#but his death is just so shocking & i do feel some kind of way about it
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dazais-guardian-angel · 10 months ago
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kinda wild to me that one of the most compelling aspects of both Chuuya and Kunikida's characters to me, that I never really see talked about, is how they're heavily set on a doomed crash course towards complete and utter destruction, and how I am so, so worried for them both.....
#bungou stray dogs#been thinking a lot about chuuya lately (shocking for me i know (said with no sarcasm truly lmao it is rare for me))#cause of the 15 manga and also playing the fucking jeht quest in genshin impact ugh (where's the one dual genshin bsd fan who Understands)#but like this pressure has been building up for chuuya for so long due to being used and manipulated by all these people#first the sheep then mori then verlaine then still mori now#he was groomed since childhood just like dazai#but unlike dazai he didn't have an oda to help him get out of the mafia........ he's still stuck there#and his personality is different from dazai's. dazai was more self-aware imo (but still a groomed emotionally abused kid don't get me wrong#but chuuya's whole thing is needing to belong and wanting a leader to be loyal to but ending up in positions of leadership himself#which makes him feel pressured but he accepts and stifles any negative feelings just because he wants to belong#and all this crushed him with the events in the light novels and yeah he went through character growth but he's...... Still In The Mafia...#and that fucking scene asagiri added to the cannibalism stage play i don't think hardly anyone even knows about bc IT'S NOT DISCUSSED ANYMO#where mori emotionally manipulates him with the flags!!! and it deeply hurts him!!! and he presumably deals with that shit all the time!!!#it is WORRISOME. it WORRIES ME okay.#chuuya doesn't have anyone who can save him from the mafia (dazai is in no position to okay; it's all he can do just to try to save himself#and it's so so scary. it spells awful things for him.#didn't asagiri say he'd have a rough path or something??? and he added that fucking scene in the play!!! it haunts me!!#i fully expected this shit to hit a turning point in the meursault arc but we can't have nice things i guess#and as for kunikida a;lskdfl (took me this long to get to him oop) literally the ending of Entrance Exam (the novel) is just#One Big Foreshadowing for Kunikida's downfall#he's compared to the azure king for a reason. Sasaki saw the azure king in him for a reason. it's fucking worrying!!!!!#there hasn't really been anything like that since in the manga (just like for chuuya lol ugh) but he's TERRIBLE at coping with his trauma#and it only gets more apparent once shit hit the fan in the doa/hunting dogs/meursault arc#it's not good!!! i'm worried for kunikida too!!!!#even if the manga isn't focusing on this these worries are always in the back of my mind man#both kunikida and chuuya are doomed to hit some kind of breaking point eventually and i await those moments with dread yet anticipation#i want dazai to be able to save kunikida from the despair being too good a person brings the way he couldn't save oda#and chuuya.... if we get a scene with him & mori mirroring the one in dark era where dazai finds out that mori orchestrated the kids' death#oh man i think i'll fucking die (give it to me i need to cry)
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halfahundredcats · 3 months ago
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gothicfied · 17 days ago
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more for 124 :(((((((
Hand in Hand - Nam-gyu / Player 124
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Pairing: Nam-gyu / Player 124 x Reader
Summary: The fight in the men's bathroom and the rising tension between players gave you much to worry about, but Nam-gyu gave you to comfort you needed
Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, blood, killing (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff, not proof read (english isn't my first language)
Word count: 721 words
A/N: Tihihihi, I love this man fr. I hope this isn't too cringe🧍‍♀️
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You couldn't sleep, actually, no one was able to sleep. Sitting on the bed under you was Nam-gyu, who didn't want to talk to you - talk to anybody - after the fight was broken up. You immediately understood what was up when he yelled out that the men who voted 'X' had attacked them, killing some of the players. Thanos didn't return. Yeah, it was pretty obvious why he seemed so pissed off, so shell-shocked. Quietly, you sat up, carefully leaning down to see what he was doing. Nam-gyu was biting his fingernails, eyeing Thanos' cross necklace that he was holding in his slightly shaky hands. Seeing you leaning down from the corner of his eye, he frowned.
"What?"
"I can't sleep."
"Why?"
"I'm scared.."
Nam-gyu's face immediately softened upon hearing your words. He swallowed hard and hastily tucked the necklace into his pocket, gesturing for you to come down and sit next to him. As gently as possible to not catch anyone elses attention, you dropped down from your bed and leaned against the headboard of Nam-gyu's bed, your shoulder pressed against his. "Are you sad?" you asked quietly, just looking down at your lap as you spoke. You heard his breath hitching for a moment, but he still asked you what you meant by that. "Sad about- well you know." Silence.
Nam-gyu wasn't quite sure how to answer that question. He has witnessed so many deaths in this place by now and none of them have affected him in the slightest. He didn't know them well, so why should he care about a random player? "Because, I'm not sure if I should be." your voice interrupted his thoughts. Slowly, he turned his head your way, taking in your side profile in the dim light. "Nah," Nam-gyu chuckled, "he was an asshole. Had it coming, in my opinion." Despite his words, he sounded bitter. It's not like he didn't mean them, because that's exactly how Thanos was, but they still had some kind of.. friendship.
You met his gaze, your eyes wandering over his face covered in splatters of blood. That was worrying by itself, but you didn't have any interest in asking about what role he played in that fight. "And why are you scared?" You looked at him like he asked you the most stupid question in the world.
"Come on, you know everyone will try to kill each other now."
"And you know that I won't let anything happen to you."
Ever since he defended you from a group of men, who were making more than weird comments about you, immediately on the first day you woke up in this hellhole, you've just stuck with him. On multiple occasions now, Nam-gyu has proven that he actually won't let anything or anyone harm you. Why? He doesn't know it, either. He just likes you and you didn't take that for granted. Nam-gyu made you feel safe, you trusted him, even if that's hard to believe. Usually, he'd be compliant with what Thanos would say or tell him to do, just not when he was giving you a hard time — That's partially why he just couldn't feel sorry for that man.
Slowly, Nam-gyu wrapped his arm around your neck, making you lean your head against his. The silence between you two was never awkward and more comforting than anything. You were able to hear faint whispers of other players, feet tapping the ground and the occasional cough from that old guy, Player 100. Nam-gyu's hair tickled the side of your face as he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.
"Whatever happens tonight, I promise I'll keep you safe."
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maxlarens · 8 months ago
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OP: well, that isn't fucking relevant
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pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader
summary: someone tries to threaten your job, oscar has some choice words for him. (OR: the trials and tribulations of being a woman in a male dominated sport)
word count: 2.7k+
an: i kinda hate the white knight trope but i still wrote this lol, it scratches an itch and i think driver!reader did a sufficient amount of defending of herself beforehand. anyway, this is a one shot that's kind of connected to my smau series just a girl. enjoy!!!!! [also standard disclaimer: this does not reflect the opinions of any real life people/companies/organisations/etc. it is fiction. thank you]
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You’re no stranger to sexism in Formula racing— you knew going into this that you’d have to deal with thinly veiled remarks about your gender and purposefully obtuse questions from reporters who think they know more than you about the sport you’ve dedicated your life to. You had to deal with it when you were karting, you had to deal with it during your stint in F2, and you have to deal with it now.
The fact of the matter is that some people do not think you belong here, and therefore are entirely unable to integrate the reality that you are very much here to stay, into their worldview. You’re lucky to have somehow earned Lewis’ loyalty, which had brought the Mercedes contract and the support of Toto simultaneously. Mercedes-AMG aren’t making leaps and bounds into the world of feminism, but you’re grateful for the seat regardless. You’re here and not going anywhere if you can help it.
You try your best to stay off the bad parts of social media, so as not to be subjected to the barrage of hate comments and death threats directed your way. You’re tough— but no one’s that tough. It’s fine for the most part. You focus on the racing, how the car feels, your performance and improving it weekend after weekend. You try at least. You’d love to leave your gender entirely out of the mix, you don’t think it’s relevant frankly. But unfortunately, the reporters do. (And so do some choice individuals working on the grid, who just can’t seem to keep their big fucking mouths shut about you.)
It’s disappointing, sure— but not surprising to sit down at a press conference and get a smattering of questions about your rumoured relationships and extracurricular activities when every other driver gets fifty questions practically thrown at them about their performance, or FIA regulations, or the track conditions. The part that bothers you the most is honestly just the lack of interest. It’s like they don’t think anything you have to say about the sport is valuable so they just don’t ask you the same questions they bother to ask the men. That probably is the actual case too.
So— y’know— you’re not that shocked when a reporter from some sports blog you’ve never heard of straight out asks if you “expect to be switched out with another female driver next year?”
The room goes dead fucking silent in a way that you do actually find satisfying. It’s good to know that most of the reporters in the room do know a tactless question when they hear one, or at least that you inspire enough fear in people that they’re waiting with bated breath to hear your response. Next to you, Oscar tenses, you can feel it where your thighs are touching. You can imagine his face right now without looking, that pinched micro-grimace he does. The barest hint of a crease in the bridge of his nose as he tries not to scowl. You want to put your hand on his knee and squeeze it in thanks.
You don’t. Instead, you frown and cock your head to the side, meeting the eyes of the reporter across the room.
Slowly, measuredly, you repeat, “I’m sorry, do I expect to be replaced with another female driver next year? Is that what you said?”
He nods, bringing the microphone closer to his mouth as if you really couldn’t hear him the first time, “Yes, yeah. That is what I asked.”
You hum, pursing your lips as if you’re sincerely considering his question. You can see a few people in the crowd who are cringing already, some of them have been on the receiving end of your tendency to play with your food before you eat it. Your ego feels pretty good about that.
“Why would Mercedes want to replace me?” you ask in your most polite voice, feigning real curiosity to this man who you doubt has done any research at all on you.
“Um,” he errs, some of his former unflappable confidence leeching out of his tone, “Well, to give more women a chance in Formula One—”
You start to speak over him, done with entertaining his ignorance. You bite, “—there are other teams for that, actually. I don’t think it’s presumptuous to say that I’ve earned my seat at Mercedes, or that I’ve proven that I belong here so far this season. In which, I have not qualified or placed below a P7. And I certainly don’t think it’s fair of you to ask if I am going to voluntarily give up my hard-earned seat to another person because you think I am here because of some women’s inclusion effort by Mercedes. And, okay, who knows, maybe I am. But I am not giving up this seat without a fight, nor do I imagine that Mercedes are in a rush to find someone to replace me right now. You’ll have to ask someone to confirm that though.”
You wind down after that, punctuating your point with a firm nod; some of the fight and the fury seeping out as you start to reckon with the potential consequences of your outburst. Mercedes’ PR rep will have something to say surely, you’re just hoping you haven’t crossed some kind of uncrossable line. Another part of you doesn’t quite care as you watch the reporter gape like a fish out of water, feeling rather satisfied that you’d put him in his place.
Eventually, the room recovers and moves on from you. Checo is getting asked his opinion on tyres while you share a furtive glance with Oscar. He smiles approvingly, mouth closed and the apples of his cheeks pushed up into his eyes. You feel the urge to touch his knee again but resist, instead smiling back as covertly as you possibly can. A warm feeling spreads in your chest and you almost forget about the reporter and his stupid question in favour of watching Oscar’s slow-burn smile.
Mercedes is fine with it, it turns out. Apparently, you’re doing the heavy lifting for them in the feminism department and all they have to do is have Toto or someone come out and say a few words in agreement. It suits them fine, they don’t need to take any hard stances and you get the blame if anything goes horribly wrong. That grates at you, of course it does. But you’ve got a seat, haven’t you? You’re not going to give it up because Mercedes are covering their asses like the multibillion-dollar company that they are.
It means you’ve avoided the all-hands-on-deck PR meeting you thought you’d be stuck in tonight, but it’s left you in too sour a mood for this party. It’s some function, fundraiser, something or other and they’ve invited all the teams, drivers and ‘important’ FIA staff. This means there’s an inordinate amount of people here and you’re really not into it.
But you’re still here. You’ve shoved yourself into a cute, strappy, black top, and a denim mini-skirt and you’ve even added some cute jewellery in a feeble attempt to match whatever over-the-top outfit Lewis has arrived in. It’s at least a step up from your usual team polo and leggings, or the Mercedes hoodie that you pull on over it. You’re comfortable. You’re fine.
You pull a hand out of the pocket of your oversized leather jacket as Oscar comes back over with your beer. You smile at the expression on his face as you take the neck in between your fingers. He’s scowling openly, the corners of his lips curled up in distaste.
“Busy?” you ask, then you hold up the beer in thanks, “Cheers, by the way.”
“Hmm, too crowded,” he affirms, “I lost Lando.”
You shrug, taking a swig of the refreshingly cold beer, “Actually? Or did he run off with someone?”
Oscar snorts, “Yeah, no. He got into a conversation with Max.”
You laugh, “Yeah, in that case, I reckon we’ll see Lando in a few hours.”
“Definitely.”
The two of you share an amused smile before you’re back to looking into the crowd because sometimes, it’s hard for you to look at him— like looking directly into the sun. You’re aware of him in your periphery, standing there and rocking back and forth on his heels, occasionally taking a sip of his drink. He looks away for a moment, and you turn to look at him. Taking in the endearing swoop of his hair, the scattering of freckles and moles on the side of his pale face, the long line of his neck disappearing into the collar of his shirt. You shift your eyes slightly to the right of him, to the patchwork of vents and scaffolding in the ceiling, feigning as if you’d only been casually looking his way.
“That reporter was a piece of work,” Oscar says once he’s drifted his attention back to you.
You roll your eyes on instinct, and groan, “Tell me about it, holy shit, Osc. What an asshole. I don’t know if he was just stupid or legit didn’t know a single thing about me.”
“Mm,” Oscar hums in agreement, “and I like how no one asked you a single question after that. Way to go guys, that’s exactly how you show your support.”
You roll your eyes, still smiling a little at the contented feeling you’ve got in your chest, “I know, right. Trust, they all got on their keyboards afterwards to wax lyrical about how deserving I am of my seat. It’d be fucken’ nice if they acted like it during press conferences.”
“Yeaah,” he sighs, half-laugh, half-exhale, “It’s unfair.”
“Fucken' right,” you gripe, tipping your head back and letting a slip of fizzy beer cascade down your throat— the alcohol, though meagre, leaves you feeling loose, a little reckless, “It sucks Osc. God, I just want to be respected. If I had a dick and balls I’d be fucking killing it, dude. This is my rookie season, I’ve been scoring points every race. Except for the DNF, which was not my fault. But, fuck me, they don’t give a shit.”
You squeeze your eyes shut to stave off the angry tears that are sitting behind your eyelids, threatening. When you open them Oscar is staring at you, frowning, his brown eyes huge and sparkling and sympathetic. They’re like a black hole you want to fall into. Your heart squeezes. He’s so— ugh. Quickly, your mind supplies about a hundred answers to that question: sweet, cute, nice, adorable. Something stutters in your chest and you feel your cheeks starting to grow hot. That slow-burn smile of Oscar’s starts on his face, and you watch dimples form on his cheeks.
The moment is quickly ruined by a particularly nasally Italian accent that you vaguely recognise, “You know,” it says, clearly talking to you, “You should make sure to watch your tone. You never know who could be listening.”
Mood thoroughly dampened, you turn to face the interruption. It turns out to be one of the numerous men on the grid who won’t shut up about you, sharing unsolicited opinions left and right. He has his arms crossed against his chest and a smug expression on his face, as if he’s just caught you doing something terrible— instead of simply complaining about the subpar treatment you’re afforded.
He’s not worth your time whatsoever but God you’re angry. Maybe it’s just been too much shit on top of shit today but you cannot deal reasonably with this man right now— and you are not afforded the luxury of not acting reasonably toward someone like this, no matter how much of a dickhead they are. You open your mouth. Close it. Open it again. Close it and bite down on your bottom lip so nothing accidentally slips out. You’re trying to fish a semi-civil sentence out of a sea of fuck you fuck you fuck you on repeat and it’s not working.
“Are you threatening her?” Oscar asks, a dangerous lilt to his tone, and somewhere in the pulse of anger, you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been to hear his voice, “Because, I am pretty sure your team principal would not be pleased to hear that you’re going around threatening one of Mercedes’ drivers.”
He scoffs, trying to play it off, but you think you register a little bit of worry somewhere in there— Oscar can be threatening when he wants to be and McLaren are not exactly nobodies in this sport right now, “Please, I am not threatening her. I am just telling her that she needs to watch her mouth.”
“Right,” Oscar nods, mouth pinching, “Sure. Well, it would be our word against yours and I’m fairly sure your team principal would believe two drivers over you right now. Especially with that history, you’ve got, dude.”
A little thrill goes up your spine as his face goes white as a sheet. Oscar’s talking about the nice little list of comments he’s made that you’ve reported to your team and an FIA representative— which you’ve taken to doing every time anyone starts up a pattern of saying things about you or to you. They’re to cover your ass honestly, so you can’t be accused of making things up if push comes to shove. You’re sure they’ve made their way back to him and his boss; you’re glad they’ve made an impact (but perhaps not enough to stop him outright).
He sniffs, a nervous edge to his words, “I am not threatening her.”
“Okay. Apologise.”
“Excuse me?”
Oscar raises an eyebrow, “If you’re not threatening her, apologise.”
You bite the inside of your lip and grip the neck of your near-empty beer bottle tighter. Alright, Oscar can be scary. Noted. Very much noted.
“I—” He quickly thinks better of protesting and looks at you, lips pursed in a thin angry line, “I apologise.”
He looks at Oscar, Oscar looks at you. You shrug and nod. Good enough. You don’t need him to grovel, you think he’s been sufficiently humiliated already. Although, before he scampers off into the crowd at Oscar’s approval, you manage a dry, “You think I need to watch my tone now?”
He scowls, but says, “No,” anyway.
Then he stalks off into the throng of people.
You relax more the further that he gets away from the two of you. The tension dissipates into something warm and charged with a different kind of electricity entirely. You ignore the unease that tries to take root in your stomach and instead focus on Oscar at your side.
“That was—” you scrub a hand over your face, starting your sentence again, “Hm.”
Oscar sigh-laughs again, “Yeah, what an asshole.”
“Thank you,” you say meaning it wholeheartedly, “No one’s done something like that for me before.”
Oscar looks down at you, frowning, he shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing,” you answer, feeling bold as you put a hand on his bicep in an attempt to express how grateful you feel for him, for what he’d done for you, “It’s really not, Osc.”
He’s quiet, staring at you with big brown sparkling eyes for a long long moment. A long moment in which you fantasise about reaching upward and pulling his face down to yours, feeling his lips against your own. They’d be soft, you think— his hair would be too. You don’t think about it and you resolutely ignore the tug low in your gut.
“You deserve it,” he says eventually, loud enough that you can hear it, but not anyone else, “You are killing it, by the way.”
You breathe a laugh, “Yeah, I’d better be.”
You squeeze gently at his bicep, feeling the sinewed muscle underneath his dress shirt. Then you let your hand drop, trailing absently down his arm as you do so. Your fingers brush his hand, and he catches yours before it's out of reach at your side. Purposefully, he threads your fingers with his, squeezing firmly and brushing his thumb tenderly over your knuckle. You feel a little lightheaded when he lets go.
You sigh, masking the out-of-breath quality of your voice, “I need another drink.”
“Yeah,” Oscar breathes, “Me too, I reckon.”
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🏎️ title taken from this song :)
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alllgator-blood · 1 month ago
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'FOGGY STREETS AND CHRISTMAS LIGHTS'
(part 3/3)
I'm gonna infodump about the backstory of this comic, don't feel obligated to read it because it's not cotl related it's just personal stuff, I just want to be able to write about it somewhere cause I can't really talk to anyone about it.
As always, thanks for reading this far, sorry my stuff has been such a bummer so consistently. This comic goes out to all my "christmas induced depression" homies, I left my house maybe like ~5 times all month and it was NOT pleasant hearing "IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!!" on the radio when I'm so ready for it to be over. Gonna take it reaaaaal easy til the year ends, you guys take it easy too!! Got some asks I have to respond to when I'm more stable but probably no new comic pages til january
Alright uhhh so this part of the comic is pretty much taken directly from the last time I saw my great-grandma alive, a few days before christmas. She didn't remember me, but at the nursing home there was a piano, and I sat down and played some stuff because I didn't know what to say. I was really into lisa the painful rpg at the time, and I played that "I've got the joy" song that the villain sings without realizing it was an old christian campfire song. She didn't really say much or move that whole night, just kind of gave me a polite blank smile, but started singing the words when I played the notes to that song.
