confirmation of who our seven companions are going to be, and among them are a few familiar faces from the book Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights. We also have some name-droppings of a couple factions featured in the same book and the comics, Dragon Age: The Missing. So, here is what knowledge is established about these faces sand factions.

Neve Gallus & The Shadow Dragons

Neve Gallus was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Streets of Minrathous”. She comes off as a no-nonsense and a little intense kind of person. Neve is a Tevinter mage who works as a private investigator. For example, if someone wants some detective work done but doesn’t want the public to know, they would hire Neve. On occasion, she’s even been hired by the templars, who act like just regular cops in Tevinter – and yes, that includes their corruption and primary goal of simply protecting the elite – but Neve prefers to work alone because of that corruption, and has a personal grudge against the order for taking bribes to cover up crimes.

Neve has a prosthetic leg below the knee, made of dwarven-crafted metal.

In The Missing, Neve says she is friends with the Shadow Dragons. In the article shared by EA, as of The Veilguard, she is officially a member. The Shadow Dragons are a group of concerned Tevinter citizens who help those in need. This includes supporting escaped slaves, for example.

Emmrich Volkahrin

Emmrich Volkahrin was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “Down Among the Dead Men”. He is a necromancer from Nevarra, and therefore naturally a member of the Mortalitasi – specifically, a professor in the Mourn Watch. The Watchers serve as elite guardians of the Grand Necropolis. Emmrich is on the eccentric side, personality-wise, but kindly and informal.

Emmrich has a skeleton assistant name of Manfred, who helps him with different office tasks. He also has friends in Myrna, a fellow Watcher, and Audric, a dead guardsmen who looks after the library.

Lucanis Dellamorte

Lucanis Dellamorte was first introduced in the Tevinter Nights story, “The Wigmaker Job”. He is the favourite grandson of Caterina Dellamorte, First Talon (leader) of the Antivan Crows. As such, he was raised from birth to be the perfect assassin in a ruthless and torturous environment, knowing only cruelty from his family. This has led to him feeling less like a person and more like a living weapon – and he is treated like one by everyone who knows of him. He has “the Demon” as a nickname.

I know a few people are curious about the “mage killer” title in the trailer. Rest assured that Lucanis specifically kills evil blood mages. In his own words: “If someone wants to pay me top coin to kill a bunch of racist blood mages—who have it coming—I’m not going to complain.”

Where his cousin Illario has a “silver tongue” as Lucanis puts it, he himself is a lot blunter. His reputation of a killer is spotless, except for one small problem: He has a heart under all that black leather.

Lucanis and Illario get along quite well, except for the fact that Lucanis is destined to be the next First Talon, after Caterina dies. Illario wants the job far more than Lucanis, but Lucanis isn’t sure he’s capable of making a decision for himself that goes against the wishes of the Crows.

The Veil Jumpers

The Veil Jumpers were first introduced in The Missing #3. They are a group made up of primarily Dalish elves, though also inclusive of other folks of any walks of life willing to help, working to try and control the new threats within Arlathan Forest. The forest has become a ground of chaotic magic, with the Veil so thin that time and place is jumbled together. Thus, the Veil Jumpers move in and out of the spots that bleed into one another.

The Veil Jumpers do have a headquarters called “The Sanctum”, but we know nothing else about it.

The Lords of Fortune

Despite the Lords of Fortune being mentioned in more than one Tevinter Nights story, as well as the show Dragon Age: Absolution, we don’t know a lot about them. The only concrete information provided is that they are a loose group of people who collect trinkets and glory. They come out of Rivain. They typically wear a lot of their collected trinkets like badges of honour. That’s really all there is, so I can’t wait to learn more.

