#and then remember everything and keep doing it

[homunculus-argument]

Hey what if the cycle of life, death and rebirth is like going in and out of the shower. Like at first you're hanging in the immaterial, knowing that you should go live a life eventually, better sooner than later, and you're just procrastinating like euuuugh I don't wanna goooo, but once you're in there, once you're alive, you're like no wait a minute now I remember, it's awesome in here, I want to be here forever, and once you've done everything you meant to do you still keep procrastinating for as long as possible because it's so nice in there and you don't want it to be over. But once you're out you're fine, it's the transition that sucks both ways every time.

[chuulyssa]

──── ★ I WANT YOUR FEELING AND EVERYTHING IN YOUR FIBER ──── hwang inho x front(wo)man!reader

teaser you’re left pleasantly surprised when the love you’ve been trying to forget all this while shows up as a participant in your games. even more so when you discover his reason for joining.

starring player!hwang inho x front(wo)man!reader count 3.75k genre dark themes, psycho!reader, yandere!reader, gn!reader, borderline obsession, jealousy, hinted murder, smut but not too much, masturbation, reader is lowkey a creep but aren’t we all, implied angst, cliffhanger ending

a/n we need more of psycho reader content !! everywhere i look i only find yandere characters, WHERE ARE THE YANDERE READERS???

Your eyes froze on the file you had just opened.

Player 132 Name: Hwang Inho Social Security Number: 760202-1171651 Born: 02/02/1976

That date. That name. That face. You knew it. You remembered it all too well. It was as though time stopped. Every smile, every word, every fight that left you breathless in its aftermath — it was all staring right back at you, etched on this piece of paper in your hands. 

What the hell was he doing here?

Occupation: Unemployed.

Unemployed? That didn’t make any sense. He had always dreamed of becoming a police officer, and you’d believed in him more than he believed in himself. You could still hear his voice from years ago: “I’ll wear the badge one day, you’ll see. Then I’ll make everything right—everything for us.”

What had happened? Your eyes slid towards the end of the page. You read the word ‘bribery’. Bribe? The Inho you knew would never have done that without a reason.

Your grip on the folder tightened. Where had all that conviction gone? What had happened to his dream?

Your fist clenched and slammed onto a button. Almost immediately, the door opened to reveal one of the guards. His mask was a Circle.

“More information on 132. Now,” you spoke, though the mask covering your face made your own voice seem foreign to you.

“Yes, ma’am!” the guard stammered. He straightened up as if scared to upset you, took the file from your hands and bolted to the printer in the corner of your office. The printer hummed faintly, spitting out the file you’d just requested at a slow, tantalizing pace, as if mocking the Circle guard for his nervousness around you.

But what could the guard do? You were ruthless. He had heard you had shot one of the Square guards dead for losing track of the Recruiter’s movements the other day. And the next, you had shot a Triangle one for missing a target during practice.

The sound of your foot tapping impatiently on the tiled floor made him second-guess choosing the Red Ddakji. The Circle guard shifted nervously as your pace grew faster. He knew better than to keep you waiting, but what could he do?

The printer finally released the paper, and the guard practically tripped over himself to hand you the file back before flying out of the room. The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you alone with the thick silence of your office. You exhaled sharply, glancing back at the file still sitting on your lap.

Residence: 37-124, Chunghyeon-dong, Seodaemun-gu, Seoul.

You stared at the address for a long moment, lost in thought. He had always had big dreams, and an even bigger ounce of determination to achieve it. Why was he stuck behind in the same place he had grown up? The same place he had sworn he’d leave behind?

Your fingers curled tightly around the folder’s edges. No, waiting for answers wasn’t your style. Not at all now that it had come to him. You stood abruptly, dropping the file on the table in front of you. Slowly, you peeled off the suffocating black coat you wore, and tugged off the hideous mask from your face.

No. This wasn’t something you could leave to a guard or a report. You were going to get your answers yourself. Whatever had led Hwang In-ho to this place — to your games — was something you needed to know.

Something you needed to understand.

And for that, you’d need to go where it all began.

── ★

The streets of Chunghyeon-dong hadn’t changed much. The same cracks in the pavement, the same stubborn weeds sprouting through them, the same faint scent of roasted chestnuts wafting from a distant street vendor. Every turn and every landmark whispered his name, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling of longing and loss that you kept feeling ever since you opened that file on your desk.

You slowed your pace as you neared his address. You didn’t even have to ask for directions. Your feet seemed to carry you wherever the right place was. Your fingers absently pointed at the trees lining the street, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “That’s where we used to sit,” you murmured to yourself. You could still picture it — Inho lounging against the trunk, his head tilted just so as he teased you, pretending to be deep in thought. He’d called it “having a chat,” but it was always more than that.

The corner café wasn’t far, and your steps faltered again when you saw it. It looked so much older now. The paint had faded, and the lights were dull, but it was unmistakably real. You could almost hear his laugh echoing through its walls. Oh, how his hand would brush yours under the table during one of those so-called “study dates.” Because heaven forbid he admit he liked you just as much as you liked him.

And then the park came into view when you turned right. The swings swayed gently in the breeze, taking you back to all those years ago. How many times had you sat there next to him, pretending to be as carefree as he did? How many times had you let him pull you closer — let his lips brush yours just for him to do it all over again?

You shook your head, trying to clear it. Those moments felt like a lifetime ago, but standing here now, it was as if no time had passed at all.

You finally reached his house. It was quiet, too quiet — though you wondered what you had been expecting to see. Of course, he wasn’t here. He was in the games now. The curtains were drawn, and the whole place looked abandoned. 

You turned to the neighboring house and knocked on the door. After a few moments, an elderly woman appeared, judging your posh outfit silently.

“Excuse me,” you tried being polite. “I’m looking for Hwang Inho. He lives — well, lived — next door. Do you know where he might be?”

The woman’s expression softened with recognition at the name, but her next words sent a jolt through you. “Oh, that man. He’s been missing for a few days now. Poor soul, after what happened with his wife... I’m not surprised.”

You blinked, your stomach feeling like it was being stabbed by a knife. “His wife?”

She nodded solemnly. “Yes, his wife passed away a few years ago. I think it broke him. They were so close, always together. When she died, well... he just wasn’t the same. And now, with him gone, too...” She trailed off, shaking her head.

You could practically hear you heartbeat pound in your ears. Wife? Nowhere in his file was a wife mentioned. Heck, you’d have been okay if you had gotten some sort of wedding invitation — at least it would’ve brought some closure to your love.

The things you were feeling right now. They were ugly. Who was she? What did she mean to him? Was she even half as pretty, as smart as you? Why was she chosen and not you?

“Do you know her name?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, I don’t remember now,” the woman admitted. “But I heard they were going to have a baby, and then she passed away. It’s tragic, really. He was broken.”

Your hands clenched at your sides, your mind racing. A baby? He was about to have a baby with someone else? When he had promised you that you would be the only one in his life? He had gone ahead and done that?

A small part of you laughed at the fact that she had died. Because how could she be able to break through those walls in ways you never could? Served her right.

You forced a polite thank-you and turned away before she could notice the storm brewing inside you.

Who was this wife? What had happened to her? And why had he never told you?

You shook your head. It didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he was alive — here, in your games. If you wanted to save him, you’d need to unravel the truth, jealousy and all.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d find out if there was still room for you in his heart.

── ★

You kept your eyes trained on the screen, your gaze unwavering as you watched him protest during the voting round. You cocked your head to the side, smirking under your mask.

In the first game, he had done fairly well, although you had had to pull a few strings to ensure his survival. Extending the duration of the doll’s singing to let him pass had been easy enough, and the subtle redirection of the triangle guards’ focus away from him wasn’t even noticeable — you were quite sure of that.

But it was his decision now that truly intrigued you. His face lit up with blue light after he pressed the button O. He wanted to stay. Perfect. That meant you would get to see him more.

Although, even if he had chosen to leave, you would still find a way, of course. You would stalk him to eternity if you had to. After all, you had missed sight of him for a few years and he had landed right in your palms. You wouldn’t miss this second chance at all.

Your boots clicked softly against the floor as you walked across the floor of illuminated tiles, each displaying a picture and number of a player. You stopped in front of his. Player 132.

His face stared back at you from the glossy surface. He wasn’t smiling, rather the opposite actually. It was as if he understood that the Squid Game sounded too good to be true. Free money for playing games? There had to be a catch. And he was right.

But he also wasn’t. He wouldn’t die if he lost, after all. He had you to keep him safe, even though he didn’t know that. You kept looking vacantly at his picture. Beautiful, beautiful and untouchable. There was something about him that had always drawn people in, even when he didn’t try.

It definitely drew his “wife” in, you thought bitterly.

Behind you, the faint sound of a throat clearing pulled you from your thoughts. You turned sharply to find the Circle guard you had sent earlier bowing, a small stack of files balanced by his hands on top of his head.

“Leave it in my cabin,” you said curtly, barely sparing him a glance. He scurried off without hesitation, and you scowled at his retreating figure. Too slow. You hated waiting.

Turning your attention back to the control room, you addressed the guards stationed there. “I need footage of 132,” you said, gesturing at the screen displaying Inho’s face, and your eyes softened when you saw him. “The ddakji with the recruiter, the aftermath, before that — everything. Ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” came the chorus of responses, and the guards immediately set to work.

You strolled back to your cabin. The recruiter’s approach might offer a clue as to how Inho ended up here. What had driven him to this point? What had changed in his life? Or rather, who had changed his life?

You sighed softly. If it hadn’t been for that woman, he wouldn’t have ended up here at all. Then maybe you’d have been able to reconnect without a mask on your face. But then again, if it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t be here in front of you either.

Whatever had brought him here didn’t matter now. What mattered was that he stayed. That he survived.

And if it took bending every rule in the book, so be it.

── ★

The triangle guard you had politely threatened had done his job fairly well. You had pointed a gun at his head and “requested” that he keep an extra triangle dalgona on hand, just in case Inho broke his. The guard had stammered out a fearful nod. This was obviously against every rule in the book. But you didn’t care. You couldn’t take risks — not when it came to him.

Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that. Inho had passed the round with ease. You had kept your eyes on him the entire time. Watching the way he moved, the way he carried himself — every little detail. The small quirks you remembered so well: the subtle clench of his jaw when he was concentrating, the way he would tap his thumb against his thigh when waiting. It was all still there, unchanged by the years.

He wasn’t much of a talker, though, you noticed. He stayed reserved, observing more than engaging with others. That sharp mind of his was working overtime, you could tell. Even during the chaos of the “special games” at night, he had defended himself so bravely, you were practically cooing at the footage.

Flipping through the file in your hands, you skimmed the details you had demanded from the guard earlier. Something about a liver transplant, unborn child, undead wife, high loans—

Wait.

Your eyes froze on the words. Undead wife?

So she was alive? The old woman had lied to you?

You clenched the edge of the file, the paper crumpling under your grip. You felt a flicker of rage at the thought. Had the neighbor been instructed to lie? Or was she simply misinformed? Either way, you had half a mind to go back and put a bullet through her head for wasting your time.

But if the wife was alive, where was she? A hospital, perhaps? That would make sense. If she was sick, then Inho would have a reason to be here — to pay for the bills, to save her.

Oh, poor, poor In-ho.

Your lips curved into a bitter smile as you leaned back against your couch, staring at his image focussed on the video on the screen. What would happen if he won, only to return home and find his dear wife gone?

The thought lingered heavily in your mind. You allowed the corners of your mouth to curl further upward.

You had no intention of letting her — or anyone — stand in the way.

── ★

The suit you had picked for him was immaculate. A deep charcoal gray with subtle pinstripes, paired with a crisp white shirt and a black tie. You had chosen it yourself, despite the wardrobe team’s protests. No one else would have dared to question you, of course — not when you held absolute authority.

It reminded you of the past. Back when the two of you would dress up in your finest clothes just to spin around your tiny, cluttered room. How he would hold you close, laughing as the two of you stumbled over each other’s feet, tripping over discarded books and materials.

The memory hurt more than you cared to admit.

You had wondered for years why he’d left you without a word. Back then, it was an unbearable wound, an unanswered question. But now, you knew the answer. He hadn’t disappeared because of ambition or fear like you had thought. He had left because of her. His wife. His child. His life that he had built without you.

And now you had taken that away from him. What would he do now that he had nothing? Run back to you, just like you had been waiting for all these years. Yet none of that mattered as you watched him now.

He looked devastatingly beautiful in the suit you had chosen. His face was gaunt, shadows carving hollows under his cheekbones. His gaze was darker than you remembered — haunted, like he had seen too much and survived too little. But his face was still untouched. His sharp jawline, his delicate lips, his deep, expressive eyes — they were all as perfect as you remembered. That was all that mattered to you.

The shrill ring of your telephone shattered your thoughts, dragging you away from the screen. With an irritated sigh, you muted the footage and picked up the receiver.

“Yes?”

“It’s me,” Oh Il-nam’s voice came through, and you let out a groan. “You’re walking a very fine line.”

You didn’t bother replying, letting him ramble on.

“The VIPs aren’t pleased,” he continued. “Your blatant favoritism is starting to show. The adjustments to the games, the extra leniency — it’s too obvious. If you keep this up, it won’t just be your job on the line.”

You held the receiver away from your ear, his words fading into the background as your gaze drifted back to the screen. There he was, sitting quietly at the opulent dinner table with the other finalists. The suit hugged his frame perfectly, accentuating every detail you had memorized so long ago.

Before you could stop yourself, you stood. You weren’t entirely sure what you were going to do next. You placed the receiver on the table next to you, and began stripping off your dress. Piece by piece. Just like he used to.

You discarded the elegant fabric of rose gold, standing bare before the floor-length mirror in your quarters. The reflection staring back at you was a stranger. Scowling lines etched into your face, your eyes cold and calculating, your body tired. You looked older. Harsher. Someone he might not even recognize anymore.

You pressed a hand to the glass, almost surprised when the person in the mirror repeated your actions. You couldn’t even tell yourself anymore. Was all of this worth it?

But then your eyes flicked back to the screen.

He looked so painfully perfect. The sound of Oh Il-nam’s complaints became white noise in the background. You reached for the phone.

“Done yet, old man?” You said in a bored voice. “Don’t try threatening me. You need me.”

His voice quietened on the other end, and you let out a dark chuckle.

“I don’t give a fuck about your VIPs. If this man survives,” you stared at the screen again, keeping one leg on the couch and the other on the floor, “I will not repeat this ever again.”

“You shall either keep your word and your title, or none of those. If you ever—”

You slammed the receiver down, cutting the call abruptly.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else ever had.

You poured a glass of wine for yourself. Tilting the glass to your body and letting it pour all over you, you lay down on the couch, still keeping an eye on the screen. You ran a hand down your body, from your cheeks to your neck. From your nipples to your legs. From your thighs to your core. Just like he used to.

You hadn’t done this in years. You couldn’t get off to the sight of anyone but him. And now that you had him, plainly and simply in front of you, you couldn’t miss this opportunity at all. You shifted your body so your mouth could be covered by the couch, and began.

You loved him. Even though he had hurt you.

And you could never bring yourself to take those words back.

── ★

The 2015 Squid Game had ended.

Hwang In-ho had stood at the finish line, battered and broken but alive. He had walked away with the bloodstained briefcase in his hands, containing enough money to rebuild a shattered life — or so he had believed.

You had watched every second of his return home through the monitors. He had entered his small apartment, made a few calls only for his smile to fade promptly, then dropped the briefcase on the floor, and sat in silence. The money didn’t seem to matter to him. Not after everything he’d lost.

You had anticipated this moment with a sick, gleeful longing. His wife was gone. You had seen the death records and confirmed it yourself. The woman he had chosen over you was nothing but a memory now. He didn’t even bother visiting her grave. And that made you smile.

But he was grieving. Grieving over something you had had complete control over. His eyes now carried the weight of loss, and though he hadn’t cried, his silence was deafening. But you didn’t care.

You couldn’t see him with anyone else. The thought of him belonging to another woman had always made the invisible knife in your stomach twist and hurt. And now, you had him all to yourself. Even if he didn’t know it.

The idea of him discovering your hand in all of this sent a thrill down your spine. You had touched yourself to the thought more than twice, chanting his name like a prayer. Poor Inho. He’d be so upset if he ever found out.

But none of that mattered. What mattered was that he was still yours.

The next games were fast approaching. Oh Il-nam had entered your office, and while you might’ve bashed the skull of whoever did so, you couldn’t do it to the superior standing in front of you.

“I trust you’ll stay out of it this time,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Your antics last year nearly cost us everything. No favoritism. No interference. Do you understand?”

You rolled your eyes but nodded anyway, knowing better than to argue.

“I had someone I wanted to introduce you to,” he said when a knock echoed at the door. You frowned, turning toward the sound. “Come in,” Ilnam said, almost amused.

The door opened, and your breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

Hwang Inho stood there, dressed in a sharp black suit, his face calm and unreadable. He looked different. Stronger. Colder.

For the second time in less than a year, you found yourself wondering: What the fuck was he doing here?

“This is Hwang Inho,” Ilnam said, gesturing toward him. “He’s the new Frontman.”

You felt the air leave your lungs. The world tilted on its axis, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

“He’ll be replacing you,” Il-nam continued. Then, with a sly smile, he added to Inho. “Your assistant,” he gestured towards you, and your eyes snapped back to him.

If he wasn’t your superior, you would’ve broken his bones. They looked pretty fragile anyway.

Inho extended a hand toward you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said smoothly. “What’s your name?”

[salemlunaa]

ᥫ᭡just sit back and relaxᥫ᭡

let’s talk about pure consciousness // “I AM” state

So i realised i can’t just leave you guys hanging. i can’t just post about how you need to do shit yourselves and dip again. Even tho you guys have all you need on this app i will just be reiterating certain things.

all that’s needed is to relax

everything you do is correct, you can scratch that itch, you can lay any how, sit, even stand, when you set that intention, everything you do is correct, because when you are in that “I AM” state of mind, you are a god.

you don’t need anyone’s help, not any person who has a success story under their belt or any bloggers, including me. you don’t need anyone or anything because you are “I AM”

All that’s need is to relax, deep breathing, but don’t try to hard, this is first nature to you. A lot of you hear that you MUST relax so you force it. Don’t do that. When you hear these success stories it’s like they were so zoned out they didn’t realise they induced for a second. So let those thoughts pass through, accept them, even thoughts about what you ate today.