I kinda stopped in shock, my dad frantically asked me to keep playing, so I did. While the comic I made is way more sappy than the actual moment was, I wish I'd cherished the moment longer. I didn't know it was the last time I'd see her alive. Every family christmas was held at her house when she was around, so it's been weird the past few years. I actually lost another dementia-addled grandma to cancer on christmas eve in 2009, so the holiday was already kind of weird for me on top of everything else that makes me sad this time of year. That's what part 2 was about, I'll spare the details but I wrote leshy to act out how I felt back then. Why are we all sad? This is supposed to be a happy time, all the decorations are up and we're almost all here, so why is everyone smiling yet everything feels so wrong? I feel like since leshy's canonically the most ignorant one to things lurking below the surface, he'd be the one to try and make everyone feel better but not quite understand why everyone is so miserable. My first memory of having self injurious behavior came from then, hence why I had leshy pull his leaves off in the last comic. It was confusing and frustrating and I was just old enough to comprehend something was wrong, but not old enough to understand the depth of it, it DEFINITELY didn't help that nobody helped me back then so I made leshy's siblings actually come in clutch instead of grabbing him/yelling at him.
That night with the piano was something that's stuck with me the few years she's been gone, but I felt kind of strange when I asked my dad and my sister about it and neither of them remembered it. The room we were in was completely empty so nobody else witnessed it but us three. I myself have a history of head trauma and memory loss (plus, native americans are disproportionately more likely to develop dementia... lucky us) so if I ever forgot about that moment, there'd be nobody left to remember it. Sometimes when I do comics, it's my way of going "this happened at some point, and the only evidence it ever happened was me witnessing it, so if something happens to me I want the memory to stay alive in some form."
Anyway. The autistic urge to overshare, am I right? Idk what my religious ass great-grandma would think of me drawing demonic comics about my last memory of her, she'd probably think it's funny though cause she raised my dad whose interests have always been "death metal and devil worship". I'm not sure if anyone read this far, I just hope my dumb comics can convey the things I can't say with my voice and struggle to say through text. None of this was supposed to be "feel bad for me!! Woe is me!!", it was supposed to me more like...cathartic? Healing? I almost didn't post this comic because it felt kinda weird, but seeing people connect with it made it worth it imo. Thank you
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shysuccubusstuff · 11 days ago
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Boyfriend! Caleb:
Content: SFW headcanons; jealousy
Note: Thanks for this one fanart of Caleb falling for MC's tactics just cause he loves her too much. Have you all noticed that I'm now turning to more SFW content? I feel as if I'm turning from a crow into a dove--. Btw, thanks for all those who like, comment and reblog my content, it makes me feel very happy!! Hope everyone is having a great week.
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Caleb, who suddenly returns after his apparent death, face just as handsome as the one you saw every night in your dreams. He returns to you just as suddenly as you both met, and as you go rushing to hug him, you notice something strange in his demeanor. His face is smiling, yet it is apparent that there is something else in his gaze... some kind of hunger, something primal that he had been trying to lock away.
Caleb, who starts to act cold towards you, trying to run away from every little physical contact you tried to do, his mind still conflicted as he was now aware of what had truly brought the two of you together. It wasn't Josephine's love for the two, but something much more obscure... something that he was trying to keep hidden from you as long as he could try, at least.
Caleb, who starts to warm up to you. He starts to allow your touches, even if these are just minimal, but what starts with light brushes between each other's fingertips, soon turns into the both of you holding hands, with you creating excuses such as: "being afraid of getting separated in the middle of the Glint Photoboot" or "needing some comfort as you have grown scared of the darkness". Despite Caleb's head moves in disagreement, he does as you ask him, taking your hand and enveloping your whole hand with his as he lets a whisper escape his lips: "You never change...".
Caleb, who starts to go back to his old ways. Caleb's hands are always there for you, reaching out in case you trip while walking. Other times, his hands are held out for you while the two of you share a little treat together, his hands playing with yours as he listens to you speak about how today's work was much more difficult than usual, or how you really wanted to check that new place that had recently opened in the city center.
Caleb, who almost falls to his knees the moment he hears your confession. The two of you were drinking some tea at your place while watching some corny old soap opera, when you suddenly spoke those words: "I wouldn't mind us becoming a couple." He looks at you for a few seconds, his shock being apparent as his hands start to shake a bit, he moves closer to you, just enough for him to see your full face. "...What... what do you mean by that?" Caleb's purple orbes lock with yours, face slightly flushed as he tries his best not to burn his hand with the recently boiled water that he was carring inside the teacups. "I love you, Caleb, wasn't I clear enough during all these months?" Caleb's face becomes even redder, his hands start to shake even more, quickly leaving the cups in case he would actually spill them. "I... I just thought you were still thinking about our childhood--- I never imagined that you would actually--..." Caleb's words start to blend with each other, his mind rushing as he tried to understand everything that was going on at that moment. Irritated, you suddenly approached him, your hands locking behind his neck just so you could pull him closer, your lips crashing against his in a fast kiss.
B! Caleb, who finally surrenders to your approaches, allowing himself to become more and more starved. His hands start to move from your hands to your hips, his thumbs making small circles over it as he waited for you to stop talking with that grey haired man that lived nextdoor. Caleb standing behind you as he keeps glaring at him with an unamused look, his arms wrapping around your waist as a less threatening way of showing his closer position as not only your childhood friend, but your boyfriend.
B! Caleb who loves posting things with you. He is the kind of guy who loves having a private yet public relationship, the one that loves posting photos of the two of you, always avoiding showing your face in case someone of his work tried to get a bit too close to you. he just can't help it you know? Having a pretty girlfriend is so hard when he has to keep restraining himself from trying to get you as attached to him as possible.
B! Caleb who loves sharing the bed with you, his hands wrapping around you as he nuzzles against the crook of your neck, his hair tickling you as he starts to doze off, his breath slowly steading as he is finally able to rest. After twisting and turning for over ten minutes, you were about to get up, but just as you were about to do so, Caleb started to grunt, his nose scrunching as he started to hug you with more strength as you kept trying to get him to release you. "...Don't go... I love you." Caleb's grip only tightens, one of his legs suddenly wrapping around yours as if he was some kind of trap. "Just sleep... shhh." In the end, you have to surrender, moving a bit just so you could hide your face on the curve of his neck, his comforting scent making you feel at ease and slowly making you drift to sleep.
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joemama-2 · 1 month ago
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velvet lies
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pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.4k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: eek series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter
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i mean, im not that surprised he’s sexy as hell
that’s actually crazy
imagine hiding your son for five years 😶😶 how can you be ashamed of that
doesn’t he literally have a girlfriend?? himari nakamura??
        ↳ yep for almost two years now
       ↳ wonder how she’s holding up i’d be pissed, unless she knew 
rich people are always shady as fuck
You don’t even know how many comments you’ve read. Staying up practically the entire night, busying yourself with the endless scrolling of people who have not a single clue of how your life actually is. Meddling in your business and acting like the shit they’re spouting on the internet is okay. 
They ranged from positive (sort of) to extremely personal and negative. 
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i bet she just did it for the child support 
i wonder if he’s actually the dad, women like that lie and lie just cuz the dad is rich as fuck
i feel so bad for that boy
Bad? Why would they feel bad for him? You’ve given everything you can and then some to ensure Koji’s safety and innocence. You’ve never put him in harm’s way, difficult situations, hit him, nothing. Of course you’ve raised your voice, but every parent does. Why are these reasons suddenly acting like they know a fucking thing or two? This is insane. 
The only positive ones you see are praising your son for how cute he is, how much he looks like Satoru, and how he’ll probably get everything he wants. That’s not true, you’re not going to spoil your kid and you’re sure as hell not letting Satoru do it either; he’s humble, that’s how you want him to be. Still, you do feel uneasy at strangers on the internet for talking about your baby like this, in reference to a photo none of you knew was taken. 
And you still don’t know who took it. 
That’s what infuriates you the most. Because who in their right mind would do that? Who thinks they’re that fucking entitled to chime in on your personal business—your family. 
When you find them, you swear on everything you’re punching them. 
Your head hangs low, the hood of your sweatshirt pulled tight, shielding your face as you step into the café. You keep your gaze down, avoiding the eyes of the baristas and patrons scattered around. The familiar hum of the espresso machine feels deafening today.
Maybe no one will notice. Maybe no one cares.
But you know better.
That damn image, plastered across every TV screen and newsfeed yesterday, is still burned into your mind. Why do people even care this much? You’re beyond pissed off. Who in their right mind thinks they have the right to invade your personal life like that? To turn your family into fodder for the public?
Maybe no one will say anything. Who even watched the news anyway? 
More people than you think, actually. You keep moving, but Hana has other plans.
“Y/N!” Her voice cuts through the noise like a whip, and before you can react, she grabs your forearm, dragging you into the storage room in the back.
“Hey, what the—” you start to protest, wincing as her grip tightens, but she doesn’t care. She whirls around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief.
“What the hell is going on?!” she demands, gesturing wildly with her hands. “You were on the news yesterday!”
Your stomach churns at the reminder, and your jaw clenches tightly. You pull your hood down, resigning yourself to the conversation you were hoping to avoid. “I know that already,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest.
“Koji’s father is multi-billionaire Satoru Gojo?!” Her voice rises in pitch, and she looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Is that for real? You’ve been hiding this?!”
You take a deep breath, counting to three in your head. “Yes, Hana. It’s real. Koji’s father is Satoru Gojo. Can we not do this right now?”
But Hana doesn’t back down, her wide eyes searching your face for answers. “Are you kidding me? Of course we’re doing this right now! You’ve been sitting on this—” she throws her hands up, “—while the rest of us thought you were just, like, a regular single mom? What the hell, Y/N?”
“Because it’s none of anyone’s business!” you hiss, your voice rising then lowering, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “Do you think I wanted this to come out? Do you think I wanted his world to invade mine?”
Hana softens slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Okay, fair. But you should’ve told me, at least. I mean, I’m your friend.”
“I didn’t tell anyone for a reason and I don’t owe anyone anything,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “And now it’s everywhere. Do you know how terrifying that is? For me? For Koji?”
Hana sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, okay. I get it. This whole thing’s a mess. But what are you going to do now? I mean, the story’s out. People are gonna talk, Y/N. A lot. Especially if it involves a man like him.”
You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling. “I just want to protect my son.”
Hana nods, her expression softening further. “We’ll figure it out. But you’re gonna need a plan. And.”
“Hana, I—“ you’re really trying not to snap at her, really. But she’s pushing every button you have right now and your patience is running extremely low. Don’t snap, she’s just worried.  “I know what to do, thank you. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t meddle in my business too. We’re friends, yes, but understand right now that I’m going through a lot of shit and don’t need to be told what to do and when to do it. So get off my back.”
Hana blinks, a little caught off guard by your sudden announcement. Her mouth slightly agape, clearly not having expected your outburst. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, her expression shifting between hurt and something close to understanding. She straightens, her arms falling from where they’d been crossed over her chest. “Y/N, I wasn’t trying to—” she begins, her voice softer now, but you cut her off.
“I know,” you say, your voice quieter but still firm. “I know you’re trying to help, Hana. And I’m grateful, I am. But right now, I need to handle this on my own. I need space. Can you give me that?”
She nods slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I get it. I’ll back off. Just—if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here. You know that, right?”
You exhale, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”
Hana offers you a small, tentative smile before stepping aside, giving you the room you so desperately need. As she moves to leave, she hesitates at the curtains, glancing back at you. “For what it’s worth, Y/N…I think you’re handling this a lot better than you think you are.”
You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment, and she disappears back into the front of the café. Alone in the small back room, you lean against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.
Better than I think, huh? You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. It doesn’t feel that way. 
You’d be lying to yourself if you said this probably won’t be that bad; not a big deal. But hell, it was huge. You hate unnecessary attention, especially attention from hundreds, if not thousands of random strangers. You’re recalling the incident from earlier when you dropped Koji off at school. Mr. Ito stopping you once more and confessing his surprise to you. In his words, “I didn’t know Koji had such an…esteemed father.”
You held back a slew of insults, keeping it classy, as always. But as the days go on and the more shit that seems to be happening to you, you’re getting this close to breaking that. It’s the way he, everyone else, and even Hana seems so…shocked. The lingering glances from other parents at drop-off, the whispers in the hallways. It’s the way their surprise feels so…palpable. You get it, in a way. Satoru Gojo is larger than life—powerful, wealthy, and untouchable in a way most people only dream of. But still, the shock in their eyes stings more than it should. Did they think you weren’t of caliber to bag a man like Satoru? Did they think a man like that wouldn’t even dream of having a child with a woman like you? It feels a tad bit insulting. Actually, scratch that—it feels like a slap in the face.
The implications gnaw at you, poking at insecurities you’d rather not acknowledge. This is exactly why you hate social media. You’re already growing too conscious of the comments people are making—caring too much and it was just revealed. And the worst part? You can’t even fully blame them. Satoru’s world is one you’ve never truly belonged to. You’re not the glossy, magazine-cover type, and you don’t have the pedigree or connections his circle would expect. But that doesn’t mean you’re less than, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean Koji is any less precious because of it.
 You sigh, rubbing at your temples. If only these people could see you for who you truly are—if they could see the strength it takes to raise a child on your own, to hold your head high even when the world tries to tear you down. But no, all they see is the scandal and the drama, their curiosity morphing into judgment. Sure, you made mistakes—big and bad ones. But you’re doing all this in order to make up for those mistakes. And sure, Satoru doesn’t 100% forgive you—you’re not sure he ever will—but you don’t think he would agree with these kinds of comments being made. Right? 
You huff. Let them talk, you think bitterly, though the tightness in your chest betrays the confidence you’re trying to muster. Let them all talk, they know nothing. 
The minutes feel like hours. Unsure of how long you’ve exactly been here. Equally nervous about looking at your phone to check.
“Oh my god, look. It’s her.”
“Shhh! She’ll hear you.”
“I wonder if she’ll give us pointers.”
“You’re insane.”
The conversation doesn’t fly over your head. t’s like they want you to hear, voices loud enough to penetrate the usual clatter of the café. You swear, they’re practically aiming their words right at you. Your grip tightens around the rag in your hand, knuckles going white as you scrub the already spotless table. The motion is a little too aggressive, the poor table bearing the brunt of your simmering frustration. Your jaw clenches, brows knitting together as you try—desperately—to keep your temper in check. Jaw clenching and brows knitting together, you’re counting down to ten and back.
One…two…three… you recite in your head, attempting to steady your breath. It’s an old habit—one you learned a while back from you’re therapist, one you’ve relied on in situations like this, but today it feels like it’s barely working. Four…five…six.
You glance up, just for a second, and immediately regret it. The group of girls sits near the window, leaning into each other as they giggle, their eyes darting your way. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. One of them, a blonde with an annoyingly perfect smile, nudges her friend and whispers something, sending the others into another fit of laughter. Your fingers flex around the rag, itching to throw it across the room. Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe. They’re not worth it. But it’s hard to ignore the knot tightening in your chest, the sting of humiliation creeping in despite your best efforts. Because you know exactly what they’re laughing about, what they’re whispering about. It’s not just idle curiosity—it’s judgment, plain and simple. And maybe, just maybe, if this were any other day, you’d let it roll off your back. But today? After everything that’s happened? After seeing your son’s face plastered on screens and hearing people dissect your life like it’s a soap opera? You toss the rag onto the table, standing up straighter as you look their way. They immediately quiet down, eyes widening like they’ve been caught red-handed.
“Can I help you?” you ask, voice calm but carrying just enough edge to make them squirm.
The blonde fidgets, her confidence faltering under your gaze. “Oh, um, no, we were just…”
“Enjoying your coffee?” you finish for her, forcing a tight smile. “Good. Let me know if you need anything else.” Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk behind the counter, the satisfaction of their stunned silence doing little to ease the weight in your chest. Nine…ten… You exhale slowly, trying to let it go, but the anger simmers just beneath the surface.
It’s going to be a long day.
—-
The walk back home with Koji feels like you never want to use your senses again. It feels like a marathon you never signed up for, every step heavier than the last. The pounding in your head has escalated into a full-blown migraine, the sharp pain clawing at the edges of your skull. You clench your teeth, trying to hold it together, willing the tears pricking at your eyes to stay put. Koji chatters beside you, his small hand in yours, his voice a muffled hum against the overwhelming throb in your head.
 So much has changed within just the span of a week and none of it feels good. You like change, but not like this. Not the kind of change that’s so spontaneous and out of nowhere that it makes you dread the littlest things. The kind of change where you feel like every way you turn, it’s a dead end. Every thought spiraling into another reminder of how much you’ve lost control, or of how much you never had it to begin with. The kind of change that you never fucking asked for in the first place. The kind of change where you feel like a ticking timebomb. A simple walk home feels like an obstacle course. The sound of Koji’s innocent laughter, once a balm to your soul, now feels like a weight pressing down on you, a reminder of how fragile your balance is.
This change doesn’t come with warnings or instructions. It doesn’t let you adjust, and doesn’t give you the chance to prepare. It just dumps its baggage on your doorstep and forces you to deal with it, whether you’re ready or not. And right now, you’re not.
The last thing you want to do is blow up on someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially your son. You glance down at him, his bright eyes scanning the world around him with that endless curiosity only a child can have. His tiny fingers grip yours with a trust that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the storm brewing inside you. And he shouldn’t have to.
“Mommy, are you okay?” Koji’s voice is soft, his head tilted as he looks up at you with concern.
You force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you manage, squeezing his hand gently. “Just tired.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and resumes his animated recount of the day’s events. You let him talk, his voice a small distraction from the noise in your head. One step at a time, you tell yourself. One breath at a time. For him, if not for yourself.
You wonder to yourself how many more times you can continue repeating that phrase to yourself, like a broken record spinning endlessly in your mind. Shouldn’t you be allowed to do some things on your own? Something that isn’t tied to the constant grind of making sure Koji has everything he needs, of shielding him from a world that feels more hostile every day? Everything you do is for him—every decision, every sacrifice, every moment of biting your tongue when you want to scream. It’s all for him. 
But what about you?
The thought is bitter, curling in your chest like smoke. It feels selfish even to entertain it, but the exhaustion is suffocating. How long has it been since you’ve done something just because you wanted to? Since you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of thinking about what you need, instead of what everyone else expects of you? Is it selfish? Is this not how a good mother thinks?
The doubt gnaws at you, persistent and sharp. 
Not like you’d know the answer to that question. Your mother—a woman you rarely ever want to think about—never gave you the guidance for situations like this. You have no inspiration, nothing. You’re doing everything free-handed. She didn’t leave you with blueprints for moments like these, no voice in your head to tell you what’s right, what’s wrong, or even what’s okay. She was a void, an absence, and that absence shaped you more than you’d like to admit.
And now here you are, trying to be everything for your son that she wasn’t for you. But it feels like you’re fumbling in the dark, building something fragile with trembling hands. There’s no instruction manual for this, no map to follow. You’re doing everything on the first try, improvising as you go. Every decision feels like a gamble. Did you do enough today? Did you do too much? Did you make the right call, or are you setting him up for something you can’t even see coming? The uncertainty is exhausting.
You glance at Koji, his small hand still tucked safely in yours, his voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts. He’s so blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging inside you, and that’s how it should be. He deserves that innocence, that security. But the weight of always being the strong one, the reliable one, is starting to crush you. How much longer can I keep this up? The question whispers in your mind, and you hate it. You hate that you’re even asking it, hate that it makes you feel weak. But the truth is, you’re tired.
And you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you’re not.
You focus on Koji again, his small frame silhouetted against the afternoon light of the day. He trusts you implicitly, and looks at you like you’re the answer to everything. And the weight of that trust makes you want to cry and scream in equal measure. How can I possibly live up to that?
They never said motherhood was easy. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Maybe this is what being a mother really is—second-guessing everything, carrying the weight of your own past, and still showing up every day, trying your best. 
You don’t know if that’s enough. But it’s all you have.
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It seems like you’re in for a surprise every second of the day.
Satoru, much to your own dismay and confusion, is perched against your apartment door; waiting for you again. Like a magnet, Koji runs into his lower half, hugging his father with all the strength his five-year-old body will allow. 
“Hey, little man. I’m happy to see you.” Satoru smiles wholeheartedly, patting Koji’s back with gentle ease.
“Hi, Papa! I missed you.” His voice is muffled by Satoru’s clothing.
The older man laughs, relishing in the moment for another second, before opening his light azures. His eyes look like they’re darting all around you, as if making sure you’re okay. Standing up, he shuffles his hands in his pockets.
“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you mutter, walking up closer. Arms crossing. 
He nods. “I know, I–I should’ve told you. But this was urgent and I knew you were busy at work.”
A hum is all you offer, unlocking your apartment door and stepping in. The semi-warmth envelops you like a worn blanket. Finally, in the comfort of my own home. Even if it is just for a little bit before you’re off again. 
“Call off his babysitter.”
You look back, watching him close your door and lock it. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m here.”
Koji runs off to his room, presumably to play with his toy collection. Leaving the two adults alone. Biting your lip, attempting to come up with something to say—or what to say first. Luckily, he beats you to it. “I want you two to spend the night at mine, don’t go to work. I’ll pay you whatever you miss out on. I know you saw the leak and I’m working on figuring out who the hell did it. But until then, I’m a little concerned for your guys’ safety, so stay at mine until we figure things out long-term.”