#dragon age #datv #dav #dragon age the veilguard #neve gallus #emmrich volkahrin #lucanis dellamorte #meta

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poisonedprose · 1 year ago

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2k follower event ! - 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐓 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓

carrd - nav - masterlists - reqs

i cannot believe we are at 2k??? 😭😭 this is so crazy to me, thank you all so much<33 i love you guys and i love creating for all of you and im so glad you all enjoy my work and have decided to follow me and support me 🫶🫶 enjoy the (emoish) y2k (ish) theme for 2k followers <3

NOTE you will need a twitter account to view most, if not all, of these links!

fandoms this event includes ; the last of us, resident evil, call of duty (im not comfortable doing any of the other fandoms i would normally do.)

CD PLAYER - NOW PLAYING: P LINKS FOR 2K

BABY TEE - the last of us

⋆ DINA putting the strap she found on patrol to good use ⋆ ELLIE helping her inexperienced!best friend ⋆ ABBY teasing you after you backtalked her ⋆ JESSE letting you ride him before he goes out for patrol ⋆ grinding on JOEL's boner to wake him up in the morning ⋆ getting your pussy ate by DINA ⋆ ELLIE gently fucking her cutesy girlfriend with a dildo

STAR CLIPS - resident evil

⋆ CARLOS fucking his brat!gf softly as a punishment after begging for rough sex ⋆ re4!LEON using his roommates cunt in the middle of the night ⋆ re2!LEON eating out his best friend and then softly fucking them ⋆ ADA watching you squirm for her own pleasure ⋆ softdom!JILL letting you fuck her with her strap ⋆ pleasuring yourself and re2!CLAIRE at the same time ⋆ trans!LUIS handcuffing you and fucking you with his strap

MINI SKIRT - call of duty: mw

⋆ KONIG using his virgin!gf's thighs to get off ⋆ PRICE giving his neighbor a nice lil gift for christmas ⋆ after a hard mission SOAP needs to relax by eating a nice warm pussy ⋆ teasing GHOST under the table during a meeting ⋆ mean!SOAP who keeps edging you even though your right on the brink of the best orgasm of your life :(( ⋆ GAZ letting you use him however you please ⋆ PRICE makes love to you before he goes on a 3 month long mission

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faeryarchives · 6 months ago

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hey chat! (first years x gn! streamer reader!)

summary: random but cutesy moments with your bf and brother ortho while being on air warning: modern au! fluff just fluff and rusty writing 🙂‍↕️ characters: twst nrc first years notes: platonic/familial section for ortho (you being the shroud's sibling) !! recently read some streamer au and it made me yearn and now im dragging you guys with me 😁 + longest one i've written ...

check out the art made by our lovley marj 🤍

divider credit goes to @cafekitsune !! her dividers are rlly cute check it out 🤍

✧.* ace trappola

being a streamer with a clingy boyfriend is really interesting

you are a pretty well known streamer mainly focusing on rpg games and movie reviews

and you also have a pretty good fanbase - they are pretty chill, encouraging and welcoming to newcomers especially in chat (maybe the chat do reflect the streamer)

they are pretty used to the times where you would start your stream with ace in the camera view sitting next to you

the loading screen finally disappeared revealing you on screen waving at the camera. "heya (fandom name) and non-(fandom name), welcome to the stream!" a laugh escaped your lips as the chat start to flood greetings, some were spamming hearts, some are getting creative with their comments and only one stood out to you. (name)clips: our favorite most beautiful wonderful (name) i hope you had a good day! please beware of red haired rats nowadays! and oh hi ace, i guess "oh you are worried for me? sure thing, i will look out for red haired rats, right babe?" "not you again (name)clips, i know you love my partner but they would pick me over you at any day!"

while they always joke around with you and ace, you `can see how they adore your boyfriend as much as they adore you

creates compilation of you and ace during your streams + ace is a regular watcher of your fandom clip channel

@ (name)clips uploaded a new video: when (name) is going crazy but their boyfriend is crazier @ thebestace: @ (username) SEE I TOLD YOU THAT U MISSED THAT ONE SPOT @ (username): i am kicking you out of our minecraft house 😡 NAWT MY FAULT YOU SAID LETS NOT CHECK THAT ANYMORE?

and he sees it all and leave comments (very supportive bf real)

especially when the two of you do streams together specifically horror based games and movie review

