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ddarker-dreams · 3 days ago

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A Deal's a Deal.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, violence against minor characters, descriptions of anxiety, mentions of alcohol. Word count: 5k.

Next (TBA)

“... Sorry. This one’s no good either.”

Sighing dejectedly, you sink into your seat.

You can’t tell if your companion’s disappointed. He maintains a neutral countenance, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. Still, you study him, awaiting some visual indication before moving the conversation forward. He must sense your intentions, for he catches your gaze and smiles.

“Should we call it a day? You look tired.”

“The hell? Isn’t it considered taboo to tell a lady she looks tired?” You grumble. “And here I thought you were Casanova incarnate. You’ve got to work on your charisma stats.”

Chrollo shrugs halfheartedly. “What point is there if you’re immune to my many charms?”

“Let’s be real — ‘many’ is overdoing it, a little humility won’t hurt. I commend your budding self-awareness, though. At least we’ve made progress on that front.”

He hums, offering no rebuttal. You realize that you’ve perked back up, reinvigorated by his goading. He certainly knows how to get people going. Among his defining features, that’s one of the first you recognized; his uncanny way of orchestrating favorable outcomes.

Sipping your preferred warm beverage, you canvass your surroundings.

The café’s less crowded than when you came in. There are still a few students typing away on their laptops while consuming a concerning amount of caffeine. In the corner sits an elderly couple, whose order you overheard by virtue of the volume it was placed at — “Give me a regular coffee. Straight black, none of that ‘appaccino, grand venti’ nonsense. Decaf for my wife.”

(You prayed for the barista’s sanity when he tried explaining the different ways ‘straight black’ could come).

“... I am losing my touch, aren’t I?” Chrollo murmurs. You snap your head in his direction, having temporarily forgotten his existence. “You prefer older men?”

You almost choke mid-sip. “Pleh…! That’s it, I’m retiring, good luck sorting your issues out.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“How I wish you were wrong,” you deadpan. Lifting his phone off the table, you scroll through its contents. There’s nothing new to look at. “An exorcist, huh? You’re positive that’s a real thing?”

“They exist. They’re just rare, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I blame the Protestant Reformation.”

The skin beneath his eyes wrinkles. “... Cute.”

His compliment makes you frown.

“Quit it with the flattery, already.”

“Flattery implies a degree of insincerity, no?” He challenges. “You of all people should know when I’m being genuine.”

“You make it sound like I’m a walking polygraph.”

His lips part and close as he considers his response. “That isn’t how I view you.”

This guy’s clever with his word choice, you think. Too clever.

Disliking where this conversation might go, you redirect.

“This ‘Hunter’ site you’ve been using… is there any way for me to access it?”

“Feeling a bit impatient, are we?”

There’s a patronizing lilt to this tone that has you inhaling sharply. Closing your eyes, you ball your hands into fists, willing your agitated mind to relax. Your goal feels so close. This future you never believed possible dangles above your head, only to recede as if you were Tantalus whenever you grasp for it. Needling Chrollo won’t get you any closer, but at least it gives you something to do, mimicking progress.

“The Hunter site has various measures in place to prevent account sharing. You don’t want to end up on their radar,” Chrollo retrieves his phone and tucks it into his coat’s pocket. “While your enthusiasm’s admirable, I suggest you leave this part to me.”

You swallow thickly. “... Right.”

“Are you upset?”

“No, I’m not,” you rest your hands on your lap. “Just, y’know. Reminded that we’re from two different worlds.”

Outside the café’s windows, individuals from all walks of life bustle about. Some are on their phones, others chatting with friends, or holding their partner’s hands. It’s a picturesque display of normalcy. They’re likely thinking about what to have for dinner, when to set their alarm for the following day, if they can squeeze out of plans they halfheartedly agreed to over the weekend; you know this because you aspire to live the same way.

“You’re closer to mine than you think.”

A fervent disagreement blazes then turns to ash on your tongue. There’s an unidentifiable quality to his stare — neither kind nor outright malicious — almost clinical in its effort to elicit a reaction. You stir in your seat. Despite your time together, he’s as much an enigma as he’d been upon your first meeting. Charming and courteous, yet lacking genuine warmth, like a faux candle.

“Do you get some kick out of riling me up?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits. “Your expressive nature is endearing. I can’t help myself.”

His words resonate with such clarity that you can’t help but wish he’d been a little dishonest.

“I’m not a toy for you to entertain yourself with.”

His smile makes you squirm.

“I know you aren’t.”

“Then what—” you cut yourself off, fearing what might occur if you continue your original line of questioning. “Man, you’re exhausting to deal with. Has anyone ever told you that you have an awful personality?”

“Few get to be around me enough to comment on its quality.”

“I’m counting down the days until I’m no longer a member of that inner circle.”

Before Chrollo can respond, his phone audibly vibrates. Newfound excitement overwhelms you at the sound. He glances at the notification and nods, confirming your speculation. He places it in your eager hands. While you prepare, he steeples his fingers and leans forward, intrigued as always with your work.

You relax your breathing. This entire process is based on intuition, chasing after faint sensations until your desired outcome manifests. A pliable force thrums through you — what Chrollo refers to as ‘aura’ — awakening from its dormant state. Mindful of your public surroundings, you keep your dominant hand beneath the table. Where there was once nothing, a three-dimensional object rests snugly against your palm. Buttons of varying utility jut outward along its perimeter. This small item, shaped like a cassette recorder, stirs antipathy in your heart.

Holding down rewind, the cassette whirrs to life. You prepare to record the latest audio note sent in for analysis.

Instant Replay (One More Time!).

These past few months have seen your ability frequently leveraged. It was your personal conviction to refuse its use, lest paranoia eat away at you. However, freedom from this bondage necessitates further entanglement. You’ve parted with your long-standing morals, primed to pick through the syllables of others for your own purposes.

Right and wrong no longer concern you.

All you care about is surrendering this loathsome ability to the man sitting across the table.

The night air is unforgiving in its chill. It infiltrates your layers of clothing with laughable ease, seeping into your marrow and demanding that you shiver as recompense. Gritting your teeth, you pick up your pace, cursing the parking garage’s elevator for being out of order. You knew parking at your friend’s apartment complex was sparse, but this is a new record.

The heels of your shoes click against the concrete staircase as you rapidly ascend. A pale, yellowish hue illuminates your path, the lights occasionally flickering. The moon must be feeling shy tonight, for it hides behind thick, stationary clouds, refusing the world its silvery guidance.

Upon arriving on the third floor, you hear an ominous crackle in the distance.

The consequences are immediate. Intuition tells you to pause, goosebumps erupting over your flesh from head to toe. Darkness swallows your surroundings whole in inky blots. Blinking rapidly, your eyes struggle to adjust. You feel around for your phone and turn the flashlight on. The sudden loss of power perplexes you, did the building’s breaker trip? From what you can see, the rest of the street is unaffected.

You’re about to resume your journey when you feel something cold press against your temple.

“Don’t move,” a deep voice demands. The roar of a car’s engine echoes nearby, as does the hurried screech of tires. “Not so much as a fucking inch.”

Anxiety sets your every nerve aflame. You go stiff as a corpse, and perhaps you may have been mistaken for one, if not for the thunderous pounding of your heart. The moisture in your mouth dries up. Tortuous seconds drag on, devoid of any further commands. You’re ready to offer up your purse, wallet, or anything else he insists on, but he’s eerily silent.

A pair of approaching headlights blind you.

Is this more than a robbery? You struggle to comprehend the nightmarish events. The man holding you hostage radiates agitation, shifting his weight from foot to foot. In doing so, the barrel drags along your sweat-slicked skin. His apparent sloppiness has you weak in the knees — it’s your life hanging in the balance, why is he acting like the situation is reversed?

Abruptly, the vehicle veers off course, crashing into a line of parked cars. A terrible cacophony follows. Glass shatters, metal debris shrieks whilst scattering, and car alarms angrily sound in disunity. What you’re witnessing doesn’t feel like real life. Your disbelief is mutual, for the man holding you captive spews curses.

You hear a click by your side; the gun’s safety being disengaged.

“Shit!” He maneuvers you in the direction of the crash like you’re a shield. “There’s no way we were followed, no way, we did everything perfect—”

The man never finishes his sentence.

There’s a wet gurgle, then a wheeze, as something warm splatters on you from behind. Bile rises up your throat as the wretched noises continue. He must’ve fallen to the ground, for you no longer sense his lumbering presence, or feel the cold kiss of metal on your skin. Regardless, you refuse to budge. You squeeze your eyes shut and tremble wildly.

“There, there. You’re safe now. ♥” A rich baritone speaks from behind.

His declaration comes out discordant, belying the reassuring contents. You bristle at the new threat that’s presented itself. If what came before was a house cat, then this is an apex predator, the king of the jungle. The air around him feels oppressive, almost noxious. Even without a firearm directed at you, your panic reaches its zenith, soaring to heights untraversed.

“Hm? Still scared? Ah, that’s right,” he muses to himself. “Chrollo said you’re sensitive to dishonesty. This could be troublesome.”

“You… you know Chrollo?”

“So you’re not in a catatonic state — how reassuring.”

Slowly, you turn around, sensing a distinct lack of ill intent. Flashlight in hand, you try to make sense of what you witness. The scene that greets you is gruesome beyond your wildest expectations. The man who you assume held you at gunpoint has collapsed onto the ground, his jugular slit clean. Blood gushes from the wound like a geyser, forming a crimson puddle around his head. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, nearly bulging from the sockets. Liquids ooze from every visible orifice and a foul odor rises alongside them. This pitiful creature could’ve been your end. Instead, he met his, departing this world in abject terror.

Unexpectedly, his muscles twitch. Out of reflex, you jump back and yelp.

“Rest assured, he’s dead as a doornail.”

“Why…” you wet your dry lips, “What… what just…?”

While you stumble over your words, the building’s power makes a triumphant return. The lights flash intermittently, then go steady, allowing you an unobscured vantage point. Before you stands a tall, bizarrely dressed individual, with bright red hair. His beady, yellow eyes have a predatory gleam to them that he doesn’t bother suppressing. He holds a playing card in his claw-like hands, the three of spades.

It’s coated in fresh blood.

Your eyes fall to the fatal wound on your assailant's throat, the gears in your head turning.

You take a step back.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” With a flick of his wrist, the offending card disappears, though its memory burns strong. “I’m Hisoka, Chrollo’s… colleague of sorts. Now, there’s no need to introduce yourself. I’m well acquainted with you. ♥”

Is that supposed to make you feel better?

You couldn’t hide your suspicion if you tried. At the very least, there’s no indication that was a lie. However, his familiarity with you is a double-edged sword. If he’s crafty, he can outmaneuver your ability. Dishonesty isn’t black and white, there are loopholes to avoiding your detection. For instance, one can remain purposefully oblivious, lie by omission, or speak in vague terms. These gray areas pass you by as if you lacked this ‘sixth sense’ to begin with.

He was lying when he said I’m safe now, you recall. But he doesn’t seem interested in harming me…? Something isn’t adding up.

After much deliberation, you ask, “So you just happened to run into me?”

“Nope. I’ve been following you,” he freely admits. Your aghast expression makes him laugh. “What’s the matter? You were baiting me for the truth, were you not? You’re welcome to have it. ♦”

In your heightened state of sensitivity, you sense multiple presences converging nearby. Security guards, if you had to guess. You weigh your options. If you stay here, you’ll undoubtedly be harassed for a story that explains the chaos. Telling the truth would land you in a straight jacket whereas deception guarantees cuffs. Leaving in your car is off the table too, you’d be dubbed an important witness. There’s no way you can claim you drove by the carnage without noticing anything.

“I can help get you out of this debacle,” he offers. “We’re both seeking the same end — the return of Chrollo’s Hatsu. The latest recording I’ve obtained is most promising. So, I’d rather we don’t continue this conversation in prison. ♣”

Hisoka takes a step forward and extends his hand.

The security guards are getting closer, you think. There’s no time left.

And so you make your choice.

You didn’t think places like these existed outside of the movies, or maybe you just don’t get around enough.

You’ve found yourself in what you can only describe as a biker’s bar. The decor is old-fashioned, slightly worn yet authentic. There are pool tables, too many televisions to count, and a functioning jukebox nestled in the corner. Rough-looking men wearing leather jackets make up the main clientele. Fortunately, it’s Hisoka who draws the most attention, his gaudy getup acting as a magnet for the eyes. No one pays you any mind.

For the second time this week, a weirdo treats you to drinks. The main difference is that this is a depressant and not a stimulant.

You take hearty sips to calm your nerves. All that happened feels so surreal, like a collection of grotesque images that would be blurred out in a documentary. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You want to be normal, untethered by the oddity that is Nen, the ‘world’ Chrollo inhabits. You decided long ago that nothing good can come from it. Maybe if you were more adventurous, prone to taking high risks for high rewards.

But you’re not.

Endless money, power, and influence don’t sound appealing. Sure, there’s an allure initially, until you consider reality. Lots of money means either lots of taxes or lots of tax evasion. You barely know what a W-2 form is, much less the hoops you’d have to jump through if your income exploded. Power and influence aren’t all they’re cracked up to be either. All that scheming to stay at the top would take away from what makes life truly worth living — reading Wikipedia articles and watching eight-hour-long videos analyzing a video game from two decades ago.

“Holy shit,” you press pause on the cassette recorder. “This Abengane guy’s the real deal.”

“Oh?”

“He’s familiar with getting rid o’ Nen. During his… huh, what’s it called again… oh. Yeah. Audition. Durin’ his audition for Greedy Island—”

“ —Greed Island.”

You wave his correction off.

“—Yeah, yeah, whatever. But, basically, he’s legit. How’d ya even come across this?”

“Magic. ♥”

You make a face. “Is everyone who uses Nen annoying?”

“Some more than others.”

Speak of the devil. Craning your neck, you’re met with piercing gray eyes. Unlike Hisoka, Chrollo isn’t dressed like he’s auditioning for the circus. Instead, he comes across as a guy who’s going to pitch the worst idea for a startup you’ve ever heard. He’s wearing a dark blazer with a gray turtleneck beneath it, along with white pants and black loafers. You’re about to make your joke known when something about Chrollo’s demeanor changes your mind. Intensity pours off him in waves, giving you pause.

“Good news, boss. We found your exorcist.”

The title Hisoka uses to refer to him has you tilting your head. He did refer to himself as Chrollo’s ‘colleague,’ but the word boss implies hierarchy.

“I heard,” Chrollo smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing back to Greed Island to track him down.”

He slides into the booth beside you while never looking away from Hisoka. The tension brewing in the air perplexes you. Shouldn’t this news be a cause for celebration? You’ve helped Chrollo search for a Nen exorcist for months now. Chrollo’s been searching for a Nen exorcist for months now. You’re uncertain what reaction you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“All in due time. I’d hate to cut my time with your little assistant short.”

Hisoka makes a point of looking you up and down.

Somehow, Hisoka has made Chrollo seem normal by comparison. Disliking the attention, you reach for your drink, only to notice how light it is. Have you already drunk that much? While inspecting the near-empty glass, you realize the room’s starting to feel warm. The stress of what you endured must’ve impaired your judgment.

What time is it, anyway? Do I have work tomorrow?

Your watch reads 2:05 a.m.

Shit.

“I need— need to get going…”

“Why the rush?” Hisoka questions. “Things were just starting to get interesting. ♥”

You ignore him and stare Chrollo down, waiting for him to move aside so you can leave. Instead of getting up, he leans closer, pursing his lips. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. Heat creeps over your face, from your cheeks to your ears. There’s no denying that the bastard’s handsome. Your friends love teasing you about him for that very reason. They never believe your insistence on having a ‘strictly platonic’ relationship, some even have bets for when you’ll end up together.

Maybe you would’ve considered it if you didn’t know about his Nen proficiency.

There aren’t any readily available statistics for Nen, but if you had to guess, you’d say most of the population is ignorant of its existence. People who do know about the Hunter’s Association consider it a private enterprise that specializes in exploration and taking on contract jobs. According to Chrollo, this is by design. You can barely go about your day pretending there aren’t superhumans roaming the planet, doing all sorts of crazy nonsense.

Society would plunge into chaos if the knowledge reached them.

You hear what sounds like your name coming from underwater.

Blinking sluggishly, you discover Chrollo’s hand on your shoulder. “Hm? What?”

“I’ve been calling your name,” he speaks languidly, likely for your benefit. “Are you alright?”

“Well…” you trail off, pondering the question. “... Mm, yeah, probably not. I gotta get home, and— god, my car— it’s still back there. I don’t want… I can’t…”

The anxiety you thought you buried resuscitates itself. It’s dull compared to earlier, yet your breathing grows shallow and your hands feel clammy. Your intenses churn like a parasite had been embedded inside. Everything feels far away, as if you’re in a dream, physically present yet mentally adrift.

You could’ve died.

You almost died.

You’d fought desperately to scrub your mind of this knowledge, but the bottle can only do so much.

“Say, Chrollo,” with a nearly imperceptible motion, Hisoka summons a playing card between his middle and pointer fingers. “If I were to slice her pretty neck, what would you do?”

The old-fashioned glass Hisoka had been sipping from cracks.

Pressure invades the air like a thick, heady fog, so tangible in its potency, that the chatter elsewhere dies down. The sudden silence allows for the clinging of billiard balls to reverberate throughout. Patrons glance around, vaguely aware that something is wrong, yet ultimately unable to identify the source. This primal sense of foreboding evaporates as swiftly as it arrives. The lively atmosphere reemerges, until all present seem to have forgotten anything unusual ever occurred.

Hisoka absentmindedly cleans up the glass shards, piling them into the corner while Chrollo drums his fingers along the table. Chrollo’s jaw is set and the skin between his eyes is pinched in contemplation.

Hisoka lets out an exaggerated sigh. “This is turning into a bore. I was confident you’d lose your cool, even if just a bit…”

“Pathetic.”

The unexpected vitriol has them both turning their heads in your direction. Chrollo blinks, while Hisoka tilts his head, staring at you owlishly.

He points to himself. “Me?”

“Yeah, you! You’re like— one of those birds, those showoff birds… dancing with your colorful feathers… ‘nd stuff…” your speech isn’t the most coherent, unaided by the irritation that’s boiling your blood. You leer at him, fed up with everything, especially whatever schemes he’s roped you into. A rough picture is presenting itself, one stroke at a time. To Hisoka, you’re nothing more than glorified bait. You don’t know if he played a role in engineering the evening’s events, but it wouldn’t be a surprise.

At the very least, he admitted to following you. Even if he was a third party, he could’ve disposed of the impending threat. Instead, he waited, exposing you to bloodshed for his own ends. You wish you could come up with a more scathing insult. Unfortunately, your temple is throbbing and clear enunciation grows harder as your body digests the liquor you inhaled.

Hisoka looks at Chrollo. “I’m a bird?”

“She’s calling your bluff,” Chrollo clarifies. “Had you intended to follow up on your threat, she’d know.”

You’re glad Chrollo realized what you were going for. The diatribe sounded better in your head. Nonetheless, he’s communicated the essence of things, lacking as it is in panache. Hisoka hums, eyeing you like you’d make for a fine appetizer before the main course.

“You must have kept that detail from me on purpose. What an intriguing ability. ♥”

Chrollo brushes aside his comment and refocuses his attention on you. “I’ll drive you home.”

“But my car—”

“I’ll handle it,” Chrollo reassures.

He slides out from the booth and stares at you expectantly. You get the sense that trying his patience isn’t a good idea; his encounter with Hisoka must have soured his mood. He helps steady you as you stand, securing his arm behind your back. Neither of you acknowledges Hisoka while making for the door, though you can feel his eyes tracking your every movement.

Upon emerging from the bar, the cool air you deplored earlier feels like a godsend. You hear cars rushing up and down the street, indicating the presence of a highway. Other than that, you don’t recognize the area. It’s a small, decrepit outlet, featuring shops plastered with neon signs and bars over the windows.

Chrollo ushers you in the direction of a black, unmarked McLaren.

“If you’re gonna do all that, at least get a less basic color… like pink…”

“I’ll give it some thought.”

Once you’re in the passenger seat, he fixes the strap of your purse and then buckles you in. It isn’t long until you’re on the road. He stays in the slow lane, mindful to avoid abrupt motions. You recline back and rest your head, hugging your arms close to your body. At the next red light, he sheds his coat, draping it over your person. The cashmere fabric is soft on your skin, embedded with his cologne and warmth. This, paired with the low hum of the engine has your eyelids growing heavy. You try resisting the temptation.

“Thank you.”

“Hm? For what?”

“... Are you serious?” you murmur. “For comin’ to get me.”

“Of course.”

Relief rushes over you as the surrounding area becomes recognizable. Traffic is nonexistent this time of night, it shouldn’t be but a few more minutes until you’re home. Then you can crash out on your bed and deal with the existential weight of reality in the morning. Work can fire you for all you care, you just want to sleep. If you were on your deathbed, you’re ninety percent positive they’d ask you to find shift coverage before you croaked.

Chrollo pulls into your apartment complex, parking as close to the entrance as he can.

You fiddle with your seatbelt, intending to make the rest of the trip by yourself.

He places his large, calloused hand over yours, preventing further progress.

“... Chrollo?”