You CAN focus on the back of your eyelids but don’t force it.

A lot of you can’t and won’t admit that you still feel desperate for the void, you try and act like you don’t care but you do, it’s like that meme: “pretending you don’t care so your screen will load faster”. You still think that it’s your only way out and while trying to act all effortless, you’re begging for it to work on the inside. After acting relaxed you sit up confused as to why it “didn’t work”

you force the relaxation (which means you aren’t actually relaxing) because you still think you need the “I AM” state,

you can’t try to be effortless

you can’t try to zone out

just let it happen

and as for problems, they don’t exist, because the 3D doesn’t exist. The outerman may have woken up in unfavourable circumstances, the innerman has what it wants, what even are circumstances? The outerman keeps falling asleep, the innerman is a void master who gets whatever they want when they want.

The innerman is your true self. You have everything you could ever want, just relax and align.

remember:

deep breathing

relaxation {don’t force relaxation, it’s not going to help anything go “faster”, and that isn’t even needed because time isn’t real, you’re okay, you’re not running out of time no matter what circumstances show you}

affirm “I AM”/ let thoughts pass you by/ sing in your head/count/ replay scenarios whatever

don’t focus on how much time has passed because it doesn’t matter it isn’t real. don’t focus on “if it’s working yet” it has worked, {your innerman experiences your intentions as soon as you make them, you have an intention induce the void state, your innerman is already there, creation of events are already finished, it’s already happened}

immerse yourself in your thoughts and you’ll induce before you know it.

there’s no such thing as you tried and it didn’t work. trial and error does not exist for your innerman the REAL you. you’re not gaslighting yourself or being “delusional” it’s real. It’s done

pure consciousness is as easy as breathing, isn’t it wonderful?

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 9:33

Bakugou never believed he had room for love in his life. His world was defined by ambitions and goals he set upon himself—becoming Number One, proving what he can or cannot do, and making every moment count in the endless pursuit of the things that he thought would satisfy him for as long as he lived.

He knows what love is. He’d seen it in glimpses—his parents everlasting love, his friends falling over themselves for their crushes at UA back in high school—he knows.

But love wasn’t a luxury he thought he could afford, and even if it was, it wasn’t something he thought about often. Too caught up in the relentless wave of life.

At least, not until you.

He first met you on the job.

At that time, you were nothing more than his partner for this particular high-stakes mission. He initially rolled his eyes at the thought of working with someone new, but you managed to worm your way into catching his attention (and soon into his heart).

You weren’t too loud, flashy, or all bark and no bite like some of the heroes he worked with. You were sharp and methodical, always thinking two steps ahead, and your patience in the face of chaos was something he both admired and envied.

But admiration wasn’t love, not yet.

You were supposed to be just another hero to him—a capable one, sure, but nothing more than a colleague. Bakugou would never admit it aloud, but the way you carried yourself earned his respect quickly.

You weren’t one to back down, even when he demanded easy-fix solutions from you when it was nearly impossible given the situation. You’d meet his intensity halfway, standing your ground when you knew he was wrong—Bakugou thinks that the moment he met you, he’s never once been right.

It annoyed the hell out of him, of course, but it also earned his begrudging approval. It’s like meeting someone that could keep up with him.

He’s still getting used to that.

Still, it wasn’t love. Or maybe he was just in denial.

It started subtly, sneaking up on him like an enemy he couldn’t see coming—which is almost never because Bakugou’s been preparing for his whole life for as long as he could remember. So you were like a force that swept him off his feet, quite literally, when he remembers your first meeting, how you casually tripped him over all because he didn’t acknowledge your presence in the room.

Yeah, that one’s on him.

He began noticing things about you—little things he’d never paid attention to in anyone else. Like the way your eyes lit up when you talked about something you were passionate about—like those little figurines you said were Hironos, or the way your voice softened when she comforted a frightened child.

He noticed how you always managed to keep your composure, even when the odds were stacked against you. You had this way of making everything seem manageable... no matter how dire the situation.

And then there were the quiet moments.

Like the time you made coffee for the whole team during an overnight stakeout, remembering exactly how he liked his: strong, no sugar, just a splash of cream. You handed it to him with a knowing look, and for some reason, that simple act stuck with him longer than he expected.

“Coffee?” you offered.

Bakugou looked at you as if he were like a deer in headlights. “Yeah, thanks.”

He’s not a complete asshole, so he says thank you.

Or the time you were patrolling together, and he caught you humming under your breath. That pop song that’s trendier to the younger generation these days. It was such a soft, absent-minded thing, but it pulled at something in his chest. He didn’t even recognize the tune, but he found himself wanting to hear more.

It starts small. Then it comes all at once.

“You good?” he asks after finishing the given task.

You blinked up at him, nodding with a tired yet triumphant smile. “Peachy.”

That was when it hit him. The relief that washed over him wasn’t just because the mission was a success. It was because you were okay. And the thought of a world without you, even for a second, was unbearable.

Bakugou was screwed.

He started looking for excuses to spend more time with you. Walking you home after shifts, claiming he was “going the same route” even when his neighborhood was in the complete opposite way. Bringing you snacks during long patrols, muttering something about how he happened to have an extra. Offering to spar with you during training sessions, even though he hated sparring with people who weren’t on his level.

He hated how transparent he was being, how obvious his feelings were becoming. But for once in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The night Bakugou confessed, it wasn’t some big, dramatic moment. They were sitting on a rooftop after a long day, the city sprawled out below them, its lights twinkling like stars.

“You free tomorrow?” he asks abruptly, the words gruff and unpolished, like they’d been dragged out of him against his will.

You turned to him, your brows furrowed slightly. “Depends.”

“I— you...” he muttered, staring straight ahead. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs as he struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know what it is about you, but… you’re different. You don’t take my shit, but you don’t try to change me, either. You’re just… you.” He finally looked at you, his crimson eyes filled with a rare vulnerability.

“And I don’t wanna imagine this—any of this—without you in it.”

You stared at him for a moment, your expression softening as the weight of his words sank in. Then you smiled, your hand resting on your cheek fondly.

“Are you asking me out on a date, Katsuki?”

If he weren’t uncharacteristically nervous right now, he would have made a wittier comeback. Bakugou’s chest felt impossibly tight, but this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was something warm and steady, something he never knew he needed until now.

“Yeah, so? Whaddya say?”

“I’d absolutely love to go on a date with you.”

SEUMYO © 2025. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[cuteandhughesy]

Baby That’s What Friends Are For…| Luke Hughes (Headcanons)

summary: being friends with benefits with luke hughes (umich!luke x reader)

1.7k

warnings: NSFW! university au | friends with benefits | fluff | kissing | non-descriptive smut | suggestive dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: trying something a lil different so let me know what you think of the headconons — as well, lmk if you want to see headconons for ur fav hockey man 😛

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

ღ fwb! luke hughes who is so obsessed with you—even if he keeps that secret hidden deep down. he remembers meeting you through his friend ethan, and instantly he became enamoured by you. you were the complete opposite of him—bubbly, outgoing, a lil ditzy, and extremely sweet. you had luke wanting to be more like you! which, if his friends knew that, they would be floored.

you found comfort in his calm persona and seemingly nonchalant attitude—you were drawn to him and you quickly became fast friends. hanging at parties and sitting together in the classes you had together—luke was always looking for you, and you for him.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who’s friendship with you soon turns more intimate, and everything between you shifts. after a night out with everyone at the local bar, you’re both just tipsy enough to feel care-free, but not drunk enough to loose awareness.

luke suggests you stay the night at the hockey house, up in his room with him. giggly and warm, you easily agree—which sends luke’s obsession into overdrive.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who almost died on the spot when you made the first move, watching through hazy hooded eyelids as he sat up against his headboard—eyeing you as you climb onto his lap, pressing your underwear covered core against his hardening length.

a hard on he’d desperately tried to hide before things escalated—one he couldn’t help after seeing your panties peeking out from underneath his oversized hockey shirt as you slipped into his bed—a dopey smile on your face.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who takes that as a signal, and leans in to connect your lips together. it’s messy, and heated and all together hot. he quickly shifts you, pushing your back into the mattress as he kisses you rough and hard—leaving you whining and withering against him.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who is totally focused on touching you—pleasing you—before he even thinks about himself. luke is drunk on your pussy, diving into you like his life depends on it—fuck, his life practically does. he goes and goes, licking and sucking your arousal until your cumming, twice, shuttering and grinding against his face like you can’t control your movements.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who practically whimpers the first time he pushes his length into your entrance—it’s better than he could’ve ever dreamed. the sound of your staggered gasps and mewls only push him further, slamming into you until his tip is brushing against your most sensitive areas. it’s ethereal.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who almost cums on the spot at the feeling of your nails digging into his growing biceps, gripping the strong muscles to ground yourself from his heavenly thrusts. your hands are all over him, feeling his muscles flex under the pads of your fingers. your walls flutter around his length instinctively, and it has him practically shaking—holding himself above you like he’s been doing it forever.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who wants you to cum first—wants to bask in the feeling of your gummy, warm walls spasming around his cock. the feeling of your orgasm has him stilling inside you, a low groan vibrating in his chest. his warm forehead and tousled curls fall into the crook of your neck, where he licks and sucks against your pulse point—feeling it jump under his tongue.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who cums inside you, painting your walls with his release after you’d begged him to. he knows he’s ruined for anybody else after finally being inside you—and you too are ruined for any man ever.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who after that first time having sex, becomes extremely protective over you—without meaning to, or being aware of it. during parties, he’s always tucked by your side, making sure you’re content and safe. he walks you from classes, and back to your place (if you’re not coming back to his for a late afternoon quickie).

and you eat it up—allowing luke to treat you like a princess outside of the bedroom, and treat you like a whore inside the bedroom.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who’s love language is physical touch—but only when it comes to you. in public, he’s constantly got his hands on you in some capacity, whether his fingers brush your hand, or his hand stays steady on your lower back while he guides you through campus.

nothing too possessive, because he knows he’s not your boyfriend—but he also wants any potential man that’s possibly looking for your affection, to get the hint. you’re his.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who also understands your love language is acts of service, and makes sure you feel seen and appreciated, even with the unspoken relationship between you.

not that luke minded doing things for you—scratch that, he loved it. he’d bring you flowers and snacks anytime he felt that you needed them (which ended up with him doing it all the time). he’d make sure your space was always clean if you didn’t have time to tidy the night before, and he’d always plug in your laptop if you’d forgotten to.

just taking care of you in general was luke’s forte.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who very quickly learns how to make you crumble under his finger tips, coaxing orgasm after orgasm from you—leaving you shaking and gasping for air. he’s touched you like no other man has, and you don’t think you’ll ever get enough of it.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who is such a freak, and thrives on the way it makes you squirm. if it wasn’t sending you dirty texts in front of all your friends, watching you blush and gulp as you take in the filthy words on your screen—it was the things he’d actually say, whispering into your ear while passing by.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who loves when you’re the one seeking him out for sex—nothing turns him on more than when you seek him out in a crowded room, arms wrapping around his hips with your chin resting between his pecks. blinking up at him slowly, your words whispered as you subtly hint about sneaking off.

and luke’s never going to say no—and you know that.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who stutters anytime someone asks what you two are. he’s never sure what to say—even though deep down he knows exactly what he wants to say. he blushes profusely, rubbing the back of his neck out of nervous habit. he claims you two are just messing around—good friends, but nobody buys that.

the same goes for when you’re both out—as simple as getting burgers late at night—and a worker mistakes you for a couple. luke doesn’t correct them, mostly because he doesn’t care to. and you don’t bother correcting them either.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who starts kissing you just because he wants to. if anything, he starts to prefer kissing you without the intent of going further, and sometimes all he wants is your lips in a fleet passing moment.

it’s started to become a natural thing between you. a kiss good morning and goodnight—as well as in hello and goodbye. during home games, luke would always find you in the tunnel, and press a kiss to your lips before continuing out to the ice. and as you delicately place your hands on his hips, pushing onto you toes to meet his height—a giddy smile blossoming on your face…well, luke’s never seen anything more beautiful.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who brings you your favourite coffee and/or tea when he doesn’t have an early class. he’ll stop at the local cafe, order and pay for your drink before making his way to wherever you are. whether you’re studying with friends in the library, or in class, or simply sitting in the cafeteria—he’s hand delivering that drink with a kiss to the side of your head.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who can’t help but smirk afterwards as he hears your friends and classmates coo and awe at the sight—telling you how amazing and cute your boyfriend is. his smirk deepens when you can only smile in response, mumbling your agreement.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who realizes he’s falling in love with you when ethan mentions how a couple guys on the team thought you were hot, and were asking around if you’re single.

even though luke knew he felt that way deep down, hearing that just solidified everything for him. you’re his girl—his best friend—and he doesn’t want anybody else to even think of you as anything but so.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who can’t hold in his feelings for you any longer, and as you lay in his bed, clad in his sweats after a long day of classes (and a trip to pound town bc you’re both horny teenagers), he gently says your name, pulling your attention from the movie playing on his laptop.

and as soon as your eyes lock and just spills—barley pausing to breathe as he confesses his love in a stuttering, flushed mess.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who’s words are cut off by your lips as you lean in and kiss him. it’s a bruising yet comforting pressure that has you both sighing pleasantly as your lips mold together like the perfect puzzle piece.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who’s breathless when you finally part, both your eyes fluttering open as you meet gazes once again. even though you’ve just kissed him, he’s panicked—worried he’s ruined everything with his confession.

but your thumb runs along his slick lip, and the gentle, warm smile that tugs at your mouth has his thoughts coming to a halt.

ღ fwb! luke hughes who has to pinch himself when you tell him you love him too. the shuttering breath that releases from him is almost embarrassing but he doesn’t even care.

he rushes to hug you, wrapping his arms around your body and tackling you to the bed. the sound of your gentle laughter is like music to his ears, filling the room with the angelic noises. luke presses quick kisses all over your face, too overwhelmed with love and joy to stay still.

ღ bf! luke hughes who just loves you so damn much.

[maskedbyghost]

part 3 of Simon marrying another woman. tw: violence, mental health struggles, torture, mentions of death.

Your breath caught in your throat. Time seemed to slow as Simon raised the gun to his head, his hands steady on the trigger.

But your voice cut through the silence, even though it felt like you couldn’t move at all.

"Do it, then. If that’s really who you are."

His hand froze, the gun still on his temple.

His eyes snapped to yours filled with confusion. It seemed like you weren’t good at this.

You moved a bit forward, eyes locked on his. "But don’t pretend this is strength. Don’t act like this is the man who’s led us through hell and back. The man who doesn’t quit."

His grip tightened for a second, then stopped.

But you didn’t stop. "You think this is how it ends? You, sitting here while everything burns down around you? That’s not you, Simon. You fight. You endure. That’s who you are."

He still kept looking at you.

Another inch closer. "So go ahead. Pull the trigger. But if you do, you’re not the man I thought you were. Not the man who kept us alive when it mattered."

The gun trembled in his hand, lowering just a fraction.

Your voice was low that Price, who was still standing behind the two of you, barely even heard. "Or you can drop it. Stand up. And prove me right."

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, the gun slipped from his grasp, landing with a thud on the floor.

Simon slumped back against the wall and you felt like you could finally breath again.  

You didn’t move closer. You didn’t offer comfort.

You just stared him down.

And that was enough. For now, at least.

A few days since that night things were quieter, but you could still feel the tension deep iside you. Simon had begged Price and you not to tell anyone what had happened—what he'd almost done. You still remember the panic in his eyes as he requested you both keep it between the three of you. Price had agreed, but only if Simon promised to see a psychologist.

The terms were set. Simon would keep up with the therapy, or he would retire early. But Simon didn’t resist; he knew it was his only chance to avoid the fallout, to start dealing with everything.

You hadn’t tried to talk to him much since that day. You gave him space. You knew it wasn’t your place anymore—not after everything. There were moments when you’d catch him in passing, but your gaze would quickly drop to the floor, avoiding the awkwardness that had settled between you both. He didn’t reach out either, not that you expected him to. Simon was good at keeping everything locked away, just like he had always done.

You saw him during briefings, his eyes weren’t the same anymore—not the man you once knew. But that was something he had to face on his own. You weren’t going to intrude. You couldn't.

And the thing that hurt the most? He still didn’t talk about her. You knew she wasn’t in the picture anymore, but he never said a word about their relationship, not to you or anyone else. He’d simply let it go, as if she had never been part of his life.

As if she didn’t ruin everything.

You didn’t ask. You couldn’t. Maybe it was better that way—both of you pretending like that chapter never existed. But, deep down, you knew better. You knew Simon had his reasons, and you didn’t need to hear them.

You didn’t expect anything from Simon anymore. You’d let go of that hope months ago. But you knew the team was watching, concerned. Soap had asked you about it a few times, always in his own way. He never pushed, but you could tell he saw what was happening, saw how it affected you. But none of them pushed. None of them knew what to say.

So you stayed back, kept your distance. If Simon wanted to get better, if he wanted to talk, you’d be there. But for now, you had to let him find his own way.

A few days later as you walked into your room, you tossed your gear aside and slumped into the chair at your desk. But something caught your eye, a small folded piece of paper sitting on your desk.

A letter.

With a deep breath, you picked it up, your fingers trembling as you unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakable, Simon’s familiar handwriting filled the whole page. You felt a pang in your chest before you even read the first word, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“I don’t know how to do this love, but I need to tell you. The therapist says I should, and I think I have to. You deserve to know the truth

It’s not easy to admit this, but I’ve been living a lie. She lied to me, twisted everything in my head, and I let her. She fed me so many things—things about you, about us, about my life—that I didn’t even know what was real anymore. I don’t know how to explain it, but I believed her. I believed everything she said. She was my childhood friend after all. I thought I was doing the right thing when I left you, when I walked away. Oh, what a fool I was.