"(NAME) WHERE ARE YOU?!" while trying to escape the monster in front of you, ace's character suddenly blurred in and bumped into you. his screams echoing through your headphones. "ace i am literally in front of your character- why are you closing your eyes?!" "I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO LOOK!" "just move to the sid-" before you two could move out of the way, the monster grabbed ace's character and killed him along with his screams leaving you to run away from the scene. "i will live for the both of us!" ilikepringles: LMAO NOT THE CUT OFF SCREAM?! deuce spade 🔧: wow what a normal horror game day with these two cowabunga: never heard someone hit that note so high gloomurai 🔧: what a diva trying to salvage your gameplay (you both didn't save before the encounter), you didn't notice how the door to your room opened only for ace to lean to lean on your side while burying his head into your shoulder. and as if your body was on automatic mode, you leaned your head next to him and hummed. "i hate you." "i love you too, do you want me to finish this game?" "mmmm, we could play it another time with more people..." a dangerous glint appeared in your eyes with both of you letting out evil giggles. epel felmier 🔧: just got chills running down my spine should i be scared (name) (last name) 🔧: oh yes you should be

✧.* deuce spade

now before you even start your streaming life, deuce was the one who helped you with setting up and with the computer troubleshooting

that is why when you experience trouble during your stream, chat would typically expect him to come in your room with snacks for both of you while he fix your computer

while deuce is more on hands on, this man doesn't really understand most of the slangs your chat use that's why sometimes you include him in reading your fandom tweets

"this is a surprise video but we are going to read some of your tweets under my hashtags! and by i meant we, my boyfriend is going to join our stream today!" not even a minute in of scanning through the compilation of your fandom tweets about you, deuce looks so confused. "from @ ieattoes, not gonna lie, i would let mx. (name) (last name) to break my back like a glow stick. i'll stay on my knees for them." the man looked spaced out for a moment before looking directly at the camera with the most worried look you had ever seen. "... first of all, i don't know if i should be concerned with your username or the tweet. second, what the fuc-" "okay, next one!"

deuce is also one of your moderators! and let me tell you how he is so strict with people breaking the rules ESPECIALLY if there were mean comments about you on your chat

while he do want to uphold his running for honors persona, people disrespecting you, your viewers and friends is a different thing

randomuserjvsd: why did they just passed through that chest? its one of the most important things to do in the game? rebeccabot: aren't you that one streamer accused of hacking? fgsvklvbdhsv: LMAO SHIT GAMEPLAY WATCH (name) DRAMA CHANNEL INSTEAD it was a norm for you to receive such comments but who cares? your community knows you well and you know you did nothing wrong but to play the game. "hi to my favorite haters, thank you for viewing my stream! i don't know about you but tuning in live helps me makes money so..." through out the game, you notice how one by one those channel start disappearing in the chat, peaking your interests. "oh my, that is interesting." one and only ace 🔧: LMAO ONE TAP DEUCE STRIKES AGAIN deuce spade🔧: don't worry love, just continue your stream 😊

deuce's mom, dylla, knows about your hobby and fully supports you with it! even sending you some gifts to try on stream and promote them

pretty sure deuce and his mom are one of your biggest supporters in the fan base really - like mother like son (they are leading the fan war whenever someone drags you into a mess)

he knows he is not much of a gamer but man will go lengths for you in the game

(name) (lastname) @(username) guys 🥹 my bf went through multiple domain runs to build his characters and help me with the boss and explore the new areas in fontaine + liyue 🥹 (he suck at playing games) even in star rail so he could understand what i yap about 🥹 879 replies 11.5k retweets 1.2k quotes 90k likes @ thebestace - if my man isn't like this then i eon't want hiim @ (username) - GAY SPOTTED IN REPLIES?!?!?! @ cddiamond - HAPPY PRIDE 🌈🏳️‍🌈 @ jamilviper - congratulations @ spadecued - hey i don't suck that much at games :( @ (username) - remember how you died to a ruin hunter @ spadecued - that was when i start playing the game ??