He doesn’t respond. His thumb rubs slow, steady circles against your skin. You swallow a growing lump in your throat. He hasn’t been himself all night. Or, to be more precise, he’s showing you a side of himself he’s hitherto kept hidden. You always knew there was more to him than he let on. You never wanted to open that Pandora's box, lest your plans be jeopardized. Playing with fire has its risks, yet cauterizing your personal wounds took priority. You don’t know if you have the right to pray the rest of your being doesn’t go up in flames.

“I assume you’re aware of my fondness for you?”

“I— well…” you stumble over your words, then meekly ask, “Is now really a good time for this?”

Chrollo lowers his head and smiles. “No, I suppose not.”

An uncomfortable silence hangs in the air.

“One more question, then I’ll let you go,” he looks up at you through thick lashes, an enigmatic gleam passing over his eyes. “Do I frighten you?”

Your body tenses. He addresses you so softly, so sweetly, had you not witnessed his mouth moving, you would’ve mistaken his voice for belonging to another. Your facilities aren’t functional enough to properly process his query. Perhaps that’s the point — him cornering you at this vulnerable junction. You don’t get why. You don’t think you could even if you were sober.

Chrollo, for his part, seems to acknowledge he won’t get far in your current state.

Or maybe he gleaned his answer.

He lifts your hand to his lips, where he presses a lingering kiss. You can’t bring yourself to be the first to pull away. He lingers a while longer, as if stuck in a trance. When he does part, the skin tingles in his absence.

“I’ll be in touch.”

For the past week, you’ve carried on as if nothing ever happened.

It’s easier this way. There are instances where your performance is threatened, like when you ran across a news article detailing the ‘grisly murder of two men at a parking garage on 9th St,’ yet these lapses can be smoothed over. Ignore, distract, forget. This cycle lends you a credence of normalcy and eases you back into everyday life.

You haven’t seen Chrollo since that night. You suppose he’s preoccupied with his arrangements to meet the Nen exorcist. While you don’t know the specifics, you imagine he’ll have to meet this Abengane in person. In the recording, he addressed two men — named Battera and Tsezguerra — where he proved himself qualified to enter ‘Greed Island.’ Aside from a few anonymous forums, information on this mythical game is sparse. All you know is that the price is exorbitant and that Battera obsessively tracks down every copy available.

Wherever there’s Nen, things inevitably get weird, you think.

You begin tidying up your apartment. First is drying off the dishes, which saw their first use all week for a much-needed home-cooked meal. While doing so, your phone vibrates. You throw the damp rag down in a hurry and check the screen. All you find is a notification about your upcoming menstrual cycle. Sighing, you put your phone down on the counter.

Chrollo had been truthful when he promised to take your Hatsu for assisting in the return of his. A part of you is relieved by his absence; the other is frustrated. You want to get this over with. It’s like when you have an appointment later in the day and spend the time leading up to it in a limbo, not wanting to get involved in anything until the commitment is over. Is it possible he already took it? Curious, you hold your dominant hand out. You haven’t used Instant Replay since the night at the biker’s bar.

Aura surges through you, concentrating at the palm of your hand. Much to your disappointment, the light pink cassette tape appears. Maybe it no longer works? As a test, you rewind the recording of the audio Chrollo provided at the café. Once primed, you press play, listening attentively for certain cues.

“It is my great honor to profess that I, Lilith, can purge you of any ailment, even scourges derived from Nen — for a small donation of…”

The self-proclaimed Mistress of Panaceas sounds increasingly garbled as her lies surface. Clicking your tongue, you deactivate your ability. Everything remains operational. You don’t know what you expected, you’ve overheard the telltale sounds of lying the past few days. It just hasn’t been directed at you, which weakens the effect.

Will you really have to endure this the rest of your life?

Shortly into resuming your task, there’s a knock at your door.

You ignore it, not in the mood to deal with a neighbor asking for something. After thirty or so seconds, there’s another round of knocking. You suppress a groan. Why can’t the world sense that you’re moody and let you brood in peace? Trudging over, you try to put on a pleasant face, unwilling to lash out on others even if you’re in a terrible mood. Erring on the side of caution, you glance out the peephole.

Upon doing so, you almost lose your balance.

…

He must’ve decided he kept you waiting long enough.

#chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hxh x reader #chrollo brainrot #my stuff

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 days ago

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i don’t know why i can’t take my eyes off of you

for @steddielovemonth day one using You and Me by Lifehouse

rated t | 1186 words | no cw | tags: future fic, second chances, mutual pining, idiots in love, songwriter Eddie, teacher Steve

🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒🛒

Steve’s walking down the frozen section of Melvald’s when time stops.

Not literally. The watch on his wrist is still ticking. The clock on the wall at the front of the store is still moving. People around him are still grabbing their groceries.

But Eddie Munson is standing in front of the ice cream section like he belongs there.

Eddie left Hawkins five years ago.

He kissed Steve on the lips, then the forehead, and left.

Steve’s thought about it, about him, every day since.

Eddie hasn’t noticed him yet. Maybe Steve should leave before he does. Last he’d heard, Eddie was working at a recording studio as a songwriter, halfway making his dreams come true.

He’s happy, or at least that’s what all the kids have said when he’s brought up. They don’t know about the kiss, at least Steve doesn’t think they do. He’s never told them.

It’s busy enough in the store that Steve’s pretty sure he can sneak away before Eddie sees him. He starts to back away, but immediately bumps into an old woman.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” He’s asking, and she’s brushing him off and saying she’s fine. He feels terrible.

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice is like music, always has been a melody made specifically for Steve.

“Eddie,” Steve says as the old woman walks away. “Hey.”

Steve forgets he’s in public as the world around him fades and all he sees, smells, wants, is Eddie.

“I didn’t know you were still in Hawkins,” Eddie says quietly, leaning forward on his toes. He’s got a new battle vest, though it looks well-worn. Steve wonders if he knows that his old vest is hanging in his closet, if he knows that Steve pulls it out every once in a while so he can put it on and feel a little less alone.

“Yeah. Never left.” It sounds worse than it is. Steve always said he’d leave when all the kids left, but once they did, he didn’t know where to go. It’s not like he could follow them around, couch-surfing across the country a month or two at a time, burdening them with his self-imposed loneliness.

“You look good,” Eddie says, changing the subject.

Leaving Hawkins was a touchy subject for Steve the last time he’d seen Eddie. It still is. Eddie must sense that.

“So do you,” Steve breathes out. He does. He looks healthy and happy, something Hawkins had completely drained from him before. “What are you doing back?”

“Just visiting Wayne. Usually he comes to see me, but he insisted he didn’t wanna deal with the ‘big city’ this time. And I’m the best nephew, so I said ‘sure, old man, I’ll go back to the town that hates my guts!’ And here I am trying to find my favorite ice cream at the store. They don’t have it,” Eddie shrugs. He rambles when he’s nervous, still. “He hasn’t mentioned seeing you around or anything, though.”

“Yeah, I guess we don’t cross paths much,” Steve laughs awkwardly. He can’t remember the last time he saw Wayne. Must’ve been around Christmas, when Steve was helping Joyce with her decorations while Hopper worked overtime and Wayne stopped by to drop off some lights. “How’s he doing?”

“He’s good. Stubborn as hell. Won’t retire even though he could,” Eddie shakes his head. “Think he’s scared of being bored.”

“Or lonely.”

The words escape Steve before he can hold them back.

Eddie’s face softens, but it’s not full of pity. Everyone always gives Steve this look, like they know he’s putting on a brave face. Not Eddie.

“Wayne’s always been content alone. He’s got friends, and he calls me when he has something new to argue about,” Eddie leans in closer. “I don’t really worry about Wayne. Other people, sure.”

“Like who?” Steve swallows.

“You settle down yet?” Eddie asks in response.

Steve’s so shocked by the question, he doesn’t answer.

“I figured the kids were just being nice by not telling me if you did, but you’re not wearing a ring and you’re grocery shopping alone, so…” Eddie rambles again. Steve feels his heart flutter in his chest.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Are you dating someone?”

Steve shakes his head. “Haven’t really found anyone interesting.”

“Interesting? Since when does Steve Harrington want someone interesting?”

Since the most interesting person he knows kissed him and then left. Since everyone else is boring in comparison to you. Since he realized he was dumb to let you go.

“I guess what I thought I wanted is different now. Has been for a while,” Steve shrugs.

It’s strange how easily Steve becomes wrapped up in Eddie’s orbit, how quickly everything else didn’t matter the moment Eddie started talking to him. It’s just the two of them.

“Excuse me,” a man says to their left. Steve jumps back and apologizes for blocking where he needed to be. Eddie’s eyes never leave Steve.

When the man walks away, Steve clears his throat.

“How long are you in town?”

“How long will it take me to convince you to come back with me?”

Steve chokes on his next breath. “What? Come back with you? To…”

“New York or Chicago. I’m getting a promotion and they’ll let me pick where I wanna go. I’ve been leaning towards Chicago because more of the music I enjoy is making a mark there,” Eddie explains. “And there’s plenty of options for you there, too. Dustin said you just finished your teaching degree.”

“Dustin talks about me?”

“Only when unprovoked,” Eddie grins. “Have you been waiting for me?”

It’s blunt, but Eddie always has been. Steve can hide a lot of emotions from people; It’s been a survival tactic for most of his life.

He’s never been able to hide shit from Eddie.

“Not on purpose.”

Eddie looks at his basket of items. He was really only here for a few things, but he saw his favorite cookies were on sale and he couldn’t resist stocking up. He looks between the basket and Eddie’s eyes.

“You wanna come to mine for dinner?”

“Is dinner cookies?” Eddie laughs, poking at the package closest to the top.

“That’s dessert,” Steve laughs, too. He finds it easy. He never thought it could be this easy after the time that’s passed, the distance they had between them.

“First dessert.”

“What are we, hobbits?” Steve asks.

Eddie’s jaw drops open. “Steve, please. Not in public.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you read it!” Eddie groans, but he’s smiling, so Steve’s not actually worried.

“I’ve read a lot of things! I’ve been waiting for you, remember?”

An announcement starts in the store— someone’s car is blocking a delivery truck entrance— and they both take a step away from each other. They were much closer than they should be in the grocery store.

This is still Hawkins, and people already don’t like Eddie. Looking cozier than two dudes normally would might be dangerous for both of them.

“So. Dinner?” Steve asks again. It’s easier to remember there are other people around with some distance between them.

“Sure. Dinner.”

Time starts again.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddie events #steddielovemonth #steddie love month #steve harrington x eddie munson

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moonstruckme · 18 hours ago

Note

Hi Mae! I was in a car accident yesterday (car took most of the damage, I’m ok other than bruises and sore muscles) and the whole thing has been a whirlwind of insurance and hospital and half asleep crying. I was wondering if I could request James potter x reader for comfort in a situation like that? I’m going through it rn lol hope you’re having a good day :)

Oh I'm sorry lovely! I had a very similar thing happen a little over a year ago, it's sooooo exhausting even when luckily no one is seriously hurt. Thanks for requesting, hope you're having a good/better day too <33

cw: past car accident, no details but talk of general aftermath of police questioning, insurance, etc.

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

The way James half-jogs up to the automatic doors of the hospital, seeming caught between walking and running, feels like someone is pressing down on the bruise of your chest. You wish you’d called him sooner.

“James,” you call as he comes in, hating how your voice cuts through the taut quiet of the waiting area. It’s worth it for how his whole self softens when his eyes find you.

He slows to a fast walk the rest of the way to you, the urgency slowly leaving him—which is appropriate, there is no urgency, everything has happened already—like an engine running out of gas. You stand as he nears, and both of you reach for each other before James hesitates. His hands stop midair, his brow tightening for a moment, before they come tentatively to your elbows.

“Hi,” he says, squeezing. “How bad is it?”

“For me or the car?” you joke.

“You.” James is feeling too earnest for joking, it seems. “Well, both of you. But you first.”

You really thought you’d cry when you saw him. Worried you’d make a whole scene, blubbering and inconsolable, but you don’t seem to have any tears left. It makes sense, you suppose; you’ve cried a lot in the past few hours. First the slow, shaky kind right after getting out of your car, and then a real cry when a police officer had pulled you aside to get your version of events. (It had been embarrassing. She’d been nice about it, though.) Now, you wait for the tears to come, but for all your relief at seeing your boyfriend you feel rather dried up.

It makes you wish, once again, that you’d called James sooner. You’d wanted to, of course, but you’d been nearly certain you’d be even less capable of holding yourself together if he were there, and there wasn’t much reason for him to be anyways. He was at work and you weren’t terribly hurt, so there was really nothing he could have done while you were talking to the police and the tow company and the paramedics and attempting not to drown in an overwhelm of insurance information. The only thing you really wanted him for was to hold your hand.

“I’m okay,” you say, the necessary preface. “A bit bruised up. My chest got the worst of it.”

Unconsciously, your hand comes to your sternum as if to demonstrate, gravitating towards the center of the ache. James’ hand follows, seemingly just as thoughtless as it covers your own. He can’t see the bruise, but he makes a low, sad sound anyway.

His care softens your voice. “They said my neck will probably hurt tomorrow, but it doesn’t yet.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds really, truly heartbroken for you. “And the rest, it hurts a lot?”

You shrug. What’s a lot? You know you could’ve had worse, much worse; still, you could do without that frightening soreness that comes with each breath.

“It’s not too bad,” you say. “I could still hug.”

It’s the question he’s been dying to ask, clearly. James’ arms are around you in a second, ardent but still gentle, palms pressing to the high and low points of your bag. It’s a good hug. You melt a little against him.

James tucks his face into the side of your neck, like he’s trying to get as much contact with you as he can. “I wish you’d called me when it happened.”

“You were at work.”

“I’d have left work.”

“There wasn’t anything you could do. I was fine, I just had to…” a little sigh escapes you, exhaustion creeping in now that he’s here “...talk to people. Insurance and all that.”

James makes a soft, half-agreeing sound. His thumb strokes the base of your neck. “Still. I could have held your hand.”

A new ache rises in the back of your throat, coming to join the rest. You wind your arms tighter around James.

After a few, silent moments, he kisses your neck chastely and loosens his hold. “Ready to go home? Anything else you need?”

You shake your head. “I’m signed out,” you say, so eager you feel like you could float out the doors. You hope you can entice James to lie in bed with you when you get home. You think you’ll sleep until tomorrow. “Let’s go, please.”

“Alright, you don’t have to say please, sweetheart.” James curls an arm around your shoulders, pressing a smile into your cheek. “We can go. You need one of those wheelchairs for me to take you out to the car?”

“Ha ha,” you say drily. “No.”

“Just checking. Think maybe I ought to ask for one, just in case?”

“James. I will take your car home without you in it.”

“Alright, lovie, I’m coming.”

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tedsies · 3 days ago

Text

i caved and bought the legacy collection out of curiosity

i bought it on steam by the way, no way am I going anywhere near the ea app

random thoughts as i go along:

game loaded up straight away with no issues (what a strange feeling)

got into pleasantview within 2 minutes (obvs I have no cc installed right now so its gonna be faster anyway)

a bit of a jumpscare to see the game again without reshade ngl

straight into the lothario household. don you look... different without all my defaults

screen resolution defaulted to the right size without me having to change anything by the way, which was nice

turned up all the graphics setting to max and going to visit the goth household as that always gives me lag, even vanilla

this experience is already making me realise I need to cut down my 12gb downloads folder, cos man this is so smooth and fast without all of that in my game

well everything is working perfectly straight out of the box. had no issues with multiple sims on the big goth lot

going to quit and load up again with my ui mods and defaults next (along with hugelunatic's ikea pack as cc)

legacy collection has an entirely different file path by the way, so won't mess with existing ultimate collection installs (i wouldn't have dared to do this otherwise)

okay all my defaults, ui mods and some others are now in (downloads folder is up to 3.64gb now) and everything is working fine still

ikea items as cc don't seem to be fully appearing in the catalog though? that might be a me problem but i dont know

adding in all my cas cc now, along with hood defaults and hood deco cc (downloads folder is up to 6.5gb now). i'm also adding in anything else I can think of like camera mods, user startup cheat etc etc

getting into pleasantview in less than 2 mins still

heading into cas for the first time now...

... and it loaded up within 10 seconds even with ALL of my cas cc? and this is the first time too so I would've expected major lag. normally cas takes about 60 seconds to load in my game

update on the ikea pack as cc... the build items are definitely there, but not the buy for some reason?

biting the bullet and adding in the remaining 6gb of my 12gb downloads folder

all of my cc is now in the game and loading times were about 30 seconds longer than before. still no issues

took darren dreamer to a community lot and there were no crashes/issues/lag. normally going to a community lot is very dangerous for me cos its where I get the most crashes or issues, its why all my community lots are incredibly small lot sizes

also I have the hood deco view set to extra large... normally I have to have it set to extra small just to play in a small household

i dont think I'm being delulu here to say things are running better

next up is adding in all of my mods, then after that I might dare putting in my mega populated uberhood save, and try reshade?

another ikea update: everything is showing up now. it was me being an idiot

so all of my mods are now also in (so my entire downloads folder now) and i haven't been able to trigger any crashes or pink soup yet through normal gameplay? even with extra large hood view from lots

reshade keeps crashing my game on startup... damn, what am I doing wrong

RESHADE IS NOW WORKING (ver 6.1.1)! thanks to this guide

I finally added in my uberhood save (which is packed with hood deco and and has 35 playable families).... and it's working! I also played with a household for a bit and everything was working fine

final update before I go to bed (as its gone midnight here lol)

i now have all of my mods, cc, saves, and reshade installed, and I've yet to have any pink soup or crashes (apart from the crashes when I was *incorrectly* trying to install reshade). honestly... i'm surprised. i dont want to speak too soon obviously, but things seem better. i was just playing in a household with extra large lot view on and that would usually IMMEDIATELY crash my game, but nothing happened. tomorrow i'll actually play for an extended period of time, so i'll be able to tell more for sure then.

i hope this has been helpful to at least a couple of people, and i'll leave with you a shot of my pleasantview newly loaded up in the legacy collection 😅

#ts2 #sims 2 #the sims 2 #legacy collection

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pnutbutter-n-j-elyy · 3 days ago

Text

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline Pt2

Hyungline x Gn! Reader

(sorry this took like forever lmao ive been going through it in life unfortunately💀💀💀 )

Bangchan

The hum of the studio was still present, but now it felt different- less like a comforting embrace and more like static electricity prickling your skin.

The once-warm atmosphere had turned cold, muted, and the silence stretched like a chasm between you and Chan.

He didn’t ask if you needed anything anymore. He didn’t look at you at all.

The first hour after your slip-up had been the worst. You’d sat there, staring at the screen of your phone, scrolling aimlessly to avoid looking at him. But your thoughts betrayed you, circling back to the look on his face when you’d called him clingy- the hurt in his eyes, the faint slump of his shoulders, the way his movements slowed, as though your words had drained the energy out of him.

This is almost unbearable... You thought to yourself. I've never been uncomfortable around Chris before, rather the complete opposite...I don't like this.

You had apologized in your head a dozen times already, running over how you could bring it up without making things worse. But every time you glanced his way, you found yourself frozen, the words dying in your throat.

I was harsh...I'm feel horrible...

Chan wasn’t usually one to sulk, but this was different. He didn’t seem angry-he didn’t snap or lash out.

Although you wished he would have. It may have been better than this thick tension.

But instead of yelling or cursing, he buried himself in his work, shutting you out completely. His usual hums and absentminded muttering as he worked were nowhere to be found. The tapping of keys and the occasional adjustment of a dial were the only sounds that filled the room.

It felt unbearable.

After almost two hours of sitting in silence, the tension was too much. You shifted in your chair, swallowing the lump in your throat as you finally spoke up.

“Chan,” you said softly, your voice hesitant.

He didn’t respond immediately. His fingers paused over the keyboard, but he didn’t turn to look at you.

“Yeah?” he said, his tone neutral- too neutral.

You winced. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh earlier. I-” You rushed out.

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, his voice tight, clipped.

But it wasn’t fine. You could hear it in the way his words came out too quickly, the way he immediately went back to typing as though he hadn’t just brushed you off.

Serves me right...

You tried again. “It’s not fine. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He let out a breath, finally turning his chair to face you. His expression was guarded, a carefully constructed mask of calm, but his eyes gave him away.

“Look,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I get it. I was being overbearing. I just…I thought I was helping. I'll ease up from now on."

The words hit you like a punch to the chest. He wasn’t trying to defend himself- he was agreeing with you, accepting blame where there wasn’t any to take.

And you didn't want him to agree.

“You- you were helping,” you said quickly. “I was just… overwhelmed, and I didn’t think before I spoke. I-I don't want you to ease up...I love you the way you are.”

Chan nodded slowly, but the way his jaw tightened told you he wasn’t convinced.

“Sometimes I overdo it,” he said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I don’t know how to…not worry about the people I care about. Or love.”

Your heart sank. He wasn’t just talking about you. He was talking about himself, about how he carried the weight of everyone’s needs on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his responsibility.

“And I made you feel like you couldn’t breathe,” he added, almost to himself.

“No,” you said quickly, leaning forward. “That’s not what I meant. You’re always so thoughtful, Chan. I just…” You trailed off, struggling to put your feelings into words. "I...uh...damn it..."