The night I left... that fucking picture. She showed it to me. It looked real—too real. You and him. Another soldier from the squad. She said it was proof. Proof that you were with someone else, that I wasn’t the one for you. She made it seem like it was your betrayal. I was hurt, so damn hurt, and I couldn’t think clearly. I didn’t want to believe it, but I did. She had everything lined up, a story that made sense.

And then I left. I told myself I was doing the right thing. I thought I had to walk away, that maybe it was for the best. She was there for me. She comforted me, and I was angry, so angry. I didn’t want to be angry with you, but I couldn’t help it. I thought you’d done something you clearly hadn’t. And I couldn’t even tell you the reason. What a fucking idiot.

And then she kissed me. She kissed me first, and I didn’t stop her because I thought it was a way to move on. Maybe it was the only way to forget, to forget you and the happiest period of my life. And when she started saying we were dating, I let it happen. I thought maybe this was the right choice. Maybe she was the one I was supposed to be with.

Then came marriage. She kept talking about it, about us being a family. And for a while, I didn’t know what to think. I thought I should just go with it, that it was the only way to keep going forward. But I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with her. I told myself I needed time, maybe because she wasn’t you. It was never the same. I don’t know why, but I just couldn’t do it.

She understood at first. But then one night, she started giving me alcohol, glass after glass, trying to push me into something I wasn’t ready for. She thought if I was drunk enough, maybe I’d forget you. Maybe I’d forget all of it. We kissed that night, and in the middle of it, I said your name. Your name. I couldn’t stop myself. And that’s when the fights started. That’s when everything I’d been avoiding came crashing down.

Then, that day when Price found me in my office, someone came to me. Someone from the team. I never thought they would be the one to speak up, but they did. They told me the truth. About her. About that picture. It wasn’t real. She had it photoshopped. She hired him and made it look like you and that soldier were sleeping together.

And when she asked for more proof, she wanted him to photoshop something with you and Soap. She thought if I saw that, I’d really walk away from everything, from the team, from you. She wanted to tear us apart, and I couldn’t see it.

And then he told me the that she had been cheating on me. She had been with him the whole time, and she’d used the pictures to manipulate me. She wanted me gone from the team. She wanted me out of your life. And I lost it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told her to pack her bags and leave. I told her it was over.

I konw don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I have to say it. I’ve been living a lie, and I hurt you because of it. I let her make me believe you betrayed me, and I walked away without ever giving you a chance to explain. I was wrong. I’ve spent months lost without you, and I know now that I can’t move on from you. I’d get on my knees for the rest of my life, begging for your forgiveness if that’s what it takes, because I know I don’t deserve it, but I’ll spend every day proving I’m worth it.

Please, love, tell me how to fix this, please let me love you and be a part of your world again.

Still yours,

Simon.”

Your heart felt like it had shattered and been pieced back together in the same breath. The betrayal, the lies, everything she had done—it wasn’t just him being reckless; it was her plan all along. She had played on his emotions, fed him exactly what he wanted to hear, and made him believe you’d betrayed him.

The man who had once been yours, and in so many ways still was, was telling you everything—his pain, his regret, his desire for you to be in his life again. But the past still lingered between you both.

You sat there for a long time, the letter crumpled in your hands, the weight of his words sinking in slowly. Simon had been lost, and you had been left behind in ways you couldn’t even fully understand yet.

What the hell are you supposed to do now?

You didn’t waste any more time. You folded the paper with shaky hands and made your way to Simon’s office.

The hallway was quiet as you approached the door, your footsteps louder than you wanted them to be. When you reached it, you didn’t hesitate. You pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges made Simon look up, his eyes meeting yours after many days.

He didn’t say anything, and neither did you at first. For a long moment, the two of you just stood there, looking at each other.

Finally, you broke it. “So, you’re begging now,” you said, your voice sharp, filled with all the anger and hurt you’d been carrying. “After everything. After you walked away without a single explanation!”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. The anger you’d kept buried for so long spilled out.

“You left me, Simon,” you said, your voice now shaking. “You left me without a single word. You let someone else twist your mind, made me out to be the villain in your life. All I ever did was love you, and you threw that away like it didn’t even matter.”

You could see the regret in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Not now.

“You don’t get to just come back and act like nothing happened! You don’t get to ask me to forgive you after all of this, after everything. How the hell do you think this works? You think you can just walk back in and everything will be fine? It doesn’t work that way, Simon!”

He didn’t interrupt you. He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, watching you, his eyes full of pain. He just took it, and it made you angrier.

“You ruined everything! You destroyed us!” Your hands balled into fists at your sides, and you paced in front of him. “And now you want me to believe you? To trust you again? To just let you back in like you didn’t break me? What do you want me to say, huh?”

Still, he didn’t speak. He just watched you with that same, haunted look, his jaw clenched.

And then, slowly, he started moving. It was almost too slow to notice at first, but you caught it—the way he stepped toward you, the way his feet seemed to drag across the floor.

Before you could say anything else, he was in front of you, kneeling down, slowly lowering himself onto the ground until he was on his knees. It made you freeze. For a moment, you thought you’d imagined it, but there he was, on the floor, looking up at you with nothing but regret in his eyes.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What the hell are you doing?” you demanded, your voice almost a whisper, still raw from the firestorm of words you’d thrown at him.

His head tilted down, and he didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. “I’m serious about begging,” Simon said, his voice soft. “I’ll do anything. I don’t care what it is.”

Your heart raced. This wasn’t what you expected. It wasn’t some desperate plea or just empty words. He was on his knees—literally on his knees—in front of you.

“I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” Simon continued, still looking up at you, his eyes full of an intensity you hadn’t seen in a long time. “But I can’t live with what I’ve done to you, not anymore. If it’s the only way to make things right, I’ll do it. I’ll beg. I’ll spend the rest of my life on my knees if that’s what it takes to prove I’m sorry.”

You stood there, staring at him, your chest tight. You’d never seen him like this. This wasn’t the Simon you knew. The man you’d loved, the man who had always been strong, never one to show vulnerability like this.

But here he was. On his knees, asking for a chance. And you didn’t know if you were ready to give it to him. Not yet. But with everything that he was saying, the sincerity in his eyes—it hit you harder than anything else.

You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come right away. It felt like a lifetime before you finally spoke.

“Why?” It was all you could manage.

Simon’s gaze never wavered. “Because I don’t want to live in the lie anymore. I don’t want to be the man who hurt you. I want to fix it, if you’ll let me. I’m begging you. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”

And before you could speak, before you could even think, Simon’s hands reached out and grabbed at your legs. He pulled himself even closer, his face pressing against the fabric of your pants, his breath shaky against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, his voice breaking with each word. “I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”

He held on, his arms around your legs, his forehead pressed against you like he didn’t want to ever let go. The sight of him, once so strong, now so broken, made something inside you stir. You hadn’t expected this. This wasn’t the man you thought you knew.

“Si?” You said, your voice barely audible.

“I’ll do anything,” Simon muttered, his grip tightening. “I swear, I’ll do anything. Just... please, let me fix this. Let me make it right.”

He stayed there, kneeling, holding you, his words still coming in soft, broken whispers, and all you could feel was the weight of everything—everything he had done, everything he was asking, everything that had been broken between you two.

He just continued to apologize, and you stood there, staring down at him, unsure of what came next.

A few days later, the feelings between you and Simon had settled, at least for now. Things weren’t perfect, but they were different. You could talk again—really talk—without the anger clouding everything.

He was still Simon, the man who had been by your side for so long, but now there was space between you, a new kind of distance. Friends again, not lovers, but it was a start.

You found yourself standing in his office again as Simon worked through paperwork on his desk. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper filled the room as he glanced up at you.

“I’ve got the divorce papers ready,” Simon said, you could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I’ll send them to Price, and he can take care of sending them to her.”

You nodded, thinking for a moment. “I’ll take them to Price myself,” you said. “I need to see him anyway.”

Simon looked at you, a slight nod of approval. “Alright. Thanks, love.”

“How about we grab a cup of coffee after? Just as friends,” Simon added, his voice still soft, hopeful.

You thought about it for a second, then gave him a small nod. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He smiled, just a little. It wasn’t much, but it was real.

As you turned to leave, your hand reached for the divorce papers on Simon's desk. Simon didn’t stop you as you picked up the papers and walked out of the office, the sound of your footsteps echoing down the hallway.

But as you made your way down the corridor, instead of heading to Price’s office, you turned down a different hallway, towards the abandoned building on the other side of the base. It had been years since anyone had used it, but you knew it well enough.

The old building creaked as you descended the stairs, the air heavy with the musty smell of decay. You could hear the sound of your boots hitting the concrete floor as you entered the basement, the space cold and unwelcoming. But there, in the corner of the room, hanging from a noose, was the woman who had taken everything from you—The bitch.

Her body swayed slightly as you approached, the dim light casting long shadows over the room. You stopped just in front of her, the cold fury building inside you.

You grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down from the ceiling, letting her body fall to the floor with a thud. She was still warm, her fingers twitching slightly as you knelt beside her.

"You're going to sign something for me," you said, your voice cold, deadly. "With a hand that's still functional though... before I kill you."

Her lips trembled, but she didn't say anything. She couldn’t. The pain and fear were clear in her eyes, but it was too late for her now. You knew what you had to do.

With a sigh, you reached for a pen. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” you whispered, ready to sign her fate.

-------------------------------------------

Once I click post now I'm running away. I'm scared haha

what do you guys think????

@daydreamerwoah @postm0rt3m @blacpiink @nightunite @surprisinglydreaming @shybasementtree @foxwitch666 @snaaaaaaaaaked @somethingsaladsomething @massivescissorsthingperson @abbeyskeff @a66-1 @mortem-writes @jupitersmoon167 @blankk3 @yxfairyrx @balletbiscuit @pickyourpoisonandevolve @emilia527 @midgalaxysparkle @0bonnie-bunny0 @kittygonap @babybimbo777 @johnnyshoe @probably--possessed @iloveoutlinesiswear @lucienofthelakes @foxintheferns @mamamayhem36 @sxnshinebxcky @keiva1000 @rain-likes-purple @piconico17 @sai-int @soosouyoung @cobyjackkkkk @dvmbk1tty @angstdaddy

[creamecafe]

Can you please write how squid game men will react to having a crush on reader?

How Squid Game Men Would Having to a Crush on Reader (Season 2 Edition)

Pairing: Squid Game Men x GN!Reader (No pronouns used)

Warnings: fluff, mentions of drug, SFW, kinda stalking but not yandere or dark! themes

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for requesting I hoped you enjoy! I'm sorry guys I couldn't add Lee Myung-Gi, it reached the limit for gifs so I'm doing part 2.

Women's version and a continuation will be posted soon!

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my latest post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

Seong Gi Hun

He thought that finding love or being attracted to someone was impossible after what he had been through

But when he saw you, it’s like seeing a past glance of his old self

Wants you on his team immediately

His social skills and personality he feels like has lost color, but would try just for you

Young-il

Thinks using the term “crush” is childish

He likes to use the word “fascinated”

Is always thinking of ways to talk to you

Is more smiley around you and asks you about your day

Thanos

Is lookin at you when he gets the chance to (Gettting breakfast or lunch)

Tries to come up with pick up lines for you, but ends up messing up (In which Nam Guy laughs and Thanos hits him)

Always rapping in front of you to seem cool

Has you by his side always and on his team

Doesn’t even want to take drugs because you’re considered to him his new addiction in a way

Kang Dae Ho

Once he realizes he has a crush on you, everything changes

He tries to not act so nervous around you, but he can’t help it

Stutters a lot when he talks to you

Has his jacket off a lot because he gets warm/flustered when thinking about you or when you’re around

Nam Gyu

Tries to act cool around you, but can't stop smiling around you

Thanos is hyping him up and would tease him about your crush

Is always fixing his hair before talking to you

Park Min-Su

Is shy as always, but around you is different

He likes you because you're the only in Thanos' group to actually treat him like a real person

Tries to muster up the courage to talk to you

Listens to you set up plans for the games because he loves hearing your voice

Hwang Jun-Ho

Tries to keep his chill persona up, but is nervous inside

Is always complimenting you how you look

Loves to give little subtle flirting hints but not too obvious

Salesman

Has a crush on you probably in the most unhealthy way, but still keeps his distance

Overhears what stuff you like and will buy it for you

Write down every thing you like and will remember

Will talk to you when he has the chance in the subway

Taglist:

@hobinistaworld, @swuzzin, @magicalconnoisseurcoffee, @dxrlingluv, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy, @vampiregirlxoxoxo, @sassyyoyo, @cloudysxkura, @hollxe1, @ill-loveyouthroughthestars, @lovesickxmina, @basoressia, @61f1mazx, @chirikoheina, @creepyp-mp4

Navigation | Main Masterlist | Squid Game Masterlist | Squid Game Men Masterlist | Join my taglist!

[bunchacrunchcake]

Perfect!

Humans are absolute shit at understanding scale.

Person A) Lives a nearly zero waste life to the point of being incredibly stressed and constantly overthinking every behavior they do

Person B) Drives a pickup truck, eats mainly red meat, smokes, drinks and orders from Amazon constantly, leaves the AC and heater on high when they're out of the house so it's a nice temperature when they get home.

Person C) Flies private jets weekly, has catered food and multiple servants per house they own which need to be kept clean, temperature controlled, and monitored by private security. They have a private driver with an Escalade.

Person A's consumption is incredibly low, heroically low. There are a lot of these people but nowhere close to be a majority of people.

Person B without thinking or trying is consuming about 10x of person A.

Person C without thinking or trying is consuming closer to 1,000,000 (one million) of person A.

On top of that, if Amazon ran an all electric vehicle fleet, used biodegradable packaging, payed fair wages, didn't force consumption through aggressive ad tactics, etc, you'd cut about 1-2x out of person B. Same with installing more efficient heating and cooling, building public transit, making cars electric only, etc. Person B would be mad most likely due to political opinions, but largely their life would not be much different.

But... If you just taxed person C like 50% it would severely cut their ability to consume so much. Don't even get me started on yachts and cruise ships. They're globally some of the top polluters.

Anyways, when you're saving some plastic bag so it can get used again, or making sure you wash all your recycling (which actually does not always get recycled even if it gets to the facility). Remember that it's so useless it's basically just virtue signaling. And that real change is made by forcing companies and governments and billionaires to stop completely fucking everything.

Before you say I'm a plant, I'm not. I would much rather you spend less energy composting your dinner when you're to exhausted to keep it up and more energy making sure your city has a composting program, less energy biking in shitty weather you hate being out in and more energy flaming your mayor on Twitter for not having bike lanes and free buses. On and on. Pick bigger targets, make activist friends. Make companies and billionaires pay to clean up the messes they make. Make our country beautiful and worth living in again.

Oh and also there's so much bullshit inflation going on right now, if we did this stuff would be cheaper. Renewables are cheaper than gas. Heat pumps are cheaper than old heating systems. Actual good public transit is more relaxing and safer than driving and cheaper and faster for everyone.

discussions about sustainability largely have to be in the realm of production, not consumption. while curbing wasteful consumption habits is important, issues of unsustainable goods can only be solved by literally producing less of them. this approach immediately resolves most issues with individualist, moral 'consumer activism' - for instance, it doesn't matter if you personally eat meat or not, but, factually, we need to significantly reduce the size of the animal agriculture industry if we want the earth to remain habitable. whenever you discuss this, a million scratched satisfascists start acting as though we intend to just take away their treats and replace them with nothing - as if the removal of personal automobiles doesn't go hand in hand with the redesigning of cities around walking and public transit, as if the removal of one method of production doesn't mean its replacement by another. the two main errors here, of the treatlerites, and of those who forget that socialism is supported by the people only because it improves their real conditions, should both be avoided.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 1 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: After getting attacked at the train station, you get rescued by a mysterious stranger. But is that really better?

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, attempted rape, violence, murder, hints of blood and gore, trauma talk

Part 2

He was a twisted motherfucker. And you knew it was your own fault you ended up in his claws. But how could you have possibly known? After all, at first he seemed like the good guy.

Looking back, it was entirely lost on you, how he managed to pull that off.

You remembered vividly how it felt when you sat on the cold bench in the waiting area of the underground train station, just like you did every evening of your life. Except for Sundays. Sundays were reserved for books and tv shows, to numb out your mind. Sundays were for you.

Your thoughts had been occupied with work and the feeling of your lower body slowly freezing off.

UTI, honey. You'll get UTI, if you sit on cold surfaces for too long. Your mothers voice took up a lot of space in your head, despite the fact that the last time you saw her was years ago. It still made you feel uneasy, but there was not much you could do. She was your mother, your inner voice, your compass. The part of your mind that still relied on her advice didn't know that she was long gone from your life and for a reason.

The first thing you noticed was a pair of cold hands reaching for you. Everything seemed to be cold that day. And God, you hated the cold.

His cold hands reached for you and before you even realized it, he had you pinned against the bench, trapped in-between him and the cold surface. You didn't have time to react at all. His one cold hand went up to cover your mouth, while his other cold hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your clothes.

Of course you struggled. It was a reflex. You tried to fight him off as soon as you realized what was going on. You struggled and squirmed, at some point you even tried to knee him in the crotch. But he straddled your waist, keeping you down with his weight and you knew where this was leading.

You hadn't even seen his face. His ugly ass blue hat with the dove on top was pulled down deep in his face and you couldn't make out his eyes. Not that it would have changed anything, but it made everything even worse for you.

But what was by far the worst thing, wasn't the cold. It wasn't even the fact that the station was empty except for the two of you. The worst thing was that no sound came out when you opened your mouth to scream. No sound at all.

Oh, how you had feared that. The dream came often, frequently even and it was a shitty feeling every time, wanting to scream but no sound came out. Your throat was tight, your tongue useless, your lips parted in a silent plea.

No.

This was the end, you were sure.

He'd violate you and if you were lucky, he'd leave you like that, on the cold bench, to fend for yourself. But that wasn't your biggest fear. Your biggest fear was what would happen if he didn't decide to leave you like that.

Maybe it'd be quick. A blade to your throat and within a few minutes everything would finally be over.

But what if not?