✧.* jack howl

"... since we ended the game late and some of you don't want to leave yet, why don't we have a quick chat?" while you are having a small talk with your viewers after finishing your nth game run, your chat start to flood the stream at a fast pace ji9star: are my eyes playing me or something just passed through (name's) door? lightray: and it's 3am too... kreideprinz: how can you guys see a shadow when their hallway is so dark? "shadow?" curious, the viewers could only watch as you stood up and peeked out of your room. for a moment, you looked shocked and honestly the chat couldn't do anything anyways but what surprised them when that same shadow patted your head and urged you back inside. https.(name): A HAND?!?!?! (name)luvr: that is actually me scaratoes: stop the delusions ruggie bucchi 🔧: woah a mystery someone 🤭 "don't worry guys, it not a bad ghost. its a friendly neighborhood one! ace can prove it, right?"

being very open and active in your social media account, your viewers didn't expect you to be in a relationship!

sure as the kind of person who is hands on in academics and games, they didn't think you would still have time for a special someone!

its not like they are mad - they are happy !! but more like curious on who is the mystery guy!

"who is the mystery guy?" you stopped in your tracks to look at someone off camera and laughed, not wanting to spill the beans so early. the view count did increased once you reach out of the camera view only to show to the camera that you are holding someone's hand. cater diamond 🔧: oh you crazy 😭 "there is no fun if our mystery person got revealed so early, so why don't we start a game?"

in no time #friendlyneighborhoodghost start trending on twitter (not calling that app as X) - speculations about the mystery person

(name) (lastname) @(username) you guys are funny 😂 how are you so wrong about it? good luck guessing because he is also having fun with all your tweets 🤭 who knows he might be your mutual 1k replies 23.5k retweets 3.5k quotes 400k likes @ (name)clips - HOLY SHHIT WE GOT A CLUE ITS A GUY SPREAD THE WORD! @ (name)luvr - i am that mutual @ https.(name) - sweetie we support you but not with this one @ azulstan - no wait what if oomf is cooking something @ leonakingscholar - how are you two such trolls @ (name)bf 🔒 - whatever they say goes 🫡 @ jackloml 🔒 - ily 😘

its not helping them at all when you laugh at each speculations, because some of them were actually crazy

as if to add insult to injury, the mystery guy would come in your stream fully clothed and would randomly hug you from behind, - his face would always be out of camera's view and you made sure of that

it went on for months and finally, something happened

"... i don't think that was the best ending of the game, we could've save some playable character-" before finishing your insight on the game's ending, jack entered your room, his earphones on and probably just got home from training, not noticing how you were still on stream. "hey love, i am going to cook for our dinner, do you want anything?" at first there was silence, not noticing how you just froze in place and looking at him in shock. jack felt there was something wrong and finally removed his earphone, realizing that you were unmuted and your viewers probably heard it on live. "...oh." livelaughlove(name): THEY BAGGED THE ATHLETE?! jackstan: this is the best day of my life my two fave are together 😭 one and only ace🔧: LMFAO U STUPID ruggie bucchi 🔧: U HAD ONE JOB 😭 now i have to pay leona $20 thee leona kingscholar 🔧: hah told you i'm right "guess the secret is out now, finally!" you rolled your chair away from your chair to come your boyfriend and hug him from behind - proudly showing him on screen. "so yeah, this is our friendly neighborhood ghost! you guys may know him as the athlete but he is pretty active in the fandom too, right?" "i'm not subtle about being yours too, its not my fault no one believes me." scanning through his phone, jack showed a particular twitter account that sent the chat through more frenzy. white beast @(name)luvr told you guys i'm the real deal. love you @ (username) 259 replies 2k retweets 1.5k quotes 50k likes @ (username) - love u too 🤍 @ https.(name) - IT WAS REAL THE ENTIRE TIME? @ (username) - told you guys he was among you 😝

✧.* epel felmier

it was funny how you two first met because it was just on pure accident that you got to team up in a random 5 man team

and the two of you carried your team leading to more duo team up with each other

turns out you have a lot in common too, what a strange coincidence!

