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yougavememyopia · 3 days ago

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Here's the result from the poll! Sorry, it took long. I lost my progress and had to write it over T-T. Longer than usual to make it up to my lovely peeps. Anyway, here is the confident, popular yandere who becomes a desperate pathetic mess for you.

Popular yandere, who was never alone. Circled with adored gazes and loud chatters, people gathered around him like he was some kind of celebrity. His overstretched smile full of fake glee. Crinkled eyes masking a hollow emptiness. No one would care enough to truly look at him, all too busy talking nineteen to the dozen.

It was so easy to predict them. The mundane topics boring him to death. Nothing exciting ever happened. Gritting his teeth, he endured their ramblings. Endured their dullness. Their stupid problems.

Taps of his pencil slapped the wooden desk rapidly. A practiced, charming grin when he greeted you— his new project partner. The invisible loser at the background whose face he rather recognized.

"Hey there, guess we're partners, huh? What a total unplanned coincidence! Uhh, anyway, you can pick the topic. Nono, please, go ahead. I'll just follow your lead."

His crew strolled passed you in the fields. Always sinked down on the grass with your back against the concrete wall. Blue light reflected on your face, nose buried deep in your phone.

Your lack of a life amused him. Fascinated at how isolated you were, and yet you were beaming. Giggling at your screen while your posture got worse. Not seeming a bit sad about being alone or wasting your time playing on a machine.

Simple enquiring quickly led to obsessive stalking. Justified by stating how he was merely observing you. Interested in your name and your hobbies, what you ate for the day, where you walked when you had no school, how the interior of your home looked like. A bit of curiosity, that was all!

The school project was the key to getting closer to you. Instant refusal to every person coming his way, sweet talking them into grouping together by pointing out their strengths. No objections were made. His judgment very well-trusted. Now you had the idolized annoyance as your group member, exactly like he planned.

FINALLY, he could talk to the nobody persistently invading his mind. The endless thoughts of you giving him heartache. He couldn't get his beauty sleep at night, and when he did, the dreams were all about you. He wasn't normally the type to approach people, not like he had the time to. Every waking moment of his day was stuffed with zealous yet shallow admirers. Everyone loved him. Gawking at his good looks, adoring his style, praising his intelligence.

You didn't even bat an eye.

He was nonexistent to you. Eyes boring into indifference. Frustrated, at how you treated him like he was someone insignificant. People already began to question his strange, out of the blue behaviour. How he stared at the wall without blinking. You were getting the best of him— he couldn't keep his mask on, uncontrollably snapping at people, apologizing as if he was having a bad day. Every day was a bad day. A torturous wait for you to just look his way.

If you didn't notice him anytime soon, he was going to do something crazy.

Thanks to the project, you finally spoke to him. Irritated, sure. But you saw him, a dopey grin on his face when you repeated back his name. Even getting away with patting your shoulder. He greeted you in the hallways the day after, approached you during lunch the next week, and then started to text you like crazy the following month. No idea how clingy he was acting until you pointed it out. Falling more in love with your weirdness and hidden personality.

You acted uncertain towards him. Hesitant that this was a prank. Afraid that you'd become a laughing stock if this progressed any further. So you built a metaphorical wall between you.

Questions after questions overwhelmingly flooded his brain. Your behaviour much different than the way he was used to being treated. Sarcastic remarks and harsh dismissals hurt his poor, sad heart.

He started to crave even the slightest approval from those around him— what did they think of his carefully picked outfit? Or his light makeup and shiny hair? He needed you to drool over him like the rest of the school did, yet you still didn't trust him. Accusing him of being fake, when all he wanted was to befriend you.

"B-but I swear, I genuinely want to be your friend. Please, listen. I can be myself around you. I don't have to be perfect, y'know? I thought you'd understand..."

As you grew more doubtful of his intentions, he became more hopeless. Desperate to change your mind while fighting the insecurity that loomed over him.

You pushed him to completely give in to the urge to follow you home and watch over you from a distance. He'd ask his many connections to keep an idea on you when he couldn't, but since their questions and teasing and judgement would get on his nerves, he settled for a tracking device instead. The digital dot always beeping in the same, familiar spots on the map.

His mind jumbled into a chaotic mess. Your dislike for him beyond his comprehension. All he ever did was be nice, so why did you not give him the time of day? Gifts nor compliments, nothing was good enough for you. He had never did anything like this before. Chase after someone. Love, actually love someone.

For your attention, he was willing to do whatever.He longed to be useful to you. Be at your beck and call at any time like a loyal dog. Everything from your terrible posture to your poor diet to your sleep schedule, he could take care of it. He could take care of you.

In the end, he had no patience, he couldn't stand the wait— he had to ask you out. A spontaneous minute that he wished he could take back. Stutters left his lips while he tried to make the date sound super romantic. Roses, candle lit dinner, moonlight. A perfected plan delivered with anxious jitter. Red face burning hotter than glowing coals and big, round eyes awaited the response.

"Eh... no thanks."

His eyes twitched. You were a loser! A common known label that he hated to use. But how could you turn down the first guy who pursued you? Choosing fictional anime crushes over a live flawless boy pleading for a date. How long were you going to stay in your lonely shell as a kissless virgin?

His determination didn't waver. He was willing to do anything to win you over. Countless attempts turned down due to excuses. Weeks after weeks of him chasing after you. You were driving him insane. Like you were doing this on purpose. "No?!? W-Wha... Why not? You don't want to go outside, you don't want to come to my place, why... Why can't I come to yours? I-I don't care if it's messy or if it s-smells. I actually love it. Um, I just need a chance, please. I need to prove to you that my love is real."

How did he end up being the one begging at your feet? Fingers clenching around your calves, while he looked up with a shameful blush on his face. Embarrassing himself in front of everyone he knew. Their gasps and murmurs ringing through his ears. Humiliation turning his body weak. Hot unwanted tears flooding his vision. He didn't care— he couldn't take the rejection anymore.

"Please believe me, please. It hurts so bad. Ah, I can't breathe. I love you so much. Pleasepleaseplease don't push me away. Don't cast me aside. I want to be with you. I want to be with you..."

He could barely make out your face with the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His forehead rested on your knee, his head down as if waiting a death sentence. It was getting more awkward the longer he stayed on his knees. Yet he stayed glued to the harsh, cold floor. He'd never felt emotions to this level of intensity before you came. The hurt tightening his chest. A vice grip clamping down to crush his lungs.

Rubbing the back of your neck, you sighed. Feeling bad about the dishevelled flawed mess he turned into. Sweat worked up on your skin from the many eyes staring at the scene.

"You won't stop until I say yes, huh? I guess you proved you were telling the truth. So, fine. Let's get going now... You brought quite the audience here."

"..." His head remained stuck against your knees. Hands shaking against your legs while he exhaled. Not budging at all. The hushed whispers exchanged in the background making your blood boil. "What are you guys staring at? Scram! Go away! Leave him alone."

And they slowly faded one by one. You ran a hand through the soft, silky hair of the needy boy. More attentive to the mess on the floor to care about your surroundings anymore. Sitting on the floor beside him, you lazily wrapped his arms around your neck. A finger pressing his chin up so you could take a good look at him. He sniffed. Eyes all puffy and red. A deprived beg escaping his glossy lips.

"Please... I—"

You cut him off with a small smile. "You can hug me until you're satisfied. I'll be here."

Arms tangled tighter around you. Head tilted in, and you realized what this meant. A hint of anxiety bursted butterflies your stomach. But you went for it. Suppressing the flinch and moving in. Eyes half-lidded when velvety flesh met. Low hum buzzing from him. He pulled you closer and closer. Lips parted while you snaked your tongue into his mouth. A loud moan met your eardrums. Your little theory of him wanting you to take charge confirmed correct.

He melted like butter despite how you barely knew what you were doing. Uneven movements and unsure licks were just met with pathetic whimpers. Each stroke of saliva making him hot and dizzy. You had a way of making him unbelievably sensitive. No clue to why he felt like this was his first real kiss too. Never understanding the fuss about this pleasant feeling until now.

He pulled back for breathe much too soon, and panted against your face. "I'm so glad we found each other, darling. C-can I call you that? Since I'm your b-boyfriend now... Right?"

You didn't answer. He didn't give you a chance to. Another peck was placed on your lips. Desperate tongue reaching to wet your lips while you cupped his face. Hands grabbing your wrists to ensure you keep them there. Determination ran through him; He was going to plead and plead until you finally gave in.

#yandere #desperate yandere #yandere oc #obsessive love #yanblr #pathetic yandere #dom reader #male yandere #pathetic men #sub yandere #yandere x reader #yandere boy #male yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere male #male yandere x reader

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zepskies · 3 days ago

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BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

✨ Series Masterlist

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Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut.

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said.

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?”

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap.

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once.

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?”

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said.

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks.

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly.

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.

His brows furrowed. “Do what?”

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms.

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.”

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.”

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.”

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.”

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement.

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff.

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so.

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly.

“Hmm. No real loss there then.”

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.”

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner.

“Excuse me?”

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.”

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.”

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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pixiepipedreams · 2 days ago

Text

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — shaky like the first time our palms met in the clam sweat, heavy focus // in-ho x reader

♡ ⁄ pairing: in-ho x reader ♡ ⁄ warnings & tags: fem!reader, canon-typical violence & death, obsessive behavior, lying/manipulation, age gap (reader is 20-22, in-ho & gi-hun are late 40s, early 50s), watched/touched in sleep, mature themes, references to sex, anxiety + coping mechanisms ♡ ⁄ wordcount: 5k ♡ ⁄ summary: the second day of the games prevents you from ending up on in-ho and gi-hun's team. it's a mistake that won't be repeated. the least he can do is try to teach you how to play your assigned mini-game. (sorry, we kinda lost the hints of gi-hun x reader in this chapter, but it'll make a return!) THIS IS A SERIES! read part one HERE

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

You fell asleep with his hand in your hair, your meandering thoughts only brushing the surface of questioning his own motivations for such a gentle comfort. Young-il is an interesting man, and he's certainly caught your attention - more than you'd admit to. Your dreams offer you respite instead of garish nightmares about the first game, dancing atop a river, the water like silk under your bare toes.

In-ho stays longer than he should. The way you fall asleep so quickly under his touch, despite being a self-proclaimed insomniac, only makes that protective pull in his chest grow stronger. He allows himself his moment of weakness - he already had his conversation with Gi-hun tonight, already fulfilled the daily quotient for his own personal mission. So he allows himself this, this quiet moment of watching you sleep - too long for it to be appropriate, but the only people that will know besides himself are the guards watching the cameras tonight. He's sure to give the closest camera a harsh, leveling glare once you fall asleep. He's still the Front Man, under it all. It also means he knows what angle to turn his head so they can't see any hints of tenderness in his already closely guarded expression. At one point, his hand slips from your hair, tracing down the line of your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, dipping inside. He catches himself - not as quickly as he should, but quick enough to prevent the stirring of arousal to turn into full on hardness. At some point, he finds himself almost falling asleep, his head resting on the bed next to you, and he forces himself to get up, leave your side, and returns to his own bed. And if he falls asleep only thinking of you, fighting down an erection, well... he's the only one who will ever know.

The morning is rung in with the sound of jarring music, too light-hearted for such a dark place, and an announcer calling the players to prepare for today's game. Your dreams fade quickly, and you blink awake, eyes scanning the room on instinct. You hadn't forgotten where you were, but the odd peace in your chest feels out of place.

It takes you a moment to realize you're looking for Young-il.

You can't spot him in the sea of black haired men and women, and it surprises you just how much disappointment rises in your chest. The guards call for the players to line up. You walk down the metal stairs, slipping into one of the lines.

Finally, your eyes land on Young-il. He's standing in a separate line with Gi-hun's group, which faintly surprises you. After what happened yesterday, you didn't expect for Gi-hun to willingly take in any of the people with a circle on their chest. But Young-il isn't the only one in their little group who voted to continue the games, and you feel a strange pull, like you should join them. You don't. You feel out of place, like you don't entirely belong with them. Maybe it's some residual insecurity from youth, but you stay where you are, eyes lingering on Young-il as he talks intensely with them.

The guards lead all the players out of the dormitories, into the brightly colored great hall. Yesterday, you had found it strange, on your way to the first game - the strange layout, the colorful walls. Today, you find it garish. Images flash behind your eyes, blood splattered in the dirt, a giant plastic doll with all-seeing eyes. Panic threatens to overtake you, and you take a shuddering breath, forcing yourself to focus on what you can see, take in the details.

You were never one for pastels, but you do like the shades of pink and green. Not your favorite, but striking on their own, if you focus on them one at a time instead of their disjointed clash. The architecture is fascinating, and you find yourself wondering what kind of person designed this place. For some reason, you picture a woman, older, nostalgic. You doubt that her own home would have a similar design, but it would be unique, fascinating. No dull corner.

By the time you reach the arena, your chest has settled, your stomach no longer in knots. The doors in front of you open, and you're led into a wide, open area. The walls are decorated with images and writings that imitate an elementary school. It makes sense, with the childish themes you've seen so far in these games. There are two circular rainbow tracks in the ground, and you focus on that, trying to discern what it could mean for the game you're about to play. The tracks could mean some kind of race? Perhaps a relay, where each member has to run the track before passing off the baton? There's five colors, so would that mean five players?

"Welcome to your second game," comes the woman's voice over the speakers. "This game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes. Let me repeat."

Teams of five. You must be onto something. You were never good at running, but if you had to sprint for a short period, just once around the track, you could manage it. It would be advantageous to find a fit team, but the men would be less likely to take a woman in, with their own biases against the so-called inferior gender.

You're lost in thought when you catch the tail end of an argument nearby. "You can’t have the baby unless you make it out of here alive.

"I don’t trust you. You’re dead to me."

Looking over to the source of the voices, you spy a woman walking away from player 333 - that youtuber that Thanos fought yesterday, if you recall correctly. The woman's stomach bulges, even though she hides it under her tracksuit jacket - definitely pregnant. All of you are here for your own reasons, but she definitely doesn't belong here, and the 'X' on her chest fills you with guilt for putting her life on the line for a chance at getting enough money to settle your father's sins. Your heart aches for her, and before you can think better of it, you approach her.

"Can I help you find a team?" you ask abruptly, stopping her in her tracks. She looks at you warily, like she's not one to accept help, compelled to take care of herself alone. It's a look you're all too familiar with, one that lingers in your eyes behind your bathroom mirror.

"I don't need your help," she mutters, moving to push past you. You grab her wrist - firm, but not tight, eyes searching her face.

"Please. It'll be hard, to convince a team to let a woman in... let alone one of your condition. I can help." A comforting smile traces your lips. "I can be very persuasive if I need to be."

She hesitates, but it's enough. Self-preservation wins, in a place like this. The nod she gives you is small, but it's enough. Your hand slips into hers, and you tug her along.

Most teams don't even meet your eyes, and the few that you do approach together dismiss you quickly. Some of their expressions hold a trace of guilt, likely wondering if their denial will be sending the two of you to your deaths, but it's not enough. Self-preservation. Selfishness.

Maybe greed.

You try to stay optimistic, but the timer still ticks down. Eyes scan the room, desperation pinching at your chest, a frantic flutter to your heart, but you don't let it show on your expression. Just like before, in the dormitories, it takes you a moment to realize what you're really looking for, who's face you need to find. But this time, you find him quickly, smiling amiably with his group. There's no time for hesitation, your body pushing through the room, player 222 dragged behind you. When you finally come to a stop in front of them, your eyes flick from Young-il to Gi-hun. "Can she join you?" you ask, slightly breathless, 222 still behind you.

"Sorry, we've already got five people," one of them says, but your eyes are on Gi-hun's, searing. He owes you nothing, but you know he cares about the players in this game, that every death burrows deep into his heart. His eyes are weary, hesitant, but he doesn't break your gaze.