A knot built in your stomach as you saw your future right infront of you. Sold off to some twisted people, spending the rest of your life as a tool for someone else's pleasure, someones amusement, someones-

No, being violated wasn't your worst fear.

Being sold off was.

At some point people would believe you were dead and then they'd stop searching.

Tears streamed down your face and your body shook with suppressed sobs as he ripped at your shirt impatiently. Your lips parted in another desperate plea, but still, no sound.

You were done for. This was your end. You couldn't breathe.

Until, suddenly, you could again.

You let out a shuddery gasp when you felt his weight lift off of you. You were frozen solid after you backed away against the wall.

The man appeared out of nowhere, looking like someone from a novel or a movie.

His hair, which looked like it was normally slicked back neatly, hung into his face as he dragged the man off you, his expression twisted into something you couldn't read.

You took a deep breath. In. And out. In. And out.

You were safe. The police would come, the man would get arrested and he wouldn't ever touch you again. You would finally see his eyes and-

Oh God.

You winced outwardly when you heard the cracking sound and the man with the blue hat went limp in his arms. His unreadable expression turned into something resembling smugness.

You watched in horror as he tossed the lifeless body onto the train line. The train came on time. Of course it did. Punctuality was a good deed, especially here in South Korea.

What you witnessed then was probably the most gruesome scene of your life and you immediately knew you would never get that picture out of your head.

The sound of a gunshot forced you back to reality and you winced painfully. When you looked up, you saw him still pointing his gun at the security camera in the left corner of the area. On his face a subtle smile. The twisted smile of an avenging angel...or an obvious demon.

He pushed the gun back beneath his waistline and held out his hand to you.

The man who had almost destroyed your life was dead, scattered across the train station in blood and gore and the man who would undoubtedly destroy your life held out his hand to you.

You heard your mothers voice again, small and subtle.

Don't take his hand, honey. Something's most definitely wrong with him. I bet he's dangerous.

That was what made you take his hand in the end. However bad he was, he couldn't possibly be worse than her, could he?

A few minutes later, he made a point of passing about every car on the highway.

"Where do you live?" His voice was like silk. It was terrifying.

After what had happened, you felt like you had stopped breathing for a while and just now were you slowly getting back to it again.

No ins and outs. Straight up hyperventilating.

"I- I don't know." You gasped out truthfully.

He cocked a brow and briefly glanced at you from the drivers seat.

"You don't know?"

You frantically shook your head.

"I always take the same path. From the train station, take a turn left and- and-"

"Where are you from, sweet girl?" His voice sounded so calm, as sweet as honey. It was almost offensive, it was infuriating.

"Yorkshire." You whispered without missing a beat.

He hummed softly and briefly eyed you up and down. "England, hm? I should have recognized from your grace and beauty."

Was he fucking flirting with you? After he just...just murdered someone?

"What takes you to South Korea then? School? Uni?"

"Work." You murmured, not even recognizing your own voice. But at least by now it was back. Fucking betrayed by your own body, wonderful.

He raised his brows as he passed another car in a nerve-wrecking speed.

"Work? You look a little young to be that far from home, working here. Do you even speak the language?"

You subtly shook your head and he nodded.

"I work with...with computers." You mumbled absentmindedly. In your head, the scene from earlier kept repeating like a broken record. All that blood...

He hummed again. An odd sound. He radiated such a calm energy, it was truly confusing.

"You were awfully quiet earlier." He remarked.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat and looked out of the window.

"Ah. Sore spot. I get it."

At first you had thought he might be taking you to the police station. But then you realized; after he just butchered someone down without flinching? Probably not.

Still, you had hope. That was until you saw the city sign disappear in the rear view mirror. This wasn't good. Maybe for once you should have listened to your mothers voice.

"Where are you taking me?" You asked quietly.

He didn't respond, just kept his gaze firmly on the highway before you. You kept glancing at him for a while, before eventually you looked down at your hands. You hadn't even realized how much they were shaking. You wanted to ask many, many questions.

Who the hell are you?

Where are we going?

Why did you kill that man?

...Am I next?

But all you managed was a quiet, desperate exhale.

"Are you hungry?" He asked matter-of-factly.

You thought back to the massacre and immediately felt nauseous again, so you shook your head.

"Yes, you are. You need to keep your strength. Don't worry, sweet girl. We'll be home soon. I'll take good care of you."

The cold sweat that broke out on your body was nearly painful. You knew he wasn't normal, but you couldn't yet tell to which extent he was crazy.

Was he just a little twisted?

He was a killer after all. And now you were with him. In his car. Maybe, just maybe you could...

You glanced down at the doorhandle, when his calm voice made you jump.

"Don't even think about it, sweet girl. That won't work. I'm driving so fast, the second your body hits the pavement, your head will explode like a balloon."

The was that tightness in your throat again. But this time something was different. He had his hands on the steering wheel, not on you. You could still breathe.

Suddenly you saw yourself again, sold off. And damn it, suddenly exploding didn't sound so bad anymore.

You furiously tugged on the door handle, but it didn't work. It was locked. You kept trying it desperately, a soft passing your lips. After a few moments you realized it was pointless.

Slowly you tilted your face back towards him, only to realize he was already watching you. He was still smiling that subtle, not at all genuine, smile, but this time something was different. It was like a cold fury had taken possession of his eyes.

Maybe he wasn't a demon. Maybe he was the devil.

"That one was free. Because we don't know each other all too well yet." He said slowly. "But next time, I won't be so forgiving."

You looked back at the street ahead of you. And suddenly you realized something. Maybe he was worse than your mother.

God, what a terrifying thought.

About half an hour later, there you were. Home.

A great apartment complex, somewhere God knows where.

Suddenly it hit you. He hadn't covered your eyes. Not in the car, not infront of the house, not in the elevator.

You weren't leaving this place, at least not alive.

He led you inside one of the apartments. To your surprise, everything looked pretty normal, except for the part that it looked fairly expensive.

The walls were painted in a warm apricot color and the floor was made of dark wood.

He led you deeper inside and you realized, it was indeed a normal flat. The couch was made of black leather and there was a giant bookshelf, next to a big tv. For some reason the sight of the bookshelf brought you an odd sense of comfort.

How bad could a person be, if he was well-read?

Your mind soon wandered off to Hannibal Lecter and you dismissed the thought.

"Sit."

You sat down on the couch as instructed. All the while you were careful to keep your shoes off the cream colored carpet so you wouldn't get it dirty. It was odd how your mind worked.

He followed your gaze, his expression unreadable again.

Then he crouched down before you, so you were eye level with him. His eyes were of a pretty brown and soulless to the core. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. He sized you up for a while, until eventually he sighed. An exaggerated, mocking sound.

"How do you like it here?"

Your insides twisted.

"It's pretty." You said in a choked whisper.

He laughed, a hearty, yet sarcastic sound.

"Look at you. Just look at you. Being my good girl already." He said slowly.

He leaned in so close that his breath tickled your ear. You forced yourself to stay still.

"The door can be opened only by me. The same goes for all windows. All the walls are soundproof. There's no way you can get out, until I want you to. Do you understand?" For the first time, his voice was low and you could grasp the subtle threat. He didn't pretend to be cheerful for once.

Or was it truly pretense?

You forced yourself to nod.

And just like that, his twisted smirk was back.

"Very well." He swiftly stood up. "What would you like for dinner?"

You slowly tilted up your head to read his expression. Read his intention. Read his character or the lack of it. But there was nothing. Nothing for you understandable, nothing that made any kind of sense.

"I'm not hungry." You whispered.

He pretended to pout, but eventually held out his hand to you again. A bittersweet deja-vu. As much as you wanted to refrain from taking it this time, you were far more afraid of what would happen if you refused him.

You hesitantly took his hand and he pulled you up to your feet.

"Maybe a nice, hot shower then?" He purred.

Of course. This time, it wouldn't be a faceless man with a blue hat to violate you, it would be him. The devil himself. You could already feel it, smell it and taste it. In the shower, on the bed, the kitchen counter, the floor and against the wall, until he grew tired of you.

That was why you were there. That had to be.

Before you could react, he had led you back to a spacious bathroom. Everything looked ridiculously clean and expensive. The freestanding tub was sparkling and the fluffy towels begging to dry you off.

He'd bend you over the tub. Maybe push your head under water. You knew he would. Just a minute more.

Instead, he gently ushered you inside.

"I'll get you something clean to sleep in." He said matter-of-factly. "I'll leave it infront of the door. Take as much time as you need."

With that, he disappeared and closed the door behind him. Your eyes widened almost comically. You then rushed forward to lock the door, which worked with ease. Next, the window. You tugged on the handle, desperate to open it. Not that it would have made any sense, you were too high above the street. But the thought of opening the window still filled you with hope. Like maybe, at least there would be one way out.

When nothing worked, you tried to break the glass. But you quickly noticed it was no normal glass. He hadn't lied. The windows provided no way out.

You slumped down below the sink and cried for a while. To no great surprise of yours, your tears ran dry quickly and you just sat in silence for a while.

You were trapped.

And you had no idea what you were here for.

After what felt like half an hour, you got up with shaky legs and decided to check if the door was truly locked. It was. You unlocked it and perked your head out, only to realize he had left you a bathrobe outside, as well as slippers and a nightdress. It was pretty basic, made of cotton. But it wasn't revealing or anything. The thought was oddly comforting. You picked up the clothes and disappeared back into the room, where you locked the door and sighed.

Your eyes settled on the tub and you thought, why the hell not?

You made quick process of it. You got rid of your sweat-soaked clothes and stepped into the tub. The water filled up the tub rather quickly. At least the warmth of it provided some kind of comfort. You poured some scented lavender oil in and sunk deeper down.

You didn't dare close your eyes though. You were still sure he would come and take what he wanted. Mayhe he just wanted you to be clean first? He would come. He surely would.

But he didn't. Minutes passed, another half an hour. And he didn't come. You rinsed off and stepped out of the tub. The giant, fluffy towels felt heavenly against your skin. It was almost like you were in a hotel. Except for the murder and abduction part.

You slipped into the nightdress and the slippers and towel dried your long hair. Then you folded the towel neatly and placed it on the radiator. After a few long, deep breaths you carefully stepped outside. The cold air brought you back to reality as you followed back the same path he had led you earlier. You were surprised to find the living room empty, but you heard rustling sounds from the kitchen.

And then your gaze settled on the door.

It were less than five steps. You could make it. You could. If you were quick and took off the slippers, you could stealthily...

"Sweet girl?" That fake sweetness again, with the hint of underlying warning to it. You swallowed thickly and looked up. He stood in the doorway and looked at you with something resembling a warm smile.

"How was your bath?"

You stood frozen. Five small steps. If you thudded against the door loud enough, maybe someone might hear. Alert the police. Rescue-

"I asked you a question."

"Good." You whispered. And involuntarily added: "Thank you."

Good girl, purred your mothers voice.

But all he did was smile.

"Come, I made dinner. Just a few bites."

Your mind drifted back to Hannibal Lecter and you nearly spat. A careful glance into the kitchen and...

Pancakes. You gasped in relief.

He tilted his head to the side, smiling softly.

"You don't like pancakes?"

"I do." You whispered involuntarily.

They might be poisoned, but the fact that you hadn't eaten anything since lunch at work got the better of you. He slowly guided you into the kitchen and sat you down on one of the chairs, before he sat down opposite you.

He caught you staring down at the food suspiciously, which made him chuckle.

"They're not poisoned."

When you still didn't move, he rolled his eyes and took a bite off your fork. He chewed and swallowed with a smug expression.

"See?"

You reluctantly moved. They weren't bad. Pretty good even. You chewed carefully and never took your eyes off him. He did the same. And he still looked so unbelievably calm.

After you finished eating and downed a glass of water, you stared at him...expectantly.

His smirk widened.

"A curious little bird, aren't you?"

He narrowed his eyes somewhat and reached out to touch your cheek. "You cried."

To your surprise, when you flinched, he pulled his hand back and hummed softly.

"No need to cry, sweet girl. I'll take care of you. All you have to do is agree."

You already regretted asking. "Agree to what?"

He leaned back and bared his teeth in a predatory smile.

"Being mine."

Your brows furrowed in confusion and straight up stress. The calming effects of the bath were slowly fading away.

"What?"

"Mine, sweet girl. My girl."

"Your girl?" You asked somewhat incredulously, which was something he didn't seem to appreciate.

He reached out and cupped your face in his hand, his grip firm, but not painful. Yet. Your heart immediately skipped several beats.

"Oh, you will agree, sweet girl. The question is, will you agree willingly? Or do I have to make you?" He narrowed his eyes even further.

"Who are you, sweet girl?"

You stared up at him with wide, fearful eyes. Something told you that there was no right answer to that question.

And then, in a rare fit of courage, you said your name.

He took a long, deep breath and slowly dropped his hand from your chin.

"That's very tragic, sweet girl."

With a disapproving tsk he shook his head.

"Unfortunately, that was the wrong answer."

[buzzinrusso]

Unexplained love

Based on this request, right here!! I'm actually really proud of this one, so enjoy and keep sending in requests!!

---

Leah had always been there. In ways that you sometimes took for granted, she was your constant, your companion in every chapter of your life. The two of you had known each other since childhood—since before you could even properly remember, when your parents pushed you together on playdates, only for you to bond over something as simple as a soccer ball or a shared joke. What started as an accidental friendship slowly blossomed into something unshakeable, a connection that stretched through every phase of your growth.

Your small town, just outside London, wasn’t a place where people could easily hide, and Leah and you had grown up together in that same tight-knit community. There was a park near the edge of town, and countless hours of your childhood were spent there—hours running around in the summer heat, kicking footballs with Leah, creating games that only made sense to the two of you. When it rained, the park became your personal world of imagination, where your “missions” were anything but typical. You’d build forts out of old tree branches, create treasure hunts, and spend hours lying on the grass, staring at clouds and dreaming about things that didn’t seem to matter—until they did...

Through all of this, Leah was never just a friend. She was more than that. She was someone who saw you for exactly who you were. If you had a rough day, Leah would always know before you even said anything. You didn’t need words when Leah was around. Her presence alone was a comfort. Her laugh was the thing that could break any of your bad moods, and when she spoke about her ambitions—her love for football, her dreams of playing at the professional level—it was like everything in the world could fit together perfectly.

“Promise me you’ll never leave?” you asked one summer day, as you both sat side by side on the park bench. You weren’t sure why you asked it then. But something about the moment, the way the sun filtered through the trees, made you voice the fear that had been growing inside you.

Leah’s hand found yours, her grip tight and comforting. “Promise,” she said, her voice steady as ever, “I’ll never leave.” And as a child, you believed that promise, without hesitation.

---

As time passed, however, things inevitably changed. It wasn’t just the shift from childhood to adolescence that marked a difference—it was the shift within yourself. You had begun to notice the way your feelings for Leah had deepened, but you hadn’t understood them yet. You had no idea how to process the shift, how to handle the overwhelming sensation that you felt when Leah stood a little too close or laughed in that way that made your heart do funny flips.

The first sign came when you were thirteen. Leah had always been fiercely competitive—something you admired—and when she started to take football seriously, you saw the intensity in her eyes that you had never noticed before. The practices, the matches, the way she pushed herself—it was as if she was becoming someone else, someone who had her own dreams, her own future. You were proud of her, but something else stirred within you, something you didn’t know how to explain.

It was subtle, a flicker of jealousy at first. When she’d mention a boy from the team or when she’d laugh at Ryan’s jokes (someone you’d never really paid attention to before), it gnawed at you. You tried to brush it off, to dismiss it, but the feelings grew like a tide that was impossible to outrun.

The first time Leah talked about Ryan, it didn’t seem like anything special. He was a teammate, she said, just a guy she’d been getting to know. But then, as the weeks went on, she began talking about him more often. And every time she did, a strange sensation grew inside you. It wasn’t jealousy, or at least you didn’t think it was, because it wasn’t the kind of jealousy you felt when someone took your favorite toy. This felt like something deeper, more visceral.

And then, the first real break came. You were fifteen, sitting in Leah’s room one late evening, when she told you about her first kiss. She didn’t know why it hurt to hear it, but it did. Leah’s voice was light, but there was a strange ache behind it.

“It wasn’t that special,” she said, brushing it off. But the words hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. You smiled, though it was a half-smile. “That’s great, Leah. You deserve someone who makes you feel special.”

But you didn’t feel special in that moment. You felt empty, and it took everything inside you to push those feelings back down into a place where they could hide—far away from the world. You had never questioned your feelings for her until that moment, but as she laughed about it, something deep inside you cracked open, and you realized: you wanted to be the one who made Leah feel that special.

---

Things came to a head one night that summer when you were sixteen. It had been building for months, like a storm on the horizon, and neither of you had seen it coming. Leah had been talking about football again, her eyes sparkling with the passion that drove her. But you weren’t listening to her words anymore; you were just listening to the rhythm of her voice, to the way the light from the bedside lamp danced in her hair, and to the soft rise and fall of her breath.

“I think I’m actually going to make the team this year,” Leah said, and you nodded, your heart pounding in your chest, because for the first time, you were realizing that you didn’t want to lose her to football. You didn’t want her to leave you behind in her pursuit of greatness. You didn’t want to be the one watching her from the sidelines.

Before you knew it, you were leaning in, your lips brushing hers. It was a soft kiss, barely a touch, but it felt like the world had suddenly shifted. For a split second, everything around you blurred, and there was nothing but Leah and the overwhelming flood of emotion that rushed through you.

Leah pulled back immediately, her face pale. You froze, your mind racing, but your body unable to move. Neither of you spoke at first. You both seemed to be trapped in that moment, unable to do anything but stare at each other, unsure of what had just happened.

“I’m sorry,” Leah whispered quickly, her voice panicked. But the words didn’t seem like an apology, not really. They sounded more like a denial, as if she were trying to erase the moment from existence. And in that silence, you felt the weight of it all—felt the fracture forming between you that neither of you had expected but both of you could now see.

---

The next few days passed in a blur. Neither of you mentioned the kiss, but it was always there, lurking in the back of your minds. Leah seemed to pull away even more, immersing herself in football practices and talking more frequently about Ryan. The distance between the two of you was palpable now—every conversation felt strained, like you were both pretending that everything was the same.