and now you live together 🥂

"how did you and epel got together? oh that's such a good question!" you twirled your gaming chair around - huge grin apparent with a mischievous glint in your eyes hayikeva: not the scary vibes all of the sudden 😭 jiminijipity: they were so waiting for this moment to come kandii783: LMAO ON THE OTHER STREAM EPEL JUST GOT SHIVERS "so funny thing! you guys already know how we met through valo and we got to know each other more through discord and collaborations with other streamers. while we only play fps and rpg games on stream, we play some game specifically for two players only!" epel felmier 🔧: ??? epel felmier 🔧: what r u talking abt epel felmier 🔧: R U BACKSTABBING ME?! bokuaka4ever: WHO CALLED HIS ASS HERE? (name)#1fan: what kind of games were you two playing? "oh hi epel, no i am not backstabbing you, it's the opposite - i am sharing how we got to know love! why don't you guys guess what kind of games we play?" teresita: roblox? randomuserh: GEOGUESSER epel felmier 🔧: get that away from me "don't mind him, we almost ruined our relationship fighting about the capital of australia." rook hunt 🔧: I KNOW THE ANSWER!! epel felmier 🔧: what are YOU doing here?! leona kingscholar 🔧: its not like it was a secret, it was obvious afterall mwishxr: WHOA THEE LEONA SPEAKS "hush you two don't spoil the surprise!" as the two streamers appeared on chat, more and more people start to appear too, mostly the familiar ones. ace trappola 🔧: real i have to agree w leona on this one ruggie bucchi 🔧: (2) deuce spade 🔧: (3) jack howl 🔧: wow this is surprising sukisuki: IJBOL DID THE WHOLE GANG TUNED IN TO EXPOSE EPEL? yuriified: this is the real power of friendship epel felmier 🔧: this is not friendship this is BULLYING "alright, i guess if he won't tell then i will - we often play sky: children of light. we play other games like minecraft or stardew valley but epel in this game is so amazing because he is guiding me throughout the game and everything." epel felmier 🔧: ihy 😡 epel felmier 🔧: i am taking tubby with me 😡 sleep outside tonight "wait. no, okay i'm ending the stream" and you really did end the stream on the spot

you apologized with tears that night (no not really)

both of your fandoms know about tubby - your adopted dog/child and he will witness his parents (mostly epel) screaming at random people in game to the point that he will bark along side your screams

but sometimes u have your off days too so there were times where you might have bad game plays -> getting trashtalked by your random teammates

as soon as you peeked at the corner, your character suddenly fell down after getting headshot by the enemy team. frustrated, you let out a groan before burring your head into the pillow next to you. "(nickname) do you wan to take a break?" "no i can still go for one game, i'm really sorry epel. after i told you we would rank up..." "it's oka-... what the fuck?" surprised at the sudden change in attitude and the sound of your boyfriend's furious typing ringing in your ears, you automatically looked at the team chat realizing why he suddenly became mad. randomnamehere: wtf if you are going to troll can you not do it here? randomnamehere: so much so for being a (username) fake randomnamehere2: that is so embarrassing get your ass off rank noob (username): have u seen your stats, been covering for your skill issue the whole game "if i wasn't a streamer, i would've talked back about his ass gaming very much." applelppa: why don't you get your ass off that pc and touch grass and have a touch with nature bc YOU TWO ARE THE ONES WITH THE MOST DEATHS?! **applelppa has been muted for 24 hours** "love, you got muted again..." "COWARDS I TELL YOU! YOUR MOM WILL NEVER BE PROUD OF YOU!" "epel-" "WHY DON'T YOU *BEEP* Y-" "BRO, WAIT CALM DOWN! I AM ON LIVE!"