You stare at him, caught off guard by the resolute earnestness in his voice. The Satoru you know isn’t usually this serious, this concerned. It’s disarming—attractive, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “This is my home, Satoru,” you finally say, your voice quiet but firm. “I can’t just up and leave because of a leak. And I can’t run every time something like this happens. That’s not a long-term solution either.”
“I get that,” he says, stepping closer. “But this isn’t just about you. It’s about Koji. Someone took that photo, and I don’t know who, or how, or what their intentions are. Until I do, I can’t take chances.”
“And I get that, but I can’t just—sleep at your place.”
“Why not?”
“Because that’s just…weird.”
“Fuck, Y/N,” he exhales out. “You think something’ll happen? It won’t. I'm doing this for Koji and you because I care. Not because reviving something that’s long-ended is my priority.” 
“It’s not about that,” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself. You close your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply, trying to rein in your frustration. “It’s just... complicated, Satoru. You showing up like this, offering to fix things with money, with solutions I didn’t ask for, for problems I never wanted—it’s overwhelming.”
He takes another step closer, his presence filling the small entryway. “You think I don’t understand that?” His voice softens but carries an edge of urgency. “Y/N, I’m not trying to make this harder for you. I know this is all... messy. But I can’t sit around and pretend I’m okay with you and Koji being here while someone out there is bold enough to invade your privacy like that. I’m trying to protect you. You can’t keep pushing me away like this, you said you wanted to make things better.”
“I know, but—”
“Then stop it. Stop arguing, complaining, whatever. You’re not going to keep me out of Koji’s life any longer, or yours. They already posted another damn picture of you today at work.”
What? You blink your eyes, widening them. You don’t even want to see the photo evidence, gulping down the weird lump that forms in your throat. What the fuck is going on with my life right now? You hesitate, biting your lip. His words chip away at your defenses, but the walls you’ve built don’t crumble that easily. “And what happens if we go to your place? What’s next? You swoop in, play hero, and then leave us when this blows over?”
His jaw tightens, the faint hurt flashing in his eyes almost imperceptible. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Isn’t it?” you counter, arms crossing tightly over your chest, a weak attempt to shield yourself from the weight of the conversation. “That’s what you always do, Satoru. You show up when it’s convenient for you, and when it’s not, you disappear.”
The words hang heavy in the air, stinging both of you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m not leaving you this time,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes back to yours. “Not until I know you two are safe. I’m not running, Y/N. Not from this. But you have to stop trying to keep me at arm's length, I’m trying my best to help.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading yet determined. You hate how convincing he can be when he’s like this. How he makes you question your own resolve. “Please,” he adds, his voice dropping. “Just for a little while.”
The conviction in his voice is startling, and it makes something inside you waver. You’re tired, too tired to keep arguing, too tired to keep carrying everything on your shoulders. It’s true, you’re feeling yourself pushback on him. He deserves this—time with Koji, protecting him, and more. It’s just so hard breaking from the fragile bubble you built for your son and you. Satoru’s presence is like a sharp knife, waiting to just poke through it with ease, to get to his family.“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But just for tonight. Koji and I will come to your place for tonight.”
Relief washes over his features, but he doesn’t smile. He nods, stepping back to give you space. “That’s all I’m asking.”
As you turn away to gather what you need for the night, you catch a glimpse of Koji peeking out from his room, his eyes wide with curiosity. You put on a smile for his sake, but deep down, you can’t shake the unease settling in your chest. This isn’t just about staying at Satoru’s place. It’s about what this means—what it could mean—and the part of you that still isn’t sure you’re ready to face it.
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The inside of Satoru’s Mercedes is spacious, but asphyxiating. Koji in his car seat in the back, watching something on his tablet. This is the first time you’ve been in the car with Satoru since way long ago. It’s nostalgia, but sickening at the same time. You remember how he would place his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Or how he likes to rest his hand on the gearstick, or his elbow on the middle console. 
Your skin prickles with goosebumps when he brushes against your arm as he reaches for the temperature controls, adjusting the heat. It’s a small, thoughtless gesture, but it sends an involuntary jolt through you. You glance out the window, pretending to admire the blurred city lights instead of acknowledging the memories flooding back. The hum of the car engine fills the silence, an uncomfortable contrast to the weight of everything left unsaid. Koji giggles at something on his tablet in the backseat, his innocence a stark reminder of why you’re here and why you can’t let your emotions take over.
“You okay?” Satoru’s voice breaks the quiet, calm yet cautious.
“Fine,” you reply quickly, too quickly. You keep your eyes glued to the window, your arms crossed as if to shield yourself from the proximity.
He stops at a red light, leaning back in his sight. He’s a pro at side-eyeing you as you’re faced away. Seeing the way your hands ball into small fists. Nervous. Your foot is tapping on the floor. Thinking. And if he looks closer at your chest, he’ll notice how it’s rising up and down a little more quickly than normal. 
Oh. 
He clears his throat, looking forward as the light turns green. Focus on driving, focus on driving. He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze flickering toward you now and then, like he’s reading every shift in your posture, every flicker of hesitation. It’s infuriating how well he knows you, even now. You glance at Koji briefly before turning your gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks as the car moves. The nostalgia you felt earlier morphs into a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate how easily Satoru slips into the role of a doting father, as if the years of his absence never happened.
You need to get a better hold of your jealousy. 
“You’re quiet,” Satoru says, breaking the silence.
“Just tired,” you reply curtly, not bothering to look at him.
He hums, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Long day, huh?”
You roll your eyes. “You could say that.”
His gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to the road. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But I’m glad you’re coming with me. It’s the right thing to do.”
You let out a dry laugh, finally turning to face him. “The right thing to do? Since when have you ever cared about the right thing, Satoru?”
His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales deeply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I care now. Now that you’ve granted me that option,” he says quietly.
You want to scoff, to throw his words back at him, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. Something raw, unguarded. The way he gets out those snark remarks angers you, but only further solidifies the weight of your actions, and the fact that things will never be the same. 
The rest of the drive is spent in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When the car finally pulls into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Koji’s excitement is palpable.
“Wow! This place is huge!” Koji exclaims, his eyes wide as he looks around.
Satoru chuckles, stepping out of the car and opening the back door to unbuckle Koji. “Wait till you see the view, buddy.”
You follow them, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled back into a world you thought you’d left behind—one of complications and heartbreak. Satoru presses the button for his floor, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just for one night.”
You don’t respond, staring straight ahead as the elevator begins its ascent. But deep down, you know it’s never just one night with Satoru. 
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“No running.”
“Sorry, Mama.”
You place Koji and your bags on one of the chairs in the kitchen, watching your son rush to his father’s living room. Satoru follows him, hands on his hips. “Hey buddy, bought some toys for you. Do you want to play with them? You like Spiderman, right?”
If possible, Koji’s eyes light up even more with excitement. Gasping and squealing, nodding his head furiously. “I love Spiderman! Mama threw me a Spiderman birthday last time.”
Satoru hums. “Wish I coulda seen that.”
You freeze at Satoru's words, your hand halfway to unpacking one of Koji’s bags. His tone is light, almost wistful, but it feels like a loaded statement—one that stings more than you’d like to admit. You glance over at him and Koji, your son practically bouncing on his toes as Satoru kneels to pull out a neatly wrapped box from a hidden cabinet. “Here you go,” Satoru says, handing it to Koji. “I think you’ll like what’s inside.”
Koji tears into the wrapping with glee, revealing a Spiderman action figure set. He gasps, clutching the box to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, Papa! This is so cool!”
Your heart twists at how easily Koji has taken to calling him that. It’s like Satoru’s sudden presence is a gift he didn’t realize he’d been missing. And yet, for you, it’s a reminder of the years of absence—of the birthdays and milestones Satoru missed. “Please, don’t spoil him too much,” you mutter, finally unpacking Koji’s things and setting them on the counter.
Satoru looks over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong with a little spoiling? He deserves it.”
You exhale sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation. “What he deserves is consistency.”
His smirk falters, standing back up to his full height and coming over to you. Keeping his voice level calm, in case Koji decides to listen in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” you shake your head. 
Satoru narrows his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you busy yourself with Koji’s things. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”
You let out a humorless laugh, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t read into it.”
His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t push further—not yet. Instead, he leans against the counter, folding his arms as he observes you. “Y/N, you can’t be the angry one in this situation. I thought you understood that.”
“I’m not angry.”
“Then what are you?”
“I’m just—” you let out a big breath, looking up at him once more. “I’m tired. Forgive me if I’m not overly happy right now.
Satoru’s gaze softens, his posture relaxing slightly, though the tension in the room lingers like a heavy fog. “I’m not trying to add onto that, I’m just trying to be here for my son.”
I know that. I don’t know why I’m snapping. All you can offer is a nod, reaching into your bag, and grabbing a change of clothes. “I…I’m gonna go shower, watch him please.”
Satoru nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before shifting to the living room where Koji is engrossed in his toys. “Of course. Take your time.”
You offer a small, tight-lipped smile before retreating down the hall, clutching the clothes in your hands like a lifeline. Once you’re inside the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind you, and the weight of everything crashes down. Leaning against the counter, you grip the edge tightly, your knuckles turning white as you take slow, measured breaths. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you hardly recognize—tired, frazzled, and barely holding it together. The faint hum of Koji’s laughter echoes down the hall, grounding you for a moment. At least he’s happy. That’s what matters.
The shower is a welcome escape. The hot water cascades over your skin, washing away the grime of the day and the lingering tension from your conversation with Satoru. You let your head fall forward, droplets sliding down your face, mingling with the tears you didn’t realize had started to fall. You didn’t mean to snap at him. He’s trying, you know that. But the past doesn’t let go so easily, and the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, fear, hope—leaves you feeling unsteady. And you feel angry at yourself for letting your emotions slip through, getting the best of you. You’re surprised Satoru hasn’t been more outwardly rude to you, short, or even snappy. It seems like he’s taking this all better than you are, and once again, that bitter jealousy of yours is shining through. How he can just handle things so smoothly—at least that’s what it seems like. But he’s used to all this: the spotlight, public eye, attention. You just wish things could’ve been handled…differently. 
Everything feels like a domino effect, starting all with that dreaded day at the grocery store. How so much has changed. 
 By the time you step out, you feel a fraction lighter, though the knot in your chest remains. You towel off, change into your clean clothes, and take a moment to steel yourself before heading back into the fray.
When you return to the living room, you find Satoru sitting cross-legged on the floor with Koji, holding up a miniature Spiderman figure. Koji is giggling, animatedly explaining an intricate story about how Spiderman saves the day. Satoru glances up as you walk in, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. We’re just working on a top-secret mission over here. No big deal.”
Koji looks up too, beaming. “Mama! Papa’s playing Spiderman with me! He’s really good at the voices.”
You can’t help the small smile that forms, even as your heart aches a little at the sight. “Sounds like you two are having fun.”
Satoru nods, his expression soft. “We’re a good team.”
You stand there for a moment, watching them, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders once more. Maybe this is what Koji needs. Maybe this is what you need. But trusting him again…that’s the hardest part.
That night, eating dinner at Satoru’s long dining table, the same one where you faced his parents, it all feels strange, to say the least. The clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoes faintly in the vast dining room, filling the silence between the three of you. Koji hums to himself as he picks at his plate, occasionally glancing at his father to tell him some small details about his day or ask about the toys he’d gotten earlier. Satoru engages him with ease, his tone light and playful, but you can see the flickers of something deeper behind his smiles—guilt, maybe, or a desperate need to make up for lost time.
And then there’s you, sitting stiffly at the other end of the table, your appetite wavering as your mind keeps drifting back to the last time you sat here. That memory is sharp and vivid, like an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.
But Koji’s laughter brings you back down to Earth. Looking up from your plate of food to the sight before you. Father and son, son and father, family. They look so alike, you don’t think you can ever get over the blatant resemblance. Satoru’s genes are just very strong. You wish Koji could’ve inherited a few more things from you. You place a hand on your lower stomach, as if a physical touch will make the strange abundance of butterflies flying around in there to go away. 
It’s strange, this setup. Domestic in a way you never thought you’d experience with him again. But it’s also…nice. 
It feels whole, like this is how things should be. Would’ve been had you not held your tongue for so long. And you’re starting to think to yourself how much you like this sight. How it’s making you feel at home.
But this isn’t your home. However, you think you can pretend for just one night. 
“You’re not eating much,” Satoru says, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but there’s an undertone of concern.
Your eyes widen at him, realizing you’ve been caught staring and quickly looking back down. “I’m fine,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Just sleepy, I guess.”
“I bet,” he says, and while his tone is conversational, his gaze lingers on you, searching for something beneath your calm facade.
“Yeah,” you reply shortly, stabbing at a piece of vegetable on your plate. You don’t want to talk about your day or your worries or the mounting anxiety sitting heavy in your chest. Not here, not now.
Koji interrupts before Satoru can press further, his voice bright and full of excitement. “Papa, can we watch a movie after dinner? Mama too!”
Satoru grins, lightly pinching his cheekbone. “Of course, buddy. What movie are we watching?”
Koji claps his hands together, listing off a couple of titles before settling on one of his favorites. You manage another smile, this one a little more genuine, as you watch the way Satoru effortlessly makes Koji light up. For a moment, the tension eases, and you let yourself focus on Koji’s joy. Maybe this is enough for now. Maybe that’s all you need to get through the evening.
But as you glance at Satoru across the table, his eyes catching yours for a brief second, you’re reminded of how fragile this truce feels. Of how much history lies between you, threatening to resurface at any moment.
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Koji picks Spiderman, of course. You’ve watched this movie at least a hundred times now, maybe more. You can practically recite the lines perfectly. The movie plays on, the familiar dialogue flowing like background noise to your swirling thoughts. You’ve seen this scene so many times—the hero’s triumphant swing through the city, the bad guy’s dramatic monologue, the moments of comic relief Koji always laughs at—but tonight, it feels different. There’s an added layer of tension sitting heavy between you and Satoru.
The living room feels unusually cozy, the dimmed lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Koji wiggles in his spot, clutching a Spiderman plush as he stares at the screen with unblinking eyes, thoroughly engrossed. You, on the other hand, are trying not to let your exhaustion bubble over. Koji sits between you two, Satoru’s arm over his little shoulders. Satoru’s arm rests casually behind Koji, but every so often, as he adjusts his position, his fingers graze your shoulder—a light, fleeting touch that feels far too deliberate to be accidental. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems entirely focused on the movie, his face relaxed, a small smirk tugging at his lips during one of Koji’s excited reactions. So, you ignore it. But you do shift slightly, creating just enough distance to break the contact. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
Koji laughs out loud at a particularly funny scene, leaning against Satoru’s side. “That’s so cool, Papa! I wanna do that someday!”
Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Maybe we’ll get you a Spiderman costume, and you can be the hero of the city.”
Koji beams at him, his excitement is contagious. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate this dynamic, the way Satoru fits so naturally into Koji’s world. You hate to admit it, but this is what Koji’s been missing—what you’ve been missing, too, in some small, buried way. Satoru’s hand once again brushes your shoulder during his next adjustment, that buried part of you is quickly overshadowed by the reminder of why this dynamic fell apart in the first place.
Luckily, Koji is already showered and dressed for bed in his matching red set. So as the movie progresses, nearing its end, so does his sleepiness. You along with him. Koji’s head begins to droop as the credits start to roll, his little body leaning further into Satoru’s side. His eyelids flutter with each blink, his earlier excitement now replaced by the slow pull of sleep. Satoru’s about to make a remark, before looking over at you and seeing your body slumped over on the other side. 
The scene feels peaceful in a way he hadn’t anticipated—a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos that’s been your guys’ lives lately. Koji’s soft breathing grows steadier, his small body completely leaning into Satoru’s side now, one hand clutching his Spiderman plush while the other hangs limply at his side. Satoru glances down at his son with a faint smile, brushing Koji’s hair out of his face with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He looks over to you next, ready your head resting on your hand. Your expression is soft, lips parted slightly as you drift into the kind of sleep that only exhaustion can bring. Satoru looks at the clock; 9:00pm.
For a moment, he just watches you both. Koji, who looks so much like him it’s almost uncanny, and you, the woman who’s somehow always managed to throw him off balance without even trying. He sighs softly, shaking his head at the scene before him. For a split second, he feels a shadow—a ghost from the past appears beside Koji. A baby girl who would’ve been seven by now.The baby girl who never got the chance to grow up. In that fleeting, haunting moment, he imagines her sitting there too, nestled beside her brother, giggling at Spiderman’s antics. He can imagine her features. She would’ve looked so much like you, it’s painful.
His chest tightens, and he has to look away, focusing on a random corner of the room as he fights to steady his breathing. It’s not fair—to her, to Koji, or to you. And yet, here he is, caught in the what-ifs and the might-have-beens, unable to let go of a past that feels like it happened both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. The glimpse is gone as soon as it comes, to which he’s thankful for because he is not crying right now. With a small grunt, he stands up and carefully moves Koji into his arms. Adjusting the boy and making sure he’s not waking up, he walks him over to the spare bedroom.
Satoru moves quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor as he cradles Koji in his arms. The boy’s head rests comfortably on his shoulder, his small body relaxed and completely unaware of the careful handling. The weight of his son in his arms, the warmth of Koji’s tiny form, is a stark reminder of everything he’s been missing. He pushes the door to the spare bedroom open gently, trying not to disturb the silence of the house. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a calm glow across the room. Satoru places Koji carefully on the bed, tucking him in with the same gentle movements he’s always used. He watches for a moment as the boy shifts slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips before settling back into a peaceful sleep.
For a second, Satoru just stands there, hands lingering at Koji’s side as if unsure of when to leave. It’s as if the past week—no, the past years—are catching up to him in this very moment. He never thought he'd be here, standing in a room like this, watching his son sleep under a roof that used to feel so distant. His chest tightens, but he refuses to let himself feel the weight of it. Not yet. Not with Koji so close. With one last look, he slowly pulls away, stepping back into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him. The house feels colder as he moves through it, but this time, it’s not because of the empty spaces or the lingering tension. It’s because, for the first time in years, he’s truly trying to figure out where he fits in all of this.
And it’s a lot harder than he ever expected.
He walks back to the living room, your body now completely lying on your side. His lips purse as he stands before you, unsure if he should wake you or move you himself. Would that be okay? Is he crossing some boundary of yours if he touches you fully and intentionally?
Satoru stands there for a moment, studying you as you sleep. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your body curls slightly into the pillow, creates a sense of peace in the room, but also a sense of tension in him. The pull to reach out, to make sure you’re comfortable, is strong. But he hesitates, his mind racing with thoughts about boundaries, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable, especially when everything already feels so fragile between the two of you. He watches for a few more seconds, the quiet of the room making everything feel so... still. He doesn’t know how he got here, standing in the middle of the room, feeling so torn. Part of him wants to just go ahead and make sure you’re properly tucked in, like he did with Koji. But that other part of him continues to wonderf if that’s overstepping, if his presence, even now, feels intrusive. Satoru exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he decides to attempt to recreate his actions for Koji; it’s the least he can do.
He bends his knees slightly, hands reaching out. But just as his fingertips graze your bare arms, you’re jolting up and awake. Head swiveling around, eyes barely open and bleary. “What’s happening? Where’s Koji?”
Satoru freezes, his fingers hovering in the air as your voice cuts through the stillness. His eyes flick to you, wide and disoriented from the abruptness of your awakening. "Y/N?" He murmurs, his voice low and hesitant, almost as if he's unsure whether you’re fully awake. "Koji’s in the other room, he’s asleep."
You sit up, rubbing your eyes, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your thoughts are jumbled, disoriented from the deep slumber you’d just woken from. “I— I didn’t hear him... when did he go to bed?”
Satoru, still crouched by your bedside, lets out a soft sigh, his expression softening. "I put him down a few minutes ago. He was out before the movie ended." He pauses for a second, watching you carefully, his hand still lingering awkwardly in the air as if unsure whether to touch you or not. "You were really tired, so I thought I'd handle it."
You blink, the fog in your mind barely beginning to clear. Slowly, you nod, still trying to process everything in the haze of your exhaustion. “Thank you.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but there’s something in your voice that surprises both of you.
Satoru’s gaze lingers for a moment, a mix of concern and relief flashing in his eyes. He stands up, backing away from the bed slowly. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says softly, hands running through his hair as he takes a step toward the door. “But you should go to bed. You can sleep with Koji or um—in my bed if you want.”
You stare at his figure, the weight of the situation still pressing down on you. There’s so much 
happening, so much you didn’t expect, and yet… for some reason, having him here, like this, almost feels normal. You rub your temples, trying to stave off the headache forming. 
“I’ll sleep out here, of course,” he quickly adds on, realizing the small, but accidental hinting.
You raise an eyebrow at his quick backpedaling, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's been a long time since you shared any sort of space with him—especially under these circumstances. But the way he’s stumbling over his words, trying so hard to make things comfortable, it makes you wonder if maybe he’s not as composed as he likes to act. “Thanks,” you murmur, rubbing your temples again. The migraine's intensity is growing, and it's all you can do to keep your emotions in check. You hadn’t expected this—any of it. Satoru’s presence here, offering you comfort in his own odd way, only complicates everything more. You never asked for this kind of help, but you can't deny the relief it brings. “I’ll sleep with Koji.”