"Please," you say, stepping to the side. "She's pregnant." Your voice is determined, firm, and shock flashes through the group of men. Gi-hun's lips part, but he doesn't speak, perhaps stunned into silence. Hesitation.

There's no time.

You finally look at Young-il again, to find that he's studying you. There's surprise in his expression, but not even a hint of uncertainty. His eyes are intense, like always, and there's an edge of something... concern? Curiosity? Fascination? He's hard to read again, his face no longer easy to read in a group of people.

"Of course, she can join us," he says quietly, taking charge, eyes searching yours. You nod, relief seeping into your shoulders, and you release her hand.

"What about you?" 222 asks, catching your gaze before you walk away. Your eyes flick to the timer on the wall - thirty seconds.

"I'll figure something out," you mutter, then rush off.

It doesn't take long, this time, to find a group standing uncertainly, with only four members. The older woman and her son, a timid looking girl, and a tall woman who carries a certain strength that you instantly respect. It's not an ideal group, but you don't have time to be picky.

"Let me join you?" The words spill out, your own desperation probably obvious, but you're willing to bet they're just as desperate as you are.

10 seconds. The tall woman, player 120, looks at you, only pausing for a moment before responding. "Yes."

"Thank you," you say, bowing your head slightly, your shoulders sagging in relief. It doesn't last long. The announcer's voice rings out, silencing the chatter of the room. Time is up.

The guards call for the teams to sit in the center of each circle, lined up in your groups. Almost by design, Gi-hun and Young-il's team ends up next to yours, Young-il directly next to you with a gap separating you. Sitting with crossed legs in the dirt makes you feel like you're in kindergarten again, sitting on a multi-colored rug, surrounded by peers.

The announcer's voice again. "The game you will be playing is Six-Legged Pentathlon. You will start with your legs tied together. Each member will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten meter mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one. Here are the mini-games. Number one, the Ddakji. Number two, Flying Stone. Number three, Gonggi. Number four, Spinning Top. Number five, Jegi. Your goal is to win all the mini-games and cross the finish line in five minutes. Please decide players for each mini-game."

The blood drains from your face. You have an idea of what Spinning Top could be, but the only game listed that you're familiar with is Ddakji from your time with the recruiter. You can still feel the sting of every slap from your losses. You weren't good. Everyone in the room starts strategizing urgently, but all you can concentrate on - and concentrate is the wrong word entirely, your mind clouded with dread - is the way your thoughts swirl into darkness. If your team dies, it'll be because of you - not because of the trembling player 095, or the frail mother. You're the weak link, unskilled in these children's games, dragging everyone down into blood-soaked dirt with you.

"(Y/N)," Young-il whispers, reaching out to put his hand on your knee. The touch is like a jolt, and you almost flinch, your eyes instantly flicking up to meet his. It must be obvious, your panic. "I told you I'd help you, didn't I? We'll figure this out," he says, his eyes imploring you, your entire world focusing into his narrowed gaze.

You take a shaky breath, eyes scanning his face, trying to notice every detail, small features to adore. The crinkled lines by his eyes, evidence of a happier time. Bags under his eyes, and dark eyes that have the power to hold anyone in place. Aged skin, but smooth, soft looking. Bushy eyebrows. A hint of stubble. The shape of his lips...

The caged bird in your chest settles, and your next breath is a deep one. You nod slightly, eyes meeting his, and something in his expression eases. "I trust you," you murmur.

Something a little darker enters his eyes, but it's gone in a flash, like it was never there to begin with.

He lets go of your leg, turning to his team, but the calm in your body stays.

"Player 132," 120 calls to you, capturing your attention. "Do you know any of the games?"

You hesitate, then tentatively say, "I only know Ddakji... and I wasn't very good, against the recruiter."

120 looks oddly sympathetic, but there's a determined edge to the anxiety in her eyes. "Alright. Flying Stone is pretty simple - you throw a stone at another stone, trying to knock it over. Gonggi is definitely out - that requires years of practice--"

"I can do Gonggi," the older woman says firmly, leaving no room for argument. 120 nods.

"Jegi is simple. You kick a weighted paper jegi in the air a set amount of times, not letting it hit the ground. Spinning Top requires some skill, but it's not too hard to master, just requires calm hands and speed. You wrap some twine around a top, then throw it to the ground, trying to get it to spin."

"Uh-- could I take Flying Stone? I've never been good at jegi, and I don't have the precision for Spinning Top," player 007, the son, cuts in, looking a little nervous.

"That leaves Spinning Top and Jegi. Are you good with your feet?" 120 asks, not even skipping a beat. You have to admire her resolve - it's comforting, how she takes control. You're so used to handling everything yourself, that it helps to have someone else who knows what they're doing.

You shake your head slightly. Admittedly, the only game that you thought you had a good chance at was Flying Stone. You've always been clumsy from the waist down, and you've never played hacky-sack, which Jegi reminds you of. 120 stares at you for a moment, then nods. "It's decided, then. You take Spinning Top." Her eyes flick to player 095, and they begin discussing who should take Ddakji and who should take Jegi.

You stare at the ground, hoping your team doesn't get called first. If you get to watch a group play Spinning Top first, maybe you'll have a chance.

As the room settles again, the announcer's voice crackles over the speakers, instantly capturing your breath. The guards gesture for a group from each side to get to their feet, and you sigh in relief - you're not first. As the teams line up and get buckled together, Young-il murmurs your name. You look over instantly, your nervous eyes locked with his. "I got Spinning Top too," he murmurs. "Let me teach you how to play."

You smile, but it's barely a quirk of lips. "We don't have a top," you remind him.

"It's all about the motion," he says intensely. "You can do this."

It's the best chance you have, and you find yourself nodding.

As the game starts for the first groups, Young-il goes into explaining how to correctly wrap the twine. "The first thing you do is wind the twine around the axle. From there, you wanna wrap it tightly around the first three loops." He mimics the wrapping motion, and you nod, trying to visualize it. It's definitely different than it is in America - there are no grooves for any kind of twine back home, just the axle to spin the top from. "You wrap the rest of the twine, and then hold the end of it tightly - tightly - between your pinky and ring finger. It puts the top on a leash, gives you control." One of the teams succeeds in a game, and you glance over, the cheers of your side calling for your attention. "Hey. Eyes on me," Young-il says, firm and commanding, and your breath catches. You couldn't even dream of disobeying, your head snapping to look back at him. His lips quirk, almost forming a smirk, but it's gone as soon as it came. "The next part is all about speed. You hold the top in your hand, then flick your wrist out, throwing it. With the twine still between your fingers, you pull your hand back quickly, almost like a snap." He mimes the motion - flicking his wrist, then pulling his hand back. It's a fast movement, one that makes your own hand shake. You can't do this, there's no way you can be good enough at this game to pass before time runs out. Anxiety seizes your chest, and you take a few quick breaths, staring at his hand. Details. Focus. Smooth palms, square in shape. Rounded, well-maintained fingernails. Deep lines over the shape of his knuckles. Strong hands, that he only needed one of to take down a grown man.

You wonder what those hands would feel like, tracing the shape of your skin.

The thought startles you, but at least you've regained some steadiness. Your heart thumps for an entirely different reason now. One hand reaches out to cup the back of yours, almost gently, and you feel a shiver run down your spine, despite everything. The same hand that pet your hair until you fell asleep, perfectly at peace. His other hand reaches out to take your wrist. He curls your fingers for you, holding an invisible top, and shows your hand the movement slowly. Then again. His palm is warm, but his fingers are cold, and if your dizzy mind weren't already devoting all its energy to the task at hand, you'd find it poetic, metaphorical.

He gestures for you to try the motion again, and you do. You repeat the movement over and over, until the speed comes naturally to you.

Hope enters your chest, the sun dawning through the blinds, and when you look up at Young-il again, he has a small, proud smile on his face.

One of the team reaches the Spinning Top phase, and you turn your head, watching with rapt interest, finally seeing what had only been an image in your mind before. The man playing isn't very good - on his first throw, it simply clatters to the ground. Your chest clenches in sympathy. The team has to march again to pick it up.

"Hmm. I think messing up Spinning Top is gonna take even longer to recover from," player 290 leans over to say to Young-il. He narrows his eyes at him as he leans away, and your heart pounds. It's not comforting.

"Ignore him," Young-il mutters to you.

You nod faintly, focusing on the team as they get back into position.

The games continue. The timer runs down. It feels like every second passing is a needle in your gut, pinpricks of pain and nerves. And just like that - time runs out. The panicked cries of the players on the tracks fills you with dread, and you make a small, wounded noise. Young-il grabs your arm, tugging you until you almost fall over yourself into the dirt, pulling you against him. He hides your face in his chest, but you can still hear the begging, and then-- the gunshots.

You bury your face in his chest as he strokes your hair, trying to soothe you again. It doesn't work like it did last night. Distantly, you wonder if this is even allowed, but no guards command him to let go of you, or for you to go back to your spot. You take the comfort, eyes squeezed shut. No tears come, just a hollowness in your chest as he presses his face into the top of your head.

The guards clean up the bodies. Eventually, Young-il pushes your head lightly. The coast must be clear, but you're reluctant. Still, you let him. He cups your cheek, holding your face so you can look into his eyes. "It won't happen to you," he says firmly, his voice hushed, urgent. "I won't let it."

You give a dry laugh, humorless. "You wouldn't be able to prevent it, not in this game," you whisper. Focus. Details. The warmth of his hand, the fire hidden in the depths of his eyes, where his expression is usually so cold. The twist of his lips, not quite a frown, but something more determined. His hair, falling over his forehead.

You breathe. Once. Twice.

"Players 007, 095, 120, 132, 149." A guard is standing at the end of our row, his masked face directed at your group. Young-il lets you go, and you only tremble slightly as you get to your feet.

"I believe in you. You can do this," he says, one last parting gift of comfort, and you try to believe him too.

You're led to the track, taking your place on the blue line. Your legs get shackled together, and you try your damnedest not to think of anything at all. You're between 120 and 149, the tall woman and the old one. You link arms, feeling for all the world like you're being sentenced to death.

In-ho stares at you as you walk away, knowing there's not much he can do to prevent your death if you fail in this game. It's a mistake that won't be repeated. Despite your surges of anxiety, you'd surprised him with your focus, with the way your panic eased the longer your eyes traced over him. It made him feel... important. He's already important, it shouldn't matter. He leads these games, is always in control, but he'd never factored in an American girl with a strong will, with searching eyes that seemed to take comfort in him and him alone. He catches the gaze of a nearby guard, his eyes holding a warning, a threat. If you die, he will personally ensure that any guard or player that had a hand in it will die too. When he's sure the message is received, loud and clear, he looks back at you, in time to see your head turn, your eyes finding his. He offers no expression of comfort, just his intensity, that possessiveness that settles deep in his very soul. If you, or one of your teammates fails this game, he'll still have to watch you be shot, albeit non-fatally. Painful, but necessarily. He doesn't feel as in control of himself as he usually does, or as in control of the games, and the dark part of him finds it thrilling, new. It's not new. Another remnant of the man he used to be, but the lack of control is so foreign now, like a childhood friend he hasn't seen since high school, finding him once more. Every other part of him is frozen, holding its breath, waiting for the verdict on your demise.

Your eyes find Young-il's, his gaze locked on you. His expression is unreadable, but you have a feeling he won't take his eyes off you, and it almost feels like he's your guardian angel. The guards finish chaining you together, and you look forward, daring to hope.

The pentathlon starts.

The first game is Ddakji. Player 095's trembling hands hold the folded paper, and you wonder how a girl like her ended up here. She can't be much younger than you, but still, you feel a decade older watching her.

She doesn't flip the ddakji on the first throw. She picks it up again, and you're distantly surprised her fumbling fingers don't just drop it in the attempt. Another throw. Another miss. She picks it up. Your stomach sinks as she misses the next one, too, but then 120 throws her a bone, a tip. 095 throws the paper again. It flips.

"Pass."

The crowd cheers for you, and your team moves on, marching in time with the beat of your heart. Game two, Flying Stone. One of the first two teams didn't even get past it. 007 takes the stone that's handed to him. He throws it, misses. 120 calls out, organizing your march forward. You stop in front of the stone, and he leans down, grabs it.

"Okay! Now, we go backwards!"

All of you chant the march of your steps backwards, until you end up behind the line again. None of you can afford the time loss of him missing again, especially you, when you haven't even played your own mini-game before. You find yourself calling out encouragements, words that are almost meaningless. His mother grabs him, murmuring something about pretending that the stone is the face of someone who wronged him. His face contorts, he winds his hand back. A cry of words is wrenched from him, like a battle call, and he throws the stone.

The other stone falls.

"Pass."

The crowd cries up, the excitement of everyone growing, but you can only focus on marching forward to the next game. Gonggi. Only one away from your turn. You all kneel together on the ground. This is the game you know the least about, and as the older woman starts, you find yourself fascinated by the movement of her hand. She fumbles, a piece drops.

"Mom, you said you played Gonggi with bullets during the Korean War," her son says urgently, and the reminder seems to light a fire in her. She lasers in like you've never seen from a woman her age as she starts again. You don't understand the game, but the quick and nimble movement of her frail hands impresses you, gripping your lungs. You don't breathe, just watching, mesmerized. The pieces are thrown into the air, then land on the back of her hand. Her son speaks again, giving her the same lifeline he'd given her, something to imagine, to motivate.

The pieces are tossed up.

She catches them in her fist.

"Pass."

The crowd roars, and you almost stumble as you get back to her feet. It's your game next, but the determination of your team, the palpable excitement in the room, infects you like the best kind of virus. You come to a stop, and 120 releases your arm as you take the top and twine. Your fingers are surprisingly steady as you wrap the end of it around the axle, your mind on Young-il. The first three loops are wrapped tightly, and you finish winding it, eyes zeroed in on every movement.

You arch your arm, preparing to throw it.

As you move, though, your eyes catch on the blood on the ground, from the team before you. You falter. It doesn't help that you didn't grip the twine tight enough between your fingers, and it slips from your hands. Your heart stops. 120 grips your arm encouragingly. "C'mon--" she says, her voice urgent. You almost forget to take the first step as your team chants. One, two. One, two. It only takes a few steps for you to reach the top, and you bend down, grabbing it, trying to take deep breaths. Your team march backwards. One, two. One, two. You're back in place, and you hold the top and twine, hesitating for just a moment. You don't dare look at the timer. Breathe. You wrap the twine around the axle, the first three loops, then the rest. You grip it, the end of the twine held tightly - tightly - between your fingers. Focus. No time for the details.

As you wind your arm back, you feel the ghost of Young-il's hands, guiding your motion. His warm palm, his cold fingers, leading the way.

You throw the top, and with a flick of the wrist, pull your hand back. The top lands on the ground.

It spins.

"Pass."

The crowd erupts, and your teammates grab you. You can hardly breathe, joy overtaking you. One last game. One more. You march together, pride swelling in your chest, even though it's not over yet. You didn't let your team down. You didn't ruin this.

You come to a stop, and the paper jegi gets passed to 120. It looks nothing like you expected, and definitely not as heavy, and you're glad this isn't the game you chose.

"No one watch me, okay?" 120 yells to you and the team. You blink in surprise, but you don't question her, turning your body away as much as the constraints allow, patting 149 to do the same. "You too. Everybody turn," 120 calls out to the crowd. The reason is lost on you, but you can only assume that everyone listens, because you hear the jostle of paper being thrown up into the air, followed by the first smack of it against her foot.

One...

Two...

Three...

Four...

FIVE.

You cry out in victory and excitement, turning as you hear the final smack of paper on foot. "You did it, you--"

"Pass."

Everyone is yelling and chanting for your team, and the rhythm, the synchronicity is easy to find after doing this together so much. Unison. Comradery. When you pass the finish line, you almost don't believe it, but the roar of the crowd fills your ears. You want to collapse on the spot.