In the meantime, you began to focus on Alex, a boy from school who had started to show an interest in you. At first, it was easy to fall into that relationship—he was sweet, he liked you, and he didn’t make you question everything the way Leah did. When Alex kissed you for the first time, it was nothing like Leah’s kiss, and for a moment, you thought you had found a way to forget. But it was fleeting. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Leah’s face, heard her laugh, and felt the ache in your chest that no one but her could fill.

Leah, too, seemed to move on. She and Ryan started spending more time together, laughing, holding hands, and it felt like a sharp knife twisting in your gut every time you saw them together. You wanted to be happy for her, but you couldn’t. The jealousy, the anger—it all bubbled up inside you in a way that made you sick. She wasn’t supposed to be with him. She was supposed to be with you.

---

It was the night everything finally broke open. The tension had been building for weeks, and you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You couldn’t sit by and watch Leah slip further away from you, especially not when you knew, deep down, that you were both still holding on to something neither of you could acknowledge.

You called her late that evening, asking her to meet you at the park. It felt like the only place you both could truly talk without the weight of the world around you. When she arrived, you could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she avoided looking directly at you. You had been avoiding each other for too long. It was time to confront it.

Leah sat on the swing, pushing herself lightly as she stared down at her feet. The air between you was thick with unspoken words.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, the frustration in your voice barely masked. You couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Why are you with him? Why are you pretending nothing happened between us?”

Leah’s face flushed, and her eyes shot up to meet yours. There was something raw in her gaze, a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N,” she said, her voice trembling. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t care if it’s easy,” you snapped. “I care that you’re pretending. I care that you’re with him when you know how I feel about you. You know I can’t keep doing this. I’m not okay.”

Leah stood up abruptly, her fists clenched at her sides. “I’m not pretending,” she yelled. “I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know what to do!”

The words hung in the air like smoke, suffocating the space between you.

“You don’t fix it by running away!” you shouted back, the anger in your chest rising. “You fix it by facing it! By facing what we both know is true. You can’t keep acting like nothing happened, like nothing changed.”

For a moment, Leah looked lost, her eyes softening, the anger and fear giving way to something else. Slowly, cautiously, she took a step toward you, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

“I don’t know how to make this right,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N.”

And withthose words, everything seemed to shift in that instant. It was as if a dam had broken, and the flood of emotions you both had been holding back came pouring out, unrestrained and raw.

You felt your heart race in your chest as Leah stood there, her eyes full of uncertainty and longing, just as you felt in that moment. The world around you blurred once again, and all the years of friendship, of confusion, of unspoken feelings, suddenly rushed forward. For a second, neither of you moved, standing in the weight of the silence.

"I never knew how to tell you," Leah whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind rustling the trees around you. "I thought I could just ignore it, just focus on football, focus on anything but us. But I couldn't. I still can’t."

You stepped forward, your breath catching as you tried to process what she was saying. You had always known something was between you two—something deeper, something that you couldn’t explain even to yourself. But hearing her admit it, hearing Leah say she had been holding onto the same feelings, broke something open inside you.

"You’ve always been everything to me, Leah," you replied, the words tumbling out of you, honest and without hesitation. "And I... I’ve been too afraid to tell you. To ruin what we have, what we’ve always had."

Leah took another step closer, her face so close now that you could feel the warmth of her skin, her breath mingling with yours. There was no more distance between you, no more hiding. You could see the vulnerability in her eyes, the same fear that mirrored your own.

"I didn’t want to ruin us either," she said softly, her voice shaking slightly. "But I think... I think we've already ruined it. We've been lying to ourselves for so long, pretending that we don’t feel this way. And I can't do that anymore."

Your heart skipped a beat. "So, what do we do now?"

Leah’s hand reached out, brushing against your cheek gently, her touch soft but electrifying. "I don't know," she whispered, "but I think we should stop pretending. Stop running away from this."

And in that moment, there was no more pretending, no more fear. You could see it in her eyes—this was real. The feelings you’d both buried for so long had finally surfaced, and there was no turning back. There was no more question of whether it was okay to love each other in this way.

Without another word, Leah leaned in, her lips finding yours in a kiss that was tender, slow, and full of everything you had both been too afraid to say. The world around you seemed to fade away, the years of friendship and the years of longing collapsing into something undeniable. This was the moment you’d both been waiting for.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, both of you stood there, your foreheads resting against each other, both a little dazed by what had just happened. The awkwardness that had filled the space between you for weeks was gone, replaced by an undeniable sense of clarity.

"I don’t know how we move forward," you said, still a little shaken. "But I know we can figure it out. Together."

Leah nodded, her hand brushing against your arm as if confirming that, yes, you were in this together now. "I want to figure it out. I want to be with you. I’ve always wanted that."

The reality of it all settled in, and even though neither of you knew exactly what the future would hold, for the first time in a long time, it didn’t feel like an impossible distance between you. It felt like a beginning. A new chapter.

---

The weeks that followed were filled with challenges, as both of you navigated this new dynamic in your friendship and relationship. The first time you held hands in public was nerve-wracking. You had spent so many years walking side by side without thinking twice about it, but now every touch seemed loaded with meaning. You learned quickly that no one could understand the complexity of what you were going through unless they had been through it themselves.

Leah and you spent hours talking about everything—your feelings, your fears, your hopes for the future. There were times when it felt like the whole world was against you, as if your connection was something so rare and fragile that it could slip away in an instant. There were people who didn’t understand, people who made assumptions or doubted your bond. But it didn’t matter. You knew that what you shared was real, and in the end, that was all that mattered.

Football was still a big part of Leah’s life. She threw herself into it with all the passion and drive she had always had. But now, you were there with her, standing on the sidelines, cheering her on—not just as her friend, but as someone who saw her in a new light. You were proud of her. Proud of her achievements, her strength, and the way she managed to balance her dreams with this new chapter in her life.

You, too, found new ways to grow. No longer hiding from the truth of your feelings, you learned to love yourself alongside loving her. You found strength in your vulnerability, in the openness that came with finally admitting what you both wanted. Sometimes, it was hard, and there were moments where you both doubted yourselves. But the foundation of your relationship was built on years of trust, of shared memories, and a deep, unshakeable connection. That was something neither of you could ignore.

The world around you started to shift, too. You both made new friends, met new people, and began to embrace the future with all the uncertainty it held. It wasn’t always easy—relationships, especially ones like yours, took time, effort, and constant communication. But you were learning how to do it, together.

Leah and you spent many more nights under the stars, just as you had when you were children, talking about everything and nothing. You had both been through so much, and yet, somehow, you knew that the hardest parts were already behind you. It was just a matter of building something new, something that was yours alone.

And in those quiet moments, you found peace in knowing that whatever the future held, you had each other. That was enough. Enough to weather the storms, to face the unknown, and to finally, truly be free to love each other in the way you had always known was meant to be.

---

Years later, when you both looked back on those early days, you couldn’t help but laugh at the way things had unfolded. The confusion, the fear, the uncertainty—all of it had led to this point. You and Leah had grown, individually and together, stronger than either of you could have ever imagined.

Leah’s name was well-known in the football world now, and you had found your own path in a career that fulfilled you. But no matter where life had taken you, Leah had always been there—by your side, the one constant in a world full of changes.

And as you stood on the edge of the field one evening, watching Leah train for an upcoming match, you knew one thing for certain: there was no one else you’d rather face the future with. Your love, built on years of friendship, had become the foundation of everything you were. Together, you were unstoppable.

And that was how you had always meant to be—together.

---

[salemlunaa]

∘˚𖦹you must remain in your favoured state𖦹∘˚

or you’ll never get all that you desire

what do you desire?

to get that dream face and body

to induce pure consciousness

to get those good grades

well you need to remember to stay in your favoured state. I was watching miss sammy ingram today and she said something so eye opening:

“If i’m in the US, it’s impossible for me to climb the Eiffel Tower because it’s in France”

what does this mean?

if you are in a state where you don’t believe you can manifest your desires, they will never come. At all. You will never be able to climb the Eiffel Tower in the US because it doesn’t exist in the US. You will never be able to get your desires because they don’t exist in a state where you don’t believe in them.

The timeline where you get your desires doesn’t exist in the state where you don’t think you can get them. The outcome of you inducing pure consciousness doesn’t exist in the state where you “just can’t do it” and do feel powerful to the point where you’re desperately begging others to do it for you. If you’re in a maths lesson, you’re not going to randomly see an literature text for you to analyse. You’re not going to randomly get your desires if you “try hard enough” in a state where you don’t believe it. where you keep wavering

If you get put into a room where everything is green you’re not going to randomly see a red object. The outcome where you induce pure consciousness and live your dreams won’t happen in a state where you have the assumption that you can’t get past symptoms.

There are things that just aren’t natural in certain places is what i’m trying to get at. It’s not possible to see a whale when you’re in the sahara desert in the same way that its not possible to see your desired body when you’re in a state where you believe your body is horrible.

It’s not possible to see a car in an aeroplane in the same way that it’s not possible to induce pure consciousness when you’re in a state that you don’t believe that you can do it, in a state where you “try”

See, when us bloggers say “if you don’t learn to live in a state where your desires are fact, you’ll never get what you want” we’re not just tryna scare you into applying, it’s just the truth. It just isn’t possible. You’re not going to magically get what you want in a state where you don’t believe you can

There is no trial and failure for a god, you either have your desires or you don’t, you’re either a void master or you aren’t at all, there’s no building up to these things, it’s not a process you choose a state and you stick to it. As a god there’s no such thing as a journey, not with your manifestation and not with the void, it’s a thought and then you’re immediately at your destination, you just have to choose to be a god in that sense.

Hint: failure does not exist in the state where you don’t believe in failing, the same way an opportunity of seeing the empire state building in person doesn’t exist if you’re in london

🧇🫐 stick to your favoured state and have it all!!

[operahousebookworm]

I was endeavoring to explain elsewhere why "13yo girls devouring the works of Stephen King" was such a common millennial experience, and I think a big part of it is his novels are ALL interiority. Yeah there's supernatural forces and creepy setpieces and all, but especially in his novels, it's all internal monologue and deep memory and so so much voice. And this is all fascinating as hell when you're just starting to realize there's an adult world out there and trying to sort out how people move through it. (Especially when packaged with the aforementioned horror elements.)

You really see it in the Kubrick film of The Shining vs. the book. The film is about an evil hotel. There's not really a rhyme or reason to why these specific creepy things are happening, they're just creepy and look cool. Its primary vibe is discomfort and there also just happen to be these people here who low-key hate each other. Stans try to talk about how it's all about the psychological effects of isolation but the characters are broken and shut-off from each other from the beginning.

(These people are all ready to draw blood right this second and you cannot convince me otherwise.)

The book, meanwhile, is an absolute masterpiece of interiority, consisting (mostly) of three interweaving internal monologues of very distinct people who desperately want to connect with each other and cannot manage it. Jack loves his wife and adores his kid so goddamn much but he cannot control his rage and addiction, which leaves him constantly trying to make up for things he barely remembers doing. Wendy sees that her son has a special bond with his father that she cannot replicate or share, even though she's been the dependable one taking care of him. She sees herself repeating a pattern from her own upbringing and she hates it so much but she cannot will the jealousy away. Danny sees his parents breaking and wants to fix things, thinks he could fix things if he were either more gifted or more normal. They are all struggling against the forces that shaped them, swimming upstream with everything they have even as they're inexorably pushed toward the sea.

The hotel is merely feeding on them. Not on their anger or paranoia, but on their frustrated and helpless love. The fact that they keep trying to connect and keep getting it exactly wrong is what creates the opportunities for the evil to slip in and amplify those things they all hate about themselves, widening the gaps between them. They refuse to give up on each other, their chapters all show how badly they want to make things work, and that makes the tragedy inevitable.

And I should probably shut up now BUT this is why so many people remember the topiary scene as the most terrifying part of the novel, and why it's not in the movie. Because in the novel it is a sloooooow build of dread as Jack faces their impending isolation and tries to fulfill his duties as caretaker. The wrongness is just lurking at the edges until it starts rapidly closing in, and the increased intensity is Jack working himself into an absolute panic at the thought that if he could just push his limits just a little further and see them all at once, he could render this whole threat harmless. Sure, a thing that only moves when you're not looking at it is scary, but it's terrifying to Jack because the sense of being millimeters shy of your own salvation and still falling short is his whole damage.

And on film it would die completely. Increasingly close-up shots of shrubbery, intercut with a dude losing his entire mind about it, is pure B-movie camp. Small wonder it didn't make it in.

A lot of fiction these days reads as if—as I saw Peter Raleigh put it the other day, and as I’ve discussed it before—the author is trying to describe a video playing in their mind. Often there is little or no interiority. Scenes play out in “real time” without summary. First-person POV stories describe things the character can’t see, but a distant camera could. There’s an overemphasis on characters’ outfits and facial expressions, including my personal pet peeve: the “reaction shot round-up” in which we get a description of every character’s reaction to something as if a camera was cutting between sitcom actors.

When I talk with other creative writing professors, we all seem to agree that interiority is disappearing. Even in first-person POV stories, younger writers often skip describing their character’s hopes, dreams, fears, thoughts, memories, or reactions. This trend is hardly limited to young writers though. I was speaking to an editor yesterday who agreed interiority has largely vanished from commercial fiction, and I think you increasingly notice its absence even in works shelved as “literary fiction.” When interiority does appear on the page, it is often brief and redundant with the dialogue and action. All of this is a great shame. Interiority is perhaps the prime example of an advantage prose as a medium holds over other artforms.

fascinated by this article, "Turning Off the TV in Your Mind," about the influences of visual narratives on writing prose narratives. i def notice the two things i excerpted above in fanfic, which i guess makes even more sense as most of the fic i read is for tv and film. i will also be thinking about its discussion of time in prose - i think that's something i often struggle with and i will try to be more conscious of the differences between screen and page next time i'm writing.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis part 4

oh look, gave in, masterpost

by HH discord vote, wrote on this while waiting for my nerve test today (good news, nerves good. bad news, hands bad because ?????. other news, OW) which was nice because this is very soft and I was very nervous about it all. Apparently I had another chunk not posted here too so have a decent bit!

-

“Yeah, well, you just met—saw? You just saw my parents. They’re just sort of like that. Everything always becomes dramatic,” Danny said, some of his humor fading as he talked about his family.

“I’ll remember not to come over for dinner,” Conner said with a purposefully light tone.

Danny snorted. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t subject you to that horror. Easier to just eat out anyways.”

“And yet you don’t eat lunch,” Conner pointed out.

Danny ducked his head and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, school lunches aren’t exactly appetizing.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Conner agreed after a beat. Him and Dad might still have some issues that they were working through, but Clark made sure that Conner always had a lunch to take to school, no matter how busy he was with a story. The only times there wasn’t a lunch is when Clark was off world for three or more days.

Conner wondered if Dad would mind making an extra one.

“Anything you hate?” Conner asked curiously.

Danny gave a little shrug. His fingers twisted restlessly against Conner’s. “That’s a complicated question.”

“I’m okay with complicated answers.”

“Turkey and chicken, but only if it’s the whole bird. Hot dogs. I guess all meat can be iffy a lot, depends on the day. Tofu. Um, plain broths and Jello at this point. Anything fake cherry favored. Lime Gatorade,” Danny listed off in a rush.

Conner blinked. “Okay.” He’d do his best to remember that.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Like, I think that’s actually not that hard to work around. And you can remind me if I forget anything, but, like, I’ll try not to,” Conner said. He gave Danny’s hand a reassuring little squeeze.

Danny stared down at their clasped hands like it was the most confusing thing.

Conner tried not to worry too much about it. Danny could be odd like that.

The shop was actually a pretty nice one. Maybe it was a little too hipster, but it was a coffee shop. The music could be worse and the spray painted art on the wall was actually pretty cool. There was no one waiting, so Conner pulled them up to the front where they could easily read the menu to make their choices.

He nudged Danny gently with his elbow. “They have some vegetarian stuff, if it’s one of those days.”

“The beetroot sandwich is damn good,” the heavily tattooed barista who was waiting on them said.

“Yeah?” Danny said, looking over that on the board. “I’ll do that, I guess, and a large iced coffee.”

“Whole milk, skim, or oat milk?”

“Oh, um, whole is fine,” Danny said.

“Same drink for me, but I’ll do the avocado BLT,” Conner decided. He went to pull out his phone to pay, but Danny beat him to it, holding out a credit card.

“My treat, since we couldn’t work at my place,” Danny said quickly.

Conner huffed. “Fine. But next study session is my treat then.”

“You two can go ahead and have a seat, I’ll bring your stuff over soon,” the barista said with a smile as they handed back Danny’s card.

Conner followed Danny’s lead over to a comfortable looking pair of armchairs around a low table. They were forced to finally let go of each other’s hands to sit, and Conner tried not to pout. Now that he knew Danny would let him, Conner figured he could find another excuse to hold Danny’s hand if he worked at it.

Danny pulled out his sleek, new laptop and set it open on the table. The assignment was already open on the screen, glaring in the large, red text that Mrs. Simmons liked to use for all of her assignment headers. It was especially bold on the black background of the dark mode that Danny seemed to keep everything in.

Under every poet’s name, Danny had typed a sentence or two about them. It was far from academic writing (some of it was actually hilariously blunt), but it actually had some really useful information.

“Damn, Danny, you call this only a little?” Conner asked as he scanned over the notes.

Danny fidgeted in his seat. “I mean. Just like I said, I'm not good at English work and I don't want to be why you get a bad grade.”

“Hey,” Conner leaned over and bumped their shoulders together, “it's just a grade.”

“Yeah, try saying that in my house with two doctorate already and a third on the way with my sister,” Danny muttered.

“Well, good thing we aren't in your house then,” Conner joked. When Danny rolled his eyes, Conner reached out and tapped Danny’s hand, getting the other to look at him. “It’s just a grade, Danny, but I'll do my best to make sure that it's a good one, okay?”

Danny’s smile was a little wobbly, but at least it was there. “Thanks.”