Satoru’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his expression softening as if he’s weighing his words carefully, trying not to overstep. He knows you’re not the type to ask for help. Hell, you hardly ever accept it when it’s offered. But tonight is different. Tonight is full of a thousand unspoken things. The lingering tension, the awkwardness of it all, and the confusing emotions between you two. It’s all too much, too quickly, and yet you feel the pull of something familiar—a bond you haven’t felt in years. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Almost like he’s waiting for you to give him some kind of permission or reassurance, something that lets him know you’re okay. His presence, his concern for Koji, it’s all so overwhelming in its own way.
You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens just having him this close, even if it is just in the same house. “I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended. The last thing you want to do is drag him back into your life fully. But he’s already here, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you're too tired to argue. "You don’t have to stay out here." The words hang in the air for a beat.
You take this moment to rise from the couch, wiping your eyes once more. “Where is he?”
“Spare room,” he points.
You nod, more to yourself than to him, and retreat to the spare room. The migraine pounds in the background of your mind. Mind still riddled with sleep, you accidentally bump your shoulder into the wall, footsteps faltering. He moves faster than you anticipated—expected, his hands finally making contact with your upper arms; stablizing you. His touch itself feels reminiscent.
His grip on your arms is steady, firm—just like it used to be. You catch your breath for a moment, not expecting the familiarity of his touch to feel so grounding. For a split second, you’re taken back to moments from the past, the memories of simpler days when his touch brought comfort instead of tension. You want to pull away, to remind yourself that things aren’t the same anymore. But you’re too tired, too worn out, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into the stability he’s offering without question.
"Careful," Satoru’s voice is quiet, but there's a soft edge to it, like he’s genuinely concerned. His hands stay on your arms, not pulling away immediately, as if waiting for you to give him a signal that you’re okay.
You blink, the haze of sleep making everything feel just a little more surreal. "I’m fine," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, but it lacks conviction. Your body feels heavier than it should, and your mind seems to be swimming in fog.
He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, his fingers give a slight squeeze, a small, unspoken reassurance. "You sure? You look like you’re about to fall over."
"I’m just... tired," you say, the words slipping from your lips before you even realize. You wince internally, but it’s too late to take them back now. There’s no point.
Satoru nods, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway, but the way his eyes linger on you makes something in your chest tighten. It’s like he’s still trying to figure you out, still trying to read you after all these years. He always was good at that. Without saying much more, he gently guides you to the door of the spare room, a hand hovering above the small of your back; his touch still light but firm. He’s not pushing you, just there, a quiet presence in the storm. "Get some rest. I’ll be nearby, just in case."
You nod, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and frustration well up inside you. "Thanks," you murmur, finally able to pull away from his grip and step into the room.
Before you close the door, you glance over at him, standing there in the hallway, his figure outlined by the soft glow from the living room. "Good night," you add, your voice a little softer than you meant it to be.
He doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that you can’t quite place. After a beat, he says quietly, "Good night, Y/N."
And then, with one last look, he walks away, leaving you alone in the quiet darkness of the room. The door clicks softly behind you, and for the first time in days, you feel a small sense of peace—fragile, uncertain, but there all the same.
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Satoru has taken the liberty of getting Koji dressed and ready for school. Shushing his son with quiet murmurs so you won’t wake up. He’s a little surprised, but you must be that tired. Satoru usually wakes up earlier than most, having went to go check on you two, but getting shocked to see his son using the bathroom instead and saying something about how “Mama’s still sleeping, I have school.”
He’s a smart kid—a very smart kid. He guided Satoru the entire ride, remembering the name of his school and which streets to use. You raised him well. He parks his car in the lot, it stands out like a sore thumb among the civics, corollas, and trucks.
Carrying Koji in his arms towards the boys classroom. “Excited, buddy?”
“Mhm!” 
Satoru smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”
“Okay, Papa. Thank you.” Koji gratefully responds.
“No need to thank me, Koji. It’s my job.”
Satoru can feel the lingering stares and hushed whispers as he walks down the hallway to his son’s class. Ignoring it like a pro and focusing on one thing and one thing only. As they approach his room, Mr. Ito is standing outside like usual. As soon as the man sees the two, his eyes visibly widen before playing it off with a cough of his throat. “Good morning, Koji. Gojo.”
Satoru remembers the guy as the one from the cafe. That one. He nods in understanding, setting Koji down and crouching with him. “Have a fun day, I’ll see you later.”
“Bye, Papa.” Koji kisses his cheek and rushes inside happily. 
 "Morning," Satoru replies coolly, standing tall as he watches Koji run off to join his classmates. "I trust Koji’s been good?"
"Of course, of course," Mr. Ito replies quickly, his smile tight, the words coming out a little too fast. "He’s been a delight to have here. Very bright."
Satoru nods, but his eyes never leave Mr. Ito’s. "Glad to hear it."
There’s an awkward silence that stretches between them, but Satoru isn’t in the mood for small talk. He could read the teacher’s discomfort, and he’s not about to play into it. After all, it’s not like they’re friends, or even acquaintances. Mr. Ito shifts on his feet, and Satoru can tell he’s trying to think of something to say, something that will smooth over whatever awkwardness hangs in the air. “So, where’s Ms. Y/N today?”
Satoru’s brows tick, arms crossing. “At home.”
Mr. Ito nods, clearly trying to gauge whether there’s more to the story, but Satoru doesn’t give him any openings. He’s not in the mood to entertain questions about you, not now, not here, especially not from someone like him. "Ah, I see," Mr. Ito mumbles, his voice trailing off as he shuffles his feet again. "I just thought... well, with everything that’s been going on, I expected to see her here, too."
Satoru’s eyes narrow, though his expression remains calm, just a hint of warning in his tone. "She’s handling things on her own. We’re both doing fine. You don’t need to worry about it. You have a class full of children to teach."
The other man hides his displeasure behind a stiff nod. “Right, right. Just wondering, that’s all.”
“Don’t have to, she already has a man for that.”
Satoru wonders why he’s being do damn weird right now. Possesive almost. You two aren’t together, but the way this guy is asking about you, it’s slightly setting him off. Who does he think he is worrying about you?
Mr. Ito falters, his smile fading as Satoru’s words hang heavy in the air. "Right, of course," he mumbles, clearly taken aback. He shifts on his feet, his eyes darting to the ground before locking back onto Satoru. "Just asking, I mean… it's just a lot going on, you know?"
Satoru’s gaze hardens, the protective instinct that rises within him catching him off guard. He takes a slight step closer to Mr. Ito, his tone deliberately neutral but carrying an edge. "You don’t need to worry about her. She’s got it covered."
There’s a flicker of something in Mr. Ito’s eyes—something that hints he’s about to say something else, but he swallows it down, nodding stiffly instead. "Yeah, of course." He quickly looks away, clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I’ll… I’ll get back to the class."
Satoru stands still for a moment, his posture rigid, a sharp edge in his expression as he watches Mr. Ito retreat. He doesn't know why it bothered him so much. The guy wasn’t even doing anything wrong, not really. But the way he was asking about you—like he had any right to—made something inside Satoru twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man didn’t belong in your world, that he had no place prying into your life.
Satoru finally exhales, shaking his head. Whatever. It was just a teacher.
With one last glance at the classroom door, he turns and heads back to the school doors. There's no reason to overthink this. It’s just… odd. He can’t let it get to him.
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You wake up that day to a lone bed. Groaning to yourself as the sunbeams spray across your face and momentarily blind you. Hand reaching out for the space next to you. Instead, you see a note saying: dropped koji off, i’ll be back around noon to grab some lunch. sleep up
Instantly, your eyes widen, springing up out of bed. Reaching for your phone, the time reads 11:30pm. “Shit!” you curse to yourself, rushing out the door and to your bag still on the chair from last night. You dig in for your work clothes, changing right there and then and praying to the gods that Satoru doesn’t walk through this door. Brushing your teeth, hair, washing your face, putting some moustirzer and sunscreen on, all of it takes way too long. By the time you’re done and messily putting your shoes on, it’s twelve. Four hours after you were supposed to be at work. Hana’s going to kill me.
Grabbing your bag with rough and rushed movements, you’re sprinting to the door at this point. Out of breath and already conjuring up a sorry apology for Hana. you reach the doorhandle, flinging it open. But as soon as you do, you come to an abrupt stop.
Because standing before you is a woman, a woman you’ve seen before on Satoru’s lock screen. The same woman who kissed the lips that you used to. Arms crossed and a nasty scowl forming on her face as she eyes you up and down in a criticizing way. 
Finally, she scoffs out. 
“Do you know who I am?”
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a/n: they so cute
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redflagshipwriter · 11 months ago
Text
Mamabat- enter Jason 1/2
MASTERPOST
The air was different with Cass, now. Danny felt a little anxious as he followed her to the study after breakfast. Something about her was serious-determined-protective. 
She always felt protective towards him. That was why he'd followed her in the first place. Some ghosts lied, but they couldn't do it with their aura. He knew what she really felt for him. 
“Sit?” She asked him. She gestured at the big squashy chair. Danny did without complaint. Cass perched behind him and started dragging her fingers through his hair, relaxing him.
Man. She was good at this. Top tier mothering, right here. Danny went limp. 
“I'm worried,” Cass broke the silence. She didn't sound worried. She never really did. Her voice was quiet and serious, but still kind. Her thumbs dug into his scalp. He pushed his head back against it. Bliss. “Barbara made you sad. Because you miss your sister?”
Danny tensed. 
‘I should have figured that Batman would track me down.’
Maybe he had known, if he was honest with himself. It didn't hit him like a shock.
“Tim thinks your name is Fenton,” she added, brutally sensible as always. And yup, that was it. No point in denying it. “Declared dead. In danger?”
He sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't going to lie to her. 
“Worried,” she repeated. 
He thought about it. He really did. Danny bit his lip. 
She was liminal. That probably meant she'd come really close to death, in at least one sense of the word. Would that mean she was desensitized to it, or extra paranoid?
…It was hard to imagine Cass over or under reacting to a possible danger. She was just so steady. But would she see him as a possible danger if she knew what he was, what he really was? 
He could feel it out before he took a plunge with the whole truth.
Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was invasive. She didn't seem to realize that she was liminal. That meant she definitely didn't realize how much she was communicating to him under her words and gestures. 
But Danny deliberately tuned into her quiet aural communication and tested the waters. “Tim is right, I'm Danny Fenton,” he said. He knew he was too tense. She would definitely feel it. But what could he do about that? He was nervous. “I… Maybe I did die.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. He could feel the crush of grief on her heart. 
But it didn’t wash away the thudding repetition of love-protect-my darling. There was no suspicion, no guilt, no fear. It was just pain for his sake, with no calculation about how to solve a sudden problem. 
God. He wanted so badly for that to have been how his parents reacted. His eyes started to sting.
Danny sniffled. He thought it was safe to tell her. “I died,” he corrected, and he knew he was right when Cass made a little wounded sound and leaned her body into him, aiming to comfort. “Not then, but a couple years ago. I’m different now, and it’s uh… It’s dangerous to be this way.”
“Affects?” Cass asked quietly. She started to pet his hair again. “Mood? Health?”
“...Huh,” he said, because that was a sensible question he hadn’t expected. If he really thought about his mood and emotions before and after the accident: “Yeah, uh, there’s sometimes a mood thing. I might be a little more aggressive than I was before? And I can get kind of intense sometimes.”
He had thought that was basically just a reaction to having a whole bunch of new threats in his life. But would pre-electrocution Danny have been able to actually stand and fight Skulker? He had genuinely been afraid of the jocks. Maybe… Maybe he was different. Sure, Sam and Jazz were up for shooting ghosts with Fenton tech. Would he have been if he was just human? 
…He didn’t really think so.
Oof. Well, that wasn’t exactly great for his sense of self.
Cass shook him lightly. “Health?” she repeated.
Danny forced down that revelation to deal with later. He didn’t like acknowledging that he was kind of a chicken by nature, but historically, there wasn’t much evidence of bravery pre-mortem. “Uh, my heart rate is really slow, body temp is low, so I can’t really afford to go to a doctor for a checkup,” he said. “Uh, sometimes I’ve got none at all and my hair turns white.” He paused there. That was- that was enough, yeah? He was going to be honest with her because she deserved honesty from him. But that didn’t mean he had to explain the whole great beyond and his inhuman status.
“Sounds like Jason,” Cass said, after a long silence.
Danny short-circuited. “Wait, what?” He craned to look at her. “Who?”
Cass darted forward to kiss his forehead. “Little brother,” she said cheerfully. “Want to meet him?”
Uh, yeah. Danny nodded vigorously, wondering what the hell she was on about. “Do you mean he died?” 
“Died,” Cass agreed, getting out her phone and tapping away at it rapidly.
“Not like, heart stopped for a minute on the operating table and he was revived, or what?” Danny pressed.
“Dead in the ground, came back later,” Cass said. “Dead for months. Now, very crabby.”
Danny balked. “What?”
“White hair too,” she said. Then her face did something funny. “I think he dyed it recently,” she said. 
Danny huffed a laugh. “If it’s the same thing as mine, you can’t dye it.” He saw her look over his head for white streaks. He didn’t correct her line of thought.
He hadn’t thought that anything could top the anticipation of meeting Batman. But Danny had to admit the rest of the day was a wash. Apparently Jason couldn’t make it until the evening, about an hour before patrol.
Danny nearly paced a line into the carpet. He had enough energy to do that now, even without ecto. He was getting soooo much food here. A guy couldn’t even stress out for an hour without someone coming by to make sure he had fruit and yogurt or a hot drink.
He didn’t need someone to come and tell him that the much anticipated Jason had shown up. Danny knew it when he went to take a sip of cruelty-free chocolate milk (hand delivered by the most frightening child in the world) and choked on vapor.
Damian gave him a glare and snatched the drink away. “Are you incapable of drinking beverages?” he demanded. His face looked so goddamn cross but he was just worried.
Danny managed a smile. “No, went down the wrong pipe, sorry.”
Damian didn’t seem to even see the fog, so- so that meant that either he was really unobservant or he wasn’t liminal enough to see it the way people did in Amity. That was a small blessing. Danny appreciated it and he took back his drink to have something to hold onto.
That was a whole ass ghost. That was a whole ghost coming onto the property, one that felt big and mad and old. Danny smacked his lips, disconcerted. 
He, uh, didn’t know what to expect from this.
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yanderismo · 1 year ago
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Yandere Platonic Superman Concept/Idea (?)
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BRO, BRO, I DON'T KNOW IF I LOVE OR HATE MY MIND FOR GIVING ME IDEAS THAT I'LL NEVER START OR FINISH. But okay, I have an idea for a platonic yandere Superfam, maybe it involves Batfam or the entire DC universe. I think this is more platonic yandere Superman. Let's go. (using the translator, be kind to me please 😭) 
— Imagine that you are originally from the Injustice universe. You were a neutral young/teen heroine who wasn't at all interested in siding with Batman or Superman. Well... that neutrality of yours had consequences, and now, somehow, Superman and Batman were in a bloody tug of war to get you on their side. And you are the cable they are selfishly pulling. And one day that cable would break, and that's what happened to you, you broke it. So broken that I would consider it irreparable. 
— But luckily for you (bro, are you lucky?), after so much physical and mental suffering, you ended up in a way that I won't explain, in the original DC universe. In other words, no superheroes is crazy tyrants. Too bad you don't know that (yet).
— You were living as if the world was a danger to you (just like it was in Injustice). But you discovered that you were REALLY in a different universe or timeline when you met Lois Lane, the woman who drove Superman insane after her death. And it shocked you, you thought maybe you had gone back in time. And as reckless as it was, you felt hope that you could stop the future of Injustice from happening, stop Lois Lane from being murdered! After all, you were still a hero, even if you had probably lost half of your original universe's neurons.
 — So you made a decision. You decided to protect Lois Lane! You practically become her protective shadow. Being noticed wouldn't do any good, and for SO FEAR of being confronted by Superman/Clark for apparently stalking his wife, you stopped watching her when Clark showed up and you went back when Clark left. (In your head, this Superman is the same Superman from Injustice, just before Lois' death happened). You were wary as hell of all the heroes. Anyway, a lot of trauma caused by Injustice.
— And I believe that Lois, even if she was a civilian, would notice that she was being watched (or maybe you're just not very good at stalking because you're a very young heroine). Whatever it is. Lois noticed and she became cautious (she is a journalist, there are many people who may not like her to the point of committing atrocities), as you could be a threat to her life. Although you haven't revealed yourself as any threat so far.
 — But let's suppose there were events in which she was in danger (actually, it was just something like shelves falling, preventing her from being run over, preventing some rabid dogs from biting her, small things), events in which you managed to remain hidden, however Lois knew it was You, her strangely protective stalker. Lois was trying to know your intentions and work it out for herself, so she didn't say anything about it. If this is something much more than she can handle, Clark can always lend a little help. 
— But on another one of those times when she was in danger, you desperately saved her (the situation was quite dangerous, more than normal), asking if she was okay and everything. Lois was surprised, you were surprised. Before you know, the idea of staying in the shadows went down the drain. You were almost begging (you were begging) her not to tell anyone that you were persecuting her (protecting her), you didn't want her to report you to some authority (that would only hinder your mission) or worse, report you to Superman. You said, stammered, that you were just protecting her. Wanting to make sure Lois didn't feel threatened and report you. 
— The desperation, the panic in your voice, seemed too young for Lois to feel comfortable. You were like a scared child, you looked very much like just a scared child, and that made Lois uncomfortable but at the same time... motherly. If you wanted to hurt her, you would have done it already. You at least accomplished one thing: making Lois not feel threatened by you.
 — The other thing you couldn't do was stop Lois from telling Clark about you. Look, I'm sure Lois didn't mean it, it's uncomfortable to be watched almost every day, but also, since she discovered you, she's been quite worried about you.
 — And Clark is all worried, like, "What?? My wife is being stalked??? Oh wait, my wife is being stalked and protected. Well, that's still very worrying, I'm definitely going to check it out for myself." Furthermore, Lois insisted that he be gentle when approaching you. And Lois saying this to him made him even more intrigued. 
— He tried to approach you just as Clark Kent, just to know how you would react around a seemingly civilian person, think of it as a method to read your character (he didn't want to confront you as Superman in a careless way. After all, who wouldn't Does he act nice or change to a more pleasant personality around Superman?)
— Needless to say, Clark was surprised and confused when you looked at him like he was the greatest terror of your life before simply running away from him. He recognized that look, only villains who were traumatized after a confrontation against him have that look (but the you look was much, much worse than that). That day, you didn't chase Lois.
 — Clark suspected you knew his secret identity. There is no longer any reason for you to have reacted like this. 
— lol, that day Lois noticed the absence of the feeling of being watched and scolded Clark for scaring you. Although it wasn't his fault, he apologized. He really didn't mean to scare you ;( You were gone for a few days after that. But of course, you still had to protect Lois in her everyday life. Even if you were scared. 
— Anyway, it didn't matter how softly, friendly Superman approached you next time. You ran, or at least tried to run. Do you really want to bet on who is the fastest? He easily caught you and held you by your forearm. And that was enough to make you scream, cry, struggle and finally, shrink as much as possible.
— And Superman was all confused, he wasn't even hurting you or squeezing you hard. His voice was also friendly. If anything, it made him even more worried. Add the fact that you appear to be very young and his paternal instincts kicked in. 
— To his surprise, you pulled out a knife. Something like that couldn't hurt Superman, of course not. But who said the knife was meant to hurt him? Let's say you picked up the knife and tried to slit your own throat as a last resort escape. (What did you go through with Superman from Injustice to the point that you tried to commit suicide just to escape him?) 
— Superman was surprised and then horrified. He immediately knocked you unconscious before you cut deeper into your throat. Now with you unconscious, you seemed more vulnerable and fragile than you should have been. Now he understood why Lois was worried about you. (You know, if Batman can adopt multiple children, why couldn't Superman...? You seem like a good kid and even Lois agrees with that. Conner and Jon would definitely like to have a sister) 
— Superman wondered what happened to you that made you reach the point where death was a usable route. He wanted to question you personally, but the moment he confirmed that you knew his identity (you acted the same way when he approached you as a civilian. He was the only one to receive this reaction from you and no one else), this matter became the subject of the Justice League. Discovering the identity of a superhero and pursuing someone close to that superhero was not going to be taken lightly. Who's to say you don't also know the identities of others? Although Superman wants to deal with you alone, he doubts he'll get any information out of you with you yelling and screaming. So he took you to the justice league. 
— Batman can definitely help you solve this.