As the guards come up to unlock the shackles tying you together, you find Young-il's eyes. Easily, this time. You know exactly where he is, after all. He's got his arms wrapped around his teammates, celebrating with the rest of him, his eyes on you, only you. The pride, the sheer relief in his expression is practically a physical thing, and you smile at him, feeling drained, but like a winner. He saved you.

You wish you could run to him, throw your arms around him, celebrate in his arms. But that's not an option. The guards finish releasing you, then gesture for you to follow them, and you only have time to mouth 'good luck' to him before you're escorted away.

As the doors shut behind you, you remember that your own victory doesn't secure his. There's a chance that he won't make it back to you at all.

﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵ ﹒˚ ₊ ︵﹒⊹ ๑ ︵︵ ๑ ⊹﹒︵

♡ ⁄ taglist: @pursued-by-the-squid @in-hos-wife @bloooooopblopblop <33333 @nellabear @gloriousjellyfisharcade @politicstanner @xcinnamonmalfoyx @beebeechaos @delfinadolphin @bbrainr0t @ineedazeezee

#in ho x reader #in ho x you #hwang in ho x reader #the frontman x you #front man x reader #the frontman x reader #young il x reader #young il x you #oh young il x reader #squid game fic #squid game fanfic

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autistic-zukoao3 · 2 days ago

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IT'S MY TIME TO SHINE

My hometown used to be called Hog Heaven because well, it was heaven for hogs. There used to be a lot of prairie land that wild boars would live in. We had thousands of wild hogs. Fast forward ~100 years and now there are a lot more human and hog interactions due to housing being built farther and farther.

When I was a kid, everyone knew you stayed the fuck out of fields because that's where the hogs lived. At least, everyone local knew this. It was such common knowledge that nobody thought to make sure adults knew this.

I went to a day camp near one of the hog fields, but far enough away that we didn't have to worry about them. We could go outside and play without worry. It was, in terms of closeness to hogs, a perfect place for that building to be located. Employed at this day camp were, primarily, college students. Most of them either walked or biked to work. Now, remember earlier how I said the idea of warning adults about the hogs and their fields didn't really cross anyone's mind? Yeah.

Enter the scene, worker "Drew" (changing his name for anonymity). Drew was everyone's favourite at the camp since he was the nicest and most likely to play. Well, I shouldn't say everyone's favourite. Some kids were down bad for another worker.

Anyway.

So on this particular day, Drew decided that he wanted to take a shortcut to the building. A shortcut through... *tense silence* *tense silence* *tense silence* the field.

The Field had grass(?) that was roughly 6 feet tall. Picture a lion in a savanna, you know? That type of vibe. You couldn't really see for shit in the grass. The ground was also very uneven and full of gopher holes among other various rodent dens. The dirt was pretty loose too, a thick coating of top soil. The few times I walked through it (at that time the hogs had been forced out though) I had a very hard time walking without tripping every other step. So, that was the terrain that Drew put himself in.

Just like most of the others, Drew was a college student from out of state. (Apparently lived in Italy for a bit as a kid and fended off some robbers with a light saber once, but that's not relevant.) Being nonlocal, Drew was completely unaware of our hogs, and thought a shortcut through the field would be a great adventure.

He was wrong.

Drew reported that everything was fine at first. He was struggling a bit with all the holes, but that wasn't a big issue. Minutes passed as Drew stumbled along, careful to not step in any gopher homes. The birds chirped and the grass rustled softly in the summer breeze.

And then he heard it.

Loud, angry snorts. Then, the sound of something digging into dirt, like a bull preparing to charge. Drew was not about to fuck around and find out. He began to jog, only to hear the sound of thundering cloven feet behind him. Drew breaks into a dead sprint, adrenaline and instinct taking over as he deftly avoids holes, and keeps himself balanced on the loose silt underfoot. His heart hammers in his chest as whatever is giving chase lets out an ungodly, squealing scream. Drew runs ever faster, monkey brain having fully taken over at this point. Finally, he can just make out the street ahead, peeking through the breaks in the grass. Salvation is blessedly within sight. With a final pump of pure adrenaline, Drew breaks through the grass and into the road, not stopping until he reaches the other side. Once he does, he turns around to see a massive boar huffing at the edge of the grass, proud tusks on display.

Drew did not take the shortcut again.

Also he was very sweaty upon his arrival, and I've never seen a man look so haunted yet so full of energy.

not only are wild boars dangerous but farmers still keep having fatal and almost fatal encounters with domestic piggies. I’m a pig enthusiast. nobody really thinks about how dangerous they are. they have a reputation for eating human bodies for a reason. 700 pound incredibly stubborn and smart omnivorous animals with remarkably sharp teeth. usually they’re friends but when they’re foes, they’re terrible foes.

#zuko rambles

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gyu-tori · 2 days ago

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The Great Valentine Heist | C.BG

A PRE-VALENTINE'S DAY SPECIAL

Pairing: highschooler!beomgyu x fem!reader Genre: FLUFF and Comedy

Summary: On Valentine’s Day, Beomgyu hatches a plan to steal a box of chocolates from your locker, sparked by a bit of jealousy. But as his scheme unravels in a whirlwind of chaotic mishaps, including a mix-up with the chocolates and a series of awkward excuses, he’s forced to come clean about his true intentions.

What started as a silly heist ends up revealing more than he bargained for—perhaps even something sweet that wasn’t part of the plan.

Word count: 5.2k

It was the usual chaos at the school courtyard, buzzing with the energy of Valentine’s Day. Students scurried around, exchanging chocolates, roses, and sweet nothings like their lives depended on it. The air was thick with the scent of flowers and the frantic clatter of school bags as the students walked by, some wearing bright smiles, others clinging to their best friends, desperately trying to hide their nerves and uncertainty about whether they would receive anything in return.

Among them, you sat quietly on one of the benches near the school garden, staring blankly at the half-eaten sandwich in your hands. Valentine’s Day wasn’t really your thing. It wasn’t that you hated the holiday; you just didn’t see the point in putting too much stock in it. Besides, you were more than content to go about your day as usual—until Beomgyu showed up, of course.

You were midway through taking a bite when Beomgyu suddenly slid into the seat next to you, all wide eyes and the kind of grin that made it clear he was plotting something. You barely had a chance to glance up before he was already leaning in, getting way too close for comfort, his head tilting as if he were studying you like you were some kind of rare specimen.

“So,” Beomgyu began, his voice light, teasing, “did you get any chocolates today?” He raised an eyebrow as if daring you to answer. “Or are you still too intimidating for anyone to dare?”

You glanced at him from over the edge of your sandwich, the same exasperated look that you always wore when he popped up. You swallowed your food with the grace of someone who had long grown used to Beomgyu’s antics, before responding with a deadpan expression. “Sure, Gyu. I’m just so terrifying that no one’s brave enough to offer me any. That must be it.”

Beomgyu chuckled, shaking his head, the playful gleam in his eyes only sharpening. He leaned back in his seat, arms folded over his chest, and gave you an exaggerated once-over. “Yeah, right. I bet they’re all too scared to talk to you. It’s not like anyone would want to give chocolates to someone as intimidating as you.”

You rolled your eyes again, suppressing the urge to sigh. “If only you knew how much of a relief that is,” you muttered, looking out at the students milling about, most of them caught up in their own holiday dramas. “I’d rather not deal with all the clichés and awkward exchanges.”

“You’re just bitter ‘cause no one gave you any chocolates,” Beomgyu teased, nudging you with his elbow. His tone was mocking, but you could tell there was an underlying hint of something else, something more familiar to you now—an odd mixture of jealousy and competitiveness.

“Sure, that’s exactly it,” you deadpanned, though you couldn’t suppress the ghost of a smirk. “Because I’m so desperate for chocolates, I just can’t stand it.” You leaned back on the bench, unbothered. “Maybe you should try a little harder next time. You know, if you really want to get in the Valentine’s spirit.”

Beomgyu pouted dramatically, a mock-sad expression overtaking his usual cocky grin. “Oh, I try. Trust me. But you don’t know how hard it is when everyone around you is just too blind to see my charm.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “Right. You’re ‘charming,’ all right.”

Before you could continue the banter, you heard a familiar sigh next to you. Soobin had appeared, his presence immediately making the air feel a little less chaotic. The subtle tension in the air shifted, as if everything in the world was a little more put-together when Soobin was around. He leaned casually against the bench, shaking his head as he looked from Beomgyu to you.

“You’re really doing this again, huh?” Soobin’s voice was laced with fond exasperation, his arms crossing in a way that made it clear he’d heard this exact conversation countless times before.

“Oh, come on, Bin,” Beomgyu grinned, clearly enjoying the attention. “It’s Valentine’s Day. People should know better than to try to resist my charm.” He struck a ridiculous pose, complete with finger guns aimed at an imaginary crowd. “I’m the perfect Valentine’s package.”

Soobin sighed again, a long and deeply audible sigh that seemed to come from the very core of his being. “If only the rest of the school agreed with you.”

“Right? They just don’t understand what they’re missing,” Beomgyu whined dramatically, tilting his head back and pretending to stare at the sky in pure anguish. “It’s so unfair. I’m charming, I’m funny, I have looks, and yet here I am, still single. What more do they want?”

“So, what’s your plan for today then?” Soobin asked, clearly not caring to entertain Beomgyu’s long-winded monologue on how society had failed to recognize his greatness. “You just gonna keep complaining, or are you gonna do something about it?”

“I’ve got a plan,” Beomgyu said, with all the certainty of someone who had no idea what he was about to get himself into. “You’ll see.”

You could feel the familiar sense of dread settle into your chest. Beomgyu’s ‘plans’ were always a disaster waiting to happen, and you had no desire to be dragged into whatever he had in mind. In fact, you were far too busy for his antics. You were preparing a small surprise of your own—a box of chocolates you had carefully made for someone special. It wasn’t much, but it felt meaningful. However, you couldn’t help but doubt that this person would actually accept your gesture. You knew better than to expect much from them.

Before you could lose yourself in your thoughts, Minjeong waved from across the courtyard. You waved back and made your way over to her, your mind still lingering on the chocolates.

“So,” Minjeong said as she joined you, her voice light with curiosity, “how’s the Valentine’s Day prep going?”

You smiled faintly, feeling a small flutter in your chest. “Nothing too big. I’ve got some chocolates ready. For someone special.” You didn’t offer more, letting the words hang in the air. You didn’t need to explain more. Minjeong understood.

Beomgyu, of course, overheard your mention of chocolates, and his eyes immediately lit up like a kid in a candy store. You didn’t need to see him to know he was already planning something. You heard him lean closer to Soobin, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You’re telling me,” Beomgyu began, practically purring with excitement, “that (Y/N) has chocolates for someone special? This is too good to ignore.” He suddenly sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing with a gleam of mischief. “I think it’s time for... The Great Valentine Heist.”

Soobin’s expression darkened instantly. “The Great Valentine Heist?” he repeated, a note of dread in his voice. “That sounds like it’s going to end in disaster.”

Beomgyu’s grin only widened. “Oh, come on. What’s the worst that could happen?” he said with an exaggerated shrug, the air of a man who thought he had everything under control. “I’m just ‘borrowing’ Y/N’s chocolates for a little while. They’ll never even know.”

Soobin shook his head slowly, as if mentally preparing himself for the inevitable fallout. “This is a terrible idea,” he muttered, though it was clear his protests would go ignored. “You never learn.”

Beomgyu just laughed, all too confident. “Have a little faith in me. When have my plans ever gone wrong?”

Soobin, without missing a beat, began counting on his fingers. “Let’s see... You almost set fire to the science lab during last year’s prank. You sent an entire class’s worth of flowers to the wrong room last month, and don’t even get me started on the dance debacle with the sprinklers.” Soobin shook his head, his voice tinged with a touch of disbelief. “You think this is going to work?”

“Don’t worry, Bin,” Beomgyu called over his shoulder. “It’s The Great Valentine Heist—how could it possibly go wrong?”

Soobin just sighed, resigned to the fact that this would, without a doubt, end terribly.

The day had arrived for Beomgyu’s most ambitious plan yet: The Great Valentine Heist. He was buzzing with excitement, practically bouncing on his heels as he caught sight of Soobin leaning against the lockers, a sigh already escaping his lips.

"Soobin!" Beomgyu called out, his voice filled with that over-the-top enthusiasm he reserved for his most ridiculous schemes. "I need you to help me with something huge today."

Soobin's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable but full of dread. “What now, Gyu? This can’t possibly be anything good.”

“Relax!” Beomgyu waved his hand dismissively. “This is going to be a piece of cake. Just a little heist I’m planning, that’s all.”

Soobin sighed again, already feeling the weight of Beomgyu's plans crashing down on him. “And what exactly am I supposed to do this time?”

“I need you to be my distraction ninja,” Beomgyu said, leaning in dramatically as if unveiling some grand strategy.

Soobin blinked. “A what?”

“A distraction ninja!” Beomgyu repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re going to cause a scene so ridiculous that everyone’s attention will be completely taken off me. I’ll slip in, grab the chocolates, and be out of there before anyone knows what happened.”

Soobin let out a tired groan. “And you want me to do this because… why?”

Beomgyu grinned. “Because, my friend, I need someone who can make the whole school stop and stare. Something loud. Something no one can ignore.”

Soobin raised an eyebrow. “Like, sneeze on purpose?”

“Exactly!” Beomgyu said, clapping his hands together. “Go big or go home!”

“I’m going to regret this,” Soobin muttered under his breath, but he knew there was no getting out of it now.

The plan was set. Beomgyu’s eyes were gleaming with confidence as he prepared to execute what was sure to be a disaster in the making.

As you stood by your locker, carefully sorting through your things, you were completely oblivious to the chaotic scene unfolding around you. But then, you heard it: an over-the-top sneeze that echoed down the hallway.

“ACHOO!”

The sound was exaggerated, like a performance, followed by loud, drawn-out coughing. You paused, your eyes darting toward the sound just in time to see Soobin stumbling into view. His face was contorted into a mock expression of agony, his body lurching as if he were about to collapse any second.

You groaned inwardly but couldn’t help watching as Soobin dramatically lurched forward, clutching his chest. “I’m... dying,” he muttered between over-the-top coughs, his voice rising to an almost theatrical pitch.

You crossed your arms, leaning against your locker with a slight smile tugging at your lips. Soobin’s antics were ridiculous, and yet, you found it hard to ignore. You shook your head, muttering to yourself, “Is this really what he’s come to?”

Meanwhile, Beomgyu had already started his approach. The commotion from Soobin’s dramatic performance had everyone’s attention on him, and the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

As Soobin continued to act out his fake illness, Beomgyu darted toward your locker with the same sneaky air of someone trying to pull off an elaborate heist. His fingers trembled with anticipation as he fumbled with your locker combination. The adrenaline surged in his veins—he had to hurry before the distraction wore off.

But the lock wouldn’t budge.

His hands fumbled with the combination, his palms sweating. No—he couldn’t mess this up. He had to get the chocolates.

Just as he was about to give up, a student turned the corner and walked right toward him.

Panicking, Beomgyu froze. His mind raced as he thought of a way to cover his tracks. In a split second, he forced a smile, standing tall as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

“Oh, wow, these lockers sure are something,” Beomgyu said loudly, gesturing to the locker in front of him with exaggerated enthusiasm. “The craftsmanship on this model is amazing, don’t you think? You just have to appreciate a good locker.”

The student gave him a confused look but shrugged, continuing on their way, probably questioning Beomgyu’s sanity. Beomgyu let out a quiet sigh of relief before quickly returning to his mission.

After what felt like an eternity of fumbling, Beomgyu finally cracked the code and opened the locker. His eyes darted to the box inside, and he grinned. There it is.

As Soobin’s performance escalated, so did the crowd around him. You were still distracted, your attention fixed on Soobin’s exaggerated antics. Your attention had completely shifted from the contents of your locker to the chaos before you. Soobin was tripping over himself, flailing as if he were on the verge of falling apart.

Then, in a moment of pure absurdity, Soobin’s foot caught on the edge of the hallway’s floor tiles, sending him face-first toward the ground.