He tilted his head, waiting for you to continue, but there was a distance in his gaze now- an invisible barrier you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re doing something wrong,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “Because you’re not. I was just having a bad day, and I-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted again, standing abruptly. “It’s getting late. I should wrap this up anyway.”

You blinked, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

It wasn’t angry, but it was dismissive.

Final.

“Chan-”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” he said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should get some rest. I’ll finish up here.”

The dismissal stung more than you expected. You stood up, hesitating for a moment, unsure if you should push further or give him space. But the way he had already turned back to his desk made the decision for you.

“Okay,” you said quietly, your voice barely audible.

You grabbed your bag and made your way to the door, glancing back one last time. Chan was hunched over his keyboard, his back to you, the soft glow of the monitor casting shadows across his face.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

He didn’t respond.

As you headed out he called out.

"Y/N."

You turned towards him, hopeful.

"You don't have to come tomorrow. Ji...sung-ah and...Innie-ah are supposed to be here to work on something with me."

You sighed and bit the inside part of your lip. He was terrible at lying.

Then a small rush of unrighteous anger hit you.

"Thats okay, I had plans anyways." You shot back, leaving. You almost missed the surprised look as he lifted his head from his bag.

The walk home was a blur. The guilt in your chest felt heavier with every step, suffocating you until you could hardly breathe.

But now that guilt stemmed from also saying something to purposefully provoke him.

Why would I even say that? I have no reason to be mad- but he...he has all the reason to be.

You thought about texting him, but what could you say? Nothing you typed out felt like enough. Apologizing once wasn’t going to fix this.

And you were too prideful to admit your pettiness.

It's embarrassing...

When you finally got home, you dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands. You replayed all the moments over and over in your head, wishing you could go back and choose different words, wishing you could make him understand how much he meant to you.

But then your anger driven words hit you. You just loved digging yourself deeper graves. So, you pulled out your phone and shot a text.

Deciding that if you were at a standstill with each other, you at least wouldn't lie to him.

——————————————————————————

Minho

The next morning, you woke up feeling a mix of guilt and lingering irritation. Sleep hadn’t come easy, your mind replaying the events from the previous night like a broken record. You had lashed out, hurt him, and now there was this gnawing uncertainty about where things stood.

You debated texting Minho to apologize, but the thought of his cold tone from last night stopped you. The memory of his quick, hollow kiss on your temple was like a dull ache in your chest- a reminder of how much damage had been done.

You sighed as you reached for your phone, jumping when you see a text from Minho.

Minho: Dori didn't even wait for me to finish preparing his breakfast before eating Soonie's. Such a menace.

You stared at the text for a long moment, unsure of what to make of it. It wasn’t unusual for him to send updates about his cats, but this felt like an attempt to return to normalcy without directly addressing what had happened.

Should I respond? Should I apologize? You wanted to, but the thought of putting your emotions into words felt daunting.

Instead, you liked the message, telling yourself you’d figure it out later. But as the day dragged on, and you found yourself unable to focus on anything. By the evening, your phone buzzed, breaking you from your thoughts.

Minho: Did you eat?

The question was simple, almost routine, but it held a strange weight. And you were unsure how to respond.

Was this his way of reaching out, or was he just trying to check a box out of habit?

You hesitated before typing back: You: Yeah. Did you?

His reply came almost immediately: Minho: Mhm. Chan-hyung made japchae. Ate while working. Minho: Also, three cups of pudding.

You couldn't help but let out a little giggle. You could picture him in his studio, his face reflected in a the mirrors, as he sat crisscross on the dance floor, scribbling choreo ideas, spoon in one hand and a cup of pudding beside him. The image tugged at your heartstrings in the way only a lover could do.

You: Busy day? Minho: Always.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of your couch.

Short. Not necessarily clipped, but there were no teasing or playful jabs. No emojis. Just facts. It felt so unlike him, and it hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You could feel the awkwardness as if he was sitting in the room with you.

You: I’m sorry about last night. You typed out a response, then deleted it, then typed it again. Finally, you settled on: You: I miss you.

The three dots signaling his response appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. You held your breath, waiting.

Minho: Yeah...

You: I'm sorry.

Minho: It's fine.

It wasn’t fine. You knew that. The lack of warmth in his reply was enough to confirm it.

You: It doesn’t feel fine. Minho: Maybe it’s not...

There it was. The crack in the veneer. Your chest tightened as you stared at his words. You wanted to fix it, to make it right, but you didn’t know how.

You: Can we talk? Minho: Not right now. I’m tired.

The conversation ended there. You stared at the screen long after his reply, the words “I’m tired” echoing in your mind. It wasn’t just physical exhaustion he was talking about. He was emotionally drained, and you were the reason.

You: Okay, goodnight. I love you. Minho: Night. I love you too.

Over the next two weeks, things didn't get much better.

You hadn't seen him in person, and only had a few video calls where anytime you tried to bring up an apology, Minho deflected the conversation.

It felt like more of an awkward and intimate friendship interacting rather than a couple. And you needed to change that. You couldn't handle it. You missed your boyfriend.

Minho had always been steady, a constant in your life. You hadn’t realized how much of a lifeline he was until you cut it with a single careless word.

Clingy.

The way his expression had shifted when you said it- it haunted you. Minho, who rarely let his emotions crack the surface, had been hurt. You’d seen it, felt it in the way he pulled back from you. And you wanted to pull him back towards you.

That’s what brought you to his house a few nights later, your chest tight with desperation and dread. You didn’t have a plan, just a need to be near him, to try and fix what you’d broken.

The porch light cast a faint glow as you arrived, the sight of it familiar yet unsettling. You hesitated at the keypad, your fingers trembling as you entered the code. For a moment, you feared he might have changed it, but the lock clicked open with a soft, mechanical hum.

The sound felt louder than it should have in the quiet night, and your heart ached with the thought that you still knew this house so well.

You stepped inside, the warmth of the entryway doing little to ease the chill in your bones.

“Minho?” Dori was the only cat by the door, immediately rushing to you to rub up against your legs. "Min?"

Your voice was soft, tentative, as you slipped off your shoes and into slippers, but it went unanswered.

The faint murmur of voices reached you from the living room. You moved toward the sound, your footsteps hesitant.

And then you saw them.

She was sitting on the couch, her laughter carrying easily in the stillness of the house.

Minho was beside her, close enough that the space between them seemed insignificant. His expression, one that had been so cold and was open-relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen in minute.

Your stomach twisted painfully, the scene before you crashing down like a tidal wave.

You must have made a sound, because Minho’s head turned sharply in your direction. His eyes widened, surprise etched across his face.

“Y/N?”

The girl followed his gaze, her expression a mix of confusion and mild curiosity.

You froze, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“I-” The words caught in your throat, your mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for why you were here, standing uninvited in his doorway.

“Y/N-ah, wait-” He said, scrambling up from the couch, tripping over Dori who had decided to join the party.

But you were already backing away.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you said quickly, your voice cracking as you stumbled toward the door. You knocked into the cats water bowl, soaking your feet. The lump in your throat threatened to choke you, but you forced the words out. “I’ll just- go.”

Minho reached for you, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Don’t-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish, pulling away. The door slammed shut behind you, the cold air biting at your skin as you stepped into the night.

You didn’t realize you were still wearing the house shoes Minho had bought for you months ago until you were halfway down the street, your steps uneven on the pavement. The absurdity of it made your throat tighten, but the tears came before the laughter could.

Your vision blurred as you walked aimlessly, the weight in your chest pressing down until it felt hard to breathe. You could still see her face, hear her laugh. It was seared into your mind.

There is no way he could have moved on in just two weeks...right?

Could he have...no. Never.

But had he?

You didn’t know either way. And you couldn’t bring yourself to stay long enough to find out.

Back at the house, Minho stood frozen by the door. Doongie let out a soft mew, as if speaking.

"I know..." Minho said to the cat.

His jaw clenched as he stared at the space where you’d been, staring at where your shoes were left, your sudden departure leaving a suffocating silence along with them.

“Minho?” the girl called hesitantly, her voice breaking through the tension.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable.

“You should go.” he said finally, his tone flat.

Her brows furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t argue. She gathered her things quickly, giving Doongie a quick scratch, the sound of her footsteps fading as the door closed behind her.

Minho sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair as he leaned against the wall. His gaze fell to the floor, and for the first time, he noticed the trail of damp footprints leading to the door- proof of your hurried escape.

You hadn’t even waited to hear him out.

He wanted to chase after you, to get an explanation for why you’d come in the first place.

But he didn’t move. Instead, he stood there in the silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on him; and he was stuck wondering how something you caused had now become a snowballed issue he needed to resolve.

——————————————————————————

Changbin

You sat there frozen, the echo of his quiet, defeated tone playing on a loop in your mind. It wasn’t like him to leave like that- without a fight, without reassurance, without trying to smooth things over. He had always been one to want to ease conflict in the calmest manner.

Your eyes drifted to the coffee table where his phone sat, screen dark and mocking in the dim light. He must’ve forgotten it in his rush to leave, and the realization sent a pang of guilt straight to your chest. You couldn’t even call him to try and make things right.

With trembling hands, you picked up his phone, turning it over in your palm. It was a small, insignificant thing, but it felt like the only connection you still had to him.

The weight of Hyunjin’s text was heavier now, replaying in your mind like a cruel taunt.

He had planned to propose tonight.

And you had ruined it.

You pressed the phone to your chest, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You couldn’t stop picturing the way his face had fallen, the light in his eyes dimming with every word you’d said. The warmth he carried with him, the energy that filled every room he walked into, was gone. And it made you feel terrible.

Your hands tightened around his phone as you leaned back on the couch, your thoughts spiraling. Changbin wasn’t just a boyfriend- he was your safe space, your biggest cheerleader, the person who always knew how to make you laugh when you wanted to cry.

And tonight, you had been the one to make him feel small.

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. There was no way you could let things stay like this.

So, you got to work.

Changbin’s car coasted slowly down the street, the low hum of the engine the only sound in the otherwise quiet night. His mind buzzed, replaying every moment of the evening- your harsh words, the hurt in his chest, and the sudden shift in the air between you two. He could still feel the weight of your gaze, and your frustration.

He had tried so hard.

Maybe it is my fault...

He wanted to make the night perfect, make it something to remember. A sweet cute, relaxed proposal. Soft and warm and everything that represented the love he had for you.

But now he was left uncertain, second-guessing everything. The familiar streets blurred as his thoughts swirled, mixing with the disappointment and confusion still lodged in his heart. His grip tightened around the steering wheel.

As he pulled into his driveway, he killed the engine but didn’t immediately move. He sat there for a while, the headlights casting long shadows across the pavement. It was cold, but he didn’t feel it. Instead, his chest was heavy, a knot of frustration and sorrow gnawing at him.

I need to apologize. Maybe then-

Reaching for his phone, he noticed a slight tremor in his hands.

Is that the best thing to do though...what if Y/N-ie is still mad...

He spent the next couple minutes thinking about texting you- even though he hadn’t done anything inherintantly wrong.

But the thought of sending an apology and admitting to a fault he didn’t deserve seemed like the easiest way to get things back to normal.

He swiped the phone screen on, but his stomach dropped when he saw his empty hand. He reached to pat his pockets.

He didn’t have his phone with him.

He trailed his eyes at the empty seat next to him, hoping maybe it was there, as the realization hit him harder than it should’ve.

His phone was still on the couch at your place. He must’ve left it there in the rush to get away.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, the frustration and anxiety rising again.

He shifted the car back into gear, pulling out of his driveway and heading back to your apartment. As he drove, he let out a deep sigh, trying to shake off the weight pressing on him.

He didn’t know what to expect when he saw you again. He didn’t even know what he wanted from the rest of this night.

Back at your place, you were busy, but not in the way you had planned. You paced the living room, biting your lip as you nervously looked over the decorations you had hastily thrown together. You had wanted everything to be perfect for him, the way he’d promised it would be tonight, but now… you were the one fixing things.

You were the one putting the final touches on a proposal- his proposal.

Your heart flipped over and over in your chest, as you adjusted things anxiously.

You had to scrounge through a ton of different leftover decorations from previous events and holidays; and it looked like the spirit of every celebratory occasion had thrown up over your living room.

You had tried so hard to get it right, to show him how sorry you were that your nerves and selfishness had ruined everything.

When you heard the distant rumble of his car approaching, your heart skipped a beat. You quickly fixed your hair and wiped your hands on your pants, as if trying to make up for everything all at once.

You hadn’t planned this, hadn’t thought through how you were going to apologize. You just knew you couldn’t let him walk away- couldn’t let him leave the night without fixing at least a small part of it.

The doorbell rang, and you froze, your pulse quickening in your throat.

You opened it, and there he was. Changbin. Standing there with an unreadable expression, his eyes flicking over your face before he looked down at the phone in his hand.

You didn't know if you imagined his red rimmed eyes.

“I-” he started, but the words faltered. He opened his mouth again, as if trying to say something, but nothing came out. "I left my phone."

You handed it to him, and he stood there awkwardly turning it in his hands.

"Bin, come in," you whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

He hesitated for a long moment, his feet still on the other side of the threshold, as if he were debating whether to leave or stay. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the uncertainty in his movements.

But then, with a deep sigh, he stepped inside.

You led him to the living room. His eyes stayed on the floor. He didn’t sit down, didn’t speak, just stood there.

"Y/N, I'm sor-"

"You don’t need to apologize," you said, voice barely audible as you walked toward him. You didn’t know how else to start. "I’m the one who messed up tonight. It wasn't you. It was all me."

Changbin shook his head, though it seemed like he was trying to process what he was feeling. He opened his mouth again, his voice hoarse. "No, it wasn't you. I…I didn’t mean for-"

"Changbin, don't fool yourself." You said with a sarcastic chuckle. "You know it was all my fault-"

"Y/N I was the one who was-"

"-I ruined your proposal. Of course it's my fault." You finished.

Your words stopped him. He closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you.

"So you knew..." he murmured, his voice cracking just slightly.

"Hyunjin texted. I saw it on your screen."

Changbin sighed and then looked around, seeing the decorations.

"What..."

"Since I ruined your proposal I thought I could fix it. As an apology."

The air between you thickened suddenly.

"I-I know it's not the best or the prettiest, but I thought—"

His voice faltered as he looked up at you, eyes filled with something unreadable. Shock, confusion… and then something softer, something heavier.

"What…what did you do?"

You froze. Your heart pounded.

He was staring at everything—the decorations, the candles, the careful details meant for him to present to you.

"I thought… I'd throw something together," you repeated, your voice small. "To fix your proposal."

"Fix it?"

And in that moment, you realized just how wrong that had sounded.

"N-No! I meant fix the night. Not your proposal—nothing was wrong, I just—I ruined the moment, and—"

You were scrambling, desperate to explain.

"Binnie, I—"

"I understand, Y/N."

His quiet chuckle sent a chill through you. It wasn't warm, wasn't teasing. It was sad.

"You made another opportunity," he said, his voice steady but distant. "You set up a proposal."

"Yes! An opportunity, not-" But then you saw it. The rapid blinking, the slight shift in his expression. The way he swallowed hard, as if forcing down words he wouldn't let himself say.

And suddenly, it clicked.

He wasn't upset about your wording. He wasn't even upset that you'd tried to make things right. He was upset because you'd taken this from him. Because he had wanted to be the one to do this for you.

When you had called him clingy earlier, you had let your stressors guide you to insult what you loved most about him.

How he wanted to do everything for you.

His love language towards you always tended to be acts of service.

And while a proposal wasn't necessarily though, it made sense that he wanted to do this for you. One of the biggest acts of your two lives.

He wanted to gift it to you, and you took it away.

For a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, without another word, he stepped back. His hands curled into fists, then relaxed. He exhaled, gaze flickering between you and the scene you'd set. And then he turned.

You barely processed it as he walked past you, his presence fading with each step toward the door.

"Binnie, wait-"

But he didn't stop. The door opened, and before you could find the right words, the ones that wouldn't make everything worse—

It clicked shut.

——————————————————————————

Hyunjin

The moment Hyunjin you shut the door, you felt a wave of regret crash over you. You stewed in your regret for a while before you succumbed to it.

You couldn't stand it.

You rushed out the door, hoping to catch up; even if it had already a bit since his departure. But you knew him, and he probably hadn't made it far, taking his long legs for granted and dragging out his journey.

You wanted to stop him, to explain, to make him see what you couldn't say- but your pride had already built a wall too high. The words you had snapped at him stung, but there was a fear settling deep within you, too. Fear of rejection, fear of the misunderstanding spiraling out of control.

Fear of losing him from a quick yet grave mistake.

The street was quiet, and your footsteps echoed in the empty space. You turned the corner, but in your rush, you hadn't paid attention to where you were going.

It seemed you had taken one wrong turn after another, and suddenly the comforting glow of the familiar streetlights was replaced with unfamiliar darkness.

Panic rose in your chest. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you fumbled to pull it out, only for it to die before you could see.

You cursed under your breath. Of course, it died. Why wouldn't it? Your mind was foggy, and you could barely focus on anything, let alone figure out where you were. The tightness in your chest felt suffocating, but you pushed through it.

You wandered a little until you found a cute little convenience store, stepping inside, letting the warmth encapsulate you. You decided to grab a snack while you charged your phone, the clerk so graciously allowing you to charge it behind the desk.

You figured while you ate you could figure out what to say to Hyunjin, to mend whatever crack you had caused.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin still felt the sting of your words settled deep in his chest. His jaw clenched as he shoved his hands into his pockets, walking briskly down the street.

It wasn’t fair. He had done nothing wrong, yet you had pushed him away like he was too much. Like his affection- his need to be close to you- was suffocating.

Me? Too much- HAH. As if.

You were just being bratty because you were in a bad mood...right?

I'm not actually too much am I?

And maybe it was dramatic, maybe it was childish, but he wanted you to chase after him. To call out his name, to grab his sleeve, to do something to prove you cared as much as he did.

But the street behind him remained quiet.

His throat tightened. His steps slowed.

You weren’t coming.

Hyunjin scoffed, shaking his head. Fine. If you weren’t going to run after him, then you could suffer.

He would make you grovel, make you look at him with those wide, guilty eyes and apologize.

Beg a little. Then - only then - he’d pull you into his arms, stroke your hair, kiss your forehead, and tell you it was okay.

Because at the end of the day, that’s all he wanted.

To make things okay again.

With a sigh, he turned back around, heading toward your apartment, already playing out how he’d drag this out just enough to make you squirm before giving in.

But when he got to your door, his smirk faltered.

The lights were off, but the door was cracked.

His brows knitted together as he stepped into a completely empty home.

You were supposed to be here. You were supposed to be sitting inside, stewing in guilt, waiting for him to come back so you could apologize properly.

His fingers twitched as he opened your bedroom door. He went to the bathroom and knocked.

No answer.

He knocked, a little harder this time.

Still nothing.

A flicker of unease crept up his spine. He pulled out his phone and called. It rang twice before going straight to voicemail.

Hyunjin swallowed. His throat was dry.

His mind raced through every possibility. Maybe you just went out for air. Maybe you ran to the convenience store. Maybe-

But his gut told him otherwise.

His gut told him something was wrong.

His fingers curled around his phone, knuckles white as he sucked in a sharp breath. His frustration, his plan to make you beg, his need to be dramatic- all of it evaporated, replaced by one single, overwhelming thought.

He needed to find you.

Now.

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

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha @iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric @panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee @shuporanporang @amarecerasus @softkisshyunjin @whoa-jo @meanergreener @rikibun @ayyonoona @shinywombatcrusade @y4yayael @skzstan12345 @mariteez @allys-reads @jazziwritesthings @skzstannie @yongbokkiesworld @kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9 @minsungsthirdwheel @everlastingspring143 @joyofbebbanburg @leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon @night-storm7 @missmajdastark @axel-skz @rockstarkkami @emilyywhyy

taglist specific:

@darling-imobsessed @changbinismymuscledaddy @artist2181 @minniesverse @monbrigh @20staaa @aeri-skzver @noannah @skysole @chanssmiles @depressedarlling @

#skz imagines #skz stay #skz x reader #stray kids reactions #stray kids #skz fluff #skz reactions #skz #christopher bang #skz angst #lee minho #seo changbin #hwang hyunjin #skz hyung line #pnutbutternjelyy

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aakeysmash · 19 hours ago

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Pregnancy cravings

Farmer!Sukuna’s masterlist

Farmer!Sukuna thought dealing with your pregnancy cravings would be a walk in the park. I mean, come on, you two are basically self sufficient: he’s literally a farmer, what could you possibly crave that he doesn’t already have planted or stored?

Your cravings hit at the start of your second trimester. You’re barely showing, and probably the fact that nothing you eat stays in your stomach for more than two hours isn’t helping your case.

It’s winter and it’s snowing: your fields are currently covered in snow, your chickens are huddled up in their coop, your cows are sleeping in their heated stable… and you? You’re reading a book right in front of your fireplace. Sukuna gets home with his arms full of logs to keep the fire alive all night. He sets them on the ground before plopping down next to you with snow clinging to his hair.

“Get off, your nose is cold,” you mumble, pushing him away when he tries to give you a kiss. He raises one of his eyebrows, kissing you on the cheek either way (two times, to spite you). You let out a dramatic whine.