“Course. Tell me what you've done so far.”

His smile turned shier, but Danny started to explain that he’d wiki searched the poets and also scanned whatever there most famous poem was. He didn’t really know how to talk about the poems, but tried to write a word or two about them. As they went through the list, it was clear that Danny already had some he didn’t like, by the way his nose wrinkled as he talked about them, scrunching up his freckles. He also had some good points about some poets that they shouldn’t do as two white guys. Conner didn’t know if he actually really counted as a white guy, not with Clark, but he figured since socially Clark was seen and raise as one, it fit as much as anything.

(Not like Conner could talk about the whole half alien clone thing anyways.)

[ghouljams]

The Church of the Broken God (chapter 2)

Words: 5k Tags: Eventual John Price x reader, public masturbation, brainwashing, doublespeak, indoctrination, f!reader, passively suicidal ideation, self destructive habits, horrible bosses, depressed!reader, Cult Leader!Price Summary: Your life has been on a downward spiral for months. It's hard to find a real reason to keep going when everything you do seems to backfire. That is, until you get a flier for a meditation seminar that promises to fix all your problems.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

These women are… super nice. You don’t know why it puts you on edge. They’re not doing anything wrong. They buy each other drinks, compliment each other, they’re attentive listeners and laugh at every joke you make. You offer to buy a round, the same as they’ve been doing for you, and you’re not met with a rush to stop you. They look pleased, shoot off thanks and smile the same as they did for the other women. You feel like you’re doing the right thing, you don’t know why it makes your stomach squirm. Maybe you’re just not used to people doing nice things for you.

“You ok?” Nina asks, leaning over the table to frown at you, “you’ve gone all quiet.”

“Yeah, uh, I guess I’m just not used to crowds anymore.” You attempt to cover.

“It’s the compliments isn’t it?” Cassie jumps in, Nina waves her off.

“No, no!” You hold up your hands to defend yourself, “Those are really nice, you’re all really nice! I’m just not-”

“Used to it?” Nina finishes with a wince, “I wasn’t either, it was super awkward the first time I came out for drinks, you remember?”

“Oh my God so awkward, you were like a robot.” Cassie laughs, it takes some of the weight off your shoulders.

“But you get what you put out into the world, y’know? You give kindness, you get it in return, that’s what John says.” Nina nods, she crosses her arms and leans back against the booth. She feels serious, her jaw set and her brows drawn. “I was in a really dark place when I first took John’s class, it felt like I was living a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from. My friends were drifting away, my fiance was cheating on me-” She shakes her head, you wince at how closely your situation matches, “-I was so bitter and it made me mean, I get why no one wanted to be around me.”

“Nina-” Cassie sighs, her sympathy obvious. Nina waves her off again, sitting forward to grab her drink.

“Whatever, it’s in the past now.” Nina mutters, your heart aches for her. You set a hand on her shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze. She smiles at you. It feels… good. You can see yourself in her, your pain and suffering. It’s a weight that she carries the same as you. “Kyle really helped me a lot, Christ I owe him a whole bakery.”

“Nina!” Cassie squeals, shoving at her. Nina’s shoulder bumps against you, warm. Camaraderie. Did you forget what it was like to have friends? When was the last time you saw your own? The last time they laughed with each other, with you? “You’re so bad,” Cassie laughs.

“What? He’s hot!” Nina laughs back. You feel a little left out. Your stomach clenches.

“Sorry, who’s Kyle?” You ask, “Your boyfriend?”

“She wishes,” Cassie snorts into her drink. Nina shoves at her.

“He’s a counselor, life coach sort of guy.” Nina explains, “He has a class at the rec center on Wednesdays-” Claire’s phone pings “-honestly it’s worth going just to see him, God I wanna make a sandwich out of that man.”

“I’m gonna hit the bathroom,” Claire announces. You glance at the other women at the table. None of them move. Weird, you would have thought women this close would be biting at the bit to accompany her. You always used the buddy system with your friends. Especially at bars. In fact the other women at the table seem to ignore her, only acknowledging her enough to move out of the way. 

You guess there’s a black sheep in every friend group. You know the feeling. You tap your fingers against the table watching her retreat to the bathroom. You don’t have a good feeling about letting her go alone. Nina’s insistence on “putting kindness into the world” or whatever is running through your head and you just… you can’t let her be on the outskirts of the friend group alone. You’re not even really part of it, but everyone is being so nice- you won’t be the reason this girl is left out.

“Oh um, I’m gonna ask the bartender something,” You tell the girl on your left, shit what was her name “can you-?

“Sure!” She pushes herself out of the booth to let you out, quickly cozying up next to Nina when you vacate the spot. You glance at the table over your shoulder as you make your way towards the bar, then make a hard turn towards the bathrooms. No one’s paying attention to you, that’s good.

You push the bathroom door open, trying to be quiet in case Claire’s shy. You’ll just, uh, wash your hands and pretend you’re fixing your outfit when she comes out. Nothing weird about that. Totally normal thing that people do, and not like you’re waiting for her to come out of the stall so you can- What? Commiserate about being left out? Ugh, you don’t know why you even-

There’s a distinct, wet, noise coming from one of the stalls. A ‘shlick, shlick’ sound that you recognize all too easily. You catch the bathroom door to keep it from slamming and cover your mouth. Fingers sliding against a wet slit, a soft huff of a stifled moan, and the quiet low rumble of a man’s voice. Deep and throaty, she’s on the phone with someone, or listening to something. You can’t tell which, what you can tell is that Claire --the girl who had seemed almost too shy to ask you to join them--  is masturbating in a public bathroom. And you’re standing there listening. You’re not sure which is worse. It squirms like bile in your stomach, you’re intruding, you’re being a creep. Your own cunt clenches. 

A quiet whimper leaves Claire’s mouth and you rush back out of the bathroom. You catch the door a second time to make sure she doesn’t hear it slam, then you press yourself against it. You fan your face, try to get your breathing right, fix your face. Fix your damn face! You press your hands to your cheeks, and squeeze your eyes shut. Oh my God.

You make your way back to the table, doing your best to avoid looking at anyone. The girl who moved for you initially lights up when she sees you, hopping out of the booth and ushering you in. You feel a little awkward sliding into the middle with Nina, but you don’t want to cause a fuss with so many people watching you. Good lord do they all have to look at you? 

“Did the bartender have what you were looking for?” Nina asks. Your eyes dart to her.

“The- oh, uh, no. I was wondering if he had a phone charger.” You cover quickly.

“I have a power bank you can use,” Cassie offers. You open your mouth to turn her down before remembering that would blow your story out of the water.

“Sure.” You relent, forcing a smile onto your face. 

“No problem,” Cassie chirps, digging through her purse to tug a power bank and two different chargers free, “it feels good to do nice things for people, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” you agree absentmindedly, fussing with the charger and plugging your phone in. An alert for a non-branded charger pops up and you quickly dismiss it. 

The conversation moves on to other topics, but you hardly pay attention. Your eyes are glued to the bathroom door, waiting for Claire. When she does finally exit she looks the same as when she left. No ruddy cheeks, no guilty glances around, no rumpled shirt or anything that would give away what she was doing in the bathroom. You try not to narrow your eyes as they flick over her body. You don’t want to look like you’re checking her out, you just want proof that you heard what you heard.

“Welcome back,” Someone says, and Claire beams at them.

“Who’s buying the next round?” Claire asks.

You drift in and out of conversation. Someone offers to split an uber with you, apparently they live in the same building. You wonder how you never noticed them before, but they hug you before you get off the elevator.

“It was nice to connect with you,” She hums, “it feels nice being part of something, doesn’t it?”

You don’t get a chance to answer before the doors close.

-

Wednesday, you think, flipping through your phone while you brush your teeth. Nina said her life coach guy was on wednesdays right? Curious, you check the rec center’s website.

“For the Whole You!” The site banner reads in friendly font. You scroll down to their calendar. There’s a lot of pictures of people smiling, a pie chart of something, testimonials, blah blah blah. The calendar is easy to read at least. And packed. It looks like meditations happen every three days, you spot John’s name easily. Price, huh, that’s a cool last name. Wednesdays… 

You click on the only Kyle you see, and a page pops up with- Christ- one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. Kyle Garrick, life coach with a masters in psychology. That doesn’t sound too bad. You thought life coaches were just con men in ripped jeans, but this guy seems like he might actually know what he’s talking about. John’s name pops up again, a short anecdote from Kyle about serving with him. Huh. That’s kind of interesting you guess. 

You think back on the meditation lesson you’d attended, the power that John seemed to carry in simple actions, the musculature, the way he’d pinned you in place with a single tilt of his head. Military fits you guess. You click on his class and tap your fingers against the side of your phone as you think. The class has a helpful registration counter at the side, letting you know there’s one spot left for the wednesday evening class. It’s not like you have anything else going on, and it’ll fill your usual therapy slot. It’s twenty for a single class. That’s not too bad, less than therapy co-pays. You make an account on the site, begrudgingly signing up for their email list, and send twenty dollars into the void. 

You get an email from Kyle about an hour later as you’re scrolling through instagram, avoiding looking at the time. It feels pretty standard, welcoming a new person, attaching a survey on what you want to work on. You type out a few quick words promising you’ll get to it in the morning. Your email pings a few minutes later.

“You must be an insomniac, just tackle it now.” You narrow your eyes at the screen, “Might help you sleep to accomplish a task before bed.” 

What sort of weird logic- fine. You squint at the questionnaire, typing out your answers as best you can. Honest enough to get some advice but not honest enough to get sent to the hospital has always been your MO with these things. This one is sort of weird, but you’re exhausted, too sleep-addled to pay proper attention.

Are you lonely? Do you ever feel out of place? Do you have dreams where you act as someone else? Have you heard of the law of attraction? When someone says they feel “connected” to you, how does that make you feel?

Do you ever feel talked over?

Do you ever feel pushed out of conversations? Do you find it hard to accept yourself?

Are you on the path you want to be?

You rub your eyes, typing as best you can. 

Where do you see improvement for yourself?

Describe yourself in one negative word.

You type, and type. It feels never ending. Worse than the insomnia that keeps you up. It’s nearly two hours later when you finish. You send it off to Kyle without another thought, and snuggle down into your blankets. You’re so tired.

Your phone buzzes. You roll over to check it. Another email from Kyle.

“Thanks, this looks great! :)” You sigh. At least your work checks out. That’s good, you’re sure it’s just an auto-response, but you appreciate it nonetheless. Another message pops up. Your email alerting you to a new response in the chain.

“How long have you had trouble sleeping? I know a few good remedies.” You sigh, the screen hurts your eyes. You don’t know what inspires you to reply, why you don’t simply roll over to sleep. The attention is nice, you suppose.

“A few months. What’s your miracle cure?” You stare at your phone, let the blue light laser its way over your eyes. The screen dims, you tap it to keep your phone awake. To keep you awake. 

“Have you heard of sleep restriction therapy?”

-

Your morning has never felt more miserable. You barely slept and you had to upgrade your usual tea to an instant coffee. You’re nursing the brown sludge that you managed to scrape together from the break room’s limited stores when your least favorite manager swings by your cubicle.

“Did you finish the reports I asked for?” Kevin asks. You do your best to keep your face neutral as you sip your scalding caffeine.

“I told you they’d take me until the end of the day.” You remind him, “It’s nine in the morning.” Nevermind that he’s swinging into the office a full hour late, but you know for a fact that you promised the updated numbers by five today. You have the email to prove it.

“Oh,” Kevin makes a face, his teeth grit as he exhales through them, “I was really hoping you’d work on them last night.”

“Outside of work hours.” You confirm, trying not to sound too much like you’re questioning his less than sound judgement.

Kevin sighs your name with a shake of his head, “You know you’re not going to get very far in this company if you don’t care about your work.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, inhaling as much coffee vapor as you can stomach. It does nothing to calm you down. You can’t be expected to deal with this level of bullshit on practically zero sleep. Maybe you should look into that sleep therapy Kyle sent you, you really can’t keep living like this.

“I care about my work Kevin,” You tell him with as much of a smile as you can manage, “I’ll have the reports to you as soon as possible.”

“Atta-girl,” Kevin praises, snapping his finger to hit you with a nauseating pair of finger guns before moseying back to his office.

If you thought reporting him to HR would do anything you might consider it. As it stands you’ve already tried that twice and gotten nowhere. It just made him more dedicated to making your work life hell. Crazy how they always talk about retaliation in the “Hostile work environment” training videos, but no one seems to give a shit about it when it’s happening to you.

You spend the next two hours swearing at the mess of spreadsheets that Kevin emailed you yesterday. If he’d bothered to clean any of the sheets up it would’ve made your life a hell of a lot easier. You don’t even want to think about how many cells could’ve been saved if he knew how to use just one function. You can feel the start of a migraine pressing against the back of your eyes by the time your stomach is starting to growl at you about lunch.

You glance away from your monitor to rub your eyes, try to get some of the blurry tilt out of them. Your bag sits on the desk next to you, deliriously empty. Fuck.

Fuck that’s right, you’d decided to skip packing a lunch this morning because you were running late for your train. 

With a heavy sigh you check your lunch options just as your phone pings.

It’s an unknown number, weird.

You swipe the message open to delete it and pause.

“Hey, it’s Nina! I saw you work near me and was wondering if you’d want to grab lunch?”

You blink at your phone screen. How the hell would she know where you work?

Your sluggish brain clicks away as your stomach churns nervously. You guess Cassie works at the rec center, she’d see applications that come through, membership stuff. Maybe Cassie gave it to her? Nina was the one who suggested you sign up for Kyle’s class, maybe Cassie wanted to, you don’t know, spread the good news of your signing up?

Your head throbs.

You’re not really operating at 100% right now, you’re not sure you want to interact with someone who seems to have their life together.

“My treat?” Nina double texts you.

Alright, you can pretend to be a human being for free lunch.

You’re almost relieved to see Nina has a little darkness under her eyes, purple sleeplessness that she’s tried to hide with concealer. It makes you feel a little better for your own sluggish brain to think that she might be tired too. 

“I know this is probably totally weird,” She laughs when you greet her with a raised hand, “You’re probably like, oh my god this bitch is a stalker, how does she know where I work?”

“I figure Cassie gave it to you, because I signed up for your favorite class.” You yawn, as she nods.

“That’s smart,” She says nothing about your second yawn, “wouldn’t have been my first thought.” You hum, before deciding a verbal answer is friendlier.

“Yeah, I mean it seemed sort of weird, but you don’t strike me as the stalker type.”

“Tell my ex-fiance that,” Nina says with an eye roll, “ask to share your location one time- of course I was right to be a stalker but…”

You snort and she positively beams at you. You have to squint to avoid blinding yourself in the sunshine of it. She links her arm with yours and tugs you along to walk with her. You do your best not to tug your arm out from her hold, not used to being touched so casually.

“So what are you in the mood for?” She asks, leading you down the street.

“I’m not picky,” You tell her, trying to be easy. You could really go for something warm right now, you think you might be coming down with something.

“You look exhausted,” Nina coos sympathetically, “Maybe you should go home instead. Rest.”

You rub your eye with the heel of your hand and shake your head. “I’ve got a lot to get done today.”

“Surely your boss won’t mind you taking some sick time?” She sounds so sincere, you feel bad when you bark out a laugh. Nina frowns, “One of those, huh?” You sigh, letting yourself feel the heaviness in your limbs like a sick indulgence.

“Just a few more hours,” You assure her, “Then I can go home and sleep.”

“Let’s get something good in you before then.” Nina nods to herself.

Nina orders for you and sets a steaming bowl of rice and saucy vegetables in front of you. It smells heavenly, like ginger and coconut, and there’s little crispy bits of something sprinkled on top. She has a salad, and shakes it vigorously in front of her while you mix up the yellow curry and rice. Even just the thought of the food’s warm steam settling in your stomach energizes you. You glance at Nina and she’s got her head bowed. 

You-

Pause. 

A little awkward in the face of what must be prayer. You’re not quite sure if you’re supposed to start without her, or if that’s rude. You don’t know the protocol for this. After a moment she raises her head and blinks at you.

“Oh my gosh, were you waiting for me?” She asks, scandalized. You nod, unsure what to do with your hands. You settle on spooning a heap of curry and rice into your mouth. You figure that’s fine since she’s done. “That’s really sweet of you,” She smiles. She doesn’t give you any indication if this was the right thing to do. You stare at your bowl and chew.

“I was going to invite you to hang at the rec center after work,” Nina starts, waving her fork with a sigh, “but I don’t want you to push yourself if you’re exhausted.”

“Do people hang out at the rec center?” You question, trying to remember if you saw other people there when you went yesterday. It had seemed fairly empty, almost abandoned, but maybe you’d been too focused on getting to your class to notice anything else. The class was full, so there must have been other people hanging around.

“Of course,” Nina gives you a look like you’re crazy for asking, “like all the time. It’s a nice spot just to chill and see people. John doesn’t mind us hanging around.”

John. That was the meditation instructor’s name, wasn’t it? It’s pretty common, you doubt it’s the same guy. Why would an instructor mind if people hung around anyway? Cassie had pointed you towards a lounge area last night so there must be more of those to steal for chatting.

“The meditation instructor?” You ask dumbly. It’s not the question you want to ask, but it’s the only thing that sticks on your tongue. Nina hums her assent.

“He runs the place.” She explains, “he’s super nice, really cares about bringing people together, building community, connections.”

She says the word like it means something: connections. It sticks in your sluggish mind, but doesn’t raise any red flags.

“Sounds like a good guy.” You shove another bite into your mouth.

“He is.” Nina tells you. Tells you, like she’s demanding you try and disagree with her.

You blink. There’s a coldness to her face, there and gone. She smiles, and tucks into her salad.

Maybe she’s got a thing for him. You make a note not to say anything bad about him to her.

He seemed nice, good looking, she could do worse.

You suppress a shiver at the memory of his hands on you, pushing you forward and pulling you back like it was the most natural thing in the world. His touch is the first you’ve had in a long time that didn’t make you cringe and want to squirm away. Actually his class was the most relaxed you’ve been in, well, ever and the short nap you’d taken was probably the best sleep you’d had in months. You’d almost be willing to give up on going straight home after work if you knew John was going to be at the rec center, maybe you could slip in another meditation workshop?