You gasped, rushing forward to check if he was okay. “Soobin!” you exclaimed, crouching beside him.

“Ugh... I’m fine...” he groaned, pulling himself up, though his face was now an unflattering shade of red from the sudden fall.

You shook your head, trying not to laugh as you helped him up. “Really, Soobin? You should’ve just sneezed like you were supposed to—”

But before you could finish, you noticed that the chaos around you had died down, and Beomgyu, now holding the box, was walking away.

You couldn’t help but give Soobin a look. “This is exactly why I stay away from you two. I can’t even focus on my own locker when you’re causing a scene like this.”

Soobin grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, totally not a scene, right?”

Meanwhile, Beomgyu, having gotten away with what he thought was a flawless heist, turned to Soobin with a triumphant grin.

“Hey, good acting, my guy. You really sold it out there.”

Soobin, still rubbing his nose from the fall, plastered a grin on his face. “Haha, totally was acting…”

Beomgyu paused, staring at Soobin for a moment. “Wait, what...?” His eyes narrowed as he noticed something that had escaped him before. "Dude, your nose is bleeding!"

Soobin’s grin faltered as he instinctively wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Oh... that’s not good, is it?” he muttered, his voice tinged with the realization that his “acting” might have been a little too realistic.

Beomgyu, now fully realizing that the situation was a bit more chaotic than he’d anticipated, gave a loud, exasperated groan. “You’re really going to make this difficult for me, aren’t you, Bin?”

The day was going fine until you caught sight of Beomgyu and Soobin acting weird—really weird. Beomgyu was standing with his hands awkwardly shoved into his pockets, his eyes darting from side to side as if trying to avoid looking too suspicious. Soobin, for his part, had his arms crossed, but his usual calm demeanor was noticeably absent. He kept glancing over at Beomgyu, who was clearly sweating bullets.

You raised an eyebrow as you walked toward them. “What’s going on with you two? You’re acting like you’ve just been caught red-handed.”

Beomgyu froze, his mouth opening and closing in a clear attempt to come up with a believable excuse. After a moment of awkward silence, he blurted, “Uh... locker security inspections. Yeah. You know, just making sure everyone’s lockers are secure. It’s, uh, an important job. Can’t leave it to anyone else, right?”

You stared at him for a second, clearly not buying it. You crossed your arms and gave him a pointed look. “Really? Locker security?”

Soobin smirked slightly but didn’t say anything, choosing to let Beomgyu sweat it out. You could already tell something was off.

“Uh-huh,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Well, whatever. I don’t have time to question your important work. Carry on.”

You left them to their questionable business, still not entirely convinced but deciding to let it slide for now. You turned around and headed to your next class.

Meanwhile, the chaos had only just begun.

Kai was standing in front of his locker, his brows furrowed in confusion as he sifted through his things. After a moment, he slammed the door shut with a frustrated grunt and started walking around the hallway, asking anyone who would listen.

“Has anyone seen my chocolates? I swear I left them right here. They’re nowhere to be found!” Kai’s voice rang out, drawing the attention of a few nearby students.

Beomgyu froze when he overheard the frantic questioning. His heart skipped a beat, and a cold sweat began to form on his forehead. He’d been so caught up in the heist that he hadn’t even realized his mistake.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Beomgyu muttered under his breath, panic starting to creep into his voice.

Soobin, who had been watching the whole thing unfold, couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Congratulations, my friend,” Soobin said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’ve officially upgraded from prankster to thief.”

Beomgyu shot him an exasperated look, his anxiety mounting. “I’m not a thief, Soobin! I was just—well, it wasn’t supposed to go this far…”

Soobin laughed louder, clearly enjoying Beomgyu’s misery. “Yeah, sure. Just borrowin’ them for a bit.”

“Shut up,” Beomgyu muttered, his mind racing for a way to fix this disaster. He had to get the chocolates back to Kai before anyone else found out.

Beomgyu and Soobin hastily came up with a plan to sneak the chocolates back into Kai’s locker, but, as expected, it didn’t go smoothly.

“Alright, we’ve got this,” Beomgyu said, his voice filled with forced confidence as they approached Kai’s locker. “We just have to slip them in when no one’s looking.”

Soobin rolled his eyes. “You sure about that? Because last time you ‘just had to slip something in,’ it didn’t exactly go according to plan.”

Beomgyu shot him a glare. “Not helping, Bin.”

They crouched near Kai’s locker, trying to look casual. Soobin slowly reached into his pocket to pull out the chocolates, but, in a comical turn of events, his fingers slipped, and the box went tumbling to the ground.

It hit the floor with a loud thud, bouncing once before it rolled straight toward the edge of the stairwell.

“Oh no,” Beomgyu groaned in horror. “Not again.”

Before Soobin could react, the box plummeted down the stairs, bouncing all the way to the bottom.

“I’ll go get it!” Beomgyu shouted, immediately bolting toward the stairs, his legs moving faster than his brain. He was halfway down before he realized what he was doing. Of course this would happen.

But just as Beomgyu reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked up to see a figure emerging from the hallway—Kai. Kai, who was still asking around about his missing chocolates, had somehow found his way to the same stairwell. Beomgyu’s heart raced in panic.

Trying to salvage the situation, Beomgyu immediately froze mid-run, twisting his body into an awkward, exaggerated pose. He spread his arms wide as if trying to demonstrate some kind of parkour move, landing with an overly dramatic flourish.

“Oh, hey, Kai! Just, uh, practicing some parkour,” Beomgyu said, his voice forced as he tried to act casual, even though his face was already beet red from the sheer awkwardness of it all.

Kai blinked, clearly thrown off by Beomgyu’s strange behavior, but after a brief pause, he gave a stiff nod. “Uh... alright, sure. Parkour… looks good, Beomgyu,” Kai said with a nervous laugh before quickly turning to walk away.

Beomgyu let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, his body still in that awkward position. “Parkour...” he muttered to himself, still trying to act like he hadn’t just made a fool of himself.

Once he was sure Kai was gone, Beomgyu quickly snatched the box from the floor and stuffed it into the front of his hoodie, hoping no one would notice.

Just as Beomgyu was about to stand up, feeling a brief moment of relief, you appeared in front of him, your arms crossed and a confused look on your face.

“Beomgyu… Why do you look like a lumpy kangaroo?”

Beomgyu froze, his eyes wide in panic as you stared at him, clearly noticing the suspicious bulge in his hoodie.

“What? No!” Beomgyu stammered, trying to adjust his hoodie in a way that didn’t make it look even more suspicious. “It’s just, uh, I’m carrying some books... you know, heavy books.”

You gave him a skeptical look. “Uh-huh. Definitely looks like books.”

“Yep, books!” Beomgyu said with a nervous laugh, his hand awkwardly patting the bulge in his hoodie.

You tilted your head, still not buying his excuse. “Right. Well, I’ll leave you to it then, Kangaroo Beomgyu.”

With that, you walked away, leaving Beomgyu to stand there, cursing his luck. Soobin, watching the entire interaction from a distance, couldn’t hold back a chuckle.

“Smooth, Beomgyu. Real smooth,” Soobin called out, his voice full of mockery.

Beomgyu just groaned in defeat, mentally preparing for the rest of his disastrous day.

You had been keeping an eye on Beomgyu all day, watching him with increasing suspicion as he passed your locker with strange frequency. At first, you thought it was just a coincidence, but after the third time, you were certain something was off.

Beomgyu had been acting a little too... flustered. He kept glancing your way, and you caught him avoiding your gaze whenever you walked by. His usual carefree demeanor had been replaced by an almost comical nervous energy. It didn't take long for you to put two and two together: he was up to something.

You had no idea what that something was, but you were determined to find out.

By the time lunch ended, you had a plan. You'd wait until Beomgyu made his move, and when he did, you'd corner him. You just had to make sure you caught him in the act.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period, you spotted Beomgyu sneaking past your locker once again, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching. You knew it was now or never.

You quickly approached, stepping in front of him to block his path. Beomgyu froze, his eyes widening as he took an awkward step back.

“Beomgyu,” you said, crossing your arms, “What are you up to?”

Beomgyu looked at you like a deer caught in the headlights. “Uh—uh, nothing! Just heading to class!” he stammered, his voice higher than usual.

You raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “Really? You’ve been acting weird all day. What’s going on?”

He looked around, his body stiffening as if preparing for an escape. “I... uh... I’m just... checking on something... very important. Locker security!” His eyes widened as though he was suddenly convinced this was a plausible excuse.

“Locker security?” You blinked. “Beomgyu, what do you mean by ‘locker security’?”

Beomgyu tried to laugh it off. “Yeah, you know! Just making sure no one’s... tampering with lockers, or... or stealing anything, you know? Like chocolates.”

You raised an eyebrow again, clearly unconvinced. “Chocolates? Beomgyu, do you honestly think I’m buying that?”

He flustered, his voice trembling. “I mean, uh... yeah! Locker safety is really important, okay? Especially for Valentine’s chocolates! They’re... uh... high-risk items!”

You squinted at him suspiciously. “And why does that sound like a terrible excuse?”

He opened his mouth, trying to come up with something better, but nothing came out. You had him cornered, and he knew it.

“Okay, okay! Fine, you caught me!” Beomgyu blurted, a little too loudly. “I... I may have borrowed someone’s chocolates. Just for a second! You know, to... uh, check them over, make sure they’re in perfect condition for delivery!”

You stared at him, your mind racing. “Wait... borrowed someone’s chocolates? Who?”

Beomgyu’s eyes darted nervously. “Uh... well, I thought it might be poisoned! I—uh—didn’t want the owner of the chocolates to get hurt, so I... I took them for a bit. You know, to make sure they were safe.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Poisoned?” You shook your head, not sure whether to be annoyed or impressed by the sheer absurdity of his excuse. “Really? You think someone is poisoning chocolates in a school locker?”

Beomgyu nodded earnestly, clearly trying to sell the lie. “Yeah! You can never be too careful with these things, right? I was just... looking out for the owner’s safety!”

Before you could respond, you noticed something—Beomgyu was holding a box of chocolates wrapped in dark red paper. You’d seen that box before. In fact, you knew whose it was.

Kai’s.

You stared at him, realization dawning. “That’s Kai’s chocolates,” you said slowly, your voice flat. “What are you doing with them?”

Beomgyu froze, his face pale. “Uh... Kai’s chocolates... I didn’t steal them, it wasn’t me! I... uh... I was just... returning them!”

You raised an eyebrow. “Returning them?”

“Yes! Exactly! I just thought... Well, uh, I was just being a good Samaritan!” Beomgyu smiled awkwardly, but his charm wasn’t working this time.

Just as you were about to respond, you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Hey! I’ve been looking for those!” Kai said, walking toward you with a confused expression. “Where did my chocolates go?”

You and Beomgyu both turned to look at him. Beomgyu looked like he had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Kai! Hey, uh, these... these are yours?” Beomgyu asked weakly, trying to act nonchalant as he awkwardly held the box out to Kai.

“Yeah, those are mine,” Kai said, raising an eyebrow. “But... why do you have them?”

Beomgyu gulped. “I... I was just—uh... you know, checking them out! Making sure they’re... uh... still good? It’s a... safety measure!”

Kai glanced at you, clearly trying to piece everything together. “Okay, I’m not really following. Why do you have them, Beomgyu?”

Beomgyu’s face flushed red as he tried to come up with an excuse, but before he could speak, you interrupted. “Wait a second. I get it now. You’ve been after my chocolates the whole time, haven’t you?”

Beomgyu’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No! I was just—”

“Admit it, Gyu,” you interrupted, your voice soft but firm. “You thought these were mine, and you took them because you didn’t want me giving them to someone else.”

Beomgyu froze. He opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out. The guilt on his face was obvious.

You let out a deep sigh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“Okay, okay, I admit it!” Beomgyu finally blurted, his voice frantic. “I took the chocolates because I didn’t want you to give them to anyone else, okay? I didn’t know how to tell you! I just—ugh, I didn’t want to see you giving them to someone else!”

Kai chuckled behind him. “Well, now this is getting interesting.”

You stood there, shocked by his confession. “Gyu... I made those chocolates for someone special,” you said softly, letting the words sink in.

Beomgyu’s eyes widened as the realization hit him. “Wait... what? Then... who...?”

You pulled a second box of chocolates from your bag, the real ones—the ones you’d made just for him—and held them out to him. “I made them for you, you dummy” you said softly.

For a moment, Beomgyu stood there, completely speechless. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. He stared at the box in your hand as though it might disappear any second.

“You made them for me?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled, nodding. “Yeah. I figured you might need a little extra push to admit how you felt.”

Beomgyu’s eyes softened, and slowly, a wide grin spread across his face. “I... I can’t believe you’d do that for me.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Well, someone had to keep you on your toes.”

Beomgyu took the chocolates from you, his hands shaking slightly as he held them. “I... I don’t deserve these,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I just... made everything worse.”

You gave him a teasing grin. “It’s okay, Beomgyu. You were just a little jealous. But I’m glad you figured it out.”

He looked up at you, his usual confidence flickering back into his eyes, although there was still a hint of nervousness. “I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, still holding the chocolates. “Next time, I’ll just steal your heart instead.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hold back your smile. “Good luck with that, Beomgyu.”

“So,” Kai interrupted, leaning in with a smirk, “When’s the wedding?”

You shot him a glare, but inside, you couldn’t help the warmth that spread through you. Maybe this chaotic Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all.

After the chaos settled down and Beomgyu was left to deal with the teasing, Soobin and Kai found a quiet spot near the school courtyard, watching the scene unfold in front of them. Beomgyu, still holding the box of chocolates, was getting playfully scolded by you. He looked embarrassed but happy at the same time—quite the rare sight.

Soobin crossed his arms, his gaze fixed on Beomgyu. “Why do I let him talk me into these things?” he muttered, shaking his head.

Kai, who had been smirking the entire time, glanced at Soobin. “Because you secretly love it,” he teased, giving his friend a knowing look.

Soobin shot him a look of disbelief. “No. I just don’t want him to cause more damage.”

Kai chuckled, nodding in agreement as they both watched Beomgyu finally get a teasing shove from you. “Yeah, it’s probably the best you can do, trying to keep him out of trouble.”

The two of them exchanged a look, clearly rooting for you and Beomgyu to get together. Soobin sighed, but there was a subtle smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I swear, this guy never learns.”

“So,” Soobin continued, glancing over at Kai with curiosity, “Who are you giving those chocolates to?”

Kai raised an eyebrow, the mischievous glint never leaving his eyes. “Oh, no one,” he said casually. “I bought them for myself at the 7-Eleven in front of the school. They were on sale, so why not?”

Soobin stared at him, unamused. “Then why the hell were you looking for it like a mad man earlier?”

Kai shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “Hey! I’m not letting my money go to waste.”

Soobin shook his head, but a laugh escaped him anyway. “You're unbelievable.”

Kai just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Hey, it’s all about the deals, my friend. Want some”

Soobin rolled his eyes as he crossed his arms, turning his attention back to Beomgyu. "I still can’t believe the two get along so well," he muttered. "The chaos is real."

Kai snickered, glancing over at Beomgyu again. "They’re a match made in disaster. Honestly, I’m just here for the drama.”

Soobin sighed again, but there was no hiding the amusement in his expression now. "I can’t believe I’m actually looking forward to seeing how this mess turns out."

Kai grinned even wider. "I think it’s about to get interesting."

And so, despite all the chaos, The Great Valentine Heist was, in its own twisted way, a success. Beomgyu got the chocolates he’d been after (well, sort of), you finally got to admit your feelings, and even Soobin and Kai found themselves oddly satisfied with the results. After all, what’s a little mayhem between friends? Maybe, just maybe, there was something sweet to be found in all the madness.

Rei's Notes ✎: Surprise!! Here's a fic for you guys to enjoy to start of february~ This was supposed to be posted ON valentine's but decided against it to make space for the collab so you'll get it early. Celebrating the start of February. No angst today since this month is all about love and sweet stuff, so I'll spare your tears for once (maybe saving them for the collab). Luv y'all!!