He chuckles, ruffling his hair and wetting your book’s pages with a couple of snowflakes. Annoyed, you roughly close the book, and turn around to give him a piece of your mind, just to find yourself wrapped in his arms.

“I said get off,” you repeat, softer, leaning in despite your words. His body heat is doing a better job than the fire at thawing the chill from your limbs.

“And I don’t care,” he replies nonchalantly. He kisses your temple, cocooning you deeper into him by opening his legs and tucking you into the space in front of him. You grumble something unintelligible.

“How are the only two people I can stand doing today?” He asks you, rocking you side by side. Seeing you pregnant makes him feel uncomfortably soft. And seeing you pregnant with his child? Oh god.

“I want ice cream.”

He stops.

“Huh?”

“More like your offspring wants ice cream,” you sniffle from under his jaw.

“I don’t think we have any in the freezer,” he responds, looking you in the eyes. Your lip starts wobbling.

“But I want it,” you brokenly say, trying to swallow your sobs. His heart clenches.

“I don’t think you’ll be able to have it today,” he says, and immediately regrets it when your eyes well up with tears.

“C’mon, don’t cry now, it’s just ice cream,” he tries to comfort you. Apparently he does a horrible job, because you start bawling.

“But I want it! And I hate that I want it so bad! You know how much I hate playing the weak and fragile woman part, why are you being mean?” you wail, shoving him away and getting up. You quickly go to the kitchen to drink a glass of water, the duvet that was covering you mere seconds ago acting as your cloak.

“No, babe, I’m not-“

You snap your head back angrily, levelling him with a hostile glare. “Yes you are! You’re being mean when it’s your fault I’m like this!” You motion to your body.

“Actually, you begged for it, wife,” he shrugs, a corner of his mouth lifting. He doesn’t expect the punch you throw at his chest.

“Don’t ever come near me again,” you seethe, drinking your water and flying up the stairs. He sighs, rubbing his temples, wincing when he hears you sniffle again.

After ten minutes he knocks on your bedroom door- the same one you not-so-gracefully threw in his face.

“C’mon. Get out,” he grits out. Who knew dealing with a pregnant woman would strip him of the little patience he still has left?

“No. You value me less than ice cream.”

He sighs. “What can I do t’ make you forgive me?” He hears the soft pit pat of your sock-clad feet on the floor before the door creaks open. From the last few months, he'd say your mood swing should be finished by now.

You gently lower the handle, looking at his condescending espression. Then you sag your shoulder, gazing at the floor.

"You big crybaby. C'mere," he smirks, opening his arms. You bury your head in his shoulder, and he pats your hair mockingly.

"I still want ice cream, though," you mumble.

"I'll go get it at the city right now if ya stop crying," he chuckles. He widens his eyes, realizing that... he caught himself too late.

You abruptly step back. He winces.

"And you'd leave me here all alone?! Why don't you love me anymore?!"

#farmer au #sukuna x reader #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna jjk #jjk x y/n #jjk fics #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic

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samkerrworshipper · 9 hours ago

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movin’ out

keira walsh x reader

i wrote a fic that isn’t super depressing or smut? sorry? it’s short, it’s a little bit funky and definitely not my normal style but it’s all i could piece together atm! i don’t think it’s technically a blurb but close enough! enjoy xo

warnings: none?

It’s been too long.

It’s all you can say or think the moment you see Keira.

Between you playing in England, her in Barcelona and then you playing for Australia and her playing for England the time you two can find together is so limited. Face times, constant texts and midnight calls are good for a couple of days, sometimes weeks but after months it becomes nowhere near enough to sustain a relationship. It’s the pains and trials associated with two professional athletes being in a relationship with each other, the disconnection was hard and the added hundreds of miles between you only made it harder.

You hadn’t realised how long it had been though, and just how much of a toll that might have started to take on your partner. Between the both of you playing a mid week game and then training every day in the lead up to weekend games you both hardly had enough time to make dinner and make room for your basic needs, let alone care from each other afar.

As you look at Keira now though, you’re really having second thoughts about the lack of check ins that you’ve been having with her and the amount of interactions you’ve been having that haven’t solely revolved around football.

“Hey baby.”

Keira looks ill, and not in the sick way, just her general features. She just looks unwell, like she hasn’t been sleeping at all, like she’s on the brink of a emotional breakdown and just generally miserable. You’d offered to pick her up from the airport but she’d denied your offer and you can see why now, she looks like she’s in tatters and is about to collapse in front of you.

“Hey.”

Every syllable is deflated, like she’s struggling to piece together the energy to move her lips.

You’ve known for a while now that Keira hasn’t been happy in Barcelona. Lucy leaving had been.. it had been tough. On top of the rest of the midfield finally being in good fitness and there being a lot less familiarity for Kei it was understandable that your girlfriend would be struggling, you just hadn’t understood how much.

You push her suitcase to the side in favour of bringing her straight into your arms. The way her hands cling to your jumper makes your heart thump.

“Hey baby, I’ve got you.”

You immediately feel sick with the guilt over the fact that tomorrow you have to leave, that you have a sweet twenty four hours to try and fix whatever this problem is before you are obligated to get on a flight and fly 20 hours further away. Your stomach actually hurts at the thought, here you are with your long distance girlfriend holding onto you like you’re her lifeline and your going to be dragged away in less than 24 hours.

“Let’s go to the couch huh? Get you off your feet.”

It’s phrased as a question but really you have no intention of standing in the entryway of your house for a minute longer. You lead Keira into your living room slowly, pulling her onto your couch with you and letting the slightly shorter woman to ragdoll on top of you. You don’t mind the cllinginess, it’s a far cry from how she is with almost every other human and to know that for the most part you are the only person who gets to see this side of Keira is special.

“Arsenal put in an offer.”

It wasn’t exactly public knowledge, Leah had told you though a couple of weeks ago when it had happened, you’d been a little bit dissapointed that Keira hadn’t told you when it was happening.

“I know.”

A part of you didn’t want to hear that Keira didn’t want to come, that she’d denied the offer. It was the part of you that still felt insecure about your relationship slightly.

“They told me, management. They didn’t even think about it. Even after i’d told them I was interested in coming back, that I wanted to come back to England. A million dollars and they turned it down.”

You take a deep breath, whilst Keira had made it clear to you that she wasn’t happy in Barcelona that hadn’t directly translated in your mind to her wanting to come to England or Arsenal.

“You wnat to come, to arsenal?”

Keira looks up at you and you get a good look in her eyes for the first time since she walked through the door fifteen minutes ago.

“England first and foremost, but Arsenal with you and Leah would be ideal. Not that it seems like it’s going to happen until my contract is up.”

You smile at Keira big and wide, there hasn’t been a point in your career yet where you’ve been in the same city, she was at Manchester and you were in America, then you moved to Arsenal and there was a period of 3 months where you were finally in the same country. Then it was Barcelona and the drift had started again. The idea of having Keira in the same city as you, potentially in the same house makes you giddy. But that’s all it it, a thought, because it’s not real and you’re in the same predicament of her being in camp for the next two weeks and then flying back to Barcelona before you’re back in the country.

“That would be nice.”

You purposely murmur it as quietly as possible.

“Yeah, would be nice.”

The reality is that for both of you there is no point in dreaming about more, dreaming only leads to let downs, big soul crushing let downs.

“You’ve just gotta gold on, you’ve got Kika and Ellie and Aitana, you just need to hold onto the people you have and make the most of it. You’re winning silverware at least?”

When the sound of a sniffle falls against you, your heart only clenches more.

“I want to be here, I want to be with you, not trying to find any spare minute in my schedule so that we can see each other for a second. I’m sick of always feeling like we have to make up for lost time, I want to live with you. Get our own dog, our own home, have our things, our own lives together instead of living separately.”

You nod against your girlfriends fluff of curly orange hair, it’s not often that it’s as puffy as it is, it’s only another sign to add to the list of how Keira must be feeling.

“You know, I really like that idea.”

You focus on Kei’s hair, undoing it from the makeshift bun it’s in and tangling your hair in the roots, carding your fingers through the ends and working up to her scalp.

“Just you and me, all the time, no more constant face time, surprise visits, rewatching games, coordinating schedules. Just you and me. It’s a good dream.”

That’s the thing, it can’t be anything more than a dream for either of you, in theory it would be lovely, amazing even. But dreaming is what gives the biggest disappointments.

“Maybe more than a dream.”

You ndo to satisfy Kei, because the last thing she needs on top of her own struggles and doubt right now is yours on top of it. But in your mind it just doesn’t work out, how can you expect it to work out when realistically the both of you are always going to prioritise your careers. It’s why you’ve both worked together so well, because there hasn’t been any mistranslations about the fact that you both are always going to prioritise your careers. It’s why in your head it doesn’t make sense that Keira would leave, she’s playing at the best club in the world, she’s at the highest level she could possibly be. A part of you is slightly insecure that her priorities are shifting, and it feels good but it’s also scary. You aren’t anywhere near to shifting away from your priorities, it’s been decided since you’ve been 12 that football was going to be the one love of your life. There were never boyfriends or girlfriends or plans to have kids or go to university, it was always just football. Keira had been the one flaw in the plan, but it wasn’t a true flaw. Keira made things easier, or as easy as they could be. It was just so natural that it was just all cohesive. The distance was hard but it was what made it easier to focus on your career, there wasn’t any direct distractions in your life.

“Maybe.”

There’s a big part of you that worries that you might not be able to sustain a relationship that’s not long distance because you’ve never had to. You don’t know what it’s like to wake up next to a person and then get ready for football and prepare for a fame. Sure, over the summer you spend every waking moment with Keira, but normally there is a tournament or you’re so focused on relaxing in the little down time you have that having Keira around is just an afterthought. What you have, the love and affection from a far and occasionally for a couple of days is what’s been perfect for you, the thought of having it as a constant is terrifying.

“I invited Leah over later, I assumed you’d want to see her before camp and you’re surrounded by everyone else.”

Keira peeks up at you, her eyes wide and suddenly brimming with tears. The blue in her eyes is so much clearer when their wet, it’s like it reflects directly off of the features of her face.

“I’ll be with Leah for the next two weeks.”

The underlying tone is very clear.

“Well, I’ll never say no to a night with my favourite girl. How about thai and the love island episodes we haven’t watched on facetime together?”

You know you’ve said the right thing when Keira’s face immediately lights up, but after a few seconds it dims and all of the energy that seemed restored fades.

“I don’t want to disappoint Leah. every time I’m here it’s to see you, which I love but when she comes to Barcelona she always spends it with me.”

You lean down and plant a kiss to her forehead.

“Leah is not going to be offended that you choose to spend the little time you have with me, like I said, you have two weeks together. She will be perfectly happy with that, I’m happy to tell her that you’re overtired from the travel and I want to keep you all to myself.”

When she lifts her head up,you don’t hesitate to press what you intended to be a peck to her lips, but before you even know what’s happening Keira’s hoodie covered hands are reaching up behind your head, pulling you in.

It’s a good feeling, you like your relationship for this exact reason. You don’t know how the sparks would work, if they’d even be there if you had this all the time.

It’s supposed to be a dream to have this all the time, and yet the more you think about it, and the more the idea becomes slightly tangible the more you find yourself skeptical of the whole dream. It just doesn’t seem like something you should have.

“C’mere.”

You don’t miss the way you immediately relax as Keira completely collapses on top of you, her bones practically melting into your own. It feels so good, your body feels so much better with her around it, your head goes quiet and everything just fits into place. It’s the part of you that worries that if you have this all the time then that part, the magical part will somehow drift away and all the moments that keep you coming back will stall.

“I’ll order the thai, and I’ll text Leah. Tomorrow morning you’re going to call your agent and tell him that you want it made clear to Barca that you want to come back to England and the next offer available they should take it. Then you’ll help me pack for camp and we’ll have some really great goodbye sex and you’ll drive me to the airport and we’ll be all soppy and kiss and hug and cry. Then you’ll go on camp and tell Barca that you want a couple of days off when camp ends, and I’ll fly home as soon as my last match is over and we’ll spend whatever time we can get together. We’re going to make this work, we’re going to make something normal happen, okay?”

Whether it feels right or not, it sounds right, and as much as you aren’t sure about the future you know that right now Keira needs support. She’s not getting it at Barcelona clearly and you need to give it to her or as much as you can piece together. You need to problem solve this, you need to prove that even with all of your internal doubts that you can make whatever she needs or wnats work. She might not be your priority over football, or at least that’s what you think, but she’s pretty damn close and she’s the most stable thing you’ve had in your life for the past couple of years. You’ve put her through hell, and you need to fix the hell she’s currently living in like she would do for you.

“We’ll make it work?”

You look down at your perfect fucking girlfriend, on top of you, relaxed and smiling and it clicks, it all just clicks into place.

“Yeah baby, we’re gonna make it work.”

——————

anyways have a great day or night! love you all! maybe next time i post it’ll be a orgy 🤭

#sammykworshipper thoughts #woso #woso community #sammykworshipperfics #barca femeni #woso imagine #keira walsh x reader #keira walsh #keira walsh is a teddy bear #keira walsh is my soft spot #ginge superiority #woso fic #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso x reader #woso blurbs

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scoupsakakitty · 2 days ago

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Knock Knock | idol!s.coups x idol!reader | angst

The cool night air brushed against Y/N’s face as she walked through the dimly lit streets of Seoul, her phone held up as she went live for her fans. The city buzzed softly around her distant car engines, faint chatter, and the rhythmic sound of her footsteps on the pavement. She’d just finished an intense dance practice, her muscles aching but her spirit still lively as she interacted with her fans.

Her smile, however, didn’t fully reach her eyes.

Every now and then, her gaze flickered nervously over her shoulder, her footsteps slowing slightly. Her breath hitched, though she tried to mask it with small laughs, brushing off the tension with casual comments. But her fans weren’t blind.

“Why do you keep looking back?”

“Are you okay, Y/N?”

“Is someone following you?”

She swallowed hard, forcing a shaky smile. “It’s nothing,” she whispered, her voice thinner than usual. But her eyes told a different story wide, alert, and filled with fear.

She kept walking, her heart pounding faster with each step. The feeling of being watched grew heavier, like a shadow clinging to her back. Eventually, she stopped mid-sentence, glancing back one more time, her face tense.

Then she spoke, her voice firm despite the tremble. “I just want to say this,” she began, her fingers tightening around her phone, “it’s not okay to follow idols. It’s not okay to make us feel unsafe. Sasaengs are not fans.”

The chat exploded, filled with worried messages, but Y/N didn’t linger on the topic. She sighed, trying to shake off the fear as she approached her apartment building. She entered quickly, locking the door behind her with trembling hands. She leaned against it for a moment, taking deep breaths before forcing herself to smile again for the live.

“Anyway,” she said, her voice lighter than she felt, “let’s talk about something else.”

She chatted about rehearsals, upcoming schedules, random funny stories anything to drown out the lingering fear in her chest. But then—

Ding dong.

Her doorbell rang.

She froze.

Her face went pale, her breath catching in her throat. The chat exploded again:

“Who is that?”

“Did someone follow you home?!”

“Y/N, don’t open the door!”

A few seconds later knock, knock, knock.

Louder. More urgent.

Panic surged through her veins. She stood up, her phone shaking slightly in her hand as she approached the door cautiously.

The live glitched for a moment, pausing briefly as her phone started ringing. She flinched at the sound, staring at the caller ID. An unknown number. Her heart sank.

She declined the call, but it rang again almost immediately.

When she finally answered, her voice was barely a whisper. “Please… just go away.”

Her hands trembled uncontrollably. She didn’t even realize her live was still going viewers watching every terrifying second.

Eventually, she grabbed her phone, her face filled with fear and exhaustion, and ended the live without saying another word.

Seungcheol had been watching the live from his apartment, his heart pounding in his chest. The moment the screen went black, he didn’t hesitate.

He was already grabbing his jacket, his keys jingling in his shaky hands as he rushed out the door. His mind raced with worst-case scenarios, panic clouding his thoughts.

Please be okay. Please be okay.

It took him less than 15 minutes to get to her apartment, speeding through the empty Seoul streets, his heart beating louder than the car’s engine.

When he arrived, he didn’t even bother with the elevator. He sprinted up the stairs, his legs burning but his fear pushing him forward.

When he reached her door, he banged on it, his voice raw with worry. “Y/N! It’s me! Open up, please!”

The door creaked open slowly, and there she was.

Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. She didn’t say a word just looked at him with broken eyes, like she was holding herself together by a thread.

Seungcheol didn’t hesitate. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she broke down, sobbing into his chest. Her fingers clutched his jacket desperately, like he was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “I’m here now. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She couldn’t stop shaking.

Seungcheol kept whispering comforting words, running his hand gently through her hair, trying to steady her breathing. He felt her tears soak through his shirt, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was alive, that she was here.

But then—

Flash.

A sudden burst of light from outside the hallway window.

Seungcheol’s body tensed instantly. He turned his head sharply, just in time to see a figure disappearing around the corner a camera still faintly visible in their hand.

His jaw clenched. His heart raced with a different kind of fear now anger.

Without a word, he guided Y/N back inside, locking the door securely behind them. His mind was racing. The photo. Their secret. The world would know.

Y/N seemed to realize it too because she mumbled through her tears, “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. This is my fault. Now they’ll know. Your career—”

“Hey,” Seungcheol interrupted, cupping her face gently, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were soft but filled with determination. “I don’t care about any of that. You hear me? I don’t care if the whole world finds out. The only thing that matters to me is you. That you’re safe.”

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time they weren’t just from fear they were from relief.

“I’m staying here tonight,” he whispered, pulling her back into his arms. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Later, as they lay in her bed, Y/N clung to him tightly, her body still trembling with the remnants of fear. Seungcheol held her close, his arms wrapped around her protectively. He whispered softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her back.

“It’s okay now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

She eventually drifted off to sleep in his arms, her breathing slow and steady against his chest. Seungcheol stayed awake for a long time, watching over her, his heart still heavy with worry but also filled with love.

Because nothing else mattered.

Not the photo.

Not the rumors that would come.

Not the world.

Just her.

————————————————————————————-

251 notes · View notes

screamlet · 2 days ago

Note

“I wish you would write a fic where…” Through whatever contrivance, Buck tries to woo Tommy back through trivia. Maybe he gets Tommy’s team in on it, or the emcee/host - but it’s all Tommy-themed questions because Buck is trying to prove he knows him. Does it work? Maybe it’s all surface level and it hurts Tommy as much as he appreciates it. Maybe he revealed more than he thought and Buck was listening, taking it all in. Maybe Tommy decided to participate against him and inadvertently reveals something or accidentally says he loves him or something. If you would like it, I humbly offer whatever you can do with this premise!

heeeeey it took one million years but here's something!!! i love shenanigans, i hope this lives up to them.

bucktommy fix-it, 2k

read on the ao3!

---

Tommy's not exactly kidnapped.

He's met in the parking lot at Harbor by Hen, Karen, and a couple of big smiles, and then shoved into the backseat of their car and driven off somewhere.

"You know, it's been my experience that some people text when they want to hang out," Tommy says.

"So you did ignore my voicemails!" Karen yells. "I knew it."

"It's not personal!" Tommy says.

"I'm taking it very personal," Hen replies. "Like hell you're leaving the Christmas card list again."

"I'll move."

"Not in this housing market."

Tommy groans because it's true.

And see, that's a little crazy but a little fun, to know that they care enough to abduct him and take him out for the night. It's then not really surprising that Howie's waiting for them at the bar they used to frequent ages ago, when Tommy was still at the 118.

"I got the cuffs," Howie announces, a pair of very-real looking handcuffs dangling from his fingers.

"Those better not be for me," Tommy says as Karen pulls him out of the car with shocking strength.

"Don't worry, they're not LAPD property," Hen assures him. "They're Bobby's."

"Please stop making me learn things," Tommy says.

He's already handcuffed. Howie's living-with-a-toddler sleight-of-hand has gotten unreal.

It's around this time that one shock wears off and another dawns: this is a scheme and Tommy is trapped.

"No no no no, whatever you're doing—"

"Chim, no!"

The bar's tables have been cleared from the center to make two long tables facing each other. Fine, cute, two teams, it's now clear to Tommy that he has to win Evan back or something with trivia. The difference, though, are the two chairs in the center, where Evan is already sitting (and handcuffed). He turns around, almost tipping the chair over except Eddie catches him.

"Fine, whatever," Tommy says as he's sat in the chair next to Evan. To make things better/worse (because Evan's so fucking squirmy), their chairs are put back to back so they can be tied together, too. "Oh, we're going full Last Crusade, are we, Howie?" Tommy has to grunt because Athena ties a really, really good knot and again: he wishes he knew less.

"If you had answered your phone," Bobby says coolly. "If you had bubbled less and texted more—"

Tommy whips his head around and smashes his skull right into Evan's. "Goddamn—you saw that? Why didn't you text, if you were just sitting there watching me type?"

Evan struggles against everything keeping them together, then finally says, "Because you left and you didn't want me! If you wanted me, you would have called! And now we're—" One more hard thrash that gets Tommy in the shoulder. "Kidnapped and this is your fault."

"It's my fault? You wanted me to give up—"

"No I didn't! I said something dumb and you walked out before—"

"No, no, no, we can talk later," Eddie says. "It's time for Buckley-Kinard Family Feud."