✧.* ortho shroud

this little guy is a regular at your stream no doubt it!

it would be more surprising not to see ortho in one of your streams rather than being in it

ortho would entertain your viewers while you go try to tell idia to tone his screaming down (real)

"okay so do you think i should change furina's artifact or not?" leaning over your shoulder, your brother took a closer look humming, analyzing everything then shaking his head. "no, your build is actually perfect, i think you should focus more on-" "AHHHH I HATE THIS GAME!" a loud scream followed by a loud thud from the room above you cause a thousand of laughing emoji to roll in the chat. jiminijipity: lolololololo mamasita: the eldest sibling is back at it again lolololol ace trappola 🔧: did idia just died or something jamil viper 🔧: as someone who plays league, he is pretty relatable... "... not this again, ortho keep them entertained for me will you?" with annod, you left the room running and ortho casually twirling around his chair, waving excitedly at the camera. "hello everyone! how are you all doing?" orthofanreal: HI ORTHO petuniaaaa: hello ortho how are YOU doing? skibidirdir: its a miracle your neighbors haven't filed a complaint with how noisy your sibling gets in playing games "we are sure noisy, but the truth is we don't actually have any neighbors, it gets pretty lonely here at times." in the viewer's eyes, they can see ortho looking out of your window longingly before shrugging what ever was clouding his mind and smiled. "you guys might already know that our parents are really busy leaving us three to stick together most of the time. and i am glad that (name) and big brother idia would include me in their livestream so i won't feel lonely." https.shroudsiblings: oh no... who is chopping the onions :( jack howl 🔧: you know you can come over here evey once in a while right? yuu 🔧: ORTHOOOO 🙁 there were several crying emoji flooding in as well as the sound of someone crying behind him. the youngest shroud turned around to see his older siblings at the door way, holding in their tears - obviously hearing what he just said. "since when did you guys got here?" "*sniff* okay fuck league and genshin we are going to play mario kart."

it may come as a surprise but ortho is actually the best player out of the three of you

ortho being first followed by idia and you at dead last 😅

but hey who cares if you are last?! you could even play the most boring game ever but ortho will always make it like its made for fun

sometimes you would try to entice ortho with his favorite food just to turn on idia on voting what to play on game and movie night

(name) (lastname) @(username) i love my siblings very much (don't mind the ugly one at the right) 459 replies 2.5k retweets 1.1k quotes 40k likes @ orthoshroud: but isn't that big brother idia on the right? @ (username): exactly 🥰 dont mind him at all our youngest 🤍 @ randomuser: loolololol agreed @ (username): @ randomuser shut the fuck up only i can insult idia @ gloomrai: I SEE HOW IT IS I AM TELLING MOM @ mrsshroud: yeah about that idy... @ (username): IJBOL

✧.* sebek zigvolt

and if i speak - this man will get everything just to support you

and i mean everything: your channel subscription, merch, plushie, photo cards that he made and he will still support you by sending donations + gifting subs to your fandom

sebek is very proud of you real! he is very vocal about it and he really feels giddy when you invite him to your streams

(name) (lastname) @(username) okay new waiting room for you all <3 and donations are still off so it's a sign for y'all to save money I AM LOOKING AT YOU MISTER @ wanisama 😾 (insert twitch link) 233 replies 1.5k retweets 900 quotes 20k likes @ gloomrai: to those non (fandom name) its like putting a kpop stan on merch ban for their fave artist @ lilredbat: and i was about to sen you some too @ (username): SO YOU ARE THE ONE INFLUENCING HIM 🫵 @ wanisama: :( @ (username): oh don't you go all sad on me now mister YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH 😾

but it won't be too long until he would do it again - just like a routine 😭 that is just how he shows his love okay

other than that, sebek is a pretty cuddly person and pretty much let you do what you want

while you were streaming, you suddenly faced the man with your arms wide out. "sebek babe, come here." before his mind could even process anything, his body moved on his own and quickly wrapped his arms around you. even giving you a a kiss on the head. "what's wrong?" "hehe, nothing. can you sit next to me? we just finished playing." "sure, do you want me to get some snacks?" you cuddled each other, him wrapping you into his hoodie, until you finally finished the stream.