(Imagine the anguish it would be to probably have to get used to people having the same appearance and the same voice as your captors in Injustice. Imagine them acting all soft after finding out you come from a universe where the heroes are corrupt and broke you😩)
Notas: I leave the rest to you. Or to any author who wants to use this idea (I beg you, some author write a Yandere platonic Superman/Superfam fic😭 They could even add other platonic Yanderes like Batfam, it would be so interesting 🙏😭)
(I just realized that the one who acted the most Yandere was Reader herself, lol)
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steddiealltheway · 2 years ago
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For some reason, Steve and Eddie do not know how to greet each other. Maybe it's because their friendship is somewhat new, and they both don't know how to outright say, "How the hell am I supposed to say hello?"
So, it just kind of becomes a thing between the two of them to almost rapid-fire greetings until they land on a mutual one. And usually... it takes them a while.
This time is no exception.
Eddie sees Steve and lets his heart do a little flip that he knows isn't just nerves from their little greeting thing, but eventually, he'll learn how to push those feelings down. He just can't help it when Steve always looks like a- like.... okay, he's hot, and Eddie's brain goes to mush whenever he's around him.
Speaking of being around him...
"Hey!" Eddie says throwing his arms out wide for a hug while the kids walk around them.
Steve counters him by thrusting his hand forward going for a handshake while saying, "Hey, man!"
They both laugh at their awkward greeting and move on to the next one. For some reason, Eddie goes for a bow, and Steve does Eddie's signature devil horns while sticking his tongue out which really should not be so damn attractive.
Then, Eddie stands up straight and goes for a high five while Steve goes for a fist bump. "Almost had it," Steve says with a wide smile.
"We'll get it on this next one," Eddie states. Then, he moves his elbow forward as Steve does his little finger wave.
"I definitely should've seen that coming. That's on me," Steve says running a hand through his hair.
"No worries, man. But I won't lie, I'm starting to run out of greetings, and they're about to turn weird," Eddie admits, but this is usually the fun of this game. Somehow they always get to some mutually weird greeting that no human would actually ever do.
So, Eddie prepares himself when Steve gets a rare mischievous look in his eye and asks, "Ready?"
Eddie nods then jumps into the air as Steve raises his foot up, luckily not kicking him but getting fairly close.
"Were you trying to kick me?" Eddie asks with a laugh.
"Was going for a footfive," Steve replies with a smile.
That smile is going to be the death of Eddie one of these days. And for some reason, with that thought on his mind, Eddie suddenly remembers that sometimes people kiss each other on the cheeks as a greeting, and wouldn't that be funny?
"Ready?" Eddie asks, excited for his plan.
"Ready," Steve replies.
Unexpectedly, Steve steps forward as Eddie does the same. But Eddie doesn't chicken out of his plan. So, he quickly leans forward, but Steve must entirely misread him because suddenly he is kissing Eddie. Like... full-on kissing him. On the lips. With his hands gently cupping his face.
When he pulls away, Eddie is still a bit in shock, but Steve just raises his hand in a high five and excitedly yells, "We found a greeting!" Like they usually do as if he did not just kiss him.
So, Eddie does the only thing he can think of and celebrates with him as if nothing life-changing just happened.
When Steve walks away, Eddie can't help but get stuck on the fact that they're going to have to go through the same process when saying goodbye again. Is he allowed to test his luck?
He glances around and realizes that no one else witnessed their little moment, having gotten used to their antics long ago. But maybe when everyone is leaving and they're around the two, Eddie won't be so lucky. If anything, he can say he was going for a cheek kiss.
So, the night goes on, and Eddie tries as hard as he can to forget the kiss.
It does not work at all.
And before he knows it, people are starting to leave, and Steve is even looking at him expectantly. So, Eddie walks up to him and says, "Bye, man." And before he can even think of a way to say goodbye to cover how much he wants to kiss Steve again, Steve is already leaning in.
This time, Eddie easily meets him in the middle to properly kiss him which gives him butterflies in his stomach until he hears Dustin say, "What the fuck?"
Steve and Eddie jump apart breaking the kiss, but Steve quickly defends them. "We found our new greeting!"
Eddie thinks he might die on the spot. This is going to be a recurring thing? Jesus H. Christ. Steve is going to be the death of him.
"Good for you?" Max says as she walks out the door clearly weirded out but Eddie thinks she could care less.
Everyone else kind of dismisses it as well, but Dustin just stands there flabbergasted.
Steve takes a small step forward with his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised. “You got a problem, Henderson?” Steve asks, more fearful than accusatory.
“No!” Dustin squeals then calmly continues, “No. it’s just I…” he trails off and looks between the two before shaking his head. “I don’t want to see any tongue,” he states.
“Gross, I would never in front of you kids!” Steve says shoving him out the door while ruffling his hair.
“No promises!” Eddie shouts after him, but then it hits him that Steve just said he would make out with him with the kids not around… and right now the kids are all gone.
Oh shit.
The door closes behind Dustin, and Eddie knows that he needs to leave the Harrington house. Especially because he’s the kids’ ride home.
He ducks his head, letting some strands fall in front of his face, and says, "Goodbye, Steve." He takes a few steps toward the door but is stopped by Steve's hand on his shoulder.
"Eddie?"
"Yeah?" Eddie asks, sounding a little too hopeful.
Steve just steps in front of him and cups his face. "This okay?"
Eddie melts into the touch and grabs Steve's hips. "More than okay."
He's not sure who moves first, but Steve is pinned against the door, and Eddie fulfills his secret wishes of taking Steve apart as he learns that Steve wasn't lying when he said no tongue only in front of the kids.
There's a loud knock on the door, and Dustin is suddenly yelling, "Hurry up in there! Some of us have a curfew!"
So, Steve and Eddie reluctantly pull apart, but Eddie can't help but kiss him one more time and wish him a good night.
In the car, the kids grill Eddie to answer when the hell they started dating, but Eddie assures them that they're not. Then, they all take bets on how long it will be, and Eddie chimes in that he's pretty sure he's not supposed to hear their bets.
(Secretly, he wants to make El's bet of two weeks come true.)
Eddie knows it's just a fluke though. Steve is probably just kissed starved after his series of failed dates, and Eddie is just an outlet.
It's pretty depressing when it's put like that but... Eddie is willing to take anything from Steve.
So, he can't be too upset when Steve kisses him the next time he sees him. And the time after that... And the time after that...
But, then it shifts to whenever Steve sees Eddie after he goes in another room, the bathroom, hell, sometimes Steve just says he hasn't looked in his direction in a while and misses him before he swoops in to kiss him.
It shifts even further when Steve starts purposely making excuses to get Eddie alone only to make out with him. They're not even good excuses. He once asks, "Eddie, can you come in here to observe the color of the inside of this door?"
But every time Eddie thinks maybe this is not good for my heart, Steve looks at him sweetly and says, "Hi," before leaning in to kiss him again.
And maybe it would be easier to distinguish whatever the hell this whole greeting thing is if only Steve wasn't acting all lovey-dovey outside of it. He starts insisting on sitting next to Eddie and slinging his arm around his shoulders. He even starts whispering flirty stuff in his ear that makes Eddie turn bright red - he didn't know someone could do that to him.
And the kids are getting worse in the van, insisting that they each have their bet in the bag with it being any day now.
And Eddie knows they're all wrong.
Steve has just hit a rough patch and he's content with using Eddie until the next girl comes along.
Once again… that sounds really bad. But it has to be the only way that Eddie deserves this.
But maybe he should end it before things go too far.
With that in mind, Eddie goes to Steve’s house unprompted and without anyone else for once. He needs to make it clear that a new greeting is needed.
He gets there quickly and rushes to the front door before he can change his mind. He can do this. He can set a boundary.
But then Steve opens the door and his whole face lights up when he sees Eddie. “Finally. I was wondering when it would just be you, but I didn’t want to push it.”
Instead of dodging the kiss once he’s through the doorway, Eddie completely gives in to the way Steve desperately throws himself at him practically devouring him. And Eddie is a very weak man.
Every kiss breaks his will and he begins to wonder why he should say anything and instead just accept anything he can.
Then, Steve starts kissing his jaw and down his neck and Eddie freezes up. Whatever comes next, he definitely does not want it to mean nothing.
Luckily, Steve notices and pulls back. “You okay?” He asks looking him in the eye.
Eddie shakes his head. He’s not. God, he really likes him. But he can’t go any further or this will tear him apart.
“Hey,” Steve says gently. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
Eddie thuds his head against the door and feels so dumb when his eyes start to burn and his bottom lip starts to tremble. “Please don’t hate me when I tell you this.”
“I could never hate you, Eddie.”
Eddie laughs humorlessly. He’s going to flip out when he finds out. “I like you, Steve. As in, I have feelings for you.”
Steve waits a moment, brows furrowed, and Eddie is sure he’s going to kick him out. Instead, he asks, “But…?”
Why is he prompting him? “No but. That’s it,” Eddie states. Maybe Steve just heard him wrong?
“Okay?” Steve says as if it was the most obvious confession in the world. “And why would I hate you when you told me that?”
Eddie’s eyes widen. Does he not get it? “Because I like you! Like… romantically! And I can’t have you kissing me since it means nothing to you and everything to me!” His heart pounds in his chest as Steve takes in what he’s saying.
“Holy shit,” Steve says having the realization.
“Yeah, holy shit.” Eddie thuds his head back against the door again. Hopefully he’ll let him down easy.
“No, I mean holy shit holy shit,” Steve crowds into his space and cups Eddie’s face. “Did you not think I had feelings for you too? Hell, I thought we were like… dating by now.” Steve pulls away and runs a hand through his hair anxiously. “Holy shit,” he mutters in disbelief.
Eddie just stares. “You thought we were dating? Like… you have feelings for me?”
“I thought I made them clear after the second time I kissed you! Why would I make out with you if we were just friends?”
“I don’t know!” Eddie yells back and runs his hands over his face. He laughs. “Oh god, none of the kids will win the bet because we have no idea when we started dating.”
“There’s a bet going on?” Steve asks with a small smile. “What did El say?”
“That’s who I was hoping for! She said we would be dating two weeks from… Oh, that was two weeks ago exactly,” Eddie realizes with a big smile. Maybe she won fair and square after all.
“Want to make it official then since I somehow forgot to?” Steve asks with a big smile.
Eddie pretends to actually think about his answer before considering, “Maybe I should review all the bets first.”
“Eddie,” Steve says exasperated.
“I’m joking. I will be glad to be your boyfriend… if it means El wins the bet.”
“Eddie.”
Eddie can’t help but laugh at Steve’s irritation. He leans forward and easily kisses him. “You’re going to get tired of me so fast, boyfriend,” Eddie can’t help but tack on at the end.
“I’d like to see you try, boyfriend,” Steve replies before kissing him again.
From then on, their greetings only slightly change. In addition to the kiss, they always say some form of, “Hi, boyfriend.” The kids quickly get tired of it, but Steve and Eddie never do.
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audliminal · 3 months ago
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Survivability Bias Pt 3
Masterpost
Content warning: This chapter involves depiction of a train derailment and subsequent fire throughout. There is also brief mention of death. I will be putting a brief summary in the description if you prefer not to read this part.
Danny jolts up from his fitful sleep. He’s intangible and invisible before he’s even fully sitting up and he’s in the air before he registers the loud boom that woke him. Any concerns about his bright transformation are made totally irrelevant by the warning sirens blaring in his head.
Wait, no. Those are real sirens.
In the distance, lights are now accompanying the sirens; flashing as they speed down what looks like main street. It’s pretty clear where they’re going too, from the violent orange glow cascading over the tops of the nearby buildings.
I knew it, Danny thinks, flying towards whatever disaster is unfolding. probably it’s stupid to get involved, when he still knows so little about this place, but- well, old habits die hard. It doesn’t take long for the problem to become obvious, and Danny freezes as he struggles to process the scene before him.
The metal carnage is nothing like Danny’s ever seen before; what looks to be a freight train has derailed at the worst possible location, sending its cars careening into the various apartment buildings and stores on the east side of town, and to make matters worse, one of them has clearly crashed straight into the gas station by the freeway, and fire is spreading faster than Danny could have imagined.
Danny can already see two buildings blazing, but he quickly focuses his attention towards the carnage of the train itself. Luckily it’s fairly obvious what direction it was headed, and Danny moves fast, looking for the engine. In ghost form, physical sensations always feel a little more distant but even through that, Danny can feel his heart rabbiting in his chest. Luckily it takes less than a minute to find the engine, but as he approaches it, the presence of death catches in his throat, and he immediately knows it’s a lost cause.
He can’t sense any actual ghosts, though, so instead Danny whips around to stare at the derailed cars. He’s far more used to fighting than he is rescues, but he can hardly just ignore the possibility of people trapped, so he carefully begins phasing through the wreckage, searching and listening for signs of anyone. Already, people are starting to gather outside; both those who were nearby and those who have managed to escape on their own, and Danny is careful to maintain his invisibility as he works. 
Danny’s made it through about half the wreck by the time he spots the firetrucks arriving, he’s pretty certain that nobody’s trapped under any of the cars, and he’s also thinking more clearly. The fire has also gotten worse now, and Danny watches as fully equipped firefighters spill out onto the street, already jumping to work as the fire chief shouts out orders. Some rush to start battling the flames, but others head towards the crowd.
They’re getting headcounts, Danny realizes. It seems so obvious in retrospect, but of course, Danny would have to be visible to check with anyone. And now that they’re here, anything he tries to do in secret would probably just make things harder. There is, of course, an easy solution to that, but- Danny has yet to find any evidence that all the meta stuff is anything but propaganda.
Even as Danny considers the dilemma, he knows what he’s going to do. He’s survived danger before, after all, and if he can keep people from assuming ghost, then he’ll have an advantage on them even if it comes to the worst. Besides, there’s that whole great powers-great responsibility thing, so in a way, it’s kind of his responsibility...
Danny floats out of the wreckage before shifting into visibility, figuring it’s probably polite to approach in their field of sight.
“What can I do to help?” Danny asks, causing most of the crowd to stare in shock. Belatedly he realizes he’s still floating, but actually that’s probably a good thing. Makes it clear he’s a meta right off the bat, at least
“New hero, huh? Powerset?” The man responds promptly, leveling Danny with an even gaze. Probably the lack of shock is a good thing. Probably.
“Uh, flight obviously, enhanced strength as well, and um... The ability to turn people and things intangible?” Danny responds promptly. It’s far from his full set, but he figures those are the most relevant, and keeping most of his tricks under his sleeve makes him feel better about what he’s doing.
“Is the fire gonna hurt you? I’m not sending some kid in there to die of third degree burns or smoke inhalation.” The man frowns, giving Danny the distinct feeling he’s not particularly impressed with Danny’s answer.
“Oh! Yeah, no, I’ll be fine! I like, don’t exactly need to breathe? And I’m fine in extreme heat too, so it shouldn’t be a problem...” Danny trails off and the head firefighter narrows his eyes as he tries not to flinch at the assessing look. To Danny’s right, someone shouts and when he turns to look, he sees a firefighter wave their arm and plant some kind of flag before moving on. No longer paying attention to Danny, the chief walks over and speaks to another firefighter. Danny wonders if he’s been dismissed, but before he can do anything, the chief calls out to him.
“Alright kid, you’re up, I guess,” he says, when Danny walks over. “We don’t know how injured he is, so do not move him, but if you’re strong enough to move this stuff fast and safe, that’ll be a damn good help.” He gestures to the twisted mess that Danny’s pretty sure was the edge of a building. 
Danny nods, stepping forward to examine the rubble. The firefighter that spotted the man points to a couple beams.
“Those beams are protecting him from the worst of it right now, but we’ll need to move them in order to get him out, so you gotta make sure that there’s nothing that’ll fall on him him when you move them.” 
“Righty-o,” Danny says, stepping forward to grab the two support beams he’d pointed too. He carefully examines the rubble collapsed around and over it. It’s sort of like a puzzle, he realizes - not quite the same as fixing his parents tech; certainly nothing here is supposed to be smashed together like that, but-
Danny blinks and refocuses. If he  just moves a few things first, he thinks he can get enough cleared away and just intange the beams. He tries to be fast as he does, without forgetting the emphasis the chief had put on safety, and after a few moments, he’s ready to move the beams. He gets into a good position, and then carefully makes them intangible, ready to react if anything bad happens. When nothing does, he carefully pulls them up and away, watching as the waiting firefighters rush in and start to work on actually extracting the guy.
He watches for a bit as a backboard appears and they begin a very slow and careful process of getting the guy onto it.
“Kid,” the chief calls, pulling Danny’s attention away.The chief guides him towards one of the buildings that’s on fire. “Got two people trapped on the third floor here. The stairs are unsafe, so if you can, get yourself up there, locate them, and get them out.”
Danny nods, not waiting for further instruction. He flies up two floors, and goes straight through the wall with his intangibility. The majority of this building isn’t terribly damaged, but one side has collapsed in on itself so if that’s where the stairs were, he can understand the difficulty. The air inside is already thick with smoke, and he quickly stops breathing, belatedly remembering that he’s supposed to not get smoke inhalation. Luckily, it doesn’t take long to catch the sound of voices, and Danny follows it to a room where two people are huddled next to an open window. Right, that’s a smart way to limit the danger of the smoke.
“Rides here!” Danny announces cheerfully, dropping his intangibility. Both people startle as they spot him, but one recovers relatively quickly.
“Him first,” they say, nodding towards their companion, who definitely looks more dazed.
“Right, here we go!” Danny says, stepping forward, and scooping the person up, and wasting no time flying directly through the building, and down to the waiting paramedics. There’s no stretcher currently available, so Danny gently sets them on the ground away from the worst of the smoke, before flying back to get the other person. They’re already standing up, and waste no time in wrapping their arms around his neck as he picks them up and flies them out to the medics as well.
Danny hardly has time to set the person down, before the chief is pulling him away again. They send him in to save a couple other trapped people, but after that, it sounds like everybody is accounted for, because the chief starts focusing all their energy on putting out the fire, rather than just containing it.
Danny is surprised to find himself pulled into helping with this part too. He gets assigned to a fire attack team, and Danny trails along after the two firefighters as the enter the building and begin to fight the fire from the inside.Occasionally, one of them will point at some piece of wall or ceiling and ask him to check what’s on the other side. He goes where they say, looking for signs of the fire, and when he does spot flames, occasionally tearing stuff down so they can get to it with their fire hose. It’s honestly a fascinating process. Danny’s never been anywhere near a major fire and the fact that the firefighters actually do more damage to the building as they work echoes in Danny’s brain as a morbid refrain.
What they’re doing is clearly working though, because he can actually feel the ambient temperature going down as time goes on. He briefly wonders if he should be trying to use his ice powers when one of his teammates complains about how hot it is, but they have protection, and he doesn’t want to risk any more info on him getting out. And anyways, he’s busy enough just doing his job. By the time they leave the building, Danny is exhausted. The interrupted night’s sleep is making itself known, alongside the surprising realization that Danny has actually worked harder tonight than he ever has before.
He lets himself half-collapse against a wall beside one of the fire trucks, once they finish their work putting out the fire. Beside him, his teammates are divesting themselves of their gear. it’s funny, Danny was anxious about revealing himself at first, but this whole night - and Danny belatedly realizes the sun is beginning to drift above the horizon now - he’s not been scared at all. Sure he’s been worried; with people in danger he’s hardly going to feel good, but in the last few hours he’s both worked harder than he has in any of his fights, and he’s done it without feeling terrible. Now, with just everyone accounted for and just about all of them either fine or in the hands of doctors, he feels odd.
It’s not a bad feeling or anything, kind of like when he successfully beats a hard level in a video game, or how he used to feel when he finished science projects in middle school.
Satisfaction, he realizes. And that’s what it is, though it’s far stronger than any version of it that he’s ever felt before. He does have a lot to feel proud of too. He  helped, even though he wasn’t sure it was safe to, and he might’ve actually saved somebody’s life tonight.
“You did good, kid.” One of his teammates says, echoing Danny’s thoughts. He startles a bit, feels himself flushing, and then in his embarrassment, he feels himself tumble over into a full blush. It’s always felt more embarrassing blushing in his ghost form. The way his skin actually glows with the green tinge is just so obviously inhuman, and he tries to avoid, tries his best to seem normal and alive, even when he’s a ghost.
Of course, these people don’t know he’s a ghost, but from what he’s seen, most of the heroes out there at least look functionally human, and he waits for the firefighters around him to freak out at the reminder that he isn’t even remotely one of them.
“Damn,” one whistles. Green glow is a new one. Makes your freckles real cute though.” The others laugh, and the other of his teammates steps forward to pat him gently on the back.
“Stop embarrassing my new favorite hero,” the chief says, walking up to join them. “You gotta name?” 
“Oh, yeah!” Danny answers, desperate for a distraction from this line of conversation. “I’m Danny!”
“Danny,” the chief responds flatly. he almost sounds exasperated, though Danny can’t imagine why, unless...
Unless that absolutely sounds like he just introduced himself normal and they think he’s a hero and he sounds like a dumbass without a secret identity, which- technically isn’t exactly wrong. 