You want to ask Nina about it, but you also don’t want to give her the wrong idea. If she does have a crush on the guy, it’s probably not great to ask too many questions about John if you want to stay in her good graces. 

“Right,” You try, “yeah his class was great, and I’m, uh, looking forward to Kyle’s class too.” Not your best subject change, but Kyle’s name makes Nina light up.

“Oh yeah, you’re going to love it!” She assures you.

“Yeah, I- yeah,” The attitude shift has you a little stunned, your molasses thoughts stick to your tongue as you try to collect them, “He sent me this huge questionnaire last night, it was really, um, in depth?” You try to remember one of the questions but wading through your mind is difficult with so little sleep.

“Well,” Nina stabs her fork into her salad, you flinch at each punctuating crunch of lettuce, “he has to get to know you, silly, so he can help you.” You stir your curry in jerking motions, for something to occupy your hands. “You can’t pull yourself out of a hole,” Nina tells you with a blank smile, “someone has to throw you a rope.”

-

You were almost happy to get back to work. Kevin chewed you out about taking too long a lunch, and you were probably going to get an ulcer from all the tylenol you took, but you were happy getting away from Nina. She’d chatted your ear off about Kyle and somehow didn’t answer a single one of your questions about him. Not that you had any chance to get a word in edgewise. You couldn’t handle the perky tone in her voice by the time your lunch ended. At least you didn’t have to pay for your own food.

You manage to get Kevin his spreadsheets before five. You still leave the office late and thankless.

You doze on the train home, your head tugging at your neck each time the doors opened, and you barely make it into your house before you’re collapsing on the couch. 

Yeah, you couldn’t have made it to the rec center like this.

You startle awake when your ass starts vibrating. You blearily fumble for your phone  and swipe at the screen, turning off your “call Baby” alarm. You should really delete that.

You toss your phone on the coffee table with a sigh and turn onto your back to stare at the ceiling fan. Ten. You slept for a good couple hours. You’re starving.

And you’re not going to be able to sleep tonight because of this nap.

Great.

-

You consider canceling your registration for Kyle’s class as you sit on the train heading to the rec center. You could just go home. You sort of want to go home, but Cassie had called you this afternoon to confirm your registration and she’d sounded so sad when you’d asked about canceling that you just couldn’t. Also you were pretty sure it was too late to get your money back. So here you were.

At least the rec center is busier than Monday. Cassie had told you the Wednesday meditation was full, maybe this is their busy day. You see people coming in and out, and look for a familiar face in the crowd. You’re hoping to see one of the women you met Monday, but instead your eyes lock on slightly less familiar icy blues.

John smiles at you across the street, and glances both ways before jogging across. You paint on a smile for him, and try not to look like you were avoiding going inside.

“Waiting for someone?” He asks in lieu of greeting. You keep your eyes on his, the creases at the corners of his eyes deepen a little as you stare. 

“No, just-” You search for a normal time killing activity, “-people watching.” John hums and steps to stand beside you. The space he takes up feels enormous, like a black hole sucking up your attention, despite the way he crosses his arms over his chest. You peek at the bulge of his bicep against the dark shirt he’s wearing, the stiff fabric stretching to accommodate more man that it was made for. You would’ve expected him in the same comfortable yoga clothes as he was wearing Monday, but this feels more formal. He’s wearing slacks. And oxfords. 

“It’s intimidating,” He tells you out of the blue after a moment of silence. Your eyes dart to his face, and your confusion must be all too clear because he chuckles. The deep throaty noise of it makes your stomach clench. “Letting people help,” He fills in, “choosing peace.”

You make a face.

And John touches you.

His hand slides, big and warm, over your back. His fingers spread wide and he leans into your space like he might pull you closer, except you suddenly feel rooted in place. Fear shoots through you, anxiety punctuating your breaths unnecessarily. You fix your face quickly, tamp down the surge of adrenaline that makes you want to run. John isn’t doing anything but looking at you, his smile the same placid thing even as his brows twitch in concern.

“Sorry,” You find yourself apologizing, trying to unlock some of the stiffness in your shoulders, “I’m not used to people touching me.”

“It’s a natural response,” John doesn’t move his hand, his thumb rubs against your back and you feel the unnatural drag of your shirt against your skin like sandpaper, “You’re trying to protect yourself. Silly little thing that people have gotten into their heads these days, that everyone’s out to get them.” He tips his head, and you’re hit with a wave of claustrophobia, the open air seems to sink into you until you’re a single focus point in a tiny void. “Doesn’t that feel awful?” 

His words feel like they’re sinking into you, echoing every thought that bounces through your tensed musculature. It feels awful, you feel like a cornered gazelle, like a lame wildebeest, like a fly trapped in a spider’s net. 

You feel almost pleading the way you must be looking at him. Humiliated to react like this to something so simple.

He smiles brighter and his hand leaves you, you suck in a breath and feel your lungs ache, “That’s why it’s so important to pick apart that distrust, humans are social creatures, made to be connected to each other. All from the same warm pool, yeah?”

You nod. John nods his head towards the rec center.

“Let me walk you in, you’re here for Gaz’s class right?”

“No, um, Kyle’s.” You correct.

“Ah,” John laughs, his hand reappears on the small of your back, pushing you forward, “old habit, that’s what we called him in the SAS. You’ll like him, not as touchy as me.” He pulls his hand away with a small apologetic smile, “force of habit.”

“It’s fine,” it’s not, “Everyone around here is so friendly, I just have to get used to it.”

John hums, “Already untangling the web, good girl.”

Your stomach clenches pleasantly. You can see why Nina likes him.

[ma1dita]

to see the chaos through

 a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader words: 4k summary: (established relationship) The one where he remembers he was never a good guy, just yours. Luke makes the ultimate deal with the devil in order to save you. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: mentions of blood, implied death. im baaaack. fucking finally. read the end scene of solipsism after this if you want something extra (edited)

—

Moisture licks at Luke’s heels as he straightens his back, stretching towards the sky in an effort to crack his sore joints. The sprinklers do nothing to ease the sizzling heat on the island and he meets your eyes across the matted rows of greenery. 

“You’re getting sunburned, idiot.”

The words fall from your lips with no malice, sweet like the strawberries you’ve been picking in the afternoon sun. Luke’s cheeks are equally red from the sweltering weather, more so now that you lean up to kiss him as you pass by, tossing strawberries into one of the crates with a gentle smile on your face. 

Tease.

You’ve got this boy wrapped around your finger, pulling him towards your direction like a lovesick cartoon character with only a simple glance. He watches you stroll away, biting his lip as his eyes trace your figure calling out, “Get back here, pretty girl...” The stupid smirk on his face is outlined with sweat and he grabs the towel from over his shoulder to wipe it away. The son of Hermes follows the sound of your laughter to the next row over, feet moving swiftly through the soft earth passing through snickering children of Demeter until he grabs you from behind and swings you into the air, spinning, spinning….

“LUKE!”

It’s the end of strawberry season, which means that all hands are on deck with picking the rest of the ripe fruit to sell for the front they keep for the mortals that wander too far down Farm Road.

It also means that it’s Luke Castellan’s 19th birthday.

A fit of uncontrollable laughter and falling into your boyfriend’s arms means you’re close enough to count the freckles on his cheeks, speckled across his skin like a map that only you know where it leads.

“You look like a strawberry,” you giggle, poking the tender skin on his face. Luke smiles hard enough for your finger to sink in, the color puckering around the apple of his cheeks, and all of him moves jubilantly as he says, “You look like the love of my life. How about that?” He’s wrapped around you like a vine, hands tracing the skin that peeks out from under your cropped tee and you laugh again—scaring a few crows and sending them scattering into the sky. Summer is your favorite time of year for reasons like this—the days are long and you don’t hate passing time when it means there are more moments for Luke to press his lips against your neck and you swear his smile is seared into your being. Days like this make everything else fade into the background.

A berry hits the side of Luke’s head with a proper thunk and you hear someone retch dramatically.

“Hey dude, the rest of us are miserable here, okay? Get a room and stop macking on my sister.” Castor rolls his eyes, grumbling behind a squeaky wheelbarrow that keeps getting stuck in the dirt as he pushes past you. 

Can’t a guy catch a break on his birthday? 

Luke pretends to lunge towards him, tongue in cheek when he mutters, “Piss me off and I’ll make sure it’s your room.” You smack Luke’s big head, sending him into a fit of laughter as he raises his hands in defense, “What? Am I wrong?” He’s stepping around you now, grabbing the crate of strawberries from your feet so you don’t have to carry it yourself.

“Dummy. You think Delphi Strawberry Service will be able to sell all of these?” you say mockingly, changing the subject as your cheeks warm. Sweat sticks to you like a second skin, but it doesn’t stop you from grabbing Luke’s free hand, swinging it in the space between your hips as you walk towards the exit. 

Luke scoffs, “You mean do you think your dad will keep us working until July? Don’t doubt that at all…”

“THIRTY MINUTES LEFT BEFORE SUNDOWN, EVERYONE!” you call out to a chorus of cheers. Everyone was ready to get the day over with, hands blistered and knees sore from crouching into the bushes—everyone, except Luke, who’d do anything but go down for sleep tonight. He wasn’t even supposed to be on berry duty today, but what else is a guy supposed to do on his big day when he can’t even spend it with you? 

This must be the gods’ idea of fun—ordering their spawn around to do the dirty work for them. Delphi Strawberry Service in itself is a scam; so many gods have kids that they don’t want to provide for, and so Camp Half-Blood earns its keep, working hard to make sure there’s enough money for supplies to help stay afloat. New linens, clothes for those that need them, repairs to the infrastructure—all the things children shouldn’t be worrying about in a so-called safe haven. 

The gods aren’t very generous with their gifts as legends make it seem, hiding behind fables and fiction, peace offerings, and material throwaways once a year if they’re lucky to get a happy birthday. Or in Luke’s case—even less than that. His dad hasn’t made himself known since his quest, and therefore today is just another day. 

Your hand squeezes Luke’s three times to get his attention, “You okay, babe?”

He readjusts the wooden crate he’s been balancing on his shoulder, not realizing that you’ve already reached the dirt path that leads back to the heart of camp, “Mm. Just thinking—hey, where did you want this again?”

“S’not what I asked…” you drone with an upturned quirk of the lip, poking his nose playfully as a strawberry grows from your fingertips. Luke pops it in his mouth with an almost cartoon-like SLURP! making you recoil as your face scrunches up, “Angel…”

“You know, the ones you make are better than anything nature can make right?”

Pulling your finger back from his lips, you give him a skeptical sidelong glance, “Demeter willing. You know you don’t have to flatter me anymore— I’m already your girlfriend.” He sets the crate down on a nearby cart, tugging you closer with the hand tangled to yours, “I know. But I like how shy you get when I do,” he smirks.

“Hey,” you chuckle, grabbing his chin, “I kinda really love you, if that wasn’t obvious enough.” Luke’s hands pull you in by the belt loops of your shorts, thumbs rubbing at your hips and the full-blown smile that takes over his face looks like sunlight parting through clouds on a summer day. You’ve noticed he looks surprised every time you say it as if he’s hearing it for the first time each time—like there’s a part of him that still can’t believe you.

“Couldn’t tell,” he jokes, kissing you anyway. It’s maddening—the feeling of his lips catching onto yours like he’s holding onto every part of you and breathing life into it. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you smile in response, letting him in and opening up for him to uncover whatever he wants. Your lip tugs on his bottom one as you pull away just to find him pouting ever so slightly at the disconnect, “Hey…”

“Happy birthday, Lu,” you grin, pulling the towel from his shoulder to wipe the sweat off his forehead. His curls are damp against his skin and he swipes the towel from your hands to swat you with it, “I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve told me that today. What I do want though, is more kisses…” he mumbles, hiding the flush of his cheeks. He doesn’t need a big celebration, or any token of appreciation from his dad—he already has what he needs. 

“Or all of you, if you’re feeling generous.”

You stare at him and bite your lip, looking over his shoulder to see the sun slowly dipping past the horizon and maybe there’s enough time… When your eyes lock again, the both of you are wearing wicked grins—he swings your full weight over his shoulder and you shriek in surprise, laughing the whole way back to your cabin.

—-

You’re fast asleep under the floral bedspread with a belly full of cake and exhausted from your own little celebration and Luke can’t find it in him to join you. 

Not yet, he’d rather stay up a while longer—-watching you breathe softly in tune with his heartbeat brings more comfort than anything else he’ll have to do. Luke knows he’s safer here, awake and sitting next to you. He watches over you like this most nights now, until his eyes feel heavy and sour with exhaustion until there’s no choice but to close his eyes. Straightening his back and lowering his legs from the top of the desk, it’s as if he’s a soldier standing guard. Perhaps he is in a way, though he’s coming to learn that he cannot protect you from himself.

Luke inspects you from the mess of hair that drapes across the pillow, to how delicate you look when there are no stress lines on your forehead. Sitting under the faint glow of the lamp, his eyes flicker from your sleeping figure to the blank pages in front of him as he hunches over the small space he’s carved out for himself in your room. The clock’s red glow reaches his fingers as he reaches for a pen on the corner of the desk. He needs a break.

12:14am.

It’s not his birthday anymore and Hermes couldn’t bother to even send a card this time. Luke wonders what about him repels his father—is it the fact he looks exactly like his mother? Or is it the fact that everything else about Luke is all him? His perfect son, the ultimate reminder of what could’ve been with May Castellan.

What does it mean to be made in the gods’ favor?

A classic hero’s tale, a life measured by the list of his accomplishments instead of being seen as what he was at the beginning of this—a child who wanted to be loved.

Luke knows what it’s like to be loved now—everything he knows about love is from learning to love you, which isn’t a lot, but he’s trying. His resolve is as steady as the hand that holds his pen now as he clicks it methodically. Maybe if his parents weren’t dysfunctional, maybe if he knew how to do this better—to exist better and make them proud, maybe his life would’ve had a different outcome. 

Maybe his only option wouldn’t have to be to kneel to a titan.

But would he still have you?

Luke purses his lips and flattens his palm against the paper, a crisp sound in the silence of your room sounding like a thunderclap as he thinks of what to write. This doesn’t even matter, in the grand scheme of things. The collection of scribbles collect dust in a box under his bed and there are no imminent plans to post mail to his hometown of Westport, but there is a type of gratification that comes with being able to put down the thoughts he cannot say aloud. He’s never been too good with words. In another life, maybe his mother would be able to listen—to advise, sympathize, and do as mothers do. 

But for now, this will have to do. 

He even finds himself writing down everything he can’t tell you.

Luke’s lost count of the times he’s cried himself to sleep in reverent prayer, the hunger pains from throwing his meals into the hearth—anything to apologize to his father and ask for it all back. Even now as he tries to find the words, he doesn’t know what this is. 

A confession? 

An apology? 

An explanation, perhaps—if everything gets fucked and goes to hell as most of his plans do, he wants someone, anyone to know the truth. Luke’s odds are slim and he’s used to getting by with the skin of his teeth. But he wants more now—and if Luke Castellan is anything, he’s determined.

You shift in your dream state, turning over in bed to face him and Luke smiles softly as he watches you. These past few months have felt like gasping for air from the moment he wakes to the moment he gives into the nightmares. They come as easy as breathing, whispers in his head pressing for him to make a move—to prepare for an inevitable war that will start and end with him. Being asleep feels like freefalling and he can only anticipate when he’s about to crash. This has to work. 

You have been nothing but kind to him, through the shuddery breaths in the middle of the night and cranky fits in the mornings. You are resilience personified; Luke is so sure of it—but the thing is, it makes him angry. Love is not written in the stars, he thinks, and if he has to weave the cosmos by hand to work in your favor, he’ll find a way. Luke knows that above all, he does not want to lose your love. 

Sleep pricks at the corners of his vision now, threatening to loosen the pen in his grip. He sniffs, adjusting his weight on the chair, and glances your way again, and then back at the paper on the desk, beginning to write.

Mama,

As I’m writing this letter, I fear that I’ve put the final nail in my coffin. It doesn’t feel that way right now—as I watch my girl snore softly against her pillow and the moon kisses her cheek in a way that I know I won’t be able to for much longer. I’m taking these last few quiet moments to admire and be grateful for what I have before I earn it back. 

A temporary loss will be worth forever with my soulmate. 

From the little I know about life and the amount of time I know I’ll spend loving her, I’m learning that soulmates are people who need all that you are and all that you already have in life. This trouble is proof enough. Everyone here at camp rarely sees one of us without the other, and Chris said that he wouldn’t be surprised if we came from the same star. But I think she’s vastly different than me and better for it. She is a different breed—something only an author can even begin to describe and much less be able for any regular person to comprehend. 

She exudes love for her family, friends, and even strangers. I often wonder what I ever did in a past life to deserve the experience, but if that was ever in my control, I must have done something right.

So this will have to be my last letter for now.

I have a lot of work to do to become the man she deserves. The glory is within reach—and with her by my side, I want to have it all.

Who else could help me best the gods better than a titan? 

I’m afraid there’s not much more for me to tell you—whatever comes after this, I hope she can tell you herself. I hope you find each other, and be proud of the things I’ll do to create the change we want to see in this world. I know the both of you love stories—I’ll need my best girls to take care of one another while I’m gone.

I’m scared out of my wits, Mama, but I don’t blame you for any of this. I know now that you’ve always seen this coming. 

Your son is destined for greatness. 

I never got to say this before I left, but I’m proud to be yours. The legacy I leave will show all of them how much I love both of you.

Even if you both end up hating me for it. 

I already do.

Luke

—

He stirs at the sound of you tiptoeing around your room, rubbing his eyes to see you throwing your clothes on. You’re a blur in the early light that peeks through the curtains, almost obscured by the shadows and catch your hip on the bedpost as you tug a boot on, “Fuck!”

“Baby?” he murmurs. His voice is thickly coated with sleep and crackles like fire, “What’s going on?”