Tommy and Evan turn their heads at the same time. "The hell are you talking about?" Tommy asks.

"It's time to draft your teams," Hen announces. "I'm hosting, so I'm removing myself from the pool."

"This isn't fair! It's Buck's family—"

"You didn't just call me that in front of everyone," Evan hisses.

"It's Buck's family against me, I don't have anyone—"

"I'm drafting myself," Howie announces. "Buck, your turn."

"Fine, I pick Maddie," Evan replies.

"Don't sound too thrilled," she replies.

"Your next pick?" Hen asks Tommy.

"I told you, I don't—"

Bobby comes over to his side.

"You're insane," Tommy says.

"That's not fair!" Evan yells.

"I met him first, Buck," Bobby says placidly.

"Yeah, but—ugh, fine, then I pick Athena." Evan turns his head and bumps into Tommy's again. "You better not pick Eddie."

"I'm picking Karen," Tommy says. "She's my friend who's a lesbian—"

He can feel Evan tense against his back, probably out of frustration and a deep, deep desire to slam his skull into Tommy's again. He doesn't know how Evan resists.

"I've been bisexual for like, nine months, could you cut me some slack?" Evan asks.

"You spent an entire afternoon reading me articles and watching videos about the three-body problem and you couldn't fucking bother—"

"Because then I'd know," Evan yells. "I'd know that you and me were too good to be true, and I'd know that it was just temporary, and I'd know that you can't live your whole life one way and suddenly a guy kisses you and everything, everything is different, and your life's completely changed! I'd find something that would tell me it can't happen, it's probably not real, and then I'd realize I was wasting your time because I can never really change. If I looked at us too hard, I'd know it was just—"

Tommy's so overwhelmed, his chest so tight, that all he can manage to say is: "Yeah, it's called biphobia, and if you had asked, I don't know, one of the three gay people in your life—"

"I didn't know what to ask, Tommy! Fuck!" Evan tries to struggle out of their bindings again, but then he stops. "Apologize to me for being such a dick about this."

The room is tense and quiet, eerily quiet, until Tommy finally says, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay? You're right and I'll stop throwing that at you. It's really unfair. It's unfair of me and unfair of, I don't know, the whole world, that made you think this could never be for you."

"That you could be it for me," Evan corrects.

"Sure, whatever." Tommy's voice is nowhere near as light and bitchy as he meant that to sound. "So are we gonna play this game or what? Now that we've got some teams of dubious quality?"

Bobby takes a seat at what is now, apparently, the Team Tommy table. "I know you like fresh pasta because then you can have soft pasta and no one will call you a heretic for not liking it al dente."

"That's psychotic," Tommy says. "And no one cooks it true al dente, it's always just barely cooked and I shouldn't have to chomp on pasta like a horse to enjoy it!"

Evan says, "And all of you said I was the weird one and he was the normal one."

"Literally no one said that, Buck," Eddie says. "You're both absurd, that's why you're perfect for each other."

"Well," Evan says, "I know you were thinking it."

"You were thinking it, and sometimes thoughts have to make it out of your mouth for people to hear them," Tommy snaps.

The entire room bursts into an uproar and Tommy tries to struggle out of his chair again. "Fine, fine, I'm a huge hypocrite, can I get a point for admitting it!"

"Yes, just one," Hen says. "Alright, gather up, teams. Bobby and Maddie, you're up first."

"This is a nightmare, this is a nightmare," Tommy whispers to himself. "I crashed my helicopter and this is hell."

"Hey, Mr. Keeping Your Thoughts Inside, we can't hear the question," Howie says.

"You're on my team, you have to be nice to me!"

Howie dramatically pops his piece of gum and says nothing.

"This first question is in the category of fashion," Hen reads off her phone. The TV over the bar has turned on to show a Family Feud style board with four options and Tommy can't believe his vision of hell is this detailed. It's impressive. "Name one novelty apron belonging to either Buck or Tommy."

Bobby slams his hand on the buzzer that someone brought for the occasion. "Tommy has one that says Warning: Fowl Language and it has a rooster on it." Bobby points at Tommy and says, "Sal gave it to you for your fake birthday, which is June 13, but your real birthday is in November."

The room is quiet again.

"You had a fake birthday?" Evan asks.

Tommy looks up at the ceiling. This means that he and Evan's heads are touching and he can't help but lean into it a little. He doesn't go any further, though. "Did I mention I'm like… that there's a lot of things wrong with me?"

"Yeah, these are really struggling to stay in the quirks category," Karen says. "But hell yes, one point! Let's go, Bobby!"

Bobby rejoins the team and Hen strolls down to their side of the room. "Now, Karen: can you name another apron that Tommy owns?"

Karen winces. "Okay, this can be any apron?"

"Any apron," Hen agrees.

"Alright, then I'm gonna say… a plain, utilitarian grey apron that he wears because he doesn't want to use the nice ones."

Hen says, "Show me boring!"

The word charcoal appears on the board with a (2) next to it.

"Two charcoal ones?" Maddie asks. "Tommy, love yourself."

"Yeah, I think that's the point here and I hate it," Tommy replies.

"Alright, Chim," Hen says. "Name another apron in Tommy's kitchen."

"I think we all saw Buck's lockscreen this summer," Howie says. "Tommy in a sleeveless shirt with a black apron that said Flippin' Awesome and had two spatulas crossed on the front."

"Show me spatulas!" Hen calls out. Another point.

"Cheap shot," Tommy says. "Evan gave me that, of course you knew that."

"Hey, genius, how do you think people learn things about each other?" Howie asks. "Hen, take it away."

"Alright, Team Buck," Hen says, wandering over to Maddie. "Name an apron you can find in Buck's kitchen." She turns her head and says, "And don't think we didn't notice he's Evan again."

Tommy turns his head away and whispers to Evan, "Can you make them stop? Please?"

"Sorry, do you think I wanted to be tied and handcuffed to you tonight?" A beat. "Okay, that's not—whatever, I'm suffering here, too."

"Are you?"

Evan huffs. "I'm tired of chasing after people who don't want me, and you don't want me."

Tommy stays quiet as Team Buck racks up bonus points for Evan's punny apron collection.

"I thought you'd call or text, or come over," Evan says, voice quieter. "You said, no matter how bad I want to be, so I thought… I don't know. I waited, Tommy. That didn't feel like the end. And you never answered my voicemails, so."

"I haven't checked my voicemail in five months," Tommy admits. "I saw you left a couple the week after and I just—I couldn't. I knew I'd—I'd press play and before you'd even said Hey I would be in my truck on my way to you."

"And would that have been so bad?"

Tommy drops his head down. "I wanted a clean break so we could both walk away."

"Tommy," Evan whispers. "No matter how bad you want that to be true… it's not."

Tommy nods to himself. "I'm sorry."

"I should have come after you," Evan says. "I should have broken down your door or, I don't know, hung onto your helicopter like Captain America."

"Yeah, good luck," Tommy laughs.

Between them, Evan's fingertips reach for Tommy's. They cling the best they can, and Tommy—he clings back.

"Do you mean it or do you just want to get away from everyone?" Evan asks.

"Well, apparently I can't get away from them." Evan laughs dryly, so Tommy clutches his fingers again. "I mean it. Both of those things. If they take the cuffs off, I won't run. Will you?"

Evan laughs. "Only if you'll follow."

"Then we should make a break for it."

"You got it."

---

read on the ao3!

#911 fic #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #my writing #my fic #tevan fic #kinley fic #writing games #game: i wish you would write #fix it fic #long post #fyi none of tommy's opinions are my opinions i just picked a bunch of unhinged shit out of a metaphorical bag #and i'm not taking any more of these in my ask- sorry!! i've got one more to finish ❤️

154 notes · View notes

he3ts · 24 hours ago

Text

GIVE YOU MY LOVE

squid game masterlist / part one — part two — masterlist

pairings: nam gyu x reader

warnings: angst, jealous!nam gyu, smut ( p in v ) less than the first part but i prioritized tension and sadness!! toxic relationship, sub reader, alcohol use. mild thanos x reader. this is part two, i recommend you read part one to continue reading. sorry if this is long, but i got too carried away. never mind the mistakes, i'm fucking tired

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and i don't see an easy way to get out of this,,

her diary, it sits by the bedside table

the curtains are closed, the cats in the cradle

who would've thought that a boy like me could come to this

oh i, i just died in your arms tonight

──────────────୨ৎ──────────────

This time, you would not come back

At first, he didn't pay him any mind; you always did that. You would walk away, disappear for a few days, then come back, slamming the door and insulting him for his way of doing things. It was your sick game, a cycle that repeated itself over and over again. He knew it, had always known it, and that's why he hadn't worried when, for the first time, you didn't answer his calls.

You're being difficult. He had told himself a thousand times, throwing the phone on the table with a tired smile. But then the days had passed. Seven, to be precise. A week without a message, without a call, without even your name lit up on the screen in the middle of the night. A week of total silence. And then the weeks had turned into a month.

Nam Gyu had begun to feel it on his skin, that emptiness, like an ink stain slowly spreading, staining his days, soiling everything. The phone had become an obsession. Every night he unlocked it, looked at your contact, but he couldn't call you. He was too proud. Too convinced that, sooner or later, you would give in. You. Not him. Just you.

Only you hadn't. As the months began to roll by, Nam Gyu began to change.

He was no longer him. Or maybe, he was more than before, but without your eyes to make him feel like someone better. Without your presence to balance his chaos. His nights were made up of never-ending cigarettes, of glasses left on the edge of the table, of pills melted under his palate, of days that blurred together without meaning. He did not sleep, or slept too much. He talked little, or talked too much and to the wrong person.

Girls came and went. Bodies without faces, kisses without taste. He looked for your scent on them and never found it. It irritated him. It drove him crazy.

One year. A year without you. That was how he measured time now.

No one was saying it out loud, but everyone was noticing. The way he reacted to things had changed, patience was in tatters, irritability a constant. Friends knew it, strangers who crossed his path at the wrong time knew it, but no one knew it as much as he did.

No one felt your absence like he did. Yet, he was no longer looking for you. Because inside him, though he didn't want to admit it, he understood. This time, you were not coming back. For your own sake.

The club Pentagon was still the same. Dim lights, pounding music, bodies moving too close, but never enough to fill the void. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat and stale desire, a perfect place for those who wanted to forget, for those seeking a temporary escape from reality. Nam Gyu had dropped onto one of the black leather couches, a drink between his fingers. The amber liquid swayed slightly as he stared blankly at it. He didn't even know why he was there. Or maybe he knew, but he didn't want to admit it. It had been months since he had heard from you. Months that had stretched into a whole year.

"May I sit down?" A female voice brought him back to reality. He looked up as his eyes rested on a young woman with dark hair, bold eyes, a smile that tasted of promise. She wore a black dress that swathed her body in a way that should have attracted him. It should have.

Nam Gyu did not answer right away; he already knew how it would end. It was going to be a night like many others, a night when he would try to forget you in the arms of someone else. It never worked, but he kept trying anyway. He nodded his head. She smiled, satisfied with his silent acceptance, and sat down next to him. Her scent was sweet, perhaps too much so.

"Are you alone?"

He gave a small, bitter smile. "For a long time"

The girl laughed, as if that answer was a joke, and moved just enough closer to reduce the distance between them. Her fingers grazed the rim of his glass, her red-lacquered fingernails tracing a circle on the cold glass.

"Can I buy you another drink?"

He finished what was in his hand in one slow sip, letting the fire from his drink trickle down his throat, and then set the empty glass on the table.

"That's not necessary"

She leaned even closer, her legs crossed in a studied way, her knee brushing against his. "Then maybe I can offer you something better"

Her fingers slid down the collar of his shirt, playing with the first open button. It was an inviting, calculated gesture, something that should have ignited a modicum of interest in him. Yet, he felt nothing. There was no excitement, no desire, just a sense of apathy that suffocated him.

But he did not back down. He could not go on like this. Maybe, this time, it could work. Maybe, this time, he would stop thinking about you.

The cab sped silently through the brightly lit streets of Seoul. Nam Gyu sat beside the girl, his head leaning against the window. He looked out, the reflection of the lights stretching across the glass, distorted like his thoughts. She was talking to him, but he wasn't really listening, occasionally nodding, occasionally hinting at a smile. He had gotten good at pretending.

When they reached his apartment, she took him by the hand and pulled him inside, without hesitation. She closed the door behind her, dropping her purse on the floor, and pushed him against the wall.

"Are you always this quiet?" she whispered, biting her lower lip as her fingers slipped over his shirt. He looked at her, searching for something in her eyes, something that might convince him she was doing the right thing. But he found nothing. Still, he let her. Her lips came to rest on his, the kiss was expert, voracious, but it didn't make him feel a single thing. Her hands touched him, sought him out, and he reciprocated out of pure automatism.

He let himself be pulled toward the bed, his breathing heavy, his body moving without his mind really being there. She pushed him down, lay on top of him, her lips tracing a trail down his neck. He closed his eyes. For a moment, just a moment, he tried to imagine that she was you. That the hands caressing him were yours. That the voice whispering his name was yours.

And then, without meaning to, without thinking about it. She had squeezed his hair vigorously. Only you could do that.

"Y/n, oh my god bunny"

The girl stopped suddenly, hearing that unfamiliar name. She stiffened and pulled away slightly, her breathing labored. "What did you say?"

Nam Gyu opened his eyes. Her own whisper still seemed to echo in the room. Your name. He had said it. He had whispered it against the lips of another girl. A heavy silence fell between them. She drew back, her eyes narrowing in a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Are you kidding?"

He did not answer. There was nothing to say. She stood up abruptly, hastily picking up her clothes scattered on the floor. "Take your ex back at this point," she spat, slipping on her jacket without even looking at him again. And then, without another word, she walked out, slamming the door behind her. Nam Gyu stood motionless, his gaze lost in the ceiling, his breathing heavy.

He closed his eyes again, but this time there was no illusion, no lie to take refuge in.

The bed was cold. And the emptiness he felt inside him seemed to have no end.

──────────────୨ৎ──────────────

Time had stopped making sense, your days had turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into a whole year without him. Without his burning gaze on you, without his voice to make you shiver, without his touch to always bring you back to where you started, without his caresses.

You had left without a trace, because you really needed it. Needed to change. You had changed areas, found a different job, away from those places that talked too much about him. You had deleted numbers, blocked calls, closed every door left ajar. You had even nipped relationships with people who could have brought you back, because you knew that all it took was one small crack to bring you down again.

It had been difficult at first. The sleepless nights, the phone that went silent but you kept looking at it anyway. The dreams in which he still appeared, vivid, real, with that damned ability to creep under your skin even when you didn't want him to.

And then there was the silence. Too much silence.

The mornings when you woke up with a heavy heart, a tight throat, and the knowledge that you were facing another day without him. The dumb ache of knowing that, deep down, no one had ever made you feel the way he did. Not even in the good, and especially not in the bad. But then it had become habit.

Silence had stopped being an enemy, and had begun to seem almost like a salvation, no longer having to explain to yourself why you always came back, no longer having to justify your need for him with excuses that no longer held up. And, little by little, you had begun to convince yourself that it was really over, that there was nothing left between you. That the love that had consumed you had died along with that old version of you.

But some days were harder than others. You simply woke up already in the morning in a crooked moon. You suffered from lifelong insomnia, but with him it was rare to happen, but that night it was past one, then two, then three. You were lying on the bed, the ceiling a white void that gave you no answers, darkness enveloping everything but your thoughts. Your chest ached, as if there was a weight on it, a tight knot that wouldn't untie.

You didn't know what had triggered that particular night. Maybe a familiar smell heard on the street, maybe "I Just Died in your Arms" played on the radio just that afternoon, his favorite song, maybe just the weariness of having to pretend every day that you had moved on. You had gotten out of bed with soft legs, head light. In the kitchen, the silence was deafening. You had leaned your hands against the counter closing your eyes, biting your lip to hold back the burning that rose in your throat. But it was no use. You could feel it coming. That silent pain, that grip that gripped your stomach and left no escape.

And then, without warning, the tears began to fall. Slow, heavy.

No sobs, no sound, just a silent weeping that seemed to never end. Warm drops on your cheeks, on your lips, falling onto the kitchen countertop one after another, as if your body was expelling all the pain that had been trapped inside for too long.

You felt stupid. You felt weak.

A year had passed. A bloody year. You should have been better off. You should have been free of all this. Instead, there you were, crying in the darkness of a kitchen you didn't even feel was yours, your heart still beating for him, his name trembling on your lips even though you didn't say it.

With the knowledge that, perhaps, you had never really forgotten him.

And that, perhaps, you never would.

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Rain was falling incessantly on the city's gray streets, slipping from the rooftops like tears that no one would ever wipe away. The sky was a cluster of dark clouds, and the air had that oppressive weight that precedes something inevitable. You walked aimlessly, your hands stuffed in the pockets of your jacket too light for that bitter cold, your mind clouded by thoughts that would not shut up. It was one of those days that seemed meant to break you down, no money in your wallet, no place to return to with a smile.

And now him, too. You had rebuilt your life, of course you had to, you were engaged and maybe in love but you didn't know for sure. You thought it centered on the theory that first love is forever, maybe that was why you couldn't open your heart easily to someone else. It was like a poison. But fortunately you had managed, however briefly, to be happy. It had all started that morning with a seemingly innocuous sentence, a joke said lightly, almost in jest.

"You are with me, but sometimes I feel like your head is elsewhere"

You had looked up from the empty plate, fingers fiddling with the now useless fork, your boyfriend was standing in front of you, a smile on his face, you knew him well enough to know something was up. And you knew yourself well enough to know that at that time you were not as spry as before.

"What are you talking about?" you had asked, trying not to sound defensive. He had shaken his head, the smile barely on his lips, but his eyes betrayed his frustration.

"About him"

Your breath had caught in your throat for a second. Yes, him. Nam Gyu.

He had said it out loud. Even though he had never spoken his name, that name that was no longer supposed to belong to you. You had set your fork down on the table with a clatter, trying to maintain control. "I don't want to talk about it"

"But you still think about it"

"I don't"

He had laughed, but without mirth. "Are you really sure?"

Were you? His words were a knife digging into you, slow and precise. "It doesn't matter," you had said finally, crossing your arms.

"It matters to me"

His fingers had drummed against the table, the sound rhythmic and nervous. Then he had shifted, leaning against the back of the chair, watching you with a gaze that made you feel naked, vulnerable. In that perspective, you had noticed how a little like him he looked. You were so screwed.

"I heard you in your sleep," he had said. "You call him. Not me. Him"

You had stiffened.

"No"

"Yes"

The air in the room had become heavy, unbreathable, and going back seemed impossible. "It's not my fault if-"

"If what?" he had pressed, raising his voice. "If he left you? If he destroyed you and now you think no one else can put you back together?"

You had felt your face heat up, your throat tighten. It was unfair. It was cruel. But it wasn't a lie. "If you think that, why did you stay with me?" you had retorted, your voice broken with anger and pain, "You knew my history, you ... You cannot hold my greatest weakness against me"

He had shaken his head, and for a moment had looked more tired than angry. He raised an eyebrow, not expecting me to respond that way.

"Because I thought that in time things would change"

A long silence had fallen between you. One that hurt more than words. Then he had sighed, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, not turning around before leaving. Nothing more had needed to be said. He had been right. He could not be a replacement and you were still trapped in the past. Alone again.

You had left the house only three hours later, your cheeks streaked with bitter tears, your nose red with shame. You felt the air lacking inside the crowded subway, the air saturated with the smell of rain and dampness. You had sat in a corner, your hood up, your eyes fixed on your hands entwined in your lap. Then you had seen him when you hurried downstairs. A well-dressed man with an enigmatic smile and an expression of someone who always knew more than he was saying. He had stretched a smile at you in a casual, almost distracted gesture.

"Will you play with me?" he had said, and you had almost laughed. A game. It was almost funny, maybe he was trying to cheer up your depressed mood. He had shown you two cards, one blue and one red, and you immediately knew what the game was. Ddakji. You had accepted, perhaps just out of defiance. Maybe because you needed something to take your anger out on.

Every blow you gave against the card seemed a reflection of the chaos inside you. Every pop in the air, every defeat, every burn on your skin when his hand hit your face. But then you had won and the bills had slipped through your trembling fingers. It was not the money that scared you. It was the temptation, because you needed the money. And, perhaps, you had nothing left to lose.

You had returned home sadder than before, the room was a reflection of you, you had taken off your soggy jacket and dropped it to the floor with a dull thud, you sat in the armchair cross-legged looking at the damn note.

Then the music had begun.

"Oh, I just died in your arms tonight..."

You had frozen. A chill had gone down your spine, your hands had begun to shake. That song, that damn song. The radio croaked slightly, the sound imperfect, lived-in. An old gift. One you had kept out of habit, just because it was part of you, and like a slow poison, your mind had gone back.

To him.

To the first time you had listened to that song together, lying on the bed with the rain beating against the glass. To the way he had smiled, brushing your hair away from your face with a careless gesture. To the taste of his lips, to the unspoken promise that was in every kiss. To the anger. To the longing. To everything you had tried to bury. Your gaze had slipped to the note clenched in your fist. Maybe you weren't really free. Maybe you never would have been.