Taglist: @yunverie @dawngyu @hueningstar @hhoneyhan @immelissaaa @lovingbeomgyudayone @xylatox @i-like-to-read-at-4am @imlonelydontsendhelp

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itsnesss · 2 days ago

Note

can u plss do a junho angst fic there are barely any good fics for him 😔

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | you infiltrate the games for revenge, but meeting jun-ho, a disguised detective, complicates everything. when your cover is blown, he sacrifices himself to save you, forcing you to flee

warnings | angst, tension, suspense, moral ambiguity, desesperation, sacrifice, revenge, vulnerability

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The first time you see his face, you’re not sure if it’s a dream or a nightmare. The red uniform hides everything, as if his humanity is diluted beneath the masquerade of his role. But his eyes… there’s something in his eyes that makes you doubt. You recognize him before he recognizes you. That man, that guard, is not one of them. He’s not a pawn. He moves too precisely, his actions calculated, as though observing every corner, every shadow, every breath.

You watch him from the shadows, your mind racing. He shouldn’t be here, just like you. The difference is, you know why you’re here. The mission is clear. Revenge. To dismantle this cursed game from within. But him? Who is he?

Night falls slowly, and you’re alone, cleaning one of the cells that was just used in the latest trial. The blood on the floor hasn’t dried yet. The air is heavy, charged, as if everything is about to explode. Then you hear it. His footsteps, light but firm, approaching behind you.

You turn quickly, your hand instinctively reaching for the weapon at your side. The cold steel against your palm is a momentary comfort. But when you see his face, when your eyes meet his, you don’t feel fear—only a strange discomfort.

He doesn’t look at you like the others do. He doesn’t see you as a threat. Something in his gaze says he’s studying you. It’s as if he can see right through you.

“Who are you?” he asks, his voice soft, almost inaudible.

Your heart leaps in your chest. You can’t let him find out who you are. Not now. Not ever.

“What do you want?” you reply, keeping your tone cold, distant. You can’t afford to show any vulnerability. Not now.

“I know,” he says, without hesitation. “You’re not like the others. What are you doing here?”

You’re caught off guard by how close he is to the truth. But you can’t give in. You can’t let him get too close. The mission is all that matters. You can’t let anything distract you.

“The same as you,” you reply, the air between you tense, like it could be cut with a knife. The word “lie” hangs in the air, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he steps closer to you.

“Jun-ho,” he says, extending his hand with a confidence that leaves no room for doubt. His name sounds familiar, but you don’t know why. You don’t have time to think about that. You can’t think about that.

Taking his hand is a decision that consumes you. Something inside you screams that you’re making a fatal mistake, but something in his eyes, in his gesture, prevents you from refusing.

Time passes, and the tension between you grows palpable. You can no longer look at him without a strange feeling of discomfort rising in your chest. You know things are changing. You know your mission is beginning to fall apart. But you can’t stop. You can’t let him go.

Jun-ho is everything you’re not: calm, calculated, but always observing. Always alert. One day, he catches you off guard when you find him watching one of the security cameras in the control center—a place only the highest-ranking personnel should be. He gives you a look as you enter. You don’t need to hear his words to know what he wants.

“I’m here to dismantle this,” he says quietly, almost like a whisper, afraid someone might hear. “And you?”

Your eyes meet, and for a second, the world seems to stop. A wave of anguish washes over you, a pressure in your chest that you don’t know how to handle. The truth hangs there, floating between you, too big to ignore.

“I’m here for my brother,” you respond, unable to hide the anger igniting in your voice. Your brother. The one who died here. The one who never had a chance. Every word you say feels like a fresh wound. “And I won’t let anyone else suffer the same.”

Jun-ho nods, as if he already knew. As if he’d already guessed. There’s something in his gaze, something in his expression, that makes you think he’s not so different from you.

As the days go by, the anguish grows. It becomes harder and harder to stay away from him. The conversations, the glances, the small interactions… Everything you’ve built so far is undermined by the unexpected connection that has formed between you. He looks at you in a way you never imagined anyone would, and every time his eyes meet yours, a lump forms in your throat.

But you can’t afford distractions. You know the endgame is approaching, that the operation is intensifying, and you need to be ready to act at any moment. But Jun-ho… Jun-ho has become a weight on your chest. A constant pressure you can’t ignore.

The moment everything falls apart comes without warning. A new trial is about to begin, and everything seems out of control. The participants are more violent than ever, and the tensions among the guards are evident. You’re standing in a hallway, silently observing, when a figure catches your attention. A guard, one of the higher-ranking ones, points at you.

“You?” he says, his tone suspicious. “What are you doing here?”

In that instant, you know. He knows what you’re doing. The masquerade is over.

Before you can react, the gun is pointed at you. Fear consumes you in a second, but then you hear a shout. A familiar shout.

“No!”

Jun-ho appears out of nowhere, taking down the guard with a speed that leaves you breathless. But it’s already too late. The noise has alerted the others, and you can hear hurried footsteps approaching.

“Run,” Jun-ho orders, his face grim, his eyes shining with an intensity that makes you hesitate. “Now!”

“Not without you,” you reply, shaking your head. But Jun-ho is already pushing you toward the exit. Desperation overwhelms you, but you do it. You do what he says because you know if you stay, everything will be lost.

...

You escape. You don’t know how, but you do. You find yourself among the shadows, breathing heavily, the weight of guilt pressing on your chest. Every step you take pulls you further away from Jun-ho.

But weeks pass, and there’s no news of him. The anguish of not knowing if he’s alive consumes you. You find yourself watching every shadow, hoping he’ll appear, but all you find is silence.

Finally, when you can’t bear it anymore, it comes. The message. An anonymous note left in your hideout, with just a few words written in handwriting you know all too well.

“I’m alive. I’m still here.”

The anxiety you felt dissipates, but the uncertainty remains. He’s there, but at what cost? What sacrifices have you both made to reach this point? The answer is yet to come, but for now, you know the only thing that matters: Jun-ho is alive, and you, though broken, are one step closer to justice.

#squid game #jun ho squid game #squid game x reader #hwang jun ho #jun ho x reader #hwang jun ho x reader #hwang junho

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stllmnstr · 2 days ago

Text

signed, sealed, delivered

Another drabble from an anon prompt! Started with this:

And turned into poor commoner Jaeyun x rich princess oc in a historical kingdom (so different setting but I hope you still enjoyyyyy 🫡) ps I usually write his name as jake but kept it jaeyun here to match the ask!

pps again I wrote this on my phone and it somehow ended up at 3k AND it's 4 in the morning. that's what you call a triple whammy, folks. enjoy and please excuse any mistakes 😭

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

Sim Jaeyun is turning twenty-two years old today. It’s an impressive feat, in a kingdom where making it to eighteen without succumbing to disease or illness or something more directly borne of war is becoming more and more rare.

But Jaeyun made it to eighteen. Four long years ago. And the years have only been adding up, surely, if not also incredibly slowly, since then.

The only reason he’s made it this far is because he’s smart. Not in the textbook kind of way. Jaeyun wasn’t born into a family important enough to be literate, so it’s nothing but a blessing that he’s as good with words as he is, considering that he can't read them.

It's mostly because he uses them so sparingly. After all, Jaeyun hasn’t made it twenty-two years by talking. He’s done it by keeping his head down and his mouth shut. Just like any good commoner.

He pays his taxes on time and only participates in illicit activities - namely, harvesting crops from one of the sixteen royal gardens - after the sun goes down. He wears average clothes and eats average meals and spends his days with other average people.

From a lot of angles, it’s uninspired. It’s hardly a life at all. But it’s his reality, and for the vast majority of the kingdom’s population, it’s their reality, too.

So Jaeyun, even on his twenty-second birthday, doesn’t have any grand plans. The only thing he wants to do is barter for enough flour and sugar in the marketplace, and maybe even some butter if the dairy farmer takes pity on him, to make himself something sweet over the fire tonight.

As he walks towards the town square, there’s a lightness in his step. Even with midday sun beating on his back and perspiration beginning to gather on his nape, he’s sure that today will be a perfectly ordinary day. In his mind, that alone is something to be immensely grateful for.

By the time he’s secured minuscule amounts of flour and sugar, his mood is still in high spirits. Even though the dairy farmer does not seem to be in an agreeable mood.

“I’ll bring you an extra bag of corn,” Jaeyun whispers conspiratorially over a stack of delectable looking cheeses. He doesn’t even spare them a glance. There’s no point, really. The grumpy old farmer still seems reluctant to give up a fraction of a stick of butter.

“What am I going to do with corn?” The man waves a dismissive hand at him. Jaeyun suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. At least the woman selling sugar had been susceptible to a little old-fashioned flirting. He has the distinct feeling the same tricks won’t work here.

“Potatoes, then.” Jaeyun has no idea where he’ll get potatoes. The royal groundskeepers have a tight leash on that particular crop, but he’s getting desperate.

That, at least, seems to catch the dairy farmer’s attention. Jaeyun’s gut is starting to twist a bit in dread at the prospect of making good on his promise, but the thought of having butter is already enough to make his mouth water.

Before he has the chance to find out if his offer was accepted, the sound of trumpets cuts through the clamor of the market like a knife.

Immediately, conversations cease. Identical flashes of panic flicker through a hundred sets of eyes.

Three sharp, short notes. A beat of silence, and then they’re repeated. It’s a pattern that every citizen knows well.

The announcement of a royal.

Which also means it’s Jaeyun’s cue to craft a stealthy exit. It’s not that he’s a wanted man, per se, but he’d rather not be on the list of people the royal guard are familiar with.

Turning quietly on his heel, he silently mourns the loss of his precious butter with a small pout. And then he bumps straight into Park Sunghoon.

He’s an acquaintance, more than a friend. But he’s also one of the people Jaeyun is closest to in this world.

“Woah,” Sunghoon raises an eyebrow when he notes the swiftness of Jaeyun’s escape attempt. “Didn’t you hear the trumpets?”

“I think everyone on this side of the border heard them,” Jake grumbles, not pleased to be stalled. “That’s why I’m leaving.”

Sunghoon just shrugs, stepping to the side to let him pass. But Jaeyun barely makes it three steps before he’s asking, “You’re not curious?”

Jaeyun pauses, eyes going towards the sky above him in exasperation. He’s not sure why Sunghoon always insists on speaking in riddles, and especially when he’s trying to be discreet.

Turning back to face him, he bites, “Curious about what?”

Sunghoon smirks. He has a piece of information that Jaeyun doesn’t. It’s a rare situation, and he’s planning to milk the hell out of it. “The princess,” he finally says. “Princess ___” He adds in a sing-song voice.

The space between Jaeyun’s eyebrows begins to crease. “What are you talking about?”

“Rumor has it that’s who’s coming right now. Our lovely, fearless, princess is about to be paraded through the marketplace.”

“You’re lying.” Jaeyun shakes his head. He’s sure of it. He doesn’t know much about the king that he supposedly serves, other than his penchant for stationing rather incompetent guards by the crop fields that grow corn, but he does know how he treats his children. Namely, his daughter.

His oldest son is actively being groomed to become the next king, of course. The second born has a nasty chip on his shoulder about it and tries to make up for it by training until he can defeat every last member of the military in hand-to-hand combat and outsmart them in strategy meetings.

And you. The youngest. The only girl.

Much like your mother, you’ve been relegated to little more than a prop. Rumors of your beauty have spread far and wide, but that’s the only thing you’re allowed to be known for. Your days are spent learning how to sit correctly, how to curtsy nicely, how to embroider with alarming precision. How to please others.

Jaeyun’s never lost too much sleep about it. After all, a life in the palace, even a suffocating one, is still a luxury. He doubts you’ve ever had to wonder where your next meal would come from. You probably have actual cake on your birthdays, not makeshift concoctions that would taste significantly better if only you had a bit of butter.

But Sunghoon is insistent. “It’s true. I heard it from Sunoo. You know, he’s friends with that boy that works at the palace.”

“Well then Sunoo’s lying too.” Jaeyun’s words are clipped. He doesn’t have long to slip away if he wants to be gone by the time the procession arrives. “She’s never been in public before.”

Locked up in a palace for your whole life. For a moment, Jaeyun almost feels sorry for you. There’s nothing he loves more than an open field, wide and endless, under a starlit sky.

Taking a step forward, Sunghoon shakes his head. His voice is low when he adds, “Apparently it’s her birthday today. That’s why she’s here. They want to show her off a bit.”

The shock fades quickly. It’s not that strange of a coincidence, Jaeyun supposes, that the two of you share a birthday.

Jaeyun shakes his head firmly. He hopes it conveys a sense of finality. “I’m not staying.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Suit yourself. But I know a spot with a great view.” He jerks his chin to the left. “Just over the butcher’s shop. An old abandoned attic that no one uses anymore.”

Jaeyun hates himself for hesitating. Mostly because that small window of uncertainty is all Sunghoon needs.

“Come on,” he urges. “No one will see you. I promise.”

And it’s not like Jaeyun has that much stake in all of this, but Sunghoon was right. He is curious.

What is it like, he wonders, as Sunghoon leads him up a hidden set of stairs to the attic he pointed to earlier, to live your life at the epicenter of a well-oiled machine?

Do you know? That people like him have to fight to survive? That making it to twenty-two is something remarkable? Do you care?

Jaeyun can’t imagine why you would.

Still, as the procession draws near, Jaeyun feels his heartbeat quicken with it. Until it matches the cadence of the horse hooves coming closer and closer.

Until finally, finally, he gets his first glimpse of the first real royal procession he’s stuck around for in years.

Until he gets his first glimpse of you.

You’re pretty, he’ll give you that, but the more he studies you, the stronger the strange flicker of… disappointment begins to swirl in his gut.

From your seat in the pristine carriage you ride in, your posture is impeccable and your wave towards the crowd is fit for royalty.

You look exactly like a princess. He’s not sure why he expected anything different.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, doesn’t seem so satisfied with the glimpses of you he gets from the attic window. Eyes still locked on your carriage, he says, “I’m going to get closer.”

“What?” Jaeyun hisses. It’s a bad idea. A terrible one, actually. And no matter how much Sunghoon annoys him, he doesn’t want to see the boy thrown in prison. Or worse, dead. “What do you mean, closer?”

But Sunghoon is already gone. Disappeared down the stairs that the two boys entered from only a handful of minutes ago. And now Jaeyun is alone.

Sliding an open palm down his face, he watches as your carriage fades from his limited view. Flour and sugar still in his pocket, he’ll have to wait now. At least an hour, probably, before the coast is clear enough to return home. He just prays Sunghoon manages not to do something too stupid before then.

Maybe he does have a bit of birthday luck, after all. A few moments later, he hears footsteps on the stairs again.

“You finally saw sense,” he calls out over his shoulder. “I tried to tell you that a closer look at some girl isn’t worth risking your life for.”

But Sunghoon doesn’t respond. Eyes rolling, Jaeyun assumes that he must not have found a better view and is deciding to sulk about it now. Fully prepared to rub salt in the wound. Jaeyun turns around fully.

But he was wrong. It’s not Sunghoon that he’s looking at. Or at least, he doesn’t think it is.

The figure who stands motionless at the top of the stairs is covered in a dark, shapeless cloak that extends all the way to the floor and has a hood that fully conceals its wearer’s face.

It’s also at least a head shorter than his friend.

Still, Jaeyun can’t help but hope. “Sunghoon?”

As if suddenly remembering themselves, the figure spins on their heel, turning back the way they came.

A thick sense of unease is building in Jaeyun’s gut. He has no idea who this stranger is, but it’s not Sunghoon. Quickly, awful scenarios begin to plague his mind.

What if it’s a spy? He wonders. A member of the royal guard. Someone here to report him for trespassing, if not one of his worse crimes.