its funny how your viewers would comment on how you are endorsing more of sebek's hoodie rather than your own merch 😭

with your relationship being out in the open, it's no surprise that both of you would shoot some videos and post stories on instagram like cooking and this is where they realize sebek is more like a boyfailure disaster than the one they see on live

"sebek?" "...yes?" "... can you tell me what are you doing right now?" in the video, sebek was trying to hide something behind him, ribbons and papers scattered around his feet. sebek avoided your gaze, hand flailing in the air. "i-i thought you were streaming?" the more you step forwards the more he tried o hide that certain thing behind him "yeah but it got delayed because the game had a sudden maintenace... oh my god is that the one i wanted to buy the other day-" "OH MY MY PHONE JUST STARTED RINGING, I THINK WAKA-SAMA IS CALLING FOR ME. FAREWELL MY LOVE."

yeaaa and don't get him with the q and a because he has a one track mind if there are questions regarding about you

i think he knows you more more than yourself

sometimes though sebek would join his friends' games and content involving everyone asking each other questions and such (like 2 truths one false or a batsu game).

"okay, my turn!" after ace spin the bottle, it landed on sebek who looks like he was about to say something that would change the world. "ah, it's sebek. now this is hard." "give me your worst, trappola." the green haired man challenged, knowing he will emerge as the victor (man vs himself). "alright! if you could kiss anyone in the world without consequences, who would it be?" "easy, my wonderful partner (name) (last name)." "that shit don't count, you do that anyways!" "@ (username) in every social media platform." riddle rosehearts 🔧: never let ace interrogate anybody (name) (last name) 🔧: AWWW BABE <333 I LOVE YOU TOO (name) (last name) 🔧: and ace open up i'm at your door 😃😊

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loveindefinitely · 1 year ago

Text

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed.

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?”

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here?

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases.

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation.

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight.

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears.

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later.

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat.

You swallow, once, an unsure thing.

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation.

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end.

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own.

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence.

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room.

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right.

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone.

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading.

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all <3

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child0feden · 6 months ago

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LOVELY VOICE

lando norris x voice actress! reader

faceclaim: assorted

୨୧ i know pride month has just passed but let me be! the timing for all of the games is completely wrong but once again, it’s fanfic, just let me be… i’m really just sticking with this short and sweet formula, i like short and sweet things, i no longer care about trying to stretch them to be as long as possible because longer ≠ better

reading music recommendations: in the flood by ariana gillis - blood upon the snow by hozier

ynln: had an incredible time at the game awards last night! met so many amazing people, the event had a great energy and oh! i won best voice actress for my role as aloy in horizon forbidden west! holy shit! thank you so much to everyone who voted for me and congratulations to the other winners ♥️

landonorris ✔️: there goes my girl!

❤️ liked by ynln

landonorris✔️: so so so proud of you love, your awards outshine mine ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln

> ynln ✔️: thank you lan but don’t make me laugh <3

> landonorris ✔️: what? i’m telling the truth

ynlovevoice: DESERVED! your voice acting in this game in particular was insane

lewishamilton ✔️: congratulations yn! was watching the event, your speech was great ❤️ here’s to many more wins, i’m sure! 🥂

❤️ liked by ynln and landonorris

> ynln ✔️: thanks lewis! means a lot coming from you ♥️

loveuyn: oh my god her and lando looked so good 🫣

> lanyn: hottest couple there and they knew it

oldf1lvr: when the camera panned over to her after she won, you could literally see lando cheering SO loud right in her ear 😭

> lanyn: i hope her hearing is okay lmao

> seyloy1: he was hyping his girl UP 💔 he had a facebook mom moment with his phone too, taking pictures of her on stage when there was literally like 10 professional cameras doing it for him 😭

oscarpiastri ✔️: you both looked terrible, truly… congratulations on the win yn!

> landonorris ✔️: i know you’re jealous oscar but there’s no reason to lie, is there?