──────────────୨ৎ──────────────

The metallic sound of the doll's voice was still echoing in your head.

The field was littered with motionless bodies, some lifeless, others paralyzed with fear. Blood stained the dusty ground, yet adrenaline did not allow you to dwell on that scene of terror. Your heart was beating so fast you feared it might explode. You had survived. Where the fuck had you gone? Blood, too much blood, your beautiful face was stained crimson red, you could no longer breathe regularly. But you were alive. With hands still trembling, you had turned around slowly, trying to catch your breath, to process what had just happened.

Terror made your whole body shake in a ghoulish dance, you hid your hands in the pockets of that horrible green sweatshirt. You were breathing only because you had to, only because you wanted to live again. You could not die, you were young, poor, yes, but still young. Everyone seemed too interested in money, blinded almost to want to continue. You obviously voted X, how could you continue knowing that maybe you would die next?

The bed was uncomfortable, you couldn't even eat, you were terrified, and now you were forced to play again just because of someone else's greed.

Nam Gyu no longer knew how long he had been staring into space, the spoon trembled between his fingers, he was nervous, he was in withdrawal, the bland meal had now cooled before him, but none of this mattered. He was in withdrawal and thought it was just yet another vision he had before him. But no, he had seen you. You. Across the room, far away, your back slightly bent as if you wanted to make yourself smaller, more invisible. There you were, intent on eating in silence, not drawing attention to yourself, but your face, your movements, everything about you screamed your presence like a deafening echo in his chest.

The spoon almost slipped out of his hand. His lungs closed, as if the air had suddenly become too thick for him to breathe.

One year.

But it had only taken one glance. One bloody instant to shatter every lie. He had lost you. But he had never forgotten you. And now you were there. You were real.

Your hair was longer, slightly messy, but it still looked good on you, as if it belonged to that version of you he had never known. Your face was more mature, marked by something he couldn't define. Suffering? Weariness? Or was it just time that had left its mark?

You were even more beautiful. A kind of beauty that hurt the eyes.

You looked fragile, almost ethereal, as if the world had crushed you for too long. But he knew. He knew that inside you was still that flame, that storm that had always engulfed him. He watched as you brought the spoon to your lips slowly, with no real desire to eat, with no real taste to that meal. Your movements were mechanical, lifeless, and that realization hit him like a punch to the stomach.

He bit the inside of his cheek, holding back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. A laugh at his side abruptly brought him back to reality: Thanos, the purple-haired boy, the rapper, always stoned and a little disconnected. Sitting next to him looking relaxed, as if they hadn't just risked their lives. He was saying something, a joke maybe, but Nam Gyu couldn't follow him.

Not as long as you were there. Not as long as your breath seemed to echo in every corner of the room. Thanos followed his trajectory, turning his head sharply toward Nam Gyu "Do you know her?"

"No," he had gasped, but he still stared at you with too much intensity, without shame or modesty. Your eyes met. One moment. A single, eternal moment.

Your lips barely parted. The spoon remained suspended between your fingers, as if you had forgotten what you were doing. Nam Gyu felt the blood freeze in his veins.

You.

It was really you.

Bunny.

He had missed you.

He had missed you to death.

──────────────୨ৎ──────────────

He did not know how it had started, but Thanos had set his eyes on you from the start. He had opened the cross necklace around his neck only to pull out what looked like an ecstasy pill to Nam Gyu. He scrutinized you as if you were a fun puzzle to solve, as if he had already decided you were worth playing with.

After the fight with Player 333 he seemed more fierce than ever, his had been a test toward him, he was plotting something, and Nam Gyu knew it. Maybe he had noticed the way he was looking at you? He didn't want to talk, didn't want to hunt for some weakness. But seeing you there again had ignited that flame in him that he was unlikely to extinguish now. He felt the fire sprinkle in him everywhere, how delirious.

Thanos was serious, approaching you with that relaxed walk of his, his head slightly tilted, as if everything was a big joke and he was the only one who knew the punchline.

Nam Gyu could tell from your eyes, from that little glint, that you were amused. Maybe from his dilated pupils. Okay it's done, it's going to be really funny.

He clenched his fists inside his pockets, his fingernails digging into his palm. Thanos was already in front of your figure, his face tilted in a theatrical gesture, while you were still trying to finish your cross-legged meal.

"Hey, Señorita"

Nam Gyu felt the blood boiling in his veins, you barely looked up from your meal, the spoon suspended in midair. You tilted your head, watching him curiously.

"Señorita?" you repeated with a smile that, however small, was enough to annoy Nam Gyu. That symptom of belonging. You had never been engaged, not officially, but at the club his friends always tried to stay away from you.

"Yes." Thanos nodded slowly, with that air of a sassy kid who enjoyed pushing himself. "I've decided I'm going to call you that. It sounds better than your number, doesn't it?"

"I don't like it"

Thanos clutched his shoulders. Nam Gyu forced himself to look away. He felt his own breathing becoming heavier, his chest rising and falling with effort. He had no right to be annoyed. He had no right to intervene. Yet, he felt the need to do so.

You chuckled, lowering your gaze to your meal.

"Join my team, and I will protect you at all costs"

Another laugh. Light, almost distracted. Yet every time Nam Gyu heard it, it was like a punch in the stomach. He hadn't heard you laugh like that in a long time. Not with him. Not for him. He was the one who knew every expression on your face, every nuance in your voice, and yet, there you were now, smiling with someone else.

And then, as if that were not enough, your eyes shifted to him. You were doing it on purpose, it was so predictable. You hadn't seen him in years. Years in which you had tried to forget the sound of his voice, the way his touch could burn your skin, the look with which he had always made you feel naked, exposed, vulnerable. You had vowed never to think of him again, to rebuild yourself, to erase his name from your mind. But when your eyes had landed on him in that bare, stuffy dormitory, time had stood still.

He had changed. Thinner, harder. His face seemed carved in stone, his black eyes were duller, more hollowed out. Did he have new tattoos? For a moment, you had seen a spark of something familiar before he looked away.

"So now you want to impress me?" you had told him, as Thanos sat down next to you just to talk some more.

──────────────୨ৎ──────────────

Nam Gyu sat in a corner, his body motionless, his hands intertwined in front of his face. He was trying to ignore it. He was trying to ignore the discomfort that knotted in his stomach every time Thanos spoke to you. But then, Thanos spoke.

"Strange," he said, with his usual arrogant smile, his eyes cast toward the piggy bank. "I didn't think you were the type to let a woman like that go"

Nam Gyu did not react. Not right away. Thanos understood. He was high and only wanted to annoy him.

"Or maybe," he continued, tilting his head slightly, "you never really had her?"

A deep breath. Absolute control. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Why are you talking about things that don't concern you?"

Thanos laughed softly, with the confidence of someone who knows he has the upper hand. He leaned in slightly closer, as if deliberately trying to provoke him.

"Because it amuses me," he whispered. "Because I want her. Because you had her in your hands and threw her away like an idiot"

Nam Gyu clenched his jaw, still silence. Still checking. Yes, he was an idiot. Yes, he was wrong. Yes, his heart still burned for you.

"But maybe it was for the best," Thanos continued, the grin becoming more and more evident. "She is free now."

The bed creaked in an instant, Nam Gyu stood, his breath short, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes burning with pure rage. Thanos smiled even wider. "Ah, so you still feel something? What a surprise"

"Leave her alone"

Thanos stared at him, and for the first time a shadow of caution flashed in his eyes. He was only joking. "What is it you call her? Bunny? Bro, you're really fucked up to call her in your sleep. Maybe you should-"

Nam Gyu moved even closer, his gaze now a bottomless abyss. His sweatshirt sleeves were up, Thanos noticed his scars, from when he was piercing himself. He took his necklace with a dry gesture, opening it in front of him, Nam Gyu's eyes lit up with something all too intense.

Thanos studied him for a long moment, then tossed him the pill, the smile barely noticeable. "Don't worry, champion. I don't want any trouble. At least not yet"

──────────────୨ৎ──────────────

You could not sleep. The need to go to the bathroom had become impossible to ignore; you were so terrified that you hadn't thought about your physiological needs at all. You had risen cautiously, slipping away from your bed without a sound, moving like a shadow among the huddled bodies. You crossed the dark room, the faint red and blue lights on the floor were blinding. When you reached the door, the guard behind the glass looked impassive.

"You can't get out"

The metallic voice rang through the device, cold and impersonal. You paused, your breath suspended for a moment.

"I need to go to the bathroom." Your voice was firm, but your body tense, but the guard remained still. Not an ounce of sympathy. Clenching your fists, the idea of having to stay there, of being denied even that slightest freedom, made your blood boil in your veins.

"If you'd rather I do it here, be my guest and watch"

The guard did not move. He did not respond. Nervousness burned under your skin. Your instinct told you that you would never be able to convince him, because you couldn't even convince yourself. Do it in front of everyone, even if they were asleep? That was out of the question. But then, a presence behind you.

"What's the problem?"

His voice. Low. Deep. Strange. A shiver went down your spine even before you turned around. He was there, so close you could feel the heat behind you. His gaze, heavy as a mark on your skin, did not leave the guard in front of you.

"She just needs to go to the bathroom"

The guard did not move, "It is not allowed at night"

Nam Gyu took a step closer. "Not allowed?" His voice dropped a tone, becoming darker, more dangerous. "Either you let her pass, or we make a scene. But I guess you don't want to attract attention, right?"

The guard was impassive, as always, and he was so close, and you desperately needed the bathroom.

Nam Gyu looked at him as if he could break him in two with a single glance, resting his hand on your back. "Don't be an asshole," his voice was pure threat. "Open that door."

A second of absolute tension, then finally the guard opened the door. As soon as the door opened, Nam Gyu gently grabbed your wrist, guiding you out without another word. He walked in front of you, determined, his shoulders broad and tense. His grip on your wrist had barely loosened, but the contact between your skins was still there, alive, electric. Reaching the bathroom door, he stopped, you turned toward him, finally meeting his gaze. He was staring at you in a way that almost made you hold your breath.

His eyes were dilated, shiny, you remembered, because you had those eyes too, then you had decided that ruining your life was not the thing and stopped. Only when you had turned away from him had you felt the air lacking. So close, you could touch him, just reach out. All you had to do was ... No, you couldn't. Not now that you were both vulnerable.

"What an honor to know you still care about me," you barely whispered, he tightened his lips into a single line, he wanted to speak, he wanted to stop you. He wanted to... He didn't know anymore either. You had entered the bathroom not knowing that he had followed you quickly. You had done everything in a hurry, not wanting to upset the masked men.

Water ran over your cold hands as you rubbed them under the rusty jet of the sink, trying desperately to concentrate on the monotonous noise that echoed in the small room. But the only presence you could feel was his.

He was there, standing still against the door, his arms crossed over his chest, his body relaxed in that silent arrogance that had always driven you crazy. His dark eyes watched you with an intensity that seemed to dig into you, making you feel vulnerable, as if he saw every thought hidden behind your impassive facade.

You knew he was watching you. He was devouring you with his eyes. You breathed deep, trying to find the voice to break that nerve-wracking wait.

"You can leave, you know"

The sound of your words echoed in the small room, but he did not move. Then he slowly left his position against the door and took a few steps toward you, slow, studied. Curse.

"Still playing hard to get" His voice was low, rough, with that undertone of danger you had come to know well. You felt your heart quicken as the reflection in the small mirror above the sink returned his figure to you, getting closer and closer. And then-the contact. His hands. Warm, sure, terribly familiar.

His hands rested on your hips with devastating naturalness, his fingers sliding lazily along the elastic of your sweatpants. A shiver ran down your spine, your breath jamming for an instant.

"Don't touch me. Back away," but you had arched your back so pathetically that your words betrayed themselves. He knew that your breathing had just changed. He knew that your body was already responding to his.

"Really?"

His tone was a challenge-laden whisper, his mouth close to your ear, his warm breath brushing against your skin. He moved even closer, his chest almost touching your back. The warmth of his body against yours made you shiver. And then, you felt it. His erection, how much he wanted you, and the tip of his thumb sliding slowly under the fabric of your panties. A very light, almost accidental touch.

You stiffened instantly, your fingers gripping around the edge of the sink tightly, as if it were the only thing holding you up.

"Stop it"

Nam Gyu smiled against your neck, a smile you couldn't see but felt all over.

"Lie"

His hand moved another inch, his fingers playing with the hem of the fabric, lazily caressing the soft skin beneath it. Your breath grew shorter, the heat spreading along your skin like a slow poison.

"You always said you hated it when I did that"

His voice was low, hypnotic, dangerously close.

"And I hate it." You tried to maintain control, to ignore the way your body responded to his touch. But he laughed softly, a deep sound that made you shudder.

"Stop your bullshit. Can't you hear how much I want you, bunny." That name. That damn name that had always made you melt.

You had bitten your lip, hating yourself for the way your body seemed to give out without you being able to stop it. Stop, stop, stop.

"Go away, Nam Gyu"

He did not move; rather, he let his lips barely graze the skin behind your ear, his hot breath making you tremble.

"Tell me you don't want this"

"Tell me you hate me"

You hated him. You hated him because he knew you would never say it. When his hand reached your opening, opening it with two fingers, your breath was ragged, you had rested your head on his shoulder you could see his face looking down at you.

"Is that a no?" he turned several times between your folds as he gave you pleasure and you closed your eyes. Maybe it was his twisted way of enjoying himself. Maybe he liked seeing you tremble under his intense gaze, knowing that he could destabilize you. Or maybe he simply wanted what he couldn't have.

"He's on you like a hungry dog," Nam Gyu had whispered, his voice low, laden with venom, as he kissed your neck. He was talking about Thanos, you knew; he was jealous because you were still his stuff.

"None of your business," you had replied, your heart pounding in your chest. He had removed his fingers from your pussy too quickly, grabbing your hair with a tug, you had already complained about his distance. "Yes it is my business. I see your face in my nightmares, I can't touch a woman after you anymore.... bunny, don't you understand?" his eyes were black, damned, you felt your intimacy melt deprived by your orgasm. But you were bursting.

"You reduce yourself to this! I am not a piece of meat! I loved you and you just exploited my weakness, my love to your liking!" before he could continue torturing you, his hand let go of your hair, you were looking at your bodies through the mirror, him behind you, and you trembling in front. Your pants slightly pulled down over your legs, his hand continuing to pull them down.

"You are more than a piece of meat"

"You didn't give me a way to think that, though" you had turned around, now you were face to face. His cheeks red, his eyes half-closed, as he grasped your cheeks with his palms as if to lock them in.

"Maybe we won't get out of here alive, bunny," he sighed, playing with your hair; it was the drug, you knew. "Maybe I'll die. But at least I was lucky enough to see you one last time"

"You're not in you. That's the drug talking"

Your still damp hands clenched against the fabric of his suit. You stared at him, your breath short, your eyes struggling to stay cold, not to betray the fire he always managed to ignite. He smiled. A game. Always the same, the one where he pushed and you tried to resist. Only this time the bathroom walls seemed to close in on you, the breath of both of you was too close, and the air was thick with something you could no longer ignore.

"You're always the same," he continued, his tone softer, almost bitter. "Always ready to say no to me"

You didn't know what to say, you were like stuck, still too shaken.

"You like to drive me crazy, don't you?"

You didn't have time to answer. His hands closed around your face, "Please, bunny, kiss me" It was that closeness you knew, it was that you couldn't stand it anymore, to say enough. It was the fear, the fear of dying in a place like that. It was too strong, and painful but his lips touched yours without any warning. It was a violent, hungry, angry kiss. No gentleness, no attempt to hold back. Just years of anger, repressed desire and unspoken words exploding all at once.

Your fingers slid into his hair, squeezing hard as his body pushed you against the sink again. Your mouths sought each other, taking, biting.

He moaned against your lips, his tongue sank deeper into your mouth, as if he wanted to claim you, as if he wanted to remind you that, in spite of everything, he had never really let you go.

And the worst of it was that you didn't want to stop him. Never. Not even when he turned you over for the second time, and bent you over the cold sink, his erection pressing against your butt was just yet another signal about how much he was treating himself. How many times he had dreamed that you were the woman he had between the sheets, your face, your hair, your lips.

"Nam Gyu," you had said, trying not to wince as he slid down your sweatpants and panties. His body was pressed against your bottom, his hair in front of his face and his hands clasped around your hips.

"Do you know how much I've missed you?" was a rhetorical question, sure enough, your head was foggy and your legs gave out. You were all wet, he found it funny. It was sloppy, all so fast, his breath on your neck and the tip of his cock already inside you. You lifted your butt higher toward him, because you wanted more, you were addicted, "Fuck"

"How I had missed your voice" he muttered, as his hand grabbed your hair, pulling you back toward him kissing your neck. You weren't protesting, you couldn't do anything more, you were exhausted and confused completely loose under him. His hands were everywhere, reaching for your breasts under your bra.

"Hurry the fuck up, I'm going crazy"

Your breath took away as he began to giggle and then grabbed you with far too much force as he fucked you in that fatal position. It was your head spinning, sweat soaked into your forehead. You felt it all, his tongue on your neck and moans against your ear. You were so hungry for him but so little in control of your person, "We are both doomed, you know, bunny"

"I know"

You had been struck by time, out of control, and for that night you had been his again. He couldn't get enough of it. Then a soft knock against the door. There were a few thrusts, unrestrained like animals possessing themselves. He stepped out of your frustrated womanhood, pulling your hair back from your neck and laying a chaste kiss on it. You had rested your head on the sink, your cheek flattened, and your face formulated a small smile. Your legs completely filled with him. You were cursed, yes. You were alive, again.

"I love you"

MASTERLIST.

#squid game #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu x you #nam gyu #player 124 #player 124 x reader #squid game x reader #smut #nam gyu smut #namgyu squid game #namgyu fanfic #namgyu smut #thanos #thanos x reader #squid game season 2 #player 124 smut #player 124 x y/n

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pursued-by-the-squid · 3 days ago

Text

v. dance with the devil

pairing: gi-hun x gn!reader x in-ho

word count: 7.9k

content warning: things get a little intense in this chapter, so please be careful when reading. there will never be any rape/non-con/assault tropes in this story, but there is a home invasion scene at the very end that i want y'all to be mindful of. take care of yourselves!

ao3 | masterlist

Gi-hun drops you home later than he usually does. It’s a Tuesday night; you have class tomorrow, plus a few assignments due by the end of the week that you’ve been putting off, so you really shouldn’t be out so late. You shouldn’t be lying to Gi-hun about your workload either, but if he knew how much homework you have, then he never would have agreed to a mid-week shooting lesson.

I miss you, you had wanted to say, but you didn’t have the courage to vocalize it. What had seemed at first to be a serotonin withdrawal triggered by switching from your carefree summer life to a more regulated academic life had become suspicion of a vitamin deficiency. Just an odd mix of chemicals messing with your head to make you crave things you shouldn’t.

And then you’d seen him for the first time in two weeks and been so overwhelmed with delight that your chest started to hurt.

Gi-hun had smiled at you – actually smiled! – and handed you a pistol, the very one you’ve been eyeing for the past month but had been too hesitant to ask for. The semiautomatic just fits so nicely in your hands and you hadn’t wanted to ruin your streak by trying something new, but he knew. He knew and he gave it to you without any prelude or pause. He’d shown you how to hold it with both of his hands over yours, his thumbs pressing into your knuckles and your pulse thundering at your wrists, and you had wondered for a moment if he could hear the way your breath caught.

And then the moment had passed and you settled into the usual routine.

The light flickers on as you come inside, buzzing softly overhead. Your keys drop onto the counter, then your backpack is deposited into your chair and your shoes are toed off.

The very thought of sitting down to read through fifteen pages of dry, unengaging instruction makes you want to cry. You’d rather watch paint dry. Or watch Gi-hun.

Aim. Shoot. Reload.

Don’t look at him.

Aim. Shoot. Reload.

Don’t notice the way his shoulders move under his jacket, how his hips flex when he takes his stance.

Aim.

Don’t notice how heavily he breathes before he squeezes the trigger.

Shoot.

Don’t think about the sharpness of his aim, or his eye, or his canines when he smiles and how the light catches them.

Reload.

Don’t notice. Don’t look.

He’d tilted his head just so when he passed you. His shoulder brushed yours, his breath fanned across the nape of your neck when he reached behind for another magazine.

You aimed. Gi-hun’s shoe nudged against yours. You squeezed the trigger. He’d huffed, so lightly that you might have imagined it, and you missed. You fucking missed and you’d immediately felt the hot rush of embarrassment settle in your chest. But then he’d caught your eyes, so soft and encouraging, and whatever irritation or embarrassment you had felt before suddenly dissipated, as suddenly as mist evaporating in the sunlight.

You go about your nightly routine, settling into your comfiest pajamas and falling into bed with a contented sigh. The lights are dim enough to lull you into a relaxed state while you scroll through your phone, checking whatever messages you had missed and replying to the most important ones. Young-il has been distant of late, your coffee meetings less frequent as his work schedule begins ramping up, his messages brief and less engaging than usual, so you send him a couple of texts.