“Didn’t mean to wake you, angelface,” you whisper, kissing his forehead lightly when you lean over his crumpled frame to grab your watch from the nightstand, “go back to sleep”. Luke chases after another kiss, leaning up like how sunflowers stretch towards the light—his thumb presses your chin down to let your lips linger against his.

“Still early, T.”

He watches you from his spot on the bed as you make your way to the door, glancing at the mirror, “Something’s wrong, Luke. There was an accident in the forge last night,” you pause, looking at him through the reflection, “someone’s dead.”The curtains push open with a screech, and Luke sits up abruptly.

“Who?”

Sniffing, you turn around to meet his eyes, “Someone from 9—I don’t know. I need to talk to my dad and sort it out.” Luke calmly pulls himself out from under your duvet, tugging his shorts back on in silence. 

“Where do you need me?”

Your eyes travel around the room like ricocheting ping-pong balls, stepping forward to gently ease him back onto the mattress, “I need you,” you muse softly, “to go back to sleep. What time did you get to bed last night?” Squeezing his shoulders, Luke looks at you with a sidelong glance, resting his cheek against your wrist, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I do. I worry about you all the time.”

“Well, that’s my job—the worrying,” he swallows, stamping his lips against your pulse point, “I want to be there.” Luke tugs you closer, letting you melt onto him with a sigh and you whisper, “Don’t think we’re done with this conversation, Castellan.” Tugging at his scalp to meet him eye to eye—he swears you might be able to see right through his facade. 

“Castellan. Must be a serious conversation then,” he murmurs, wiping the sheen of drool off the side of your lip. Scoffing, you stand back up and toss a fresh shirt at him, “You can’t run from me forever. I mean it. Get to the forge and make sure the surrounding area is barred off. No one’s been in there yet, the nymph that walked in got spooked and ran off. I need to wake up Charlie and get him to the Big House before everyone else wakes up.”

The orange fabric glides over his head onto his shoulders and he momentarily loses sight of you. You’re in the doorway now, blowing him a kiss, “See you in an hour, tops. And then we’ll talk about what’s been keeping you up at night.”

“I don’t know why you keep asking me that when the answer is always you!” Luke chuckles, taking the easy way out of the situation at hand.

“Not all the time. Surely, you’ll tell me her name later?” you chide as you make your exit. He laughs to himself. 

If only you knew. 

—

Luke takes his time getting ready for the day, thinking of last night. He had been promised the world and more, but only had one negotiation. 

He asked Kronos for you to not get hurt. 

Luke felt like a fool—to humbly ask a titan to not kill his girlfriend so that he could be the soldier that was needed of him. And he was presented two options: to have you join them, or to have you be cast away.

“She has control over insanity, you say?” Kronos’ voice rumbled through the dark hall. It was their established meeting point in Luke’s mind, somewhere where he could keep the titan separate from his thoughts of you.

“She’s not part of this, sir. I said that already,” Luke grits, steeling his resolve.

“And why not? She’s the bastard spawn of a lunatic. Either we make use of her, or you leave. There are no distractions that will interfere with this plan, Luke. I won’t allow it.”

He clenches his jaw, “She’s…” he swallows, “too weak. She has a family, and people she cares about–it won’t be easy for her to turn. No one’s hurt her yet.” Luke thinks about your tumultuous relationship with Mr. D—and how at the core of it, tough love is still love.

He can’t say the same about himself with his father.

“Yet.”

The silence hangs between him and Kronos, and Luke slowly nods. No one will hurt you like he will, he knows this. He also knows that no one can love you like he does now. Two things can be true at the same time, even if they both hurt.

“The more you have the more you desire, Luke,” the titan rumbles, “it’s best to cut your ties before we’re in the thick of it.”

“I will, when the time comes,” Luke says solemnly, knowing what he has to do.

When he finally treks toward the armory that morning, the air around him is almost revitalizing, crisp, and cool with goosebumps cascading across his arms. The main door creaks open with a tired whine as he moves swiftly towards the scene of the crime. It reeks of blood now, pungent and metallic—Luke is careful to mind his step as he reaches what he came for.

Stepping over the body, he averts his eyes toward the gleaming sword in the child’s grasp.

Backbiter.

It’s heavier than he thought it would be, carrying the means to an end of everything both mortal and immortal. Celestial bronze and tempered steel feel delightful in his hands once he rips it out of the pale hand of its creator. There’s a sense of power that reverberates through the air as his new weapon takes its position, slotted against his hip. 

Time is in Luke’s hands now, to manipulate and play with—for once, he’s in control of his fate. No deadbeat god of luck required. Brown eyes flicker to the stone floor, kicking the skinny arm of the slain Hephaestus kid aside. Mary, he thinks her name was— a tiny little thing who didn’t speak much. It was easy to dote on her with his charming smile and concerned counselor act that he throws on for the younger ones. She was like putty in his hands, pliable and willing to impress THE camp hero. The thought almost makes him laugh. 

So he does.

“Sorry,” Luke mutters, void of feeling anything. It’s too late to feel bad now—though he can technically rewind through time if he wanted to, it wouldn’t be for her. Luke’s meddling with enough as it is—he decides he’ll do something fun instead. 

He deserves this really, choosing something for himself.

But the choice is still you. Luke thinks about where he wants to go first—to seal the deal with Kronos by seeing a future you, happy in the world he created. The veins in his arms flex as he slashes through the air with his new gift, a smile cutting through the jagged scar on his cheek.

As the wind whips through his hair and everything goes dark, he realizes that there’s a part of him that gets it now—why Hermes likes to travel through time so much. Time is elastic when it’s not linear, he feels himself floating between seconds, hurtling towards you, and feeling like he’s in a tube on a lazy river. It’s almost unusual, but to Luke, time sort of feels like a father’s embrace. Or maybe what he imagines it to be like.

When he opens his eyes, he sees you standing in front of a mirror across the room—knowing now that this will be his biggest break yet.

—

“You who suffer because you love, love still more. To die of love, is to live by it.”  -Victor Hugo

[4milly]

warm my bed — jey u. (1/3)

warnings; stalking, oc is delusional but so is jey, continuous break ups, smut, creampie, sex while sleeping, forced impregnation, oc is toxic, dark themes on OC's part, oral (m) receiving, cheating, p in v,

parings; zariah x jey uso

in my head, even if you tell me its over...i'll pretend you told me im your all.

jey let out a harsh breath. all he wanted to do was go inside and have a quiet night in—a little r&r. all of that went down the fucking drain soon as he laid eyes on someone his heart once held love for.

zariah.

lord forgive him, but was she bat shit crazy. in the last year, zariah turned jey's life into a living hell. the jealously was too much for him; cursing him out for interacting with female fans, stealing his phone, hacking into his socials, blocking people, getting into it with instagram ho's in his comments, she even got into an encounter with sexy red leading to her being escorted out the arena.

no matter how many times jey told her, it was only her—and it was—she didn't believe him. but breaking into his house? that was the last straw. he knew he looked crazy in the eyes, when you picked up a pair of panties from in-between the couch cushions and called him everything but a child of God.

and whole time they were hers.

he knew it was best to just call it quits than continue the cycle. so 2 nights ago, he packed up your things and as calm as he could, sent you on your way. in a perfect world? you went peacefully. but nah. in this world? you smashed his car windows and keyd your name into the side door.

you loved jey. truthfully! could you get a little crazy sometimes? sure. but in zariah's mind, her actions were justified. after all, jey was hers—her soulmate, her destiny. she'd known it from the moment they locked eyes across that crowded club last year. the electricity that crackled between them, the way the world seemed to fade away until it was just the two of them—that was fate. and fate couldn't be denied.

jey's head fell in his hands at the sight of zariah standing in his kitchen cooking...nothing but her apron covering her, "finally! i've been waiting, c'mere baby."

didn't he take her set of keys?

part of jey wanted to scoop her up, take her inside, and forget this whole bullshit. the way her ass curved perfectly, that small butterfly tattoo on her lower back, and the smell of her juices...he wanted to rip that apron right off her. but the rational part of his brain—the part that remembered the broken windows and the scratched-up car—kept him rooted to the spot.

"z, y'know you ain't supposed to be her. y'know that shit."

but zariah wasn't havin' it. she stepped closer, perfume wrapping around him like a familiar blanket, "how was work, baby?"

was her ears clogged or sum? she know her ass heard him. "z, what are doing here?"

confusion and betrayal flashed across zariah's eyes, "baby, i'm home. where else would i be? i cooked your favorite, daddy...and I can't wait to feed everything to you."

fuck, he loved that shit.

jey felt his resolve waverin'. the way she looked at him, all big eyes and pouty lips, had his mind spinnin'. for a hot second, he almost believed her—almost forgot the chaos of the past year, the constant drama, the jealousy that ate away at their relationship like acid.

zariah slid her arms around his waist pulling him to her. he felt her hardened nipples poking at him through the cottoned fabric, "z, when i packed yo shit, that met we done. im tired of this shit witcho ass."

zariah ain't give up that easy though. she pressed her body against his, soft curves meltin' into his hard muscles, "we both know you're lying. why don't i take this apron off? hm? i'm always so ready for you daddy. i'll let you cum anywhere you want."

jey's breath caught in his throat as she nibbled on his earlobe, sending shivers down his spine. his body was betraying him, responding to her touch like it always did.

"nah, z. we can't keep doin' this," he protested weakly, but his hands found their way to her hips anyway, "we do this every other week."

before he could stop her, she was on her knees, lookin' up at him with those big doe eyes. her freshly painted manicured fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper.

"z, hold up—" jey started, but the words died in his throat as she freed him from his boxers.

zariah licked her lips, eyes locked on his as she stroked him. "mm, i missed this dick, baby."

jey's head fell back as she took him in her mouth, her tongue swirling around him like she was tryna map every inch. the warm wetness of her mouth enveloped him.

z's lips wrapped around him tight, her tongue working magic as she took him deeper. jey couldn't help the low groan that escaped him, his fingers tangling in her hair.

"fuck, baby," he breathed, hips bucking involuntarily

z hummed around him, the vibrations sending sparks through his body. she pulled off with a pop, lookin' up at him with fire in her eyes. "that's right, daddy. this is my dick. it's all mine." her hand kept stroking him as she spoke, her grip firm and sure making sure to pull on the fat mushroomed tip.

before jey could respond, she took him deep again, hollowing her cheeks as she sucked hard. her free hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently as she bobbed her head.

jey's hips started moving on their own, thrusting into the wet heat of her mouth. jey knew he shoulda stopped this, but his body was on autopilot now. she swallowed him down again, taking him to the back of her throat. jey's knees nearly buckled as she worked him over, her head bobbin' up and down while her hand twisted at the base.

her tongue swirled around his tip before she took him back in, moaning around his length. the vibrations had jey seeing stars, "goddamn, girl." he panted feeling his legs shake and his stomach tighten

when his toes began to curl in his shoes, jey powered to find one active brain cell. he began to shake his head, "zariah stop! ah, shit i'm finna—"

she pulled off again, jerking him with her hand as she spoke, "shh. you see how good i make you feel? nobody can make you feel like this. you're all mine."

z's mouth was back on him, suckin' him like her life depended on it. her tongue swirled around the tip before she took him deep again, throat relaxing to take all of him. her free hand snaked around to grab his ass, pulling him deeper.

jey threw his head back on a moan, when she tickled that spot underneath his balls, causing him to erupt into her mouth. his grip on her hair tightened as he kept shooting spurts out. zariah gave him small sucks; ensuring he emptied ever piece of doubt of their relationship into her throat.

the sight of her heavily glossed covered lips suctioned around his dick gave him nothing but guilt. he should've kicked her ass out for this shit. how does someone destroy his car, breaks into his house, and sucks the soul from his dick in less than 72 hours?

zariah smirked up at jey, a string of cum connecting her lips to his softening dick. "that was just the appetizer, baby," she purred, rising to her feet

before jey's post-nut clarity could kick in, zariah was pushing him backwards. he stumbled, legs weak, 'til the back of his knees hit the couch and he fell onto it with her straddling him with a wild look in her eyes.

"i ain't done with you yet, daddy," she giggled, grinding against him. even though he just came, jey felt himself getting hard again.

"z, hold up—" jey started, but she silenced him with a deep kiss, her tongue swirling in his mouth. she tasted like strawberries and his own cum, a combination that had his head spinning

"shh, baby," zariah whispered against his lips. "just let me take care of you."

she reached between them, guiding him to her entrance. jey groaned as she sank down on him, her wet heat comforting him inch by inch. his hands gripped her hips on instinct, fingers digging into her soft flesh.

"fuck, z," he breathed as she started to move, rolling her hips in a slow, torturous rhythm

jey's head was racing and still hazy, caught between the floaty feeling of his orgasm and the nagging voice in the back of his head telling him this was a bad idea. but damn if zariah didn't feel this good, he could've pushed her off.

"you see how good we are together?" zariah whispered, her lips brushing against his ear, "how we're made for each other?"

he could barely speak with her pussy clentching around him like that. zariah picked up the pace, riding jey hard and fast. her hips moved in tight circles, grinding down on him with each stroke. jey's eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the sensation. his hands roamed her body, gripping her ass and kneading her breast as she bounced on his lap. muscle memory taking over as he cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. zariah threw her head back with a moan, arching into his touch.

"that's right, daddy," she breathed, "touch me. i'm all yours."

she picked up the pace, riding him faster, harder. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctuated by their heavy breathing and occasional moans. jey felt like he was floating. her walls hugged his dick just right. he moved his hips to meet your owns.

he let out a grunt as he felt that familiar clench in his abdomen again, "shit! you take it so good, z. imma nut again. fuck! slow down, z."

zariah threw her head back, crying out in pleasure as her own release neared. you manage to slip your hand between your bodies to rub at your clit, "fuck, baby! yes, just like that!"

the couch creaked beneath them, barely able to withstand their frenzied movements. his hips kept thrusting up to meet her, chasing that sweet release.

she bounced' on his dick like her life depended on it. the sound of skin slapping' filled the room, mixed with their heavy breathing and low moans.

"tell me you're mine," zariah demanded, her voice breathy but firm. "say it, jey. tell me you belong to me. this pussy belongs to you, and you belong to me."

she was chasing her own release, but she was determined to make him cum first. her walls clenched around him, milking' his dick like she was tryna squeeze every last drop outta him. and she was.

he loved how you squeezed his length as loud mewls escaped your throat. your stomach dropped and your hips shuddered as he went deeper.

"i'm yours, mama. i'm all yours, baby. shit! z, i love yo crazy ass." he gasped out

jey's hips bucked up involuntarily, meeting her thrust for thrust. His hands gripped her ass tight, guiding her movements as he felt his second orgasm approaching fast.

a triumphant smile spread across zariah's face as she clamped down onto him with a whimper, flooding him with her orgasm. she slipped her tongue into his mouth and let out a groan as he released every drop of his cum into her without thinking twice.

they stayed like that for a moment. as the fog of pleasure began to clear, reality came crashing down on jey like a bucket of ice water. he blinked, suddenly all too aware of the situation he'd let himself get into. zariah was still on top of him, her body slick with sweat, kissing down his neck, a satisfied smile on her face, and their cum seeping onto his couch.

"fuck," Jey muttered, gently pushing her off him. "z, this…this can't happen again. i'm forreal."

what the fuck had he just done?

he'd let her in again, let her work her magic on him like always. and now here they were, right back where they started. jey groaned, rubbing a hand over his face.

"baby, what's wrong?" zariah murmured, nuzzling into his neck

jey stood up, fumbling to pull his pants back on. his head was spinning, guilt and regret mixing with the lingering pleasure. "nah, z. this? was a mistake. you gotta go, ma."

zariah's expression darkened. "what do you mean, 'a mistake'? you just told me you loved me. you said you were mine."

"I wasn't thinkin' straight. i ain't a fuckin' prize, z." jey ran a hand over his face. "look, i meant what i said before. we're done. forreal this time. ight? getcho stuff, i'll take you anywhere you wanna go."

zariah's face dropped, her sweet demeanor evaporating in an instant, "we belong together, jey! y'know we do. y'think, i'm gonna let all those little insta ho's have you? so easy? no! you're mine. what? you wanna move one of those bitches in?"

"oh my fucking god, mane! y'see? this that shit i'm calm bout, zariah! this jealousy shit! i ain't fuckin' no other bitches, yet yo ass can't see that shit! i'm tired of yo ass, bruh."

jey turned around to gather her stuff. he met what he said; zariah had to get her shit and go. and she had to leave naked? that's fine, too. when he heard a sniffle behind his back, he exasperated. here come this fake ass cryin'.

"i hate you so bad, jey," she sobbed, "i love you so much it hurts. all i want to know is if you still love me. if you're still inlove with me, josh...but, at least get me towel,"

jey sighed, shoulders slumping as he turned back to face zariah. his words caught in his throat as his eyes landed on her splayed out on the couch, legs spread wide.

their mixed cum was seeping out of her swollen pussy, glistening in the low light. it dripped down onto the expensive leather, creating a messy puddle. she ran a hand down her body, fingertips trailing over her breast, down her stomach, until they reached her slick folds.

"look what you did to me, daddy," she whined out, still sniffling her tears away. she dipped two fingers inside herself, coating them in their combined fluids before bringing them to her lips. her tongue darted out, licking them clean as she maintained eye contact with jey.

zariah knew exactly what buttons to push, how to play him like a finely-tuned instrument—

"i promise, i'll stop being bad." she pouted, sucking her fingers coated with her slick into her mouth

how many times has he heard that shit before?

—she always had.

🏷️: @caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @luvrsluxe @uceyliyahh @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23 @empressdede @trentybenty @heauxvibez @whatdoeseverybodywant @shes2real @romansthrone @acknowledge-reigns @southerngirl41 @prettyfilmz @jaza23 @usoinked @punksyeet @fearlesschimera @holycollectivekitty @tribalhoochie

to be added for future writings, comment! don’t forget to like and reblog 🩷

this will be 3 (maybe 4) part fic, so warnings will update as we go. this fic will have some dark themes, as i’ve been inspired by @shes2real to embrace a few of them tbh😩🙏.

and in honor of my birthday being on the 15th (this wednesday) here is a treat!

xoxo, cleo.