Jaeyun can’t let that happen. Not when he’s made it this far. With all of his reflexes locking into gear, he lunges forward. His long fingers encircle the stranger’s wrist in a vice-like grip.

Still, they try to shake him. And for a moment, they’re successful. The wrist in his hand slips from his grip. But Jaeyun doubles down.

This time, he’s less hesitant. When he reaches for the figure, he grabs them by the waist instead. The struggle is noble, but brief.

In the span of a single heartbeat, Jaeyun has the cloaked stranger pinned beneath him on the attic floor, his knees encircling their rib cage as his hands pin both arms above their head.

Chest heaving, Jaeyun assesses the sight beneath him. In the struggle, the stranger’s hood has fallen loose, revealing a striking set of features.

And hair. Lots of it.

“You’re a girl,” Jaeyun’s breathes, just at the same time a devastatingly feminine voice accuses,

“You.”

“Me?” Jaeyun frowns. He’s never seen you before. Of that, at least, he’s positive. He would have remembered a face like yours.

Delicate and feminine and pretty in all the ways that make his mind spin, you’re a vision beneath him. One that almost has him forgetting the severity of the situation.

That is, until you lay another scathing accusation at his feet. “The corn thief.”

“Corn thief?” Warning bells are starting to sound in Jaeyun’s mind again. He’s been seen. He’s been caught. “You do work for the palace.”

Still on your back between his knees, your hands pinned above your head, your gaze is discerning. With rather flat intonation, you state, “We’re all citizens of the crown, are we not? We all serve the king.”

“Sure,” Jaeyun concedes, “but you actually work for them.” The reality of the situation, the severity of jt, is not lost on him. “You’ll report me to your superior and have me thrown in jail.” Or worse.

The only acknowledgement you give is a slightly raised eyebrow. Jaeyun hates himself a little for thinking that it makes you even prettier. “You make a lot of assumptions don’t you?”

“Are you new here?” He retorts. Sarcasm embeds itself into every word. “That’s kind of how things work.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Even though he’s above you, even though your arms are still firmly within his grip, Jaeyun has to fight the urge to squirm under your gaze. And then you sigh. “I’m not going to report you.” Sending a meaningful look towards his hands above your head, you ask, “Could you get off of me now?”

It’s probably stupid, the way he obeys your command so quickly. But there’s something in your voice, something that rings with authority. He’s scrambling off of you with a speed that’s almost comical.

You are slower to rise, rubbing at your freed wrists while you draw yourself to full height. Looking at you like this, Jaeyun almost thinks that he must have hit his head in the scuffle.

You’re not just pretty. You’re gorgeous. Disarmingly so. Jaeyun would be the first to admit that he hasn’t spent much time around girls, that he doesn’t have much to compare you to, but he’s still certain you’re in possession of a rare kind of beauty. Or, at least, one tailored specifically for him.

Despite his sudden fixation, your last words still ring in his mind. I’m not going to report you.

“You’re not?” He’s hesitant to believe it.

“No, I…” you trail off for a moment, unsure how to phrase your desire. “I want to help you, actually.”

He really must be concussed. “You want to help me?”

“I mean, not you specifically.” Looking around the attic, you seem to be talking to yourself more than him when you mutter, “Ugh. Jungwon swore this room would be empty.”

Still, Jake hears you. And he’s stuck on one word. Jungwon. It sounds so familiar. But why? Why does he know that name?

It takes him another minute of wracking his brain, but he does eventually locate the source of the familiarity. Sunoo. Jungwon is the name of Sunoo’s friend who works at the…

At the palace.

It’s not like he’s surprised that you’re closely associated with the royals, but based on what Sunoo gossips about with Sunghoon, Jungwon works rather closely with the royal family themselves. With the princess.

For a moment, all Jaeyun can do is stare at you. And then he asks, “Who are you?”

Your smile is wry, and it doesn’t reach your eyes. But your curtsy is perfect, even if you’re mocking him. “Princess ___. It’s a pleasure.”

Jaeyun rolls his eyes. How stupid do you think he is? He may just be a commoner, but he’s not an idiot. “Does that actually work on people? You know, the whole town just saw her ride by in a carriage. Literally less than ten minutes ago. And you,” Jaeyun makes quick work of scanning you head to toe, “are not her.”

“The whole town just saw Karina ride by in a carriage,” you correct.

Jaeyun frowns. “Who’s Karina?”

“My favorite handmaiden.”

Again, all Jaeyun can do is look at you. His jaw opens. Closes again. He has the distinct feeling he looks rather similar to the fish laid out on ice in the market beneath you. “You… you’re actually the princess.”

“Like I said,” you don’t bother to curtsy fully this time, just nod in a small bow, “it’s a pleasure. It’s actually kind of lucky that I ran into you here.” Jaeyun watches as your demeanor shifts, sarcasm turning to something far more serious. “So, corn thief, what can you tell me about the patrols they run near the corn crop fields?”

“Why?” Jaeyun doesn’t bother to mask his suspicion. “So you can reinforce them? Or apprehend me next time?”

“No,” you counter, “so I can pass the information along.”

It’s far too vague for his liking. “To…”

You look at him for a moment, as if deciding how much or your trust you’re willing to place in him, too. Finally, you say, “To people who might need it.”

Before he can press you further or ask what that means, Jaeyun hears the sound of trumpets again. A slightly different three note pattern than before.

“Shit…” You curse under your breath, Jaeyun hates the way it makes him feel hot beneath his clothes. “I have to go,” you tell him. “You know the old oak tree? The one near the mouth of the river?”

Jaeyun nods, suddenly distrustful of his voice.

“I’ll leave you a note there.” You’re already pulling your hood up over your head again, wrapping the cloak back around your body. “Check it tomorrow after midnight. It will tell you when and where to meet me.”

Jaeyun frowns. “But I—”

“What’s your name?” you interrupt. “I can’t call you corn thief forever.”

“Jaeyun,” he tells you after a beat. “Sim Jaeyun. But wait, I—”

“Tomorrow,” you reiterate, looking at him one last time. “After midnight.”

“But—” Jaeyun tries to protest one final time. It’s no use. You're already gone.

Out loud to an empty attic, Sim Jaeyun finally admits, “But I can’t read.”

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

STOPPP I'm kind of obsessed with them......

send me an idea for a drabble!

#jake fanfic #jake fanfiction #jaeyun fanfic #jaeyun fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #jake drabble #jaeyun drabble #enhypen drabble #jake x you #jake x reader #Enhypen x you #enhypen x reader #jake sim fanfic #jake sim fanfiction #jake sim x you

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cloudyynebulas · 3 days ago

Note

Hello I want to welcome you to the Cookie Run x reader community and as for my request can you do headcannons of your favorite cookies please

thank you thank you! it's much appreciated :] since no specific game was specified, i'll write out the ancient hero cookies (plus a few beast cookies) for this ask!

i ended up writing a LOT for this one, so apologies if its a little long! as stated in my pinned post, requests are open indefinitely! feel free to send some stuff in my inbox and ill get to writing it asap ^_^

COOKIE RUN: KINGDOM ROMANCE HEADCANONS

[ reader is implied to be gender neutral! ]

. ☾ . .

PURE VANILLA COOKIE ;

Pure Vanilla Cookie is incredibly gentle and sweet. He's always there to lend an ear for you, his touch soft and caring with a scent of warm vanilla and soft cream. He'll happily stop whatever he's doing if it means being by your side.

He's an Ancient Hero, so he carries plenty of responsibilities, but his typical busy schedule does not come in the way of being around you - and as mentioned above, he's fully willing to stop what he's doing to be there for you, especially if you need comfort.

Very very affectionate, but always makes sure you're comfortable with being hugged or held in the moment before he makes any moves. He wants you to be comfortable.

Plants a whole room full of flowers in his kingdom just for you. He'll ask you what kind of flowers you love most, and the next thing you know, you'll see a whole bunch of them planted in a greenhouse, and tons more in different vases and bouquets around the castle.

Whenever you're wounded, Pure Vanilla Cookie is by your side within seconds. As an exceptional healer, his light magic soothes your wounds and fills up cuts, stopping anymore runaway jam from escaping your cuts and bruises. He's incredibly gentle with his work, so very rarely do you wince or clench your teeth in pain - and in the case that does happen, he's quick to apologize and make sure you're alright.

. ☾ . .

HOLLYBERRY COOKIE ;

Hollyberry Cookie is incredibly outgoing and energetic - always full of life and passion. She's the life of the party, and whether or not you're more extroverted or introverted, she's fully understanding and makes sure that you're always having a good time to the best of her ability.

The Hollyberry Kingdom is typically always packed, filled with laughter and berry juice - a smell that you grow accustomed to very quickly. Her kingdom is very well known for parties and get-togethers, so it's not often that the marble halls of magentas and cream are silent. It can get a little overwhelming, but Hollyberry often spends most of her time at these parties with you, and when she notices you're getting overwhelmed, she takes you to a quieter part of the castle.

Just like with Hollyberry, Wildberry Cookie is very much by your side often. His stoic posture and serious nature can be a bit intimidating at times, but he's incredibly caring and deeply cares for your well-being, just as he cares for Hollyberry's. Any Cookie that Queen Mother carries a deep love for is someone that Wildberry will protect no matter what.

He gives you both personal space when needed, guarding the two of you with an iron fist (quite literally). Expect your protection and safety to be rather high, as Hollyberry Cookie would never let anything happen to you. Her famous shield can protect you from any attack, and she's fully willing to throw herself into danger if it means keeping you safe and out of harms way.

Pitaya Dragon Cookie is well-aware of this relationship between you and Hollyberry Cookie, and Hollyberry has made it very clear that the dragon is not to bring you into harms way - or they'll have to answer to her shield, and she won't spar with them anymore. The red dragon will merely grumble incoherent nonsense, but will abide by these rules at the end of the day.

. ☾ . .

GOLDEN CHEESE COOKIE ;

You're her favorite treasure, no doubt about that. You are one of her greediest desires, and not a single misfortune should ever befall you so long as the radiant queen has you in her sight. Golden Cheese Cookie spoils you rotten, and every time you might insist that you don't need anymore gifts, she merely laughs and you get even more.

She spreads out her wings and will lift you up, gliding through the skies of the desert, the wind breezing up against both of you as you two would soar high into the skies, getting an absolute gorgeous view of the desert, the cheesebirds, and the horizon off in the distance.

Mozzarella Cookie absolutely makes bets between Smoked Cheese Cookie and Burnt Cheese Cookie when it comes to the relationship of you and Golden Cheese Cookie. She playfully teases both of you, and finds the relationship absolutely adorable.

You want something? You get it. There's not a single thing that Golden Cheese Cookie can't get her greedy hands on - every single one of your desires will be fulfilled, just as she fulfills the desires of her most treasured subjects. Everyday of your life is essentially paradise, and she'll stop at nothing to make you happy.

After the Dark Flour War, if she lost you - she would be destroyed. Losing her kingdom, her precious subjects, Burnt Cheese Cookie, Smoked Cheese Cookie and Mozzarella Cookie .. and you. Her hands holding up the small remains of her kingdom in defeat.

But she would never let you go. Never let anything that was hers disappear without a trace. She'll create the Virtual Golden City, like the war never happened. She'll be able to see you again - not as a bunch of cookie crumbs, but as the walking, talking, you. She'll salvage everything she can of those she treasured most, and this time - she won't lose you. Never again.

. ☾ . .

DARK CACAO COOKIE ;

Dark Cacao Cookie is very serious - a cookie known and revered for his blade, where the two dragons remain sealed. His resolution is great, yet so is his love for you. He's not naturally very soft or calm, so such moments are a rarity, but that does not bother you.

Living in such freezing cold temperatures is something you always struggled adjusting to, but Dark Cacao Cookie does everything in his power to keep you warm and safe within the walls of his kingdom. Whenever the two of you must trudge through the snow, he keeps you close, his warmth keeping the two of you warm through the treacherous environment.

Caramel Arrow Cookie and Crunchy Chip Cookie are very devoted to their king, and seeing him smile at the sight of you warms their hearts greatly. They usually spend time hanging out around you and the three of you often hang out whenever Dark Cacao Cookie must attend to his duties, which leaves you at the mercy of their playful teasing.. that usually ends in a trip to get boba.

After the Dark Flour War, his decline and isolation in his kingdom broke your heart. You tried, desperately, to bring back that resolve in his heart, but there was not much you could do. The damage had been done, and his friends were separated - and all of Earthbread felt the repercussions.

Gingerbrave and friends brought back that spark within him, and you reassured him that you'd never leave his side. Not now, not ever. He may have lost his way, but that didn't make you love him any less. Dark Cacao Cookie had always been faced with burden, and through the many years, he's always supported you - and now it was your turn to support him.

He's incredibly protective over you. Anything that dares threaten you will be put to an end with a swift strike of his sword. Whether it's Stormbringer Cookie's Heaven Splitter, or it's Mystic Flour Cookie's trickery, nothing will bring you harm when he is around. Especially after his awakening, he is now stronger than ever - and no shred of darkness will be able to come your way.

. ☾ . .

WHITE LILY COOKIE ;

Similar to Pure Vanilla Cookie, White Lily Cookie is incredibly gentle and soft-spoken. She's intelligent, curious, and very powerful. She's often on her own path, with you by her side, going from kingdom to kingdom. Unlike her dearest friends, she didn't have her own kingdom - choosing to roam the land rather than stopping and settling down.

The two of you roam the world together, with almost every inch of Crispia having been seen by the two of you - walking side by side. Searching in every nook and cranny for answers to White Lily's biggest question: Why were cookies created?

You wouldn't lie and say that such a question piqued your interest as well. White Lily Cookie wanted to see the witches, and from the endless amounts of research that the two of you conducted over the years, you both discovered the event known as the Night of the Witches, held once in a thousand years.

White Lily Cookie was very adamant on getting to this banquet - and was overjoyed when you agreed to come with her. The two of you eventually arrived to Beast-Yeast, where, after saving Silverbell Cookie, you both were welcomed into the Faerie Kingdom and became very good friends with Elder Faerie Cookie.

You and White Lily Cookie settled in the Faerie Kingdom longer than most other places you both would stop at momentarily to gather bearings, before continuing the journey. During these moments of standstill, White Lily Cookie was often seen with her hand intertwined with yours - both of you walking side-by-side, always and forever.

You both would be cooped up in libraries, reading large scrolls and ancient texts together. On the occasions when the two of you weren't researching, you'd be strolling the Faerie Kingdom with her and talking with the other Faerie Cookies, or standing on the wooden bridge dressed in flowers - watching the river water run through softly.

The Night of the Witches was the last time you saw White Lily Cookie for a long time. You awoke late that night, only to realize that White Lily Cookie was gone, with nothing but a small note left behind in her spot. Her note was written in her delicate handwriting, where she apologized for leaving without you - promising to return.

She didn't want you to be put in danger.

Elder Faerie Cookie did everything he could to comfort you as the days went by - with no sign or message of White Lily Cookie's return.

When the Dark Flour War commenced, all you could do was watch the chaos unfold with horror - as Dark Enchantress Cookie's terror wrecked havoc all throughout Earthbread. You didn't know what the feeling was - but just from the glimpses of Dark Enchantress Cookie you could see, you knew that it was her.

The glass casket that was once empty was suddenly filled with an unconcious White Lily Cookie - who was no longer truly herself. Now, she was merely half a cookie. With no way of awakening her without the Light of Freedom, you spent countless days protecting her casket, hoping for the day that she might return.

. ☾ . .

SHADOW MILK COOKIE ;

ohhhh boy. this one's a doozy.

Shadow Milk Cookie is extreeeemly clingy. For an Ancient Cookie who was once baked to be the Virtue of Knowledge, he knows everything about you. Of course, this Knowledge is twisted by the fact that his very existence has been distorted into what is now the Beast of Deceit, meaning that he is incredibly unpredictable.