You miss him too, though you would certainly never say it. Not to Gi-hun, who has unofficially become the closest friend you have, and not to Young-il either, whose status as your friend and confidant is trumped only by Gi-hun’s. He’s been good to you this past year. If not for Young-il, you’re not sure you would have passed your last final – he’d been there to calm your nerves when Gi-hun was busy searching the subway. And he’d made you laugh when you’d had a nightmare – 455 bodies and the haunting sound of children laughing – even if his jokes were some of the stupidest ones you’d heard in years.

But as has been the case for the past few weeks, Young-il does not respond. It stings. You try not to take it to heart because he always comes back in the end, no matter the distance or time, but still.

Gi-hun responds, though. He’s gotten better at it. ‘Get some rest, you’ve earned it. And be careful tomorrow.’ He doesn’t worry so much these days, but it still is a constant request, a little piece of him that nestles inside you and warms you to the bones.

‘I always am.’

The lights turn off with a click, your phone buzzes with one final message bearing Gi-hun’s name, and you drift off with a smile on your face.

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

…

Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

…

Bzzz–

You nearly fall out of bed trying to shut your phone off. It clatters to the ground, wedged between the wall and the mattress, vibrating so loudly that it sounds like a jackhammer is going off in your room. You have to crawl halfway under the bed to grab it and by then, you’ve already missed two calls and several texts from Gi-hun.

“What is it?” you slur sleepily, your free hand rubbing at your eyes. “Are y–”

“Listen to me. Don’t leave your apartment today.”

“Mm, I have class later today,” you groan. The realization that this is extremely abnormal takes a second to hit you in your freshly awakened state. “What’re you talking about?”

“It’s too dangerous for you,” he snaps, and that, at last, is enough to jolt your brain into gear. “Lock your door. Keep your phone close. Promise me.”

A white-hot rush of dread sweeps over your body, singing every nerve-ending and twitching muscle. “I promise.” You can feel the knot of your own fear bobbing where it’s lodged in your throat. “Gi-hun, what’s going on?”

You can just make out the sound of his car revving on the other end of the line. “There’s no time for that. I’m sending you a name, he’s an old friend of mine. If I don’t come back–”

“What do you mean, if you don’t come back?”

“[___],” he sighs, the way he always does when he’s being serious. The way he did an eternity ago when he finally told you who he was. “If I don’t come back, I want you to find him. We grew up together. He’ll take care of you.”

Tears prick at the edge of your waterline. You feel like you’ve just been slapped in the face. He’s talking like he’s dying. But that’s ridiculous, right? He’s not dying. He’s not going to die.

“Why are you saying this?”

He doesn’t respond. “How much money do you have?”

“Gi-hun.”

“How much?”

A sob breaks through your voice box. Your body slumps uselessly on the bed. This is wrong, it’s all wrong. He’s talking like a dead man and he’s not a dead man.

“Enough,” you hiccup through the veil of your tears. “Gi-hun, please. You’re scaring me.”

“I’ll send you what you need,” he says. “Take care of yourself, [___].”

The line drops and so does your heart. “Gi-hun,” you whimper into the receiver, but there’s no one left to hear you.

A few notifications pop up on your phone several minutes later:

[ Park Jung-bae, Dragon Bar, Ssanmung-dong. Give him my name. ] [ incoming transaction from Seong Gi-hun – ₩2,000,000,000 ]

You very nearly dry heave on the floor.

“Are you alright?” In-ho is sure to soften the edges of his voice, lowering it a notch or two to match the soothing pitch you seem to like from him. His eyes flicker across the tablet propped against his computer – he’s more than aware that you are not alright, but Young-il isn’t supposed to know that. So he asks.

“No,” you croak, your voice cracking under the weight of your tears. Your shoulders are hunched over, your body withdrawing into itself as you curl into a sad, pathetic mass of limbs on the sofa.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

The line of your bottom lip trembles enough to be noticeable on camera. “It’s… It’s my friend.” You’re struggling to get through even a single sentence, all glassy eyes and shuddering breaths, and for a moment In-ho feels caught between irritation and genuine pity. He supposes that, were he in your position, the terror of knowing that his dearest friend is endangering himself would be enough to send him into a panic as well.

It seems that 456 and his recruiter have finally reunited, or are about to. He’s been tracking the recruiter all day and as a result, has also been tracking the movement of the two fools Gi-hun has sent in his stead. It’s a mistake. In-ho doesn’t employ those with a tendency for mercy, but that’s a lesson that will have to be learned through experience.

“What can I do?” he asks once the words have manifested themselves and your bleeding heart is left quivering in his palm.

Your head bobs on the screen. “I don’t know, I… I’m scared. I-I think he’s in trouble. He said… he said he might not come back and I don’t know what to do.”

Something inside his chest twists – curiosity, he thinks. Did he now? Did Seong Gi-hun finally take up gambling again? Finally betting on his own life instead of yours? Three years of trying to get the bastard off his tail and all it took was a meeting with a recruiter. How ironic.

In-ho swirls the glass in his free hand once, twice, before taking a quiet sip. Not once do his eyes leave the screen. Not once does he look away from the miserable shape you make as you fall apart.

“Can you come over?”

His heart lurches, pushing the words past his lips before he can doubt himself. “Are you sure?” Because he is curious to know. Are you sure enough of him? Do you really trust him? Has all his hard work finally come to fruition?

The answer is later given in the wide arc of your door when it opens to him, in the curve of your arms as they wrap around his torso. The name he has given you falls from your lips without the customary honorific – there is no room for social niceties in the wake of your grief, though it isn’t something he can fault you for. Neither can he fault you, he discovers, for the salty, snotty mess you leave on his chest.

It's a weakness. A reminder of days long since past and forever lost, but a weakness all the same. Hwang In-ho does not tolerate weaknesses. He does not grant mercy in a world that once chose to overlook him when he asked for it. But today, just this once, he allows himself to break his greatest rule. Perhaps it’s because he still remembers the weight of his wife’s head upon his shoulder. Or perhaps it’s because he knows that René Magritte’s book still sits on your bedside table.

A weakness, yes, but one he knows how to eliminate and it won’t be long now until the opportunity presents itself.

“He’ll be alright,” he murmurs into your hair, running his hand over the swell of your scalp as you cry.

A distressed groan sounds from the center of his chest where you’ve pressed your cheek. “But what if he isn’t? Wh-What if he doesn’t come back?”

In truth, he has no inkling whether Gi-hun will live or die tonight. The man is reckless and less intelligent than he assumes himself to be, but he’s also irritatingly tenacious, always turning up in the unlikeliest of places like a pebble permanently wedged in In-ho’s shoe. If he were a betting man – if he were 456 – he would place his money on the recruiter whose eyes have never once shone with a glimmer of true humanity in the past nine years.

But then again, Seong Gi-hun has won the races once before. There’s always the chance he’ll do it again.

In-ho’s teeth grind together for a moment, sending pain up and down his jawbone until he has the clarity of mind to unlock the joint and regather his thoughts. “He will,” he assures you. One of his hands finds your cheek and gently guides your face until it’s tilted up towards his. Old habits, he tells himself, and he smiles the way that only Young-il does. “It’ll be alright, [___]. I promise.”

Only time will tell if he’s bet on the right horse. In the meantime, however, he is content to continue playing the curious little game you have unknowingly entered into with him.

“Your friend. You said he hasn’t answered his phone since he contacted you?” The slight press of your head against his palm – a brief nod of dissent – encourages him to continue, to prod at the bruise of Gi-hun’s disappearance until you do something interesting. “Had you thought of calling the police?” Though what you might say to them is beyond him, he wants to know if it had occurred to you.

How delicious it is to see the way your expression darkens and your eyes shift, as if he’s stumbled by chance upon a secret you dare not repeat to another soul. So 456 has told you, then, and more than what little he has managed to hear from the camera in your wall.

“I don’t think they’d be able to help,” you respond, several long seconds of deliberation later.

“Why do you say that?” Aren’t you confident in the skills of the unnumbered dedicated and mindless drones wasting away behind the walls of police academies and city halls? Surely the friend who regularly supplies you with obscene amounts of money and black market shooting lessons is someone whose fate you can trust to the unblemished record of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Agency?

You shrug lightly, your eyes flickering away when he tries to catch them. “Just a feeling.” And he smiles to himself, however briefly, because you are a truly terrible liar.

He presses further, digging his thumb deeper into the bruise upon your heart. “Is there… any way you can find him yourself, perhaps?” How far, he wonders, will you go for a piece of gutter trash that should have died in his arena? How much risk are you willing to shoulder for the reward of Gi-hun’s life?

Oh, you protest, of course, you squirm uncomfortably at the thought of putting yourself in any real danger, but he sees the momentary consideration when it first sparks. He nurtures that spark with every softly murmured question, fans in into a flame. Surely you know him better than anyone – who else would be able to help him? To save him? He grants you the notion of becoming Gi-hun’s hero. This friend of yours, whoever he is, he must care about you a great deal to say goodbye. Maybe he needs you. Let you think yourself capable of such a thing. Let you create your own destruction. Because if you are this clueless to his manipulations, then you deserve to fall as much as Gi-hun does.

It’s the final night in August when Seong Gi-hun comes face to face with the recruiter. He knows even before stepping inside the four walls he’s sequestered himself behind for the past two years that this may be the last thing he ever does, the last face he ever sees. Two years of baited breath and sleepless nights, two years of fighting a fight he’s not even sure he can ever win. Two whole years and it comes to this – a man, a gun, and the rules of the game.

“I've always wondered how you made it out of there alive.”

It was luck, plain and simple, he thinks. Or fate playing tricks with a corpse who doesn’t even know he’s already dead.

“For one thing, you were even terrible at ddakji.”

Ddakji. His eomma. The little street cat. Jung-bae. You.

The pistol clicks and Gi-hun feels the barrel shake where it digs into his skull. He’s… still alive?

He has only a moment to process the fact before the recruiter snatches the gun off the table and squeezes the trigger, his face contorted with… he doesn’t even know what. He’s not even sure the man is human. All he’s sure of is that the chamber has fired twice and neither of them is dead.

The odds are 3 in 1. He used to bet on horses with worse chances than that.

You’re our horses.

Sang-woo. Sae-byok. Ali.

Click.

Three rounds left and his face is still intact. His brains haven’t splattered across the ceiling. He’s alive.

I didn’t expect you to finish your race.

He’s still fucking alive. So why does he feel so dead inside?

The recruiter is far too smug for his liking. The fucker gets off on being a predator the same way Gi-hun used to get off on betting.

“You’re a piece of trash, just like everyone else. A piece of trash who got lucky and made it out of the dumpster.”

Well, if that’s true, then they’re kindred spirits. Gi-hun knew he was damned a long time ago. He knew he was worthless the night Ga-yeong was born and rather than her sweet eyes and tiny toes, he could only see the battered skull of a man who used to be alive. He knew he was worthless the millionth time he let her down. I’ll make it up to you next year. What complete and utter bullshit.

Click.

He’ll never forget the way the recruiter’s head snaps back when the pistol finally fires, not even on his deathbed. He took a bet and he won, the first win he’s had since he woke up to find 45.6 billion won shoved down his throat. All that death, all that regret, and it’s only now that he feels the stirrings of life in the pit of his stomach.

Neither will he forget the immediate wash of panic that overcomes all that bright and bursting life when the police officer slams him against the bathroom glass, gun to his head, and he thinks it’s all over. Nearly three years of fighting and searching, only to get himself arrested before he can do anything about it.

He’ll never forget the realization that Kim Jeong-rae is dead, that the stripped and bound man crying before him is yet another victim of the path that Gi-hun has chosen to take. He left the Games behind so long ago, yet death keeps chasing after him and everyone around him. Was Sang-woo’s death not enough? Ali and Sae-byok and every other tortured soul who died, were they not enough to satisfy the demand for blood? What about every innocent person left behind – the mothers, brothers, and children? Is their sacrifice not enough?

He lowers his gun as the regret starts to sink in. Blood and brain matter have stained the entire stretch of wall above the recruiter’s chair, drenching Gi-hun’s subway maps and scribbled notes. He looks down at the pistol in his hands and wonders how it ever came to this, how he managed to lose his way so thoroughly.

That’s why he can never forget the moments after, when the young officer is finally dragged into the bathroom and cuffed to the tub, when Jeong-rae’s partner is scrubbing the bits of flesh and blood from the walls, and you come running into the room. He doesn’t know it’s you at first. Paranoia comes before logic, so he’s already whirling around with his weapon in the air, determined to gun down whatever monster the game runner has sent to kill him this time. Only it isn’t some cruel, faceless beast in a pink suit. It’s the farthest possible thing.

His stomach drops down to his boots, along with his gun.

“[___],” he starts, raising his hands in supplication to show he means you no harm, but you’ve already backed yourself against the wall.

“What the fuck?” Your eyes are watery and bloodshot when you look past him – at the body, the blood, the carnage he’s left behind – and he suddenly wishes he was the one with a bullet in his brain instead. This is everything he didn’t want. You weren’t supposed to know about any of this, you weren’t supposed to ever see behind the curtain he has so carefully pulled around the brutalized parts of his life.

He takes a step forward. “I can explain–”

One of your palms slams against the wall to brace yourself while the other flashes before his eyes, wrapped around the handle of the taser he’d gifted you. “He’s dead.”

“I know,” he nods. He places one foot in front of the other, as slowly and deliberately as he can manage, his hands still raised, and he prays that you can understand somehow. “Just let me explain.”

But the taser is brandished before him like a blade. No matter how much your fingers are shaking, Gi-hun knows you’re capable of hurting him. He doesn’t even need to see the terror in your eyes to confirm it, he only needs to think of the hours you’ve spent at his side, squeezing the trigger of every firearm he has given to you and shattering his expectations at every turn.

Well, you’ve shattered them once again. Didn’t he tell you to stay home, to not leave or allow anyone inside? What could possibly have driven you to disobey him when you know the risks, when he’s made it perfectly clear the amount of danger you’re in and how important it is that you protect yourself? Why? Why would you come here? Why would you ruin everything by being so reckless?

“Why… the fuck… do you have a dead body in your room?”

Gi-hun takes a deep breath. God, he needs a fucking cigarette. “I told you I was looking for the recruiters,” he says, as if that explains everything.

Disbelief contorts the shape of your eyes until they’re practically bulging from your skull. “You didn’t say you were gonna kill them!”

“And you told me you would stay inside,” he snaps. He can’t take it back, not even when your mouth drops open, but he finds that he doesn’t want to. Because he’s angry and scared out of his mind, and you, for the first time since he’s known you, are a remarkably easy target to pin his frustrations upon. “He would have killed you if he’d gotten his hands on you!”

Your body surges forward, then, all blazing eyes and furrowed brows as you jab the end of the taser into his chest. The shock never comes, but he braces himself for it anyway. “What about you?” He’s too busy watching the light in your pupils to notice that you’ve shifted your finger off the trigger. “I thought you were dead! I thought you ran off and got yourself killed!”

“I was trying to protect you,” he grits through clenched teeth.

“By scaring me? By not even having the decency to say goodbye to my fucking face?” The taser presses harder against his chest until it hits bone and Gi-hun leans his weight into the ache, desperate to feel your agony as deeply as you do, to punish himself for ever daring to drag you into this mess. “I don’t give a shit about your money, Gi-hun, I just want you alive.”

It’s enough to punch the air from his lungs. And then he sees the tears threatening to spill over your lower lashes. He notices how your lips are shaking, not just because you are so horrifically angry, but because you’re trying desperately not to cry.

When he reaches for you this time, you don’t pull away and Gi-hun counts it as a victory. He closes his hand around the curve of your shoulder and sighs. “I’m alive.” Somehow. He’s done everything wrong every step of the way, yet somehow he keeps breathing.

Your face is contorted with every possible emotion, each one breaking against you like the tide, each one breaking your resistance further and further until finally, you allow yourself to fall into his arms. For a minute, he’s not sure what to do. He knows what he wants to do, but it feels wrong to touch you with the very hands that offered the weapon that ended the recruiter’s life. But then you rest your cheek on his collarbone, then you sniff and your shoulders ripple, and he’s drawing you into his chest before he can doubt himself any further.

“Don’t do that to me again,” you whisper. Your voice cracks somewhere in the middle and it may as well be a dagger to his heart because he knows that this is the one promise he cannot keep, let alone make. “Please.”

There’s an apology forming on his lips, his mouth already opening to beg you for penance, when he hears the initial shriek of handcuffs on metal. The pair of you start and turn to look inside the bathroom where the young officer is waking up, rubbing at the back of his head and yanking hard on the cuffs keeping him in place. Shit.

“Seong Gi-hun-ssi!” He yanks hard against the faucet and Gi-hun almost expects him to yank the thing right out of the wall; as if he doesn’t have enough to worry about already.

You can’t stay for this. He doesn’t want you sitting in the same room as a dead body, a half-naked stranger, and Gi-hun’s attempt interrogation of an officer of the law. He might not have to shoot the boy, and he sincerely hopes it won’t come to that, but if it does? You can’t see him like that. But where else can he send you that you’ll be safe? It’s dark and the game runner knows he’s caught on to their scent, so he can’t send you back home alone.

He turns and blocks the bathroom with the breadth of his shoulders, guiding you to look up at him. “Go to the range. Wait for me there.” At least there you’ll be able to defend yourself.

Your focus darts past his shoulder when the officer is struggling and shouting. “… Gi-hun–”

“Please.” Just this once, he needs you to listen. Just this once, he needs you to do as he says and not ask any further questions. “I’ll come find you. Just… wait for me. Please.”

It isn’t until he’s heard the door to the range open and close that he picks up his gun again. He sits himself on the toilet, lid down, and glares. “Who are you?”

You’ve been dancing around each other for the past twelve minutes, awkwardly sipping your drinks, eyes lowered, never daring to speak except to remark on the coffee or the weather or the piece of fuzz on Young-il’s jacket. It’s agonizing.

You know he wants to ensure that you’re alright, that your disappearing friend is also alright, and you want nothing more than to tell him that everything is fine, back to normal, and there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just that you’d be lying if you did.

Gi-hun has been distant. Still present, yes, but farther than he’s been in months, maybe even years by now. He’s brushed you off the last two times you’ve texted him about meeting for lunch. You’ve only asked a couple times since that night, but it’s unlike him to be so abrasive. After the discussion you’d had, after everything you’d seen, you thought things would be different. Now they’re different in a bad way and you hate it.

There’s also the fact that you can’t unsee the image of blood and brains sprayed across his bedroom wall. Every time you close your eyes, it’s there. Someone will smile at you and the wind will catch their hair just right, and they’ll look just like the corpse in the suit. You haven’t been able to pick up a gun since then either. It’s one thing to shoot an unmoving, non-sentient target; it’s something else entirely to shoot another person and watch their life ooze out of them.

You push your drink aside, your appetite suddenly spoiled. Young-il notices, as he ever does, and his expression sharpens. He shifts forward in his seat and braces his elbows on the table. “What is it?”

The smile you offer him is forced at best and unbelievable at worst. “Nothing. It’s just not as good as usual.”

His chin drops. “[___].”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him. “Please, just… it’s okay.”

Only it’s not nothing. It’s everything. Your grades are slipping again, like they had been in the months before Gi-hun found you. You aren’t sleeping well, you’re not eating as much as usual, you’re constantly tired, constantly irritated, and you wake up feeling scared and alone more often than not. You’re in over your head. Lectures are almost impossible to sit through. Everything reminds you of the dead recruiter, or of Gi-hun, or of the space his absence has left behind in your life. Every morning you think it might be the day where Gi-hun has sent you a final farewell via text and you’ll find his face on the news – local man gunned down in abandoned motel, more at noon.

Young-il reaches across the table to curl his fingers under yours. It isn’t the first time he’s initiated contact with you, but it strikes you as different somehow, in a way you can’t articulate. “Your friend,” he starts somewhat hesitantly. “Is he…?”

You swallow tightly. “He’s alright.” He’s alive. Sometimes you still can’t believe it.

He nods then as a contemplative expression drifts across his face. He looks like he understands, though you can’t imagine how that’s possible. He’s a businessman. What would he know about befriending an obscenely wealthy middle-aged man with a potential inclination for suicidal ideation?

“Are you on speaking terms?”

It’s easier to wrap your fingers tighter around his hand than it is to look him in the eye. “Somewhat.”

“That doesn’t sound very hopeful,” he says, but it’s light, almost a joke. Maybe he’s trying to make you smile.

A half-hearted shrug is the most effort you can muster. “He’s preoccupied, I think.”

Still determined to track down the people running the games, still working himself to the bone doing God knows what and with God knows who. You know the police officer – Jun-ho, you think his name was; he was very respectful when you were introduced and had insisted on giving you his contact details in case of emergencies. You still don’t know why, but it feels nice to be cared for, even by a stranger. You should probably blame yourself for that, but half the blame goes to Gi-hun anyways. He’s the one who got you into this mess.

“He works a lot.” That’s one way to put it. “And I think something big is coming up, some kind of… work project. So, he’s been busy.” And you’ve been left alone. You know you shouldn’t blame him for it, shouldn’t feel bitter when he’s trying to save innocent lives, but he’s still your friend, isn’t he? Is it so wrong of you to miss him?

“I’m sorry,” he hums after a moment. “Do you want to–?” But you’re already shaking your head ‘no’. If you talk about it (which you can’t), you’re afraid you’ll burst into tears and never stop. Or maybe you’ll scream until your head bursts. “Then what can I do?”