“Yup!” Danny says, trying to make it sound intentional. “Danny Phantom at your service! Y’know cause of the intangibility and like. It just sounded good?” There. That sounds plausible. If he actually does end up having to be a hero, though, he’ll probably need a different first name. If he gets a civilian identity, that is.
“Well, Phantom,” the chief grins, that same assessing look from before back, but noticeably more relaxed now that there’s no immediate danger. “We’re damn grateful for all your help, and if you need anything you come let us know, alright?”
“Yeah, one of his teammates echoes. “You’re an honorary firefighter now, you should come hang out at the station sometime!” A couple of the others echo the sentiment. It’s surprisingly kind, and Danny smiles at the unrelenting wave of welcome.
“I’ll think about it,” he offers uncertainly. “For now, I think I ought to go back to sleep for a few more hours.”
“That sounds like a good idea, Danny,” the chief says. “Just make sure to get something to eat first. You’ve burned a lot of calories today.”
“Yeah, will do,” Danny offers an awkward salute to the man, and then, before he can actually fall asleep standing up, he takes off to hunt down a good spot for a nap.
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im-subtextsexual · 8 months ago
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I’m glad so many people picked up on the vibes between Eloise and Cressida. Not a ship I ever considered before, but the tension was palpable. I’ve been a Queer Eloise truther since reading the books. Her portrayal on the show only made it more obvious in my mind. I didn’t think the writers would ever go there, but the set up is just so explicit, now I’m not sure. I don’t think they’d actually make Eloise / Cressida canon, but I do think they’re testing the waters for wlw Eloise. And it makes perfect sense. 
First off, the character is queer (I’ll hold off from labeling her a lesbian outright, because there’s definitely room for other identities like bi, demi, ace…. etc.) Even in the books. I legitimately think Julia Quinn accidentally wrote a sapphic character and then didn’t know what to do with her. So what we got is “To Sir Phillip, With Love”, widely considered to be one of the worst in the series. Believe me, if there’s any story that could stand to deviate from the books, it’s this one. And the story could so easily be adapted to a wlw romance, it would be a wasted opportunity not to do it. Like… the story would be better if they tweaked it to fit a queer canon. AND it could be done in a historically accurate way to shut up the naysayers that “a lesbian storyline wouldn’t fit in this universe.” How? Allow me to explain.
*SPOILERS FOR BRIDGERTON SERIES BOOK 5*
In the book, Eloise strikes up a correspondence with Sir Phillip Crane. Yes, THAT Phillip, the one currently married to Marina from season 1&2. Marina kills herself because she can’t stand to be married to Phillip and deal with their children in the wake of her lover / his brother’s death. His initial interest in Eloise is to find a mother for his children. She is intrigued by his intelligence and decides she doesn't want to be alone, but isn’t necessarily eager to marry or have a family. Due to romance novel shenanigans, she runs away to Phillip's house and is forced to marry him. Even as they grow to kind of love each other, it's far from some grand romance. It’s the very definition of “settling”. The most interesting part is the narrative structure of their story being told through letters in the beginning. We could keep all that, but make it gay. 
*Imagine*
Eloise meets some dapper gentlemen new to the marriage mart. We’ll call him Emmett. Very little is known about Emmett and his family as they keep largely to themselves at their estate in the countryside. The only thing that’s widely known is the family suffered a tragic accident where the man of the house and his oldest daughter died, leaving his son (the other twin) to take on the responsibility of rank and title very early. Emmet is making a rare appearance in London to find a wife (there are rumors of stipulations in his inheritance requiring a match). ALL the debutantes are fawning over him because he’s mysterious and extraordinarily good-looking. One might even say “pretty”… To everyone’s great surprise the season’s most eligible bachelor takes a special interest in Eloise after overhearing her talking about her disdain for the social convention of marriage, and how she would only consider it if it were an in-name-only, marriage of convenience. Emmett strikes up a conversation with Eloise and she is taken by his humor, wit and shockingly deep empathy for the limitations society puts on women. They continue to gravitate to each other through the first few events of the season, but Emmett has to return home suddenly because of a family emergency. Eloise is shocked to find herself disappointed, but they promise to write. Cue the correspondence romance.
Eloise grows more and more smitten with Emmett every letter she receives, but still has the same reservations about marriage especially when she thinks of the intimacy a relationship like that would require. When Emmett hints that he may want more than friendship, Eloise's feelings get the better of her and she goes to visit Emmett unannounced. He is shocked to see her, but let's her stay and she gets to know his mother and two younger sisters. The Bridgertons go looking for Eloise, worried something has happened to her. When she is found to have been staying for days in an unwed man's home without a chaperone, the potential scandal causes Anthony to force Eloise and Emmett to marry. Surprisingly, Emmett actually agrees so Eloise does too (all of this is essentially what happens in the book).
Eloise confesses to Emmett that she's nervous/resistant to physical intimacy, but he assures her they never have to be together that way. In fact, he would prefer the marriage of convenience they always talked about. Eloise is relieved until their kiss at the wedding sparks an attraction she wasn't expecting. They spend the first month or so of their marriage sleeping in separate rooms, enjoying each other's company, and letting the tension build. One night, Eloise's control and curiosity finally snaps and she goes to Emmett's room to initiate a physical relationship. She catches Emmett off guard in his sleeping clothes which makes it VERY clear... Emmett is a woman (cliffhanger of episode 4, and where we deviate from book canon to make it queer).
After the initial shock, Eloise allows her new "husband" to explain. Emmett is really Emma, the daughter believed to have died in a carriage accident with her father so many years ago. It was her twin brother that actually died, but since there were no other male heirs, Emma's family fortune would have gone to a distant uncle who is cruel and abusive. To save them of that fate, Emma's mother conspired with the local coroner to make it look like Emma was the one who died, so "Emmett" could inherit everything. Emma has been living as Emmett ever since, successfully keeping up the deception by keeping a low profile in society. The only reason Emma came to London that year is because her uncle died, and a cousin had come around asking questions hoping to inherit. She thought getting married would help secure her identity as Emmett and the cousin would back off. At first Eloise is outraged. She feels betrayed by Emma's duplicity, and is terrified if any of this ever got out everyone they know would be ruined forever. She agrees to keep the secret to save her family's reputation, but shuns Emma. Eventually, Emma (already aware that she's in love with Eloise) attempts to make amends and Eloise is charmed enough that she relaxes back into the relationship they had before the Big Reveal. The only problem is the attraction is still there, even more so now that Eloise knows the truth. Things come to a head, and they go at it Bridgerton style.
Emma and Eloise live happily in a true marriage for a bit until Cressida and Penelope come for a visit. They both find out about Emma, but are sworn to secrecy. Pen easily swears her loyalty (having already suspected Eloise), but Cressida is sickened. In a rage, she threatens to out them all, and storms back to London. Eloise follows her and begs Cressida to keep the secret, and tries to explain why the "wrong" feelings she has for Emma are very right for her. To Eloise's surprise, Cressida isn't upset about what she's doing with Emma, but who she's doing it with. She didn't know what they're doing was an option; that she was an option. Cressida confesses that if she'd known a life with Eloise was a choice she could make, it's the life she would have chosen. Eloise lets Cressida down easy by explaining they didn't have that choice. Everyone in the ton knows who they are. The only reason her relationship with Emma works is because of the ruse that allows Emma to be Emmett. Cressida takes this in stride, and vows to keep the secret, but her mother overhears and causes the biggest scandal London Society has ever seen.
The Bridgertons and a few friends (like Lady Danbury) are as understanding as possible, but the rest of the ton is rabid. Things escalate to the point where Emma and Eloise have to appear before the Queen. Emma pleads her case about pretending to save her family, and insists that Eloise didn't know until well after they were married so she's innocent. Eloise can't help herself and gets on her soapbox about the way society limits women, and that the Queen should understand their plight. Shockingly, she does. She annuls their "marriage" (because they didn't consummate anything... RIGHT?!) but she agrees to let Emma control her family's estate until one of her sisters produces a male heir. After that, she and Eloise will receive a pension from the Crown so they can live independently (the real Queen Charlotte actually did this for suspected historical sapphic couple The Ladies of Llangollen). Since Emma and Eloise would never be able to find husbands now, they decide that they'll just be two spinsters growing old together in their house in the countryside. You know... just two gal pals. No one believes that shit, but they rarely interact with the ton, so they're largely left alone to live as they please.
Happy ending, close to canon, historically accurate, and super gay. It's not that hard. You're welcome.
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hyunjiisa · 23 days ago
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line cook ! chan x server reader ₊˚⊹
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a @hyunjiisa mini series → “ in my next life, i’m gonna be a rockstar. (i was a ballerina in the first one.) ” pairing no. 1
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school sucked. your head hurt, your feet were tired, and you just wanted to go home. spoiler- you can’t. you can’t because your schedule got switched around due to it being the end of the semester, which means you also had to switch your shifts at work. luckily your boss was an absolute angel and she made it no problem switching anything around. the place you worked at was kind of fancy, paying pretty well and you got to keep all of your tips. more than enough to pay rent til you got your degree. then, you could finally start living life the way you wanted.
setting your internal rant aside, you check yourself in the car mirror and open your door. you greeted the host at the door, he was pretty and blonde- albeit his hair looked like it was one bleach away from death. he was sweet, telling you where the manager on duty was so she could direct you to your sections. you waved to him, promising you guys would get to know each other and heading to the managers office.
a little time later, you’ve settled in and you’re waiting on a table that has what you assume is a first date going on. the guy is a dick, and it seems like his date thinks that too. he’s been talking about himself all night and it’s only been about five minutes, so you feel for the poor girl. you walk over again to take their order, and, to no surprise, he has some special request that you don’t even know if you can make happen. the girl sends an “i’m sorry” look your way and you just smile and excuse yourself to check with the cooks.
you debate just going to the bathroom and coming out a little later and telling him no, but you did not wanna make that girls date any worse. you haven’t met any of the cooks yet, or even seen them because it was your first table. you hadn’t ran food, just drinks from the soda machine. you know you’re allowed back in the kitchen but you didn’t wanna just walk in and get stared at, so you opt for going up to the counter and peering up over it. you see a boy that looks about your age, maybe a little older? he’s tall (in what world i’m just self indulging) and muscular, some sweat dribbling off of his forehead from being over a stove and you make mental note of your new work crush.
anyway, you figure you need to actually ask him so you just go with the best approach.
“uhh..”
definitely the best approach.
he glanced up at you, seemingly confused up until he actually got a good look at your face and like, basically froze. you would’ve started talking, but he was looking at you like your eyes were hanging out of your head. like, eyes wide, mouth agape, eyebrow furrowed, just full on shocked. you looked back at him, staring just as much as he was because now you had an excuse to do so. it goes on for a while, til he’s just like
“uh, i, uhm. what’s your name ..?”
“it’s ! it’s my first day on this shift, also i think the food you’re cookings burning, but i had a question?”
“oh, thanks. that’s a pretty name.. mines is here on my uh- fuck where is it ?? my name tag!!”
you giggle, taking in his flustered demeanor. not expected, but a nice surprise nonetheless. sadly, you had to actually get back to your job, so you look back up at him and ask him if he could do what you needed. he reminds you of a puppy, sweet smile resting on his face when he assures you that he absolutely can. (he definitely wouldn’t have regularly done that, but that’s for him to know.) you return his smile and go to ring in the rest of the order, bracing yourself for the rest of your shift.
you barely see him for the remainder of it, sneaking little glances and sharing looks when you go to run more food. there wasn’t much of a dinner rush, thank goodness, so the rest of the night went by smoothly. the other tables you had were average, and tips were decent so no complaints were heard.
you were closing tonight, along with the rest of the servers on your shift. after all the customers were out you took the time to introduce yourself, not forgetting to say bye to the host or thank him for earlier. giggling together with your new work friends, you finished what needed to be done and lingered a little longer than everyone else on account of the pretty boy in charge of the kitchen.
the restaurant was warm; you’d never been there at night, and you took time to admire the view. it was the middle of winter, dark and starry, and you could see cars passing by. you found yourself thinking about how weird it was that everyone in those cars had their own lives and they were living them from their own perspectives. before you could get any further into your thoughts, someone’s hand tapping on your shoulder made you turn around. to your surprise (not really,) it’s chris, standing behind you with a nervous look on his face as if he isn’t the most attractive man you’ve ever seen.
“hi, how was your shift?” “it was good! was yours okay? it wasn’t that bad tonight..”
the two of you continued on about your respective days, him joking that he was stinky and greasy to see the way your nose wrinkled when you laughed and you looked up at him through your lashes just to see the way he looked at the floor as his ears reddened. you stayed until your manager kicked the two of you out and told you to get some rest. thankfully it’s nice outside, the breeze moved your hair out of your face for you and chris was still staring. you played around with some rock on the ground using your shoe, and he broke the silence for you.
“weird question but can i use your phone for something maybe? mine just died. i promise ill be quick!”
smiling, you hand your phone over unlocked. then, you watch as he opens up your contacts, adds himself to the list, snaps a picture for it and clicks save. what did he save himself as? “cute line cook”. all you can do is laugh, and you laugh so hard you probably look stupid.
“really?? cute line cook??”
“what, it’s not accurate?”
“do you really want me to answer that?”
then he puts a heart over his hand, clutching it and taking a pained expression. he leans against his car that you two were talking by, staring at you looking betrayed.
“really? i thought we were more than that. you even let me put my number in your phone.”
your eyes roll to the back of your head and you tilt it up at him. oddly enough, it feels like you hadn’t just met him for the first time earlier in the day. you feel some sort of confidence blooming over you, and you let your eyes wander to his hand that’s still by his chest. then, the way his lips and cheeks flush in the cold. you look at his car next, it’s nice. black, sleek, very him. you don’t wanna go, but you figure your kitty doesn’t appreciate you being late for dinner.
“go home, you do stink.”
he snorts, opening your car door for you and the gesture makes your tummy feel giddy. once you’re comfortable seated and smiling up at him, he gives you his parting words.
“will you text me?”
“you know i will.”
the car door slams shut and he leans against his car again to make sure you leave.
maybe school doesn’t suck that bad.
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a/n : sorry this took forever, mama was traveling !! happy new years lovelies i hope your year is everything you want and more !! next one will be a little more romancey but this is just a little something to hold you guys off :) smau soon too !
general taglist for this account : @cosmicalily @zelinkcrossing @hyunjiluvs @nxtt2-u @pixie-felix @0sunshinecryptid0 @jinnieboosworld @lixies-favorite-cookie @eastjonowhere @smlbch @tricky-ritz
series taglist : @modesttiger
click here to be added or removed
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gothicfied · 13 days ago
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can you write for thanos x reader where the reader is really stoic and calm, not mean, but just does not express much emotion and it drive thanos crazy trying to impress her and get a reaction? Thanks :)
Hard to get - Thanos / Player 230
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Pairing: Thanos / Player 230 x calm!reader
Summary: Thanos will do anything to get a reaction out of you, even if that means he has to put himself in danger.
Warnings: Mentions of death/dying, blood, gunshots, killing (typical squid game stuff), other than that it's just fluff (kinda lol), not proof read (english isn't my first language)
Word count: 971 Words
A/N: hii, I hope this is alright and what you had imagined!
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When you woke up in a random bed, in a new environment with random people, you almost started to have a panic attack. Usually, you don't really show your emotions, you just keep them locked inside you and let a war rage in your mind while appearing to be calm about a situation you can't be calm about. After the initial shock wore off, you made your way to the middle of this area filled with beds, where other contestants or players with different numbers started complaining to the guards, that wore pretty ridiculous outfits you thought, about where their belongings went and other stuff.
After getting to know the rules of this.. 'game' you guys were playing for money, as everyone including you was here because of huge debt or money problems, you were led to the first mini game. Everyone went up the stairs while upbeat music was playing in the background, the fun colors of this environment stinging in your eyes. Suddenly, you hear someone whistle behind you: "Señorita!" The voice of a man seemingly called out to you. Without stopping, you turned your head around to face a purple-haired guy with a shit eating grin on his face. "Wow, what is a pretty thing like you doing here?" Without giving him a reaction, you just shrugged and went on, feeling your legs grow tired of climbing these stairs.
"What? You don't know?" Player 230, the numbed on his chest, seemed relentless. "Well, yeah, I obviously know. You do too, we're all in here because of one reason." you answered him, matter-of-factly, not giving him the time to speak to his face. "Have I already told you how pretty you are?" This guy's flirting techniques weren't really that great. He continued to shower you with compliments, to which you mostly didn't reply or at most said "Thank you."
When arriving at the top, every player had to take a picture in front of some screens. Conventionally, Thanos, as you gathered his alias was from others who seemed to know him, was waiting in the queue next to you, now talking with.. his fans? You didn't quite get it, but apparently he was some sort of rapper you had never heard of. A few players wanted to take a group photo with him and when he said yes, he looked at you, still waiting in line for your turn. "Hey, you there. Come on, you can be in the picture, too." Thanos said, signaling you to come over to him. Raising your eyebrows slightly, you just waved it off, with it now being your turn to take a picture.
Entering the open-roof arena of sorts, with the femald voice explaining the rules of Red-Light-Green-Light to the players, you found yourself next to Thanos, again. "So, you don't know who I am?" You just said 'no' and looked at him expectantly, like you wanted him to explain who he was. It seemed to annoy him. The man went on about how he was a rapper, even demonstrating that to you with some cheesy rap he came up on the spot, until he was interrupted by some guy, yelling that everyone who'd move during red light would die. How drastic.
"What is he talking about?" Thanos whispered, but you didn't show a reaction and rather listened to what Player 456 had to say. It started to really get on Thanos' nerves that he couldn't even coax one reaction or emotion out of you. No matter gow charming he was or how many questions he asked, you remained aloof. He kind of liked it.
"Must be on drugs, huh?" Another attempt of him to talk to you, to which you shushed him. The man in up front was talking about how you'd get shot if you moved, that being disqualified just meant they'd execute you. You didn't want to believe him, like, this sounds too crazy to be real, right? Yet still, you were determined to follow his directions. Everyone lined up on the white line, the mechanic girl doll thing staring you down. It was big and scary, also mysterious in some way. How would they shoot eliminated players? Would she shoot lasers out of her eyes like in some kind of film?
You found out pretty quickly that it was just guards who did it, as one girl panicked when a bee landed on her and that set off a chain reaction with others trying to run for their lives, just to get it taken away from them. You were floored. Splatters if blood landed on your face from one woman being shot right in front of you, Thanos not far away experiencing the same. Player 456 was screaming everyone to either run or freeze, depending on if it was red light or green light, guiding the remaining players through the game quickly.
Thanos and you had been locking eyes everytime you were supposed to freeze, him sending you a small wink everytime he saw your disturbed face. Unbeknownst to you, to everyone, he had taken some kind of pill out from his cross necklace, some kind of drug, and was now bouncing all over the place, like this wasn't serious. He reveled in the fact that he was able to get a reaction out of you now: you were mortified everytime he did something even remotely dangerous. Aww, you cared for him!
Going as far as pushing other players over, getting them killed, you concluded that this guy was mental.
The last few seconds of the given time were scary. You had made it over the finish line, saving yourself from a gruesome death, just like Thanos.
"Glad to see you on this side, Señorita. Would've been too bad if I couldn't have seen your pretty face ever again."
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berfgrimm · 8 days ago
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power hungry animals :: choi su-bong x reader
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pairing: choi su-bong (thanos) x f!reader
warnings: drug use, swearing, death/violence, dirty talking, groping, angst, fluff, and i think that’s it?
note: this was a request and i hope it is what you’re looking for. it’s just shy of 9k words, which I haven’t done in a very long time. i truly appreciate you requesting this and helping me shake more of the cobwebs off of my brain. thank you all for reading and requesting and being so incredibly nice. enjoy!
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You know Su-bong won’t be happy when he sees you. That beautiful, bright smile of his has long been absent from most of your interactions since the crypto catastrophe. But in this moment? Trapped in a seemingly endless building with more strangers than you can count, prepared to compete for money? You venture to guess that his reaction won’t be a positive one.
In all fairness, you didn’t know that he had joined this game as well. You’d overheard someone at a train station talking about the game, and the idea popped in your head — Su-bong always does everything he can for you, maybe you could return the favor for him. How were you supposed to know that he would have the exact same plan in mind?
You first spot him when he is at the head of the group, complaining loudly about his limited edition shoes. It’s the most on-brand you’ve seen him, and you have to stifle a laugh as you listen to him whine. Part of you wants to approach him and tease him about his inflated ego, but you don’t know that you’re quite prepared for the conversation that will follow yet.
The guards in pink explain that the group will need to sign consent forms to play the games. It seems odd given the kind of games you expect to play, yet you brush off your concerns. You fall into line but slowly push your way through the crowd to get closer to Su-bong. You figure the best way to get his attention is casually, as if you didn’t see him first, so you keep your distance for a while to work on your surprised reaction.
You remain as aloof as you can, knowing that he’s only a few people away from you at this point and he’ll likely notice you any minute. Sure enough, you hear him call your name. You scrunch your face in confusion, as if to say ‘who would be calling my name in a place like this?’. Looking around at everything in the room before you land on him, you widen your eyes in surprise, feigning shock.