Due to his clinginess, it's very often that his embrace is wrapped around you. Whether it's a sudden hug, your hands being yanked as you're suddenly forced into a dance - a serenade between you both, or his puppeteer strings keeping you locked in place so that you can't leave his side, Shadow Milk Cookie doesn't hesitate to keep you near him at almost all time, whenever he can.

If the two of you had met prior to his fall into darkness, he was one of the most caring, understanding Cookies you knew. But that Cookie you once knew was long gone, now replaced with a twisted version of himself. His morality and ideals gone with a flick of a wrist.

Try as you might to get away, there's nowhere on Earthbread where Shadow Milk Cookie cannot find you. When he's got his sights on you, it's over. There's really nothing you can do. The only moments of peace you would've ever received were during the countless years the Beasts were sealed away into the Silver Tree.

Your friends, such as Pure Vanilla Cookie, White Lily Cookie, and Gingerbrave, would do everything in their power to keep you safe, which Shadow Milk Cookie only finds annoying. These lowly thieves and weakling Cookies attempting to keep him from his beloved? Such blasphemy! The only thing he finds mildly entertaining about it is seeing his favorite marionette protecting his beloved - you.

Candy Apple Cookie most definitely listens in to his long, looong tangents about you. The way he compliments and adores everything about you, from your dough, your eyes, your clothes, everything about you is flawless to him. When he'd been sealed away in the Silver Tree, he longed to see your face again - it'd just been sooo long!

The guy loves theatrics. Especially when it comes to making cardboard cutouts and acting out in dazzling plays - and it's very clear where the favoritism lies. Those who Shadow Milk Cookie considers his friends are clearly drawn with detail and precision, while those he despises are drawn poorly, messily - meant to insult and mock.

Yours, however, is drawn with such meticulous detail, down to every last drop of color, just like his. When he acts out these plays, your puppet and his are always together - with his best vocal impression of you aweing Shadow Milk Cookie, boosting his own ego. All you can do is watch in disbelief at this so-called 'fictitious' play, while your friends silently pity you.

Definitely haunts your dreams, similarly to how he haunts Pure Vanilla Cookie's. You're not quite sure how he does it, but with how powerful he is and with his strength growing day by day, it's safe to say that you get less and less hours of sleep as the nights go on. Though, you can't stay awake forever - and when you fall asleep, he'll be there.

You can't get away from him. Trying to run away only results in blue puppet strings dragging you right back to him, where he scolds you for going "off-script". He finds your attempts at escaping entertaining, so he allows it to happen - letting you get that briefest glimpse of hope, only to snatch you up in his hands and shatter that glimmer of light you'd been clinging onto, dragging you back into the darkness with him.

There's nowhere to run. You're his, and his alone, till the end of time.

. ☾ . .

BURNING SPICE COOKIE ;

...this guy is really scary.

Burning Spice Cookie is known as the Great Destroyer, merciless and vile. He crushes hundreds of Cookies and other Wild Spices who dare even look in his direction the wrong way. Everything to him is meaningless and boring, things that will be inevitably destroyed. It's all a pointless cycle of rise and fall.

But you are a loophole in this cycle. He's not too sure what makes you so special .. or why his eyes light up in a firey passion when he sees you, some random Cookie who should've been reduced to ashes in the sand within seconds of being spotted by the Great Destroyer himself. He can't quite put his finger on it, but his mind races just at the sight of you.

With how he is, upfront and demanding, he wastes no time catching you. With his army of Wild Spices and his general, Nutmeg Tiger Cookie, you are quickly overwhelmed and outnumbered by many. Try as much as you can to run away and hide, you will be caught.

Burning Spice Cookie enjoys the thrill of the chase, the little game of hide and seek he plays with you as he and his entire army hunt you down, but his excitement is only satisfied when you are finally caught, thrown onto the sand in front of him, left at his complete mercy.

You are taken to his temple, and are kept under constant surveillance by him and Nutmeg Tiger Cookie, with you next to him at all costs. Any attempts at escape are practically impossible, and with his sheer strength, you wouldn't dare test such dangerous waters.

Very clingy, similar to Shadow Milk Cookie. His grip is incredibly strong, and just the slightest bit of strength would easily shatter your dough - but, surprisingly enough, Burning Spice Cookie knows to be gentle with a frail Cookie such as yourself. Every move and every thing you say feels like you're constantly walking on eggshells.

One wrong move, and you could be crumbs. Burning Spice Cookie is not opposed to threatening you with such words, knowing that your fear will keep you complicit, make you cower and not dare to think of the slightest possibility of escaping.

His chuckles of victory over this little game between you and him are all that echo within the walls of his temple as he sits on his throne, with you by his side, always.

. ☾ . .

MYSTIC FLOUR COOKIE ;

Mystic Flour Cookie is incredibly interesting and isn't like the other Beasts. She sees all things as utterly futile, and how everything is doomed to crumble and fade away as time passes on. She merely brings upon a quick, swift end to suffering Cookies, letting them pass on to be free of all burden.

Yet, through her countless years of existing, fulfilling the wishes and desires of all Cookies to the point of trapping herself within a cocoon, she never thought that she, herself, would have another wish beyond her goals of the world turning to pale flour.

Her goals remain the same, only now, she wants you to be with her as the world eventually crumbles to nothing but colorless flour. The two of you standing over the remains of a once broken world, the two of you as the sole survivors, the last remaining Cookies to walk Earthbread. Together, you both will fade into nothingness.

A perfect, peaceful end the two of you will share. But until her goals are truly fulfilled, you and her have eternity to prepare for that moment.

You may not agree with her ideals, but it does not matter to her. You will eventually see the truth, the futility of it all, and come to terms with her morals and beliefs - and be with her. Cloud Haetae Cookie will sing of her praises, filling your head with doubt and confusion about which side is truly the good side.

For Mystic Flour Cookie, she has existed since the dawn of Earthbread, alongside the other Beast Cookies - yet no Cookies have fascinated her more than you. She can only smile as you so desperately try to flee and escape your destiny, but in the end, you will understand.

She can wait till the end of time. You'll come running back to her in the end.

#cookie run x reader #crk x reader #cookie run x you #cookie run kingdom #cookie run kingdom x you

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madbard · 2 days ago

Text

I can’t stop thinking about a TMA fic idea where, instead of going Somewhere Else at the end of the series, Martin wakes up back in the safe house the morning the world ended.

Jon doesn’t remember anything. Neither, it seems, does anyone else. Martin checks the statements they’ve received and finds Elias’ message in the top file, exactly where he had expected it. In classic Martin fashion, he promptly commits arson and discards of the ashes. If none of this feels quite real, then at least it is a pleasant dream. It’s been so long since he’s dreamed like this.

Martin and Jon have a lovely, quiet day. They walk over to see the cows. They eat together, and Martin prepares tea. Jon knows something is wrong, but Martin brushes it off, blaming his strange mood on nightmares. It’s been a rough few years, and even rougher few months. If Martin seems a bit… off, well, it only makes sense.

Moreover, something in Jon doesn’t want to know what Martin is hiding. Something in him so deeply yearns to keep its eyes shut.

That night, they go to sleep, side by side. Jon lies across from Martin, relatively human and relatively happy and, most importantly, alive. Martin falls asleep tracing the scars on his hands.

The next morning begins like any in the safe house. Martin wakes up and wanders over to the kitchen to make some tea, while Jon follows him, still fighting off sleep. The morning light through the windows sets everything aglow and as Martin opens up the cupboard, he couldn’t be happier… until his hand brushes empty air.

“… Jon?”

“Hm?”

“Where’s the tea we bought yesterday?” At this point he knows. But he has to be sure. And when Jon looks up at him, confused, and tells him that they ran out yesterday and certainly didn’t purchase any more, that they were planning to buy some today, Martin felt that truth solidify in his stomach like a stone.

Jon sees the change in Martin’s expression and this time he almost asks - but that same part of him that covered his eyes earlier now rears up and nearly chokes him. He doesn’t want to know.

“Martin? What-”

Martin doesn’t give him the chance to finish. In seconds, he’s out the door, crumpling Elias’ message as he walks.

That day is quiet and difficult, filled with arguments and half-asked questions, obviously false answers. When they fall asleep, Jon is turned away. Martin stares up at the ceiling until sleep claims him.

The next day seems a bit dimmer. He stays in bed with Jon as long as he can, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse, the warmth of his breath, as they hold each other in the quiet morning.

Days pass, then weeks. Martin learns every path by heart, every conversation, at first precious, eventually made dull by repetition. Sometimes, he’s able to smile. Sometimes, he admits that he can feel the Lonely rolling over him like the tide. (What could be lonelier than going through such an experience, and being unable to talk about it? What could be lonelier than knowing that, no matter what, everything you do today will be forgotten tomorrow?) Jon can offer comfort, but he cannot ask why that comfort is needed. He cannot know.

In the end, Martin wakes up early. He puts Elias’ message in his pocket and goes into town, buying tea and pastries and two pairs of comfortable walking shoes.

They share a warm breakfast together, as a thick white fog hangs around the cabin. Martin finishes his tea, and places the statement on the table when Jon isn’t looking.

“I’m going to go for a walk.”

“In this fog?” Jon looks out the window, and in his eyes, Martin sees the reflection of the Lonely. He gets up and walks over.

“I just want to stretch my legs. I’ll be back before lunch, alright?”

Jon meets his gaze, and if some communication passes between them, it is swiftly buried by the fog. “Alright. I need to take a statement anyway.”

Before leaving, Martin bends down and kisses him, just once.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Martin steps out into the mist and walks, walks and walks until the world ends.

#I just feel the strong urge to put Martin in a time loop #it’s been a while since I’ve written fic (let’s face it it’s been a while since I’ve written much of anything)#so I don’t know if I’ve quite caught their voices #I also don’t know if I’ll have the time to actually write anything for this but I had to get the idea down #maybe martin can stop Jon from killing Elias this time… maybe not… who can say?#the magnus archives #martin blackwood #madbard writes

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griefabyss69 · 3 hours ago

Text

Half Light

Written for @st-loveconfessions Acts of Kindness Month day 2: Ficlets inspired by Fanart! @spicyglitterfang's pin-up of Steve is one of my favorite things anyone has ever made in this fandom, so I wanted to write something for it! I hope you all enjoy it <3

Steddie | Rated: M | 2K | No CWs apply | Tags: Nude Modeling, Garfield - Freeform, Art Shows, Photographer Robin Buckley, Post-Canon, University, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Flirting, Eddie Munson's Garfield mug

[ AO3 ] Summary

Robin is a photography student and Steve is a good friend. Eddie's a good friend too, for lending them something to help make Robin's vision real, and not sweating it when that something touches parts of Steve's body that... well.

He's a good friend.

Excerpt

“It’s not just about the subversion, Steve,” Robin declares as she does inscrutable things to her camera. “It’s also a love letter.”

“A love letter,” he repeats flatly. There’s cold tile under his bare ass and the window at his back isn’t any better. “You don’t love men, though.”

Robin peers through the camera and then stands up, coming over to mess with his hair. He’s glad they’re pretty used to each other, or having her this close while he’s naked would be... weird. It’s not like he’s excited, or worried about that, even if he’s trying not to think about the exhibitionist thrill he’s getting out of... well. Getting his picture taken like this. Modeling.

“Not that kind of love,” she mutters, distracted as she turns his head. “There. Don’t move, the light looks perfect.”

He’s not sure what makes the light more perfect with his head turned an inch further the right than it was, but he lets her do her thing. At least the Garfield mug covering his dick has warmed up to his body heat.

“Okay, now hold up the teapot like you’re offering to fill a cup,” Robin says, back behind the camera.

Steve gives her a warm smile—not even fake, not really—and holds the Garfield teapot up.

It’s a funny thing, kitschy. Eddie was reluctant to let them borrow it, and when he sees what they did to his mug Steve’s pretty sure he’s not going to forgive them, but... he’ll buy him a new one if he has to. Robin says it’ll be fine, that Eddie’s queer enough to appreciate sacrificing for art, or something. Steve secretly thinks she’s implying he’d like drinking out of a mug that had a dick in it.

“Great, okay, give your arm a break,” Robin says. “I don’t know if I got it. You look like you’re going to laugh.”

“Should I be more serious?” Steve asks, twisting his mouth around until he gets the smile out, letting it melt from his face.

“Yeah, let’s try that.”

#griefabyss69 writing #steddie fanfiction #stobin friendship #steddie fanfic #art credited

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troyo-boyo · 2 days ago

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Full Court Family (Kelsey Plum x Reader)

Summary: Kelsey Plum, her partner, and their young son as they spend a day at team practice. As Mason bonds with the players, his playful curiosity leads to humorous moments, showcasing the love and camaraderie of his basketball family.

Wordcount: 2.1k

The sun blazed down, casting long shadows across the court as the Aces' training session got underway. Inside the gym, the atmosphere was alive with the usual energy balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, and players shouting encouragement to each other. It was one of those days where everything felt perfect. The team was on fire, and there was something special about bringing Mason, our three-year-old son, to watch. For Kelsey, me, and especially Mason, the gym felt like a second home.

Mason had always been fascinated by basketball. It was in his blood—his mom, Kelsey, was one of the team's best players, and he adored watching her play. His little eyes would light up every time he saw her make a shot or nail a pass. But today was extra special: not only was he going to watch the team practice, but he was going to spend time with his extended family, his aunties, as he called them.

I was sitting on the bleachers with Mason, watching him bounce his little basketball as he mimicked the moves of the team. Kelsey was on the court, running drills with her teammates, her usual focus and intensity drawing my attention. But Mason was just as captivated by the players as I was. His eyes were wide, following each pass, every rebound, every shot. The Aces were his idols.

"Mama, look! Basketball!" Mason said, holding up his little ball to show me.

"Yep, that's basketball, buddy," I replied with a smile, ruffling his hair. "You're going to be just like Mommy one day."

"Basketball!" he repeated, his grin growing as wide as the gym.

Before I could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the noise of the practice session. Sydney Colson, the Aces' veteran point guard, jogged over to us with her usual mischievous smile.

"Well, well, look who's here! The future MVP of the league," Syd said, squatting down to Mason's level and giving him a playful high-five.

Mason giggled and bounced his ball excitedly. "Basketball!" he exclaimed, bouncing around with more energy than even Syd could keep up with.

Syd's eyes sparkled with excitement. "That's my boy! Gotta start 'em young, right?" She turned to me with a grin. "You know, I think I'm going to teach him a few things today."

"Oh, no," I said, laughing nervously. "You can't be serious. You know Kelsey would kill me if Mason picks up any bad habits."

Syd's laugh was mischievous. "Bad habits? Please. I'm a great influence." Her voice was full of playful sarcasm.

The players continued practicing, but Syd had a different kind of practice in mind. As the team worked on their shooting drills, Syd casually walked over to Mason, who was sitting on the bleachers and watching intently. She leaned in, whispering something to him that I couldn't quite hear.

Before I could ask what she was saying, Mason suddenly raised his hand and, without any hesitation, stuck out his middle finger at the players across the court. I froze. My heart skipped a beat as I watched Syd's eyes widen in horror.

"Mason!" I called out, rushing over to him. "What are you doing?!"

Syd was already on her knees next to him, shaking her head. "Oh no, no, no," she muttered under her breath. "I definitely did not teach him that. I swear!"

But Mason was grinning, clearly proud of himself. "Middle finger!" he said, pointing at the team as if he were showing off a new skill.

"I'm pretty sure that wasn't part of the lesson I gave you, buddy," Syd said, looking at me with wide eyes. "I was just telling him about hand signals... like 'peace,' you know? Not this!" She quickly took Mason's hand and lowered his finger, giving me a sheepish look. "I'm so sorry, I didn't think he'd actually... well, you know, do it."

I tried not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "Syd! What are you teaching him?"

"I swear, it wasn't intentional!" Syd said, her voice rising slightly in panic as she stood up. "It was just a casual thing. I didn't think he'd pick it up so fast!"

Kelsey, who had been finishing up her drill across the court, glanced over at us and saw what was going on. She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "What's going on over here?" she called.