❤️ liked by ynln

> ynln ✔️: because i’m feeling nice tonight, i’ll just ignore that first part! thank you oscar…

ynln: behind the scenes of my upcoming game, judas! i’ll be voicing a very different character to my usuals so stay tuned 👀

loveuyn: ANOTHER YN VOICED CHARACTER? she is spoiling us this year guys omg…

landonorris ✔️: can’t wait for this one, love ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln

> lanyn: he’s so supportive of her i can’t 😭

> iluvf1: supportive? he’s downright obsessed with her! he literally has every figurine ever released of all of her characters lmao

> ynln ✔️: can’t wait for you to play this one ♥️

> landonorris ✔️: …dotface 🙃

> ynln ✔️: i thought we were over this…

> landonorris ✔️: i can hear you laughing in the kitchen

❤️ liked by ynln

> oscarpiastri ✔️: why are you commenting back and forth when you’re in the same house? christ…

> landonorris ✔️: leave us alone oscar, we’re in looove, something you will unfortunately never experience

> oscarpiastri ✔️: whatever…

> landonorris ✔️: ohhh someone is salty 💔

> ynln ✔️: lando enough omg 😭

seyloy1: are we getting yn as a major antagonist for once? i’d dieee 🫣

> loveuyn: no but really… she’d make such a hot major antagonist… she already went crazy as bela in resident evil village and that was a minor antagonist…

ynlovevoice: she’s so cute oh my god…

> loveuyn: there really is two sides to yn fans, the people that find her cute and the people that find her hot… i’m the latter 🫢

landonorris: my girl has been working so hard for her next game! took her karting as a reward ❤️ check out the trailer here, i’ll be playing it on stream so tune in then!

ynln ✔️: ah yes, MY reward!

> landonorris ✔️: you loved it!

❤️ liked by ynln

> ynln ✔️: i guess i did, thank you lan ♥️

❤️ liked by landonorris

> oscarpiastri ✔️: you guess? you were bouncing off the walls begging to keep going even as the place was closing…

> ynln ✔️: this is why you’re always a third wheel and it’s never a double date, no one likes a sourpuss

❤️ liked by landonorris

lanyn: they’re so so cute together… when will it be my turn? 💔

oscarpiastri ✔️: never coming karting with you two again, she nearly took my leg off and you egged her on

> landonorris ✔️: sounds like you should’ve kept your legs inside the kart

> ynln ✔️: yeah, sounds like another you problem

> oscarpiastri ✔️: it’s always a me problem…

❤️ liked by landonorris and ynln

ynln: happy pride month! as a member of the lgbt+ community, the importance of genuine representation in media is something i hold dearly to my heart ♥️ here’s to all of the wonderful wlw characters i’ve voiced 🏳️‍🌈

oscarpiastri ✔️: happy pride, loser

> ynln ✔️: loser? well at least that means i’m still miles cooler than you oscar ❤️

> landonorris ✔️: ohhh burn, oscar, go cool off in a ice bath

> oscarpiastri ✔️: wasn’t even a good “burn”… i hate it here

loveuyn: i wouldn’t be surprised if they named their future child clementine, given how much that character means yn 🥹

> iluvf1: i’m not a gamer, can you explain why?

> loveuyn: it was the first character yn ever voiced at age 9, then 11, then 13 and finally 16! she basically grew alongside her character and has expressed how much she loves her

landonorris ✔️: happy pride, love! SEYLOY FOR LIFE ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln

> lanyn: lando being a #1 seyloy shipper will always be the absolute cutest thing to me 😭

> landonorizz: right? instead of being a weird ass bf that gets stupidly jealous, he ships her characters with other characters

lewishamilton ✔️: happy pride month yn, sending lots of love your way ❤️

❤️ liked by ynln and landonorris

> ynln ✔️: love from lewis, what everyone wants but only some can have, thanks lew!

> ynln ✔️: oh and happy pride right back at you

> oldf1lvr: omg 😭

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ୨୧ ˚ NEW ADDED BONUS ˚ ୨୧ ⋆｡˚ ⋆

lando has some trauma

#lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 smau

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sisislair · 1 month ago

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