“Su-bong?” you ask, hoping you sound believably shocked to see him. He pushes his way through the crowd to get to you, his face between a scowl and confusion. “What are you doing here?” you ask, innocently.
“I’m here to get back the money I lost,” he says. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to help,” you say, your confidence faltering as you notice that people are beginning to stare. “I didn’t know you’d be here, too. I was going to win it to surprise you.”
“What, you don’t think I could earn back the money myself?” he asks, incredulously. “You think I’m some sort of idiot who can’t take care of myself?”
“Su-bong, I never said that,” you reply, voice firm but speaking quieter in an effort to get him to lower his voice as well. “I wanted to help, like I said.”
“I didn’t ask for your help!” he snaps. “I’m not a child. I’ll fix my own problems. You’re not signing that form.”
“Yes, I am,” you say, with a chuckle.
“No, you aren’t,” he says, his tone firm. He doesn’t normally use such a demanding voice with you unless he’s looking to be more playful. You feel a small flutter in your stomach and you blush slightly, lowering your gaze to compose yourself before you respond.
“How do you plan to stop me?” you answer, looking into his eyes again. You’re surprised to see an amused look on his face when you first lock eyes with him, but it quickly fades into frustration at your words. He lets out a huff, and you half expect him to stomp his foot in childish protest, but instead he curses under his breath and turns away from you.
As you watch him storm away, back to his line, you drop your shoulders. Out of all of the ways you could have imagined that conversation going, that one never would have crossed your mind. You quickly glance at the others around you, finding their eyes still on you. It brings a flush of embarrassment to your cheeks that they overheard the conversation that you had with your boyfriend, so you drop your gaze to the ground and await your turn to sign your form.
You know that he’s irritated. You can hear him griping about the streamer that ‘tricked him’ into his crypto investment, along with all of the empty threats of retribution. Of course the streamer in question is also here which confirms what you heard about him losing his money along with everyone else who invested in the doomed cryptocurrency. You have to turn away as you hear him confront the streamer, Myung-gi, knowing that even though he’s amped up, he won’t do anything too crazy. Still, you don’t want to watch.
The guards usher the group out of the dorm and down a hallway into a pastel maze that appears to stretch on forever. You follow along with the crowd, hearing Su-bong somewhere nearby, chatting obnoxiously with one of his new friends. You’re quickly brought to an open area where the group is directed to break off into smaller bunches, and file in to have their pictures taken. You note where Su-bong is, and choose the line that is beside his, still trying to keep your attention on him. By this point, he’s being flocked by a dozen people calling out his stage name, practically prepared to bow to him.
As much as you try to ignore the conversation, you can’t help but overhear them beg for selfies. You watch them pile into the photo booth with him to be photographed, and it makes you roll your eyes. Much to your surprise, Su-bong spares you a fleeting, displeased look before he scans the crowd as if in search of someone in particular.
“Hey!” he calls out to someone. You follow his gaze to see the woman he’s speaking to; a girl you’d overheard complaining about the style of clothing they’d forced you all to wear. “I don’t mind having another person,” he continues. “Come on.” He gestures for her to join the group but she brushes him off, which causes you to laugh. Su-bong is unbothered until he looks at your amusement at the situation, which causes another scowl to spread over his face.
The guards hurry the fawning spectators away from Su-bong, explaining that they’ll need to take individual pictures, so you quickly tune out, focusing on your line. You wait your turn to get your photo taken, before following the group through the maze. The walk drags on for longer than you expect, and the duration of the journey is filled with the sounds of Su-bong — well Thanos now — chatting furiously with his friend, player 124. Having a hype-man like this always exacerbates things, sending him spiraling into Thanos territory.
Walking into the playground-esque field, you keep some distance from Su-bong, not wanting another interaction like before. However, you still search for him in the crowd, spotting him slinking up behind the woman from earlier, a smug grin gracing his lips. You don’t immediately realize that you’re frowning as you watch him continue to flirt, a twisting in the pit of your stomach making it impossible to look away. You hate when he gets like this.
There exists two versions of your boyfriend, and one of them is tied to his stage persona. You didn’t enjoy when that version would show itself, though generally it didn’t involve him openly hitting on other women in front of you. He saves this version for the fans to boost the image, and he never lets the full ego bleed over into your personal lives.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you let out a sigh, watching the woman rebuff his advances even as he tries his best to freestyle for her. That’s generally something he saves for you — spitting verses about whatever menial task you’re doing or about how he loves to look at you. He loved to do it to make you laugh, or other times to make you blush. This is how you know that he’s doing this to upset you; at least you can take solace in the fact that she’s not falling for it.
It doesn’t work on everybody, you think with a shrug.
You notice everyone’s attention focusing at the far end of the yard, so you look as well, finding an enormous statue of a girl staring down the group. It was unnerving to say the least, but still, you wander into the yard to find out what is in store. As you wait, you spare another glance towards Su-bong to find him still chatting to the girl from before. You’re tempted to storm over to him and give him a piece of your mind, but before you’re able to, a man pushes his way to the front for the group and shouts for attention.
The man appears frantic, ranting about how people are going to get killed if they play the games. You look around, gauging if anyone believes him — the room appears mixed, some people showing signs of fear but others brushing off his warning. His words make you feel anxious, whether they’re true or not, and briefly you wish you were nearer to Su-bong so you could feel calmer, but you have to remind yourself that you’re still annoyed with him.
Once the game starts, everyone heeds the words of the man in front of them, staying perfectly still during each call of ‘red light’. You try to take yourself out of the moment, worried that if you focus too much, you’ll start to tremble. The booming voice of the man, player 456, echoes, making sure everyone follows orders exactly.
Suddenly, a pop rings through the air, reverberating off of the walls. You’re tempted to look to the sound, but you opt to stay still instead, focused on winning. Silence is still surrounding you, until the screaming begins, and a round of pops echo through the air. Are those gunshots?
On the ‘green light’, you glance in the direction of all the noise and see several bodies on the ground, specifically the woman Su-bong had been flirting with. Your boyfriend stands surrounded by bodies, fumbling with the cross he loves to keep his pills in. He makes eye contact with you, and you can see the panic in his eyes even across the yard. You take a few frantic steps in his direction, prepared to run towards him, but the call of ‘red light’ stops you both.
The time between the call of ‘red light’ and ‘green light’ feels like it stretches on for eternity. You and Su-bong stare at each other across the sea of people, desperate to reach one another. As soon as you’re able to move, you sprint towards him, not caring about running into other people on the way.
When you’re about to reach him, mere feet away, you skid to a halt at the call of ‘red light’. Su-bong is frozen with his arms outstretched towards you, waiting for the next call to move. In his eyes, you see a dozen different emotions. You have been with him long enough to read every single one of them clearly, especially the look of apology that you hope he knows you accept.
Finally, you’re able to move and you all but collapse into Su-bong’s arms, holding him firmly to you. He turns his back to the statue at the end of the yard, keeping you in front of him with your face pressed to his chest. Just in time for the call of ‘red light’.
“Stay close,” he mutters, voice shaking. “Do not lose sight of me. If we hold hands, it might slow us down.”
“Mhm,” you agree, feeling him trembling in your arms. “You didn’t take one of those pills, did you?” His lack of response tells you everything you need to know: he’ll be out of his mind within a few minutes.
“Just stay close,” he repeats.
The next several minutes seem to drag on forever. You follow the instructions of player 456, falling into lines with other people to stay undetected. You remain directly behind Su-bong as best as you can, but he seems to forget that you’re meant to be following him. He moves fast and even leaps in the air, as if overjoyed with his experience. You blame the pills.
When you’re frozen during one call, you swear you see Su-bong shove the person in front of him, sending them tumbling into two others before they all fall to the ground. You tense up as gunshots ring out, and blood splatters over your pants and shoes. Thankfully, the finish line is in sight, and it only takes one more call of ‘green light’ to have you and Su-bong crossing together.
He pulls you close to hug you, but the hug feels odd. He doesn’t hug you as though you’ve both just been through a life threatening situation together. He doesn’t hug you as though people are still actively being murdered in front of you. He hugs you like you won a team trivia contest, like you were friends on a night out. At that moment, it’s just a game to him. Those fucking pills.
Once the game ends and you’re all escorted back to the dormitory, everyone sits in silence, traumatized. Somewhere in the trek back to the dorm, you lost track of Su-bong but you find his purple hair quickly in the crowd, where he sits with player 124, both of them chatting quietly to one another.
A buzz rings from the speakers, light being restored and the doors open to reveal the guards entering. The main guard from earlier in the day, with a square printed on his mask, explains that ninety-one people were ‘eliminated’ in the first game. Your stomach lurches at the thought, and you have to fight not to vomit. Closing your eyes, you hear an older woman begin to plead with the guards to spare her life, and she is quickly joined by a symphony of other voices begging for the same.
Until player 456 steps forward to demand a vote. The guards oblige but not before revealing the total amount earned from the first game. The others quickly become entranced by the glow of the piggy bank, watching the money continue to fall until the total is revealed — everyone would get twenty-four million each. It’s not a small number by any means, but it barely puts a dent in the staggering 1.9 billion won debt that Su-bong has. You sigh, burying your face in your hands; this game was for nothing.
The vote begins and you wait for your number to be called, knowing that you will be up to vote before Su-bong. With your eyes trained on your feet, you focus on the blood splatter on your shoe that you want so desperately to disappear. There's no reason for you to press the ‘O’. You’d rather be at home with Su-bong, cuddling on the sofa, watching television. Drowning in debt, but in love.
Su-bong has not spoken to you since the game ended. Part of you wants to take it personally that he abandoned you after the game but the other part wants to fight him in the middle of the room for everyone to see. You stand in a crowd of strangers feeling more alone than you have in a long time. But as if he reads your thoughts, Su-bong finally comes bounding through the crowd towards you.
“There you are!” he exclaims, placing his free hand on your shoulder. “I thought I lost you out there.” You shove him away from you and watch the numbers change on the screen above the voting podium. “What’s wrong, babe?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side to get your attention.
“I can’t stand you when you’re on this shit,” you mutter, avoiding eye contact with him. “This is serious and you’re acting like it’s a a fucking joke.”
“It’s a children’s game!” he laughs. You roll your eyes in response, forcing yourself through the crowd to get away from Su-bong, desperate to avoid more conversation, but he follows behind you. “How are you going to vote?” he asks quietly, slipping behind you.
“Are you kidding me?” you ask, glaring at him over your shoulder. “I’m voting to leave. This is insanity.” Su-bong looks confused, so you continue. “I’d hope that even with that stupid pill in your system,” you begin. “You’d have enough sense in your head to realize that we’re in danger.”
“What’s life without danger?” he laughs.
“I can’t handle this right now,” you sigh. “Please leave me alone, Thanos.”
You know you shouldn’t have said it. You never called him that, you swore you wouldn’t. The same way he swore he would never be that guy towards you, the egomaniacal, vapid, smug Thanos. Sure, there are times where the residual effects of his alter-ego turns him into a possessive and sometimes dominant version of himself, and as much as you are embarrassed to admit it, you really enjoy it. But that is something generally done in the privacy of your own home, meant for fun. Not this. You immediately want to take back the name-calling, but you both know he pushed too far.
“Okay,” he replies, softly, moving back through the crowd to join player 124 again.
The numbers on both sides continue to rack up until your number is called. You lift your head and catch everyone’s eyes on you, waiting for you to cast your vote. The crowd splits so you can make your way through, and you hear Su-bong whisper your name sharply, trying to get your attention. Instead of looking, you ignore him, walking directly to the podium at the front of the room.
You stare down at the buttons, your mind set on pressing the ‘X’, yet you still find it hard to bring yourself to do it. You want to see your boyfriend happy again, but you know that even with your winnings combined, you won’t have enough to pay his debt. Still, you don’t want to watch him be murdered in the name of financial gain.
As your hand presses down on the red ‘X’, a buzz echoes through the room and a red light illuminates your face. There’s a murmur through the crowd that you ignore, accepting the velcro ‘X’ to affix to your jacket. You don’t bother looking at Su-bong as you join your group of voters, knowing there will be nothing to say to him.
Only a handful of other people vote before Su-bong, who is nearly giddy when he stomps forward to slam his hand onto the blue ‘O’ without hesitation. You drop your head, gaze on the floor as you struggle not to break down into tears. In the back of your mind, you know you can hear player 456 going into another tirade, but you’re unable to focus on what he says.
Until you hear Su-bong’s voice once again cut through the noise, you didn’t realize an argument had broken out between the groups. Su-bong breezes past you, heading straight for player 456.
“If you really won, that’s better for us,” he says. “You can give us tips on how to beat the games.” You sigh, closing your eyes, feeling as though you’re on the verge of blacking out from how overwhelming and surreal this moment is. You crouch down to the ground, clenching your head between your hands, trying desperately to keep your composure as the crowd starts to cheer.
We’re going to die here, you think.
———————
Dejected and scared, you stare in disbelief at the numbers on the board. You’re trapped here for another game by one vote. If your boyfriend had stuck with you and realized how dangerous this game was, you would be on your way home in no time, almost fifty million won richer.
Your legs feel as though they’re made of concrete, dragging along with your tired body as you wait in line to receive food. Just as you you have your food and get settled on your bed to eat, a scuffle breaks out nearby. You look up just in time to see Su-bong land a punch across Myung-gi’s face, then stomp on him while he’s on the ground. You jump to your feet, leaving your food on the bed as you start to walk closer. Suddenly, player 001 interrupts to stop the fight, and you feel a moment of gratitude to the man who is also responsible for you still being in this game. That is until the man grabs Su-bong by the throat.
Player 124 rushes to help but is quickly thwarted by 001. The rage is once again on Su-bong when 001 delivers several punches, before rendering him to the group by wrenching his arm. You clamber down the steps to head over quickly, when you notice Su-bong still on the ground with 001 above him, holding him by his throat and fist cocked back, prepared to punch.
“Hey!” you exclaim, dashing over to break it up. “He said he’s sorry! Let him go!”
You shove at 001’s shoulders, desperate to get him away from Su-bong before he causes irreversible damage. When the other man peers up, gauging the pleading look you give him, he releases your boyfriend and stands upright again. You ignore the claps and cheers from the other players, opting to crouch at Su-bong’s side to check on him.
“Are you okay?” you ask, softly, attempting to cup his jaw to tilt his head towards you. However, he pushes you away, albeit somewhat gentle, and he scrambles to his feet to return to his bunk. You can only sigh, knowing that he is likely embarrassed over the altercation, so you return to your bed to get your food, before you decide to offer the olive branch.
When you reach Su-bong’s bed, you glance around to get a good view of how secluded it was. You momentarily search for a small joke to make to cut through the palpable tension, but you brush off the idea when you see him avoiding eye contact with you.
“Did you eat?” you ask, taking a step closer to his bed. “It’s not as good as your mom’s food, but it’s okay.” With a frown still on his face, he spares you a glance before he shrugs in response. “You’re actually going to be mad at me right now?” you pushed. “You? The one who flirted with a girl just to get back at me for trying to help you?”
“I wasn’t—”
“You voted to stay, Su-bong.”
“I thought I was ‘Thanos’,” he retorts with a sarcastic tone, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall.
“You’ve certainly been acting like it,” you answer. He scoffs, rolling his eyes, shifting his weight so he can turn his attention away from you.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” Su-bong mutters.
“You shouldn’t have, either.”
“It doesn’t matter about me,” he dismisses. You narrow your eyes and tilt your head to try to catch his gaze but he avoids it. You toss your remaining food items on the bed and move to crouch down in front of him. The scowl that he tries to maintain falters into something more forlorn, but he still refuses to lock eyes with yours. Your heart sinks as you begin to realize what he means.
“You matter a lot to me,” you whisper. “More than anyone or anything else, as a matter of fact.” He shrugs, so you keep going. “You always think it’s you against the world, especially since this crypto bullshit happened,” you continue, placing your hands on his thighs to lean in closer. “It’s me and you, Su-bong. Your problems are my problems. I’m not here because I think you can’t solve your own problems. I’m here because I love you and I would do anything for you. And this is my problem too.”
Finally, Su-bong looks at you; his appearance manages to be distraught and enamored simultaneously, causing your heart to skip a beat. One of his hands cups your cheek and pulls you towards him, pressing his forehead to yours. Both of you stay silent for a few moments until you finally have to speak.
“You have blood on your face,” you whisper. “I think it’s that girl’s.”
“I’d rather have you on my face,” he teases. You shove him away from you, stifling a laugh while also feeling yourself blush at his innuendo.
“That’s not funny, Su-bong,” you say, firmly, struggling to keep the smirk off of your face. You reach towards the end of the bed, grabbing your bottle of water and twisting the cap off.
“Why’d you laugh at it, then?” he asks, watching you pour a small amount of water onto the end of his jacket to use it to wipe his face. “You think I’m funny.”
“I think you’re annoying,” you reply, raising your eyebrows with a chuckle as you finish cleaning his face.
“You think I’m sexy,” he teases, tilting his head to the side, trying to look into your eyes.
“Well, you are my boyfriend, so that would make sense.”
“I saw the look on your face earlier,” he pushes. “When I did the thing you love. Telling you what to do…” Your cheeks flush at his words, and you continue to wipe at his face even though all the blood is gone — you can’t look him in the eyes. “I know you want to pretend you don’t like it,” Su-bong goes on. “But I know everything about you, babe. I think you like it when you get to be my good girl.”
“And I think we’re trapped in a place that we may never leave,” you reply, hurriedly, to avoid him saying anything else to mess with your head. “I’m scared and I don’t know what to do. So, I think we should focus on getting out of here. We can worry about everything else after.” Su-bong lets out a small laugh that turns into a sigh.
“Don't worry,” he nods. “I’ll keep you safe.”
“You sure?” you ask, tugging slightly on the blue ‘O’ patch affixed to his jacket.
“Positive,” he answers, leaning in to give you a soft kiss on the lips. “I’ll always take care of you, babe.”
———————
In a part of your mind, you want to believe that Su-bong will change his mind about continuing the games. You’d love to think that he’ll run up to the podium and slam his fist onto the red ‘X’. But you also know that he’s impulsive and impressionable, especially when being hyped up by yes-men, much like player 124. As much as you’d like to keep him away from the others while you ride out the next game, you’re disappointed when you file into the second game to be told that you’ll need to separate into groups of five.
Of course Su-bong immediately grabs your hand, but, much to your dismay, he also drags along player 124 (whose name you found out is Nam-gyu). He brings both of you with him as he searches for another friend named Gyeong-su. When you finally find him, and see that he has acquired a friend named Min-su, you feel a level of unease that is concerning. You don’t trust the rest of your group to keep Su-bong on the right path.
“Do you think you can spin the top?” Su-bong asks, keeping his voice low to not be heard by the others around him. He’s standing directly behind you, his hand placed on your lower back to keep close.
“I don’t know,” you sigh, watching the group that is currently participating in the game. “I was never very good at it.”
“I plan to do jegichagi,” he says. “I’m really good at it.” You roll your eyes at the smugness in his tone, but when he pinches your side playfully, you giggle in response. “I think you should do the top,” he goes on. “That way you can be next to me.”
“I’m not going to pick that one just so I can stand next to you, Su-bong. That’s silly, I should be on the one I’m most confident about.”
“I’d rather have you next to me,” he insists. “Just in case.” His voice lowers for the last sentence, and you quickly catch his meaning — in the event that it would be your last moments together.
“Okay,” you nod, craning your neck so you can peer into his eyes. “I can try.” He gives a curt not in response, pulling you closer to him as you both focus on the game again.
During the excitement of several teams doing well in the game, you manage to accidentally separate from Su-bong for a few moments. Unfortunately, when you link with him again, as he talks with Nam-gyu, he’s acting noticeably different. You glance back and forth between the two men, finally focusing on your boyfriend who laughs at the stern look on your face.
“Are you kidding me?” you snap, planting both hands against his chest and shoving him hard enough for him to take a stumbled step backwards.
“Babe, what is it?” he laughs, placing his hand to his chest to feign an injury.
Every fiber of your being makes you want to punch him right there in front of everyone. You’re completely incensed that he would take another pill after the conversation you had the day before. Instead, you separate yourself from him, standing at the end of your group, next to Min-su.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Su-bong calls out, but you ignore him.
It’s a struggle not to cry. Watching your boyfriend spiral out of control during the most serious situation either of you have ever been in, you feel powerless. No matter how much you try to keep him focused, he does everything he can to do the exact opposite. You stare at a spot on the wall, trying to wish yourself into any other place in the world than right here, right now.
You picture your favorite day with Su-bong, before he took on the Thanos pseudonym. His hair was pink then — damn, you loved his pink hair. He had an important gig that night at a club that you both frequented, and he was nervous. You spent the whole morning in bed together, kissing and touching, sharing your deepest secrets with one another. The gig that night was the best performance he’d ever given, and was what launched his career. That day, you decided you’d spend the rest of your life with him if he’d let you. You never realized how brief that time could be.