"Nothing!" I said quickly, trying to brush it off. "Just a little... misunderstanding."

Kelsey narrowed her eyes. "Uh-huh. And I'm guessing Syd had something to do with it?"

Syd, clearly a little embarrassed, scratched the back of her neck. "Okay, okay, maybe I gave him a few hand gestures. But I swear I didn't teach him the middle finger!"

"Oh, I'll bet you didn't," Kelsey said, her tone playful but with a hint of mock seriousness. "Mason, buddy, you can't do that. You can't show people the middle finger, okay?"

Mason nodded seriously, as if he completely understood. But his mischievous grin said otherwise. "Middle finger!" he said again, this time to Kelsey, as if he were trying to teach her.

Kelsey looked at Syd, trying to stifle a laugh. "This is your fault."

"Hey, I'm just trying to make sure he's well-rounded," Syd said, holding her hands up in defense. "A little attitude never hurt anyone."

Kelsey rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Well, he's certainly picking up some things from you, that's for sure."

As practice continued, I watched Syd keeping a close eye on Mason, as if trying to make up for the middle finger incident. But of course, it wasn't just that one moment where Syd's influence became apparent.

Later, during a break, Mason wandered over to where a few players were chatting. Syd was standing nearby, making conversation with Chelsea. Chelsea was gesturing with her hands, talking about their upcoming game, when Syd, in her usual joking manner, added a playful exclamation.

"Ugh, this season's going to be a pain in the ass," Syd said dramatically, rolling her eyes.

Mason, who had been listening intently, tilted his head to the side. "Pain in the ass?" he asked, his eyes wide.

"Oh no," I muttered, walking over quickly. "Syd, you have got to be more careful!"

Syd put a hand over her mouth, looking genuinely shocked. "I didn't mean for him to hear that."

I sighed, holding onto Mason's little hand. "Syd, seriously! What are we going to do with you?"

"I'm sorry! I'm trying to be a good influence!" Syd said, her voice apologetic but still lighthearted. "I swear I don't curse around him on purpose!"

But Mason, of course, was already repeating it. "Pain in the ass!" he said, clearly proud of his new phrase.

The other players started laughing, watching the situation unfold with amusement. A'ja, ever the calm and collected one, walked over and knelt beside Mason. "Okay, little man," she said with a smile. "I think we need to work on some new words for you."

"Basketball!" Mason said, holding up his little ball in triumph.

"Basketball, yes!" A'ja said, nodding seriously. "Let's stick to basketball, okay?"

"Stick to basketball," I repeated, shaking my head as I looked at Syd. "That's the only thing he's allowed to repeat today."

The rest of the practice was full of more laughter, with Syd giving Mason extra attention to make up for the two "bad habits" she'd inadvertently taught him. As the team wrapped up, I could tell Mason had formed his own little bond with the Aces, his aunties were already spoiling him, just like they did every time he came to practice.

"I think he's going to be just fine," Kelsey said with a laugh, watching Mason run around the court, his ball bouncing every which way.

"Yeah, as long as Aunt Syd keeps her hands to herself," I joked.

"I promise I'll keep the middle fingers and curse words to a minimum," Syd said with a grin, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "But no promises on the attitude. He's definitely picking that up."

"Just keep teaching him basketball," Kelsey said, rolling her eyes. "I can't have him walking around the house calling me 'pain in the ass’."

"Deal," Syd said with a wink. "But I can't promise he won't be a little bit of a troublemaker. That's just how we roll."

I could hear the laughter and playful chatter from across the court as the team wrapped up practice. Mason had definitely made his mark today, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight of him running around, basketball in hand, clearly in his element. The team had really taken him under their wing, treating him like the little nephew they never knew they needed.

"Alright, Mason," I called out, crouching down to his level. "It's time to go home, buddy."

Mason paused in his tracks, holding his basketball tightly, his face scrunched in thought. He wasn't ready to leave not when he was having so much fun with his aunties. Kelsey, walking over to join us, gave him an encouraging smile.

"Let's go, little man," Kelsey said, gently ruffling his hair as she crouched beside me. "You can come back tomorrow and play some more, but right now, it's nap time."

"No nap!" Mason protested, shaking his head firmly. "Basketball!"

I exchanged a look with Kelsey, both of us trying not to laugh. Mason was already so invested in the game. Maybe it was in his genes, or maybe it was just the way he'd been raised surrounded by basketball all his life. But I couldn't deny it, he was a little basketball prodigy in the making.

"Well, how about we make a deal?" Kelsey said, standing up and offering Mason her hand. "You take a nap now, and when you wake up, we'll play basketball in the yard. Just me and you. How does that sound?"

Mason's eyes lit up at the mention of playing basketball with Kelsey. "Basketball!" he shouted, finally accepting that nap time was inevitable if it meant more basketball later. He took Kelsey's hand and allowed her to lead him out of the gym, still clutching his ball like it was the most important thing in the world.

I followed closely behind, glancing back at the team as they gathered their things and headed out of the gym, their laughter still ringing in the air.

"I think we made a lasting impression on him today," A'ja said as she walked past me. She had a knowing smile on her face, clearly amused by the chaos that had unfolded during practice. "He's got the attitude, the energy, and the basketball spirit. He's going to be a handful for you two."

"I can already tell," I replied with a laugh. "But at least we know he's in good hands. I mean, look at the aunties he's got. Syd might've been the cause of his 'middle finger incident,' but she sure knows how to keep him entertained."

A'ja chuckled. "Oh, Syd's the expert when it comes to mischief. But we all love Mason like he's our own. He's definitely part of the Aces family now."

As I made my way to the parking lot with Kelsey and Mason, I felt a sense of gratitude wash over me. Today had been a reminder of how lucky we were, lucky to have this family, lucky to be surrounded by such a supportive and loving group of people who not only embraced us but loved Mason like he was their own.

It wasn't just the basketball skills they were passing down to him. It was their kindness, their sense of humor, and their undying support for one another. These were the things that mattered. These were the things that would shape Mason into a man who understood the value of family, loyalty, and the joy of playing the game.

When we got home, Mason was asleep in the backseat, clutching his basketball with one hand and his favorite blanket with the other. I glanced at Kelsey, who had a soft smile on her face as she looked back at our son.

“I think today was a success,” she said quietly.

“Definitely,” I agreed. “We’ve got a lot to look forward to with him.”

We both watched Mason for a moment, savoring the peace before the inevitable chaos of his toddler years returned. There was no doubt in my mind that Mason would continue to make memories like today full of laughter, a few mishaps, and a whole lot of basketball. But no matter what, he would always have his family, his aunties, and the game to keep him grounded.

#women’s sports #basketball #wnba #women’s basketball #wbb #wbb imagine #wbb x reader #wnba basketball #wnba imagine #kelsey plum #kelsey plum x reader #las vegas aces #aja wilson #sydney colson

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selfinflictedgunshotwound · 5 days ago

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men are so disappointing in so many ways i know i shouldn't expect most of them to be dignified humans but it's crazy. i need to get over this guy he's making my sense of self crumble even faster than it usually does. like he's just so unlike my usual type and i'm pretty convinced he's stupid and slutty and not discerning whatsoever. not to mention boring like i know even if i did have a chance with him he wouldn't Get Me at all so it's a bigger waste of time that usual and i'm actually pretty tired of men in general and definitely tired of parasocial relationships because they drive me insane for months typically. thankfully it's only been like 2 weeks if that at this point. idk. sigh. i know literally virtually nothing abt him as a person and ofc liking any public figure who you know nothing about is only setting yourself for heartbreak and disappointment to begin with bc you already know nothing is gonna come from it but. in a way it's almost addictive to become obsessed with someone and not be looked at with the same level of scrutiny. i don't think anyone in real life would ever try to get to know me as much as i try to get to know people who i'll never even meet. lmao! but that's the thing... idk... i have a lot of love in my heart and it consumes me and i reject my pride usually when i'm into someone. i want to know more... like VORACIOUSLY consuming anything with information about them involved simply because i think knowing someone is a very deep form of love but of course you can never truly know anyone. not completely. and that scares me i think which is why it's always probably been easier for me to never really TRY to be with anyone or have anything real. idk. this turned into me psychoanalyzing myself real quick but SOMEONE needs to bc i need to understand what the fuck is wrong w me.

#like i'm not gonna lie and say i do this every time i'm even vaguely interested in someone. most of the time i'm just like 'ooo hottie'#and then save a bunch of pics before either the shame gets to me or i just stop caring and move on. happens quite a bit more than my #obsessive episodes. the worst one was absolutely the fact that i was obsessed with jeremy for basically 3 years and spent two hating him #simply because i thought i was owed anything. honestly i think i was just very very insanely depressed. that's probably why those #obsessive periods even happen to begin with because i have felt so so horrible like soul ripped out horrible the past few weeks lmao #and i think i'm just a grasp for any light in the dark type person like it doesn't even necessarily mean anything the person is just someon #i attach significance to them when i do this shit but i know deep down that i'm owed nothing and that i truly expect nothing #it's just nice to have a distraction from my life. and dgmw that doesn't make me any less schizo about certain details and happenings #like i'll still think that 'oh they're only doing that because i'm into them' or 'they only went here because it was related to something i #was thinking about earlier' and whatever else. i know what i am. i don't claim to be anything else. and i know it puts people off.#and that i'm not likely to get any better if i keep doing it. if it's even possible for me to get better. but idk. it's interesting bc i've #thought more about what my life means to me and the kind of person i am and how my brain works and how everything affects me #more in the past few weeks than i seem to have in the last 5 years. i think i'm really getting better at accepting hard truths.#time spent by yourself is still time spent with the world.... and the more i think... even if it's hurtful... i'm growing and changing all #the time. i don't think if this was 4 years ago i would've even acknowledged the fact that i can't write off on This Guy's zionism #and other things about him that give me the ick (hate that phrase but whtevr) like him playing that gay hogwarts game and being a nepo baby #like bro you have trans friends and supposedly always 'look out for the small guy'. he's also never dated a fat girl despite his mom being #kind of a trailblazer for fat women in the entertainment industry. there's always rumors of him dating literally ever costar he's ever #worked with i guess simply because he seems like that kind of guy. and to be fair he does LMAO #honestly i don't know if i believe he's a bad person but i won't sign off on a guy i like being boring and stupid. that's just me #i'm sure ppl reading this who also don't Get Me are wondering why any of this even matters and the point is that it kind of doesn't lmao #but it's my life and i typically choose to care about people who will never even know i exist. unpopular girl instinct i suppose. maybe i'm #destined to be unloved or something but for now i wear fantasies like a blanket. maybe one day i won't need them anymore. but i def #do not need to center my romantic ideals on a guy i would be embarrassed to tell people i'm dating if i were actually dating him. rough #now just give me a month to get over it and finish the 2nd season of a show i like that he's in and i'll be rid of it hopefully. we'll see

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roronoacherries · 1 year ago

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dilf zoro always on my mind. specifically best friend’s dad dilf zoro.

#sleeping in his daughter’s bed so she can sneak out #and sneaking a peek at him in the shower #because fuck sorry bestie but your dad’s hot #and getting caught n punished for being a naughty girl #fucked in the bathroom / shower #or better yet getting caught touching yourself and moaning his name #😫😫😫#and he’s protective as shit #scaring away any douchy frat boys with just a glare #and if you give any of them the light of day he makes sure to remind you who you belong to #yea.#୨⎯ sol habla ☼#୨⎯ ideas / inspo ☼

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saymio · 30 days ago

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In Ho headcanons | (NSFW)

Pairing: Hwang In-ho (player 001/the front man) x Fem!reader

Genre: headcanons, smut

Warning: dead dove do not eat, manipulation, dub/noncon, age gap, might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read. thanos story in the works rn!! I have writers block so to help a little I'm making some hcs 4 this baddie (prob ooc)

hwang inho, the man that protected you from Thanos and his stupid friend during the first day of the games. he shoo'ed them away. stopping their harassment and took you with him with the rest of the group

hwang inho, the man that gives you his milk. reassuring you every time that its okay for you to have it, and it'll help you get stronger.

hwang inho, the man that checks up on you throughout the night. standing over you to make sure you're getting your nights rests. making sure no creeps try touching your delicate skin.

hwang inho, the man that lets touches linger a little longer than they should, whether its on your hands, thighs, waist..his touches feel more than platonic

hwang inho, the man that tells the guards to make sure you stay safe, to kill a player that hasn't broken the rules if they had to. anything to make sure you stay safe.

hwang inho, the man that would excuse himself to the bathroom just to touch himself to the thought of you. whether its your calm voice or plush hands that feel so soft and delicate...he just couldn't help it.

hwang inho, the man that squeezes your thighs when no ones looking...and when you express discomfort he used his past generosity as an excuse for it.

hwang inho, the man that will kiss you in the middle of the night with no warning. telling you to be quiet and take the kiss because if it were any other man it would've been worse.

hwang inho, the man that will find the perfect timing to sneak away from everyone else with you. he'll make you strip for him in the bathroom. savoring every inch of your body before he sends you away, leaving him in there alone to masturbate.

hwang inho, the man that wont let you sleep. he'll grope and squeeze your thighs, tits and ass. feeling you up while you hold in tears.

hwang inho, the man that reminds you this is your fault when you cry to him during a bathroom strip session. expressing how uncomfortable this makes you and how you don't want it anymore.

hwang inho, the man that will tell you nothing in the world is free. and your body will be the payment he receives for being so generous with you.

hwang inho, the man that gets hard thinking about your age gap. how youre only 19 and he's in his 40's..he loves it.

hwang inho, the man that slips his fingers inside of you when the lights are off, fingering you aggressively. reminding you once again that it'd be so much worse if he wasn't such a nice man.

hwang inho, the man that captures you during the raid against the guards. forcing you to stare into the eyes of your past friends as he kills them.

hwang inho, the man that keeps you as his pet after the games end. reminding you you're lucky because he spoils you with money.

hwang inho, the man that doesn't let you socialize with anyone after he's gotten his grip on you.

Another not: this one is pretty short compared to my last fic, this was to just try n get me out of writers block. expect a Thanos fic to pop up tmr. sorry if this sucked/was ooc, I tried my best T T~~

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reignpage · 1 month ago

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Lying To Himself

Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence

You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye.

“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”

And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.

The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines.

“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face.

A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.

He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to be balls naked in their own kitchen.

"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.

Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."

His friend gives him a look, half amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.

It’s been great. Really fucking great.

You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and making sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you.

It’s fine.

At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.

More days pass just like that.

And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring and obnoxiously loud. It’s like he's suddenly realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the mornings that’s always greener than the last.

His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack when it’s not from you.

“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”

The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say as if you’re yapping right in his ear.

“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake as fuck. What was the fucking budget for this shit?”

Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways?

When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye nowadays. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up.

“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”

Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that.

Instead, he eats on the sofa or in his car.

Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question.

“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”

He gets two nights of decent sleep after that.

But then…

The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood.

But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week.

Fucking texted.

Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice.

He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out.

Everyone knows he’s losing his mind. They can tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he’s started snapping at women who are either flirting or just doing their jobs. And sometimes they even have to block his view of couples practising PDA. That’s the closest to hell they ever want to get around Toji. Suddenly, everyone’s hoping you throw the guy a bone and send a nude or something. Literally anything to rein him back in.

The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home.

“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”

Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh.

The door handle rattles.

He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing.

You’re here.

“Hey, Toji—“

Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble.

“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”

His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute.

“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”

“No.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”

Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat.

“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”

“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion.

He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”

Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason for keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”

Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.

It’s almost like…

No.

It can’t be.

Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure.

Toji missed you.

An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better.

Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.

Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you.

“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts.

Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home.

Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.

He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.

“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.”

And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says,

“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”

Yeah, this man totally missed you.

#jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk fic #jjk oneshot #jjk drabble #toji x reader #jjk x reader #toji angst #toji fluff #toji drabble #toji fic #toji oneshot

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