The sound of gunfire brings your daydream to a screeching halt, pulling you back to reality to see both teams have been executed. You bury your face in your hands letting out a quiet sob.
“It’s our turn, babe.” Su-bong’s voice rings in your ears, and you lift your head to see the other members of your team standing around you, waiting. “Come on,” Su-bong says, holding out his hand for you to take hold of.
“I don’t think I can do this,” you rasp, teams brimming your eyes. “Baby, I’m so scared.” Su-bong’s face drops and he quickly crouches in front of you, holding your shoulders.
“Me too,” he says, quietly. “But we can get through this. I promise.” You become transfixed on his eyes, looking past the blown pupils to really try to read him. You can see the fear and the worry, but also you find the honesty of the man that you love with your whole heart. “Let’s go,” he nods, taking your hand and pulling you along with him to start the game.
———————
Traumatized doesn’t begin to cover your current state. You have no idea how the five of you managed to pass the game, given how scared you were and how delirious Su-bong was. It was a miracle.
Now, your group has returned with the successful groups to the dormitory, where you and Su-bong have excused yourselves from the others. You chose to sit on his bed as the bunk is more secluded from the others, affording you some privacy. Su-bong sits at the head of the bed with his back against the wall. You have chosen to sit between his spread legs, resting your back against his chest. Your hope was to let the sound of his breathing and the calm beat of his heart soothe you, as it normally did when you fell asleep together, but both are too erratic for you to derive any serenity from.
“I told you we would get through it,” his deep voice rumbles through his chest, the sound so smooth when it hits your ear.
“For now,” you reply, placing your hands on his knees, gently fisting the material of his pants to calm your nerves. “What happens if they vote to stay again?”
“Then we keep going,” he says, breezily. “That’s all we can do.” His breath tickles your neck as he lets out a sigh before placing a soft kiss just above the collar of your shirt. You tilt your head to the opposite side to give him room as he trails kisses slowly towards your ear. Once you feel his teeth graze your earlobe, you hum tenderly, giving his head a gentle shove away with your own.
“What are you doing?” you ask. “We can’t do this here, I told you that.”
“I haven’t been able to touch you in days,” he whispers. “All of this stress has been making me feel out of control. I need to remember what you feel like.” Su-bong’s hands slip around your body, cupping your breasts and pulling your body back against him firmly. “I love you so much,” he rasps, fingers massaging your chest as you squirm against him. “What would I do without you?”
“You’d probably be dead,” you breathe. Su-bong laughs, slipping one of his hands higher to wrap his fingers around your throat. He urges your head back onto your shoulder and tightens his fingers around your neck. “I’d miss your mouth the most,” you say, looking up to him and blinking slowly. “And your hands.”
“Didn’t you just say we can’t do this here?” Su-bong asks with a laugh in his chest. “But you want to tease me?” He keeps his hand on your throat, but slides the other hand between your thighs to carefully pry them apart. “What am I allowed to do then?” Su-bong asks. “Can I touch you here? You love my hands and my mouth so much…if you promise to be quiet, I can show you how much my fingers and tongue love you, too.”
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathe, as he teases you through the fabric of your pants. “Not…not here.”
“Where?” he asks, desperation in his voice, moving his hand to squeeze your thigh now.
“Not in this place,” you clarify, closing your eyes. “The sooner we’re out of here, the better. Back to our bed where you can see what you’ve been missing.”
“Are you trying to persuade me to vote how you want by promising me a taste of what’s already mine?”
Su-bong’s voice is deeper now, sending your head reeling & your breath stuttering. This is the ego that you love from him, that small taste of Thanos that drives you crazy. You’re temporarily stunned, lost in the sensations his voice and touch give you, but you quickly become aware of where you are. Your eyes open, and you can hear the noises of the dozens of people in the dorm with you.
“Su-bong, please,” you insist, tugging his hands away from you. “This place is filled with death, I don’t feel right doing this here. I can’t.” You begin to push yourself away from him, an effort to sit at the end of the bed, but he stops you, wrapping both arms around your midsection to keep you against him.
“I’ll behave,” he sighs. “I’m sorry.” You cuddle against him, closing your eyes and getting comfortable, feeling finally how exhausted your body really has become.
You fall asleep thinking of when you met Su-bong. Your friend dragged you to a club to see a DJ they had a crush on. It wasn’t necessarily your kind of scene, and you found the DJ to be subpar, until he introduced his MC. When Su-bong walked onto the stage, the crowd cheered, and you could understand why. Beyond his stage presence and verses, he was easily the most attractive man you’d ever seen. It was impossible to take your eyes off of him with his blue hair, sweat soaked and from the stage lights. You could barely contain your excitement when his eyes locked with yours and he smiled knowingly. After his set, he approached you first to buy you a drink, and the rest is history.
You don’t know how much time has passed before you’re being woken up to the sound of the Square guard’s voice booming through the dormitory. When you open your eyes, you find that you’re alone in Su-bong’s bed, and he’s nowhere to be found. With a sigh, you climb from the bed and head out to join the others just in time to watch the piggy bank get filled with more money.
You scan the crowd in search of your boyfriend, finding that he rejoined your team from the game. Maneuvering through the sea of people, you reach Su-bong, grasping his forearm to get his attention. Unfortunately, he’s transfixed on the glowing pig above your heads, watching the stack of money grow larger and larger.
“Su-bong,” you warn. “Don’t let it distract you.”
“I know,” he mumbles, still refusing to take his eyes off of the bank until it stops. “It was only one hundred and ten people.”
“Only?” you say. “How can you say that? Those are people’s lives you’re talking about.”
“But what about my life? Our life? Even combined, it’s barely above one hundred and fifty million won. We’re not even close to being out of debt.”
“We’ll figure something else out,” you plead. “It’s not worth losing our lives over.” Su-bong sighs deeply, nodding his head at your words. You hope you got through to him.
As everyone lines up for the next vote, Su-bong holds your hand, keeping you close to him. You both watch as the other players vote one at a time, the numbers staying relatively tight together. You notice that several people change their votes, which gives you hope for a positive outcome this time.
Much to your surprise, player 001 interrupts the vote this time, trying to reason with the group still waiting to vote. Several other players who are in favor of continuing speak up as well until they whip the crowd into a frenzy. Briefly, you feel Su-bong tense at your side, as if he is fighting the urge to cheer along with the other ‘O’ voters, but he stays silent.
When Su-bong’s number is called, he walks slowly to the podium and stares down at the two buttons. Your heart pounds in your chest, genuine concern flowing through you as you’re unsure of how he will vote. You clasp your hands together, as if to plead to anyone who will listen for your boyfriend to do the right thing. When the buzz rings out and the number on the ‘X’ side changes, you feel a wave of relief wash over you, tears almost falling from your eyes. Finally.
You don’t take your eyes off of your boyfriend as he changes out his velcro patch to the ‘X’. When he turns again, he finds you immediately, nodding his head with a small grin on his lips. Thankfully, you don’t have to wait long for your number to be called so you can join him on the ‘X’ side. You do not hesitate for a moment, slamming down the ‘X’ button and turning quickly to run towards him.
“Thank you,” you breathe, as he pulls you into a tight hug.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he says, turning you around so you can see the display screen. “They’re the ones you have to worry about.”
As you both stand silently, you watch the numbers grow, and feel less confident with each passing second. The numbers for those voting to stay are creeping higher and higher, and you curse player 100 for riling up the group. By the time player 456 reaches the podium, all of the joy you just gained has drained from your body — you have to stay for another game.
You move like a zombie, collecting your dinner from the guards, and making your way to Su-bong’s bed again. He’s close behind you, neither of you speaking as you contemplate what could happen next. You eat in silence as well, scared and tired all at once.
The rest of the day passes in a strange blur. At some point, just before the chime begins to play to indicate lights out, Su-bong collects your mattress from your bunk and sets it on the floor beside his bed.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says. “You can have my bed.”
“No, that’s okay. The floor is fine with me.”
“No—”
“Hey,” you cut him off, standing in front of him and taking him by the hips to pull him in. He laughs, that wide smile you love to see appearing across his face. “I’d rather sleep on the floor,” you continue. “I promise I’m fine.”
“Okay,” he nods, grasping the sides of your head in both hands and taking you in for a gentle kiss. “I’m sorry,” he mutters against your lips. “I know it’s my fault that we’re both here. I’ll do what I can to fix this.”
Su-bong sleeps at the edge of his bed, his arm hanging off of the bunk to hold your hand. When he falls asleep and his grip loosens, you unlace your fingers from his, gently tracing the rings on his index and pinky fingers. You think about how he rarely takes them off at the end of the day, as if they’re an extension of him. When you’re in bed together at your home, and he touches you for the first time, the metal feels ice cold and you wonder if he plans it like that just to see the way the goosebumps spread across your skin. The truth is you always get goosebumps from his touch, rings or no rings.
You wake the following morning to find Su-bong sitting on the edge of his bed with his cross pendant in the palm of his hand. You sit up quickly, snapping the lid closed and wrapping your fingers around it, prepared to yank it from his neck.
“Wait!” he exclaims, grasping your wrist. “I wasn’t going to take one…not yet.” You stare at him imploringly, waiting for him to continue. “If I focus on what’s happening,” he begins, carefully choosing his words. “I think I’ll mess up. I can’t mess up.”
“I’m here with you, Su-bong. We won’t mess up.” He stares into your eyes but this time he takes in your whole face as if he’s memorizing it. For a moment, he looks scared; his breath coming in harder pants and his eyebrows furrowing — he’s panicking. “Hey,” you say, snapping him from his trance. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah,” he nods, tucking the cross into his jacket. “I’m here. I was just…nevermind. Let’s go.” He holds his hand out towards you, helping you to your feet as you both join the group of other players preparing for the next game.
When you walk into the expansive, rainbow painted room, you don’t immediately notice the turntable in the center, too fixated on why there are so many doors. The female voice rattles through the speakers to explain you will be playing Mingle, and you tighten your grip on Su-bong’s hand to pull him close.
“If we have to run to these rooms, it’s going to be chaos,” you say, carefully stepping onto the table at the center of the room.
“I won’t let you go,” Su-bong promises, as the playful tune begins to play through the speakers and the table begins to rotate.
The sound of the other players panting nervously radiates around you and your own nerves begin to take hold. You are once again on the verge of blacking out until the table stops suddenly.
“Ten!”
Su-bong pulls you along with him as he locates your team from the previous day, who have already grabbed five additional people. All ten of you dash towards an open room, desperate to get there before anyone else. You shove your boyfriend into the room first and ensure that the others slip in with you, before slamming the door shut. The lock engages and immediately gunfire rings out from the main room.
“Shit,” you mutter, covering your ears to avoid hearing the screams. Su-bong wraps his arms around your body, pulling you snug against his chest.
“It’s okay,” he assures you. “You’re safe.”
When you are released from the room, the first thing you see are the sporadic pools of blood from the ‘eliminated’ players. Swallowing hard to keep from becoming sick, you carefully avoid stepping in any blood, stepping back onto the platform awaiting your boyfriend, who you assumed was directly behind you.
Much to your dismay, you spot Su-bong hanging back with Nam-gyu, talking quietly as they slowly walk to the platform. He pulls the cross from his jacket and opens it, pausing to look around for anyone who might be watching. When his gaze falls on you, all you are able to do is look away from him, knowing that his impulsive nature and his anxiety are in the driver seat. All you can do is hang on.
“Babe,” he calls out, hurrying toward the platform and stepping up beside you just as it begins to spin again. “I can’t—”
“Don’t tell me about it,” you say, quickly. “If you took one or you didn’t, I don’t want to hear it. If it helps you focus, or whatever, it doesn’t matter. Just stay with me and get us both out of here alive.” He nods in response, taking your hand again as you wait for the platform to stop spinning.
“Four!”
“Three!”
“Six!”
Each number called gives you another knot in your stomach and more aches in your body from scrambling to get into a room with the right number of people. By now, you feel as though more than half of your fellow players have been eliminated, as the platform is far more spacious. Along with that, the room is virtually covered in the blood of those same players who weren’t fast enough. From running through the puddles, the soles of your shoes are stained red and a brassy scent hangs heavy in the air.
When the voice over the speaker announces the final round, you breathe a sigh of relief but still feel tense. Looking at the count of how many people are left along with the number of rooms available, you know that you will have to move fast to secure a room. You take Su-bong’s hand, preparing as the platform rotates for a final time.
“Two!”
You set your eyes on room 40, with its magenta colored door. With a firm grip on your boyfriend’s hand, you take off towards the door, yanking him along with you. You avoid the blood as much as you can, but suddenly lose your footing and begin to fall. Su-bong catches you by your hips and rights you again.
“Room 40!” you call out, pointing ahead of you. He takes off towards the door as you notice two other players making their way to the door as well. Just before they reach the handle, Su-bong plants a kick directly in the man’s chest, sending him and his partner stumbling to the ground.
“Come on!” Su-bong yells, and he waves you over.
Part of you is horrified at his action but you know that you both need to survive. You scramble towards him, and he hurriedly wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you into the room and slamming the door shut behind you. Still holding you close, he braces the door shut with your bodies, ignoring the sounds of the other couple desperate to get in.
“Don’t listen,” Su-bong mutters, as the lock engages on the door. He keeps you in his arms, walking you away from the door to the corner of the room, where he lowers you both to the floor. You curl into his chest, covering your head as he holds his arm around your shoulders. “It’s okay,” he says, as the gunfire and screaming begins. “I’m here.”
When the room is finally silent again, you lift your head to look at your boyfriend, tears brimming your eyes. He smiles softly at you, his fingertips tenderly stroking your cheek. He uses his free hand to pull his cross necklace from his jacket holding it out to you.
“I didn’t take any,” he whispers, nodding his head towards the cross. “I gave all of them to Nam-gyu.” Your eyes shift from his face to the cross, cautiously opening the lid to find it empty. “I told you I’d keep you safe,” he breathes. “Didn’t I?”
———————
356,000,000. The number didn’t even sound real. With both of your winnings combined, you’d be able to make a sizable impact on the debt. You keep as close to Su-bong as you can as you await the call of your number. Already, the vote appears to be shifting in favor of leaving, but you don’t yet get your heart set on it. Not just yet.
The numbers tick back and forth several times before it’s your turn to vote. You give Su-bong a quick peck on the cheek before you make your way to the podium, quickly slamming your hand down on the ‘X’ button. The chorus of boos and cheers ring out, but you ignore both, making your way to the ‘X’ side to wait for Su-bong.
There’s a fleeting worry in your mind that he may change his mind after seeing the money added to the piggy bank, but something about the look in his eyes when you were in the final round of Mingle — he’s scared. As soon as Su-bong’s number is called, you train your eyes on him, taking in every move he makes as he marches towards the podium.
You get side tracked thinking about the way he walks. His movement is distinctly his own — he moves with rhythm when he has a purpose, but sometimes his movement is stiffer, as if he’s trying to blend in. This walk, almost a strut, is determined and you know you have no reason to worry about what his decision will be when he reaches the podium.
The buzz of the ‘X’ rings loud and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. The cacophony of cheers and boos fills the silence while Su-bong trudges towards you with a small smirk on his lips. You immediately pull him into your arms, hugging him and never wanting to let go. He holds his hand to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him to kiss the top of your head.
“We’re almost home,” he whispers, finally letting you go.
You maintain your glee as you watch the numbers on the screen change over and over until the score is tied. The final voter is player 001, someone you don’t particularly trust. You notice him lock eyes with player 456 briefly, his face unchanging, before he walks to the podium.
You close your eyes, unable to watch what selection he will make. Su-bong grasps your hand, holding it to his chest; you can feel his heart practically pounding against his ribcage. He mutters something under his breath, likely a plea for this man to make the right decision.
Time stands still as everyone awaits the moment that will determine your fates. Your head feels like it could spin off of your shoulders at any moment, your breaths coming faster and faster until—
A buzz and the overwhelming cheers from the other ‘X’ voters. You open your eyes, staring up at the screen that reads 51-49. Su-bong wraps his arms around your waist, hoisting you into the air in celebration. You both scream and cheer, tears finally breaking the seal and falling from your eyes. You can’t believe it.
Su-bong spins you both in a circle, before setting you down, finally kissing you deeply. You clench his jacket firmly, never wanting to lose the feeling you have right now.
“They sound upset,” Su-bong chuckles, nodding towards the group that voted to stay.
“I don’t care,” you respond. “Let them stay and tear each other apart if they want. We’re getting the fuck out of here. And I know the first thing I want us to do.”
“Please tell me,” he replies, mirroring your playful grin.
“Dye your hair pink again,” you say. “We should retire Thanos. I think he’s served his purpose.”
“Hmmm,” Su-bong hums thoughtfully, giving you a suggestive smirk. “I don’t think he should go away yet. He may still have some work to do for his good girl.”
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ceresun · 13 days ago
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hii queen i suck ass at creativity but i was wondering if u'd write some daeho hc's abt him and reader in the games tg? like maybe they dated before or smth but rekindle in the games? probably like angst ig or wtv 🙏
(i'm sorry i suck at writing requests 😣)
traces lost to time
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pairing : kang daeho x gender neutral! reader
summary : Aware of those who had people they loved participating in these death games, he felt quite bad for them. But never once did he think he’d have to experience their reality of constant worry. At least not up until you show up.
extra : hai nonnie! thank you sososo much for the request :3!! ajebfkwbdka hopefully you like it!! I can feel like I wrote way more than just hcs but whatever.. daeho may be ooc ergh. this isn’t proofread and I’m bad at angst sorryz
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⟢ A relationship with Daeho would have to be a strong one before he can think about someone in a romantic sense, so I see this being a childhood friends to lovers situation. Being this close with him means he’d naturally feel like he could tell you anything without any fear of judgement from you. Yet, this still didn’t stop him from keeping parts of himself hidden. This is genuinely one of the only reasons I can see a relationship with Daeho going downhill.
⟢ His father was always a traditional one. The constant reprimands of never being “a real man” and being too soft weren’t ones Daeho was unfamiliar with. Being childhood friends with him, you knew what his father was like. The younger you didn’t put much thought into his words, yet still comforted Daeho when he was visibly upset by his fathers words. But as you grew older and the times his father reprimanded him grew, you found it difficult to ignore how Daeho would get quieter and the way he’d try to stop his eyes from tearing up.
⟢ After his time in the marines, you couldn’t stop but notice the little difference in him. The way he’d tense up slightly when hearing a loud noise before going back to doing what he had been doing, or the way you’d wake up at random times in the night to hear his muffled cries, only stopping himself when he heard your shuffles. He had never been one to do those things, at least not before his time in the marines.
⟢ You, being Daeho’s closest friend and partner, would want to get him to open up with you about how he truly feels. Yet you’d only be faced with rejection. He didn’t necessarily mean to block you out, but he couldn’t stand to face you during this low period in his life. Thus causing you to leave.
⟢ At this point, Daeho kind of knew he had screwed up. It only hit him hard when he was able to regain some stability in his life. You were essentially his anchor yet he was still drifting and lost at sea. Following this, his life slowly starts getting worse and worse. He starts racking up a debt that he isn’t able to pay back. So, when a man comes up to him and offers him the ability to earn money while seemingly only having to play simple games, he takes him up on his offer.
⟢ It isn’t until everyone is waiting for the first game to start when he finally sees you. It’s been quite a while since he’s seen you, so he hesitates to come up and talk to you. It isn’t until he hears you talk to the woman next to you that he realizes it actually is you. He only gets to walk to where you stood before the games abruptly start. When people start getting killed, his first thought isn’t his safety, but instead yours. When gi-hun advises people to get behind those bigger than them he immediately pulls you behind him. It’s the first time you’ve seen him since you’d left, so seeing him shocked you quite a bit. As soon as you two cross that finish line he is all over you and making sure you weren’t hurt in any way. You have to practically yell at him to get his attention.
⟢ From there on, you’re not leaving his sight for even a second. Don't even think about trying to join a team without him because he will not let you. It’s not a want to have control over you but instead a fear of losing you that makes him like this. He tries his absolute hardest to make sure the both of you make it out of these games alive, yet it still wasn’t enough. During mingle, as soon as the number is called your group starts running towards a vacant room. In the midst of all the chaos, someone had pushed you out of the way in order to secure a spot themselves.
⟢ You had only a couple seconds left as you got up and ran towards the door. It wasn’t until the door had locked when Daeho realized you weren’t in the room with them. He didn’t exactly know what he felt at that moment. It was a big mix of anger, hurt, and emptiness. This would be one just one of the things that’d cause him to spiral. You best believe he is going insane on the person who had pushed you. He wouldn’t kill them, just beat them hard.
⟢ He’d ultimately be determined to make it out of the games alive for both of you. One of his biggest regrets is never really making up for what had happened between you two. He’ll never truly be able to get that closure. But there’s nothing he can do now.
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© ceresun >ᴗ< -> my works are not to be translated or reposted without permission!
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