Looking into Young-il’s eyes is like gazing into the mouth of the universe. They’re dark like the night, all shadows and coffee grounds and sleek, cold metal, but they sparkle too when the light hits them just right. And the light hits them right. His hand rests lightly over yours, his thumb rubbing at the joint of your last knuckle. It suddenly strikes you just how pretty he is when he’s being kind.

“Just this,” you assure him with wet, red-rimmed eyes and an itchy nose. “Just this is enough.”

‘You up for dinner? I finished all my homework for the week, so I don’t have anything to do.’

The message glows brightly in the shadows of his room, the cursor in the message bar blinking patiently in anticipation of a response. Jun-ho is at the table, chin in his hand as he studies his own mobile. It’s getting late. There are still so many things he needs to get done, plans to be made, contingencies to be strategized.

His stomach twists with regret. ‘Not tonight.’

He tells himself he can’t afford any more distractions and you’ve been distraction enough, though it’s not your fault. It’s never been your fault.

The little green ‘active’ dot by your name blinks out and Gi-hun feels his stomach twist tighter. He knows without asking that he’s hurt your feelings and he’s sure that when he sees you again – if he sees you again – you’ll give him hell for it. He sincerely hopes you do, if only to prove to himself that he’s doing the right thing.

As the days tick by and the calendar drifts closer and closer to late September, then early October, Gi-hun finalizes his plans. He trades a tooth for a tracker and lighthearted afternoons with you for late night training sessions with his assembled band of soldiers, each of them sacrifices for the greater good. He sharpens his aim with the blade he’s impaled himself upon – the bastards who built the Games, the people who tracked you down and preyed upon you like a helpless calf in the wild, the VIPs who watched his friends slaughter each other or die in the process are all going to pay. If it kills him, they’re all going to pay for what they’ve done.

Arrangements are made in the event of his death. Half of his money will transfer to Ga-yeong, the other half will transfer to you. Someone will get you in contact with Jung-bae and with Jun-ho’s mother, hopefully Jun-ho himself but he can’t guarantee the boy’s safety as much as he can’t guarantee his own. At least you won’t need to be alone anymore. You’ll be safe. Ga-yeong will be safe. That’s all that matters.

All that’s left is to say goodbye.

It should be easy, shouldn’t it? At least, that’s what he thought. He calls his daughter. He can’t bring himself to say a single fucking word because he’s a coward, he can’t bring himself to say any of the things he’s been wanting to tell her. How much he misses her. How proud he is of her. But he gets to hear her voice one last time and it’s enough, it’s enough to keep on fighting, to keep living for however long he has left.

He calls you – or rather, he tries to. His thumb hovers over the call button until the screen goes dark and then he has to unlock it, pull your name back up and talk himself into doing it. Except he can’t. He doesn’t understand why. You’re not Ga-yeong, you are not more important to him than his own daughter and he didn’t even have the stomach to speak a goddamn word to her, so why is this so much harder? Why can’t he do it?

He stares at his phone for what feels like hours, days. Memory after memory filters through his head. Your laughter, your voice, the scent of you that he thinks he can almost detect when he wakes every morning, like you’ve soaked into the mattress too and left your mark there. The way you’d beamed at him the first time you shot a bullseye and Gi-hun had been caught between smiling and wanting to embrace you, to crush you until you collapsed against him and he could finally – no. He can’t let himself go there. He can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you.

That’s what he tells himself when he grabs his car keys. That’s what he tells himself when he pulls the belt across his chest. It wouldn’t be fair to take from you in the hours before what he can only assume will be his death. That’s what he tells himself when he pulls into the parking lot outside your apartment, when he presses the button that will lift him to your floor.

You’re so young. You have so much to live for. You’re meant for great things, things that a man like Gi-hun could never give you, and he knows that. He’s known that for months now. But if he’s going to lead himself to the slaughter, then he may as well be selfish one last time, right?

It won’t be fair to you, but it might just be enough to give him peace.

Your eyes are tired when you open the door for him. Now that he thinks about it, it’s a school night. You probably have class tomorrow. “Gi-hun?” But you opened the door for him.

He’s never allowed himself to dwell on how pleasant he finds your features. He allows it tonight.

“What is it? Is something wrong?”

He stands there in the hallway like an idiot and he memorizes the way the light bends across your nose. He watches the way your eyes flicker with uncertainty, then concern, then confusion. He glances down to your shoulders where the neck of your shirt has been pulled aside – were you sleeping? – and he can just make out the edge of your collarbone.

“Gi-hun. Can you talk to me? What’s wrong?”

I’m dying, he thinks, that’s what’s wrong. His pulse is thundering so heavy and hard against his skin that he almost wonders if he’s having a heart attack. I’m dying and I’ve never wanted anything the way that I want you.

If it’s his last chance to do something about it, then Gi-hun will take that gamble. What’s a little death without a little reward?

His body moves almost without conscious thought. He’s watching his body from outside himself, watching his hand rub palm first against your cheek, watching your mouth drop open and your face go still. Watching your eyes go wide and your lashes flutter. And then he’s slamming back inside his body so he can kiss you.

He’s out of practice. His teeth knock against yours and he presses his lips a little too firmly, but it’s a kiss all the same. He never thought he’d want to kiss someone again. Hell, he never thought he’d want to kiss you, but it feels right somehow. Or maybe he’s delusional and desperate like all men are in their final hours.

It’s not right, he knows it’s not, but even as Gi-hun withdraws and prepares himself for the disgust and repulsion he’s sure to find on your face, he cannot bring himself to regret a single thing that’s led him here.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and he really, truly is.

His thumb drifts across the meat of your cheek, pressing into your flesh until it dimples, and he thinks he’s never seen anything more breathtaking than you in your pajamas and flushed from the second worst kiss he’s ever given.

Your eyes are so comically large that he feels like he might fall right into them and drown. That would be a nicer way to go than whatever the game runner – the Captain – has in store for him, of that he has no doubt.

He kisses you again, something softer and sweeter like you actually deserve, and he asks you not to follow him. Stay here where it’s safe. He takes one last look before he goes. Stay alive for me. And when the elevator doors close in on him, he doesn’t lift his head. He lets the memory of your lips tingle on his and he hopes, oh he hopes, that when he dies, he’ll die with his mouth still remembering the taste of the sweetest gamble he’s ever played.

You stand in the kitchen for an eternity, one hand pressed against the ticking pulse in your throat and the other braced against the counter to keep you from falling over.

I’m sorry, he’d said.

Sorry that he kissed you? Sorry enough that he’d gone and kissed you again?

Squeezing your eyes shut doesn’t release the tension in your chest, nor does it recover your ability to fucking breathe, but it allows you the chance to recall his face when he’d leaned in, how his mouth had dropped open when he pulled away. It allows you the chance to press your fingers to your lips and feel where he’s touched you.

He’s going to get himself killed. You’re almost certain of it now. Why else would he come here after ditching you for the millionth weekend in a row? Why else would he tell you to stay here, to take care of yourself? Why else would he kiss you?

You don’t even realize you’re sobbing until you’re doubled over and gasping for air. It feels like someone’s just punched a hole in your chest and is squeezing your heart until it bursts. Because Gi-hun kissed you. Because all this time you thought you were imagining things or overthinking things, seeing chemistry where there was none. Because one of you finally had the guts to take what they wanted and the only reason it happened is because Gi-hun’s probably in the middle of being shot to death right now.

Your hands go scrambling for your phone. ‘Don’t you dare get yourself killed.’ The message goes unread.

You call him. He doesn’t answer.

‘Talk to me.’

Nothing.

‘GI-HUN. TALK TO ME!!’

The phone goes flying across the room until it smacks screen-first into the leg of the sofa and you collapse on the floor, a mess of snot, tears, and too little air in a body that feels too full of grief to properly exist.

Three years. Three fucking years of making himself essential to you and your daily life. Three years of caring for you in the only ways he knows how. Three years of corner store ramyeon and half-formed smiles and fleeting glances, and this is how he wants to end it? By killing himself?

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. You don’t know how it was supposed to end, but it shouldn’t have been like this. Maybe with you going back home and missing him for the rest of your life, but at least then he would have been alive.

You find yourself crawling on your hands and knees like a miserable sack of bones. It’s pathetic. This is what Gi-hun has reduced you to and you hate him for it. You hate him so much it makes you sick.

‘Jun-ho, what the hell is going on?? Where’s Gi-hun?’

But for a cop so concerned about your apparent safety, he’s not very good at replying to his fucking texts.

You have half a mind to snag a taxi and drag yourself down to the motel, really give that moron a piece of your mind. Because how dare he try to get himself killed after finally kissing you? How dare he do this to you again, as if the first time with the recruiter wasn’t enough? You’re just about to grab your keys and go when there’s a sound at the door.

It’s faint, like the scratching of a key in the lock. Your landlord, maybe? Then you remember it’s Halloween night and there’s bound to be at least a few kids running up and down the halls in search of candy. You’d stick a bowl outside, but you’ve already eaten everything.

“Sorry,” you call, “I’m out of candy! Try next door!” The words kind of stick in your throat like cotton. It feels strange to talk about something so mundane when someone you care about is off risking his life like an idiot.

The sound continues, though, and you really do not have the patience. You don’t care if it’s the cutest little five year old on the planet begging for sweets, you frankly have more important things to worry about than elementary mischief on a school night! Keys still in hand, you unlock the top latch and swing the door open, totally prepared to give a stern scolding to a very naughty child, only to find yourself face-to-face with a… very large adult.

Apprehension prickles at the base of your skull. You figure it’s a man under there, judging by the height and the broad shoulders, but the round face mask and black onesie/hoodie combo makes it a little difficult to tell. The figure stares at you for a moment, probably surprised that they got caught, and you tighten your grip on the door handle.

“Can I help you?”

The large white square on the figure’s mask stands out against the black like a lighthouse in the fog, and you’re sure the warning is one you should heed. Why the hell didn’t you look before you opened the door?

It’s fine. It’s fine, probably, just be polite and firm and everything will be fine. “I think you have the wrong apartment, sir.”

“[___ ___]?” the figure asks. The sound of your full name is heavily distorted when he speaks.

“I–.” You’d almost said yes. Like an idiot. What the hell are you thinking?! “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong person. Try downst–”

The figure catches the door as you start to slam it, his gloved hand wrapped around the wood and pushing until you’re stumbling further into the apartment. Shit, shit. Where’s your phone? No, there’s no time for your phone, where’s your fucking taser?

The door slams shut behind him and then the figure advances, faster and more determined than you’re prepared for. Your limbs pinwheel frantically as you rush backwards, entirely blind. You throw the first thing your hands land on, but the remote goes sailing harmlessly over his shoulder.

“Help!”

Only there’s no one to help you. Or they just don’t care. You scramble over furniture and try barricading yourself in the bedroom, but this man is fast, strong, and has absolutely no trouble catching you, no matter how hard you fight him. And you fight hard. Elbows and feet are thrown without prejudice. Your teeth lock around the flesh of his thumb when he slaps a hand over your mouth. If he’d had any skin showing, you’re sure you would have already clawed his face raw.

He slams you bodily into the ground, pinning your arms behind you with a knee pressed into your spine. You don’t even have the chance to scream again because by the time you’ve recovered the breath he knocked out of you, he has a cloth pressed into your mouth and nose. You get one whiff of the intense chemical smell before your brain starts to get foggy, but still you fight. You will not let this man take advantage of you, kill you, not… not now that…

Your vision goes hazy, then fully blurs, and the last thing you see is the illumination of your phone as the screen lights up somewhere in the maelstrom of your sitting room.

#seong gi hun x reader #gi hun x reader #hwang in ho x reader #in ho x reader #squid game #my fics

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hotchnersangel · 1 day ago

Text

SPORTS CAR

Aaron Hotchner.

a/n: obsesseddddd w this song and Hotch recently soooo… first upload pls don’t judge me ok ily

warnings: allusions to sex, age-gap, richhhh hotch (yummy), idrk what else just enjoy.

Seeing the bau in casual clothing felt foreign, it was such an odd feeling to see the professionals you spend majority of your hours in the day with less professional and more… humane. More so with Aaron Hotchner, the teams unit chief. Goddamn was he a vision in his suits, but my god, you never knew how much you needed to see him in jeans.

The bau had planned a day out together, to create some time and memories not involving horrific crimes. They arranged to meet at Rossi’s mansion and so thats where you were, gathered outside chatting to Em and Rossi when a sleek all black sports car rolls into his driveway, you eye it skeptically, expecting Morgan to appear but when it stops and you see who gets out, you freeze.

Aaron Hotchner, in jeans, like you were, strolling up to the group of you. Rossi and Emily whistling as he neared, pressing the lock button without even looking. The breath was knocked out of your chest, damn that was hot. His sunglasses perched perfectly on his face.

“Damn Hotch, sweet ride.” Emily praises, gawking at the car.

“Thank you,” he says courteously, nodding at her.

“I think i need some of this pay check you’re getting,” you joke, smirking at him. He looks so very rich right now.

“We don’t have a large difference, darling.” He shoots nonchalantly, crossing his arms as he stands opposite you.

“Honey,” you shoot back giving him a look, “I certainly don’t have the disposable income for this baby.” You admire the car.

“I can give you a ride later if you’d like,” he shrugs casually, “I’ll drop you home.”

You agree, no way are you declining a ride involving Hotch.

After a lovely evening spent with the team, you were content and happy with the outcome of your day. Though you couldn’t stop thinking about Hotch, every time he spoke, everytime he laughed, when he smiled you had to squeeze your thighs together subtly. The evening drew to a close and Aaron continued his offer to give you a lift home.

You walk out of Rossi’s mansion and follow Hotch to his car. He opens the door for you. “After you, ma’am.”

You bite your lip as you get in, looking around at the luxurious interior which somehow even felt humble despite this car being worth more than your apartment probably. “I feel extra luxurious today. A mansion, a sports car, i could get used to this.”

He smirks as he gets in, turning the engine on. “The FBI has clearly been doing well this year.” He jokes and you huff a laughter.

“I never thought you were the type for a sports car,” you say, looking over at him. He looks back.

“How come?” He implies, his hand on the gears, making you salivate a bit more than usual. “Hm?”

“You just- you’re so rich and you never show it.” You shrug, looking how dangerously close his hand is to your thigh.

He laughs, genuinely laughs. “It was my dream car as a kid, I thought if i could buy at least one thing for selfish reasons- it can be this.”

“Damn right, it’s hot.” You say boldly.

“The car? Or me?” He smirks and catches your eye again as he pulls into a drive through. “See, I’m keeping humble.”

“You.” You breathe out and look as he enters the drive through.

“What do you want, pretty lady?” He asks you with a smirk.

You order your meals and sit in the parking lot, an isolated lot but he still parks in the shadows. You sit and eat your meals, occasionally looking over at Hotch who keeps stealing dips from your sauce. One time however, he spills it on the seat of your chair.

“Fuck, Hotch.” You panic, getting ready to apologise.

“No worries, I’ll get it cleaned.” He says calmly, counteracting your panic.

“But-“

“It’s literally my mess, sweetheart.” He gives you a pointed look and smirks.

“Well, now i have to sit in the sauce.” You shoot sassily and he smirks.

“There’s hardly anything on it.”

“Yeah there is,” you point at it and shift in your seat. “Guess we will have to share one seat.” You smirk at him, his eyes darkening.

“We can share one seat, honey.” He moves his food out of the way, patting his lap. You smirk as you climb over the centre console and straddle his waist, resting all your weight on your knees. His hands grip your waist and slowly make their way to your face, sensually dragging over your sides. Your knees go weak, losing all composure which makes you drop onto his lap. Your core touching his. At this, you both let out a sigh.

“Fuck.” You sigh, moving your hands to his chest. “Cute jeans by the way.” You smirk at him.

“Thank you.” He nods curtly, pulling you closer.

You arch your back until you’re close to his ear. “Take mine off me.”

You pull back, biting your lip. His eyes widen with surprise at your boldness, but soon fade into a large smirk as his hands move into your hair. “You want this?”

You nod desperately, not meaning to come across so needy. “For a while.”

“Me too, baby.” He says pulling you closer to him and brushing his lips against yours. The kiss started soft and emotionally connected but soon turned passionate. His hands move over your spine and then back into your hair, pulling it into a ponytail then tugging at it. This action made you gasp into the kiss where he then let his tongue slip into your mouth.

You both pull away for some air and he looks up at you, “you wanna do this here?”

You bite your lip and nod. “I don’t care, in the alley, in the back- in the center of a room, with all of these windows rolled down.”

He looks up at you, pecking your lips. “And which would you prefer, darling?”

“Boy, don’t make me choose.” You retort, giving him a look and he pulls you closer by your top.

“I’m far from a boy darling,” he looks into your eyes.

“Show me then.” You retort.

He pulls you back into a kiss, his hands falling down your back, groping at the skin until they fall on the lower side and push you forwards, his hands resting on your behind, occasionally groping at the skin. You let out a small moan into the kiss and he stops.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He mumbles but doesn’t move.

“Have you got a girlfriend or something?” You shoot back, concerned to his answer at the positioning of you over his hardened crotch and the tight grip he has on your ass.

“No.”

“So you ain’t got no Mrs? What is holding you back then?” You ask, whispering in his ear again and placing a kiss on his neck. He sighs at the feeling.

“I’m your boss.” He says and you kiss his neck again.

“Mhm,” you hum into his skin and you gently suck at the skin.

“I’m almost double your age.” He states, and you don’t pull back but more desperately lapse your tongue on the skin.

“Carry on…”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“I sure hope it is.” You giggle against his side earning a stifled laugh.

“I’m serious. I think you just think you want this, but you won’t actually.” He says seriously.

“Yet your hand is still groping my arse.” You say looking at him. “I think you wanna…” you trail off and roll your hips over his, grinding against his clothed erection.

You both let out a strangled moan, realising how much you are in need of this.

“Unless… you wanna do it on your own while you’re looking at me.” You look up at him innocently and flutter your eyelashes.

You’re cut off by Aaron’s hands desperately pulling you closer and certainly there was a few rounds in this ride for you both.

————————

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #bau!reader #criminal minds #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch imagine #hotch x you #Spotify #aaron hotch fanfiction #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader

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postsforposting · 3 days ago

Text

that's an incredibly negative view. i don't think people should default to steelman; i do think taking a positive view, especially of toneless plain text, should be the default. it makes for a pleasant atmosphere. unfortunately people, especially online, seem to think the meanest view of those around them is.....a good thing? how it should be??? that there's no other way to do things???

we really can just. not. do that. believing other people mean well is....a pretty basic requirement not only for civility but also for simple geniality.

and again, "it sure can be stated in a negative or entitled way, but that is true of literally everything. that isn't the nature of the sentiments expressed here." i didn't rephrase anything.

the difference is your attitude vs mine about other people that neither of us know. everyone knows a "bad attitude" sours everything, not because the rest of the world is suddenly foul, but because that's what you personally see. most people have the self awareness that's a personal problem and they should not change how they treat other people based on....personal mood. you can feel annoyed while understanding "annoyance and selfishness" is your own miasma and not what others meant.

that's. really the entire thesis. if we're going to declare hate is the default, and it's this hard for people to understand, perhaps we need to demonstrate why that's a bad idea.

"where is the content"

if we interpret the meaning in your way, this is someone who is either new to fandom or to a particular website. it is a normal question to ask. most people in the world never even know settings and manuals exist, let alone look at, understand, or change them: the things that control their experience. for clarity given the nature of this conversation, i do not mean "haha what a fucking entitled jackass" in the sense of your use of "ignorant"; i mean "figuring out and understanding things is hard for most people". let alone people who are new to a thing. asking something like this is normal, expected, and necessary. responding in the tune of "what an asshole" is unkind and establishes a gross atmosphere.

i daresay a lot of people are familiar with the lucky 10,000 comic. everyone likes that, but when it comes time to practice it? yeesh.

you misunderstood what i said above; i don't think it would be useful or correct to dismiss that as ""fucking ignorant"". it sure does make a lot of people feel good to do that though. which is the problem.

even going "where is the content????" is often "i am frustrated that i can't find these wonderful things everyone else easily finds, will someone show me". "where the fuck is everything" is the same idea in a much more combative tone; for some strange reason, it seems like that would be seen LESS negatively given the worldviews in this post.

imo, generally people ask "where is the content" to express that they have noticed there is less now than there used to be. hence: i love this so much, why don't other people.

people write in the style of how they talk when having an in person conversation. generally nobody goes around delicately crafting their punctuation to avoid the slew of wrong interpretations that are possible with any statement. let alone the cultural differences that can contribute to that. people assume you're going to understand them, or at least that you'll ask for clarification and not default to jumping down their throat. like, you know. the way people navigate normal conversations.

i don't know why people should have to put that much effort into what they say, while listeners not only don't but aren't expected to put in any thought to how they're interpreting it. the speaker has to accommodate literally every possible way they could be interpreted, including batshit aggressive ones (which means they have to assume their listeners are both.....ignorant....and nasty? unpleasant way to live.), while the listener gets to assume their knee jerk and negative assumptions are perfect and they can't have possibly misunderstood or inserted things that aren't there?

fuckin weird.

"why has all the hype died down"

if most people understand this, either this person is one of the ones that do not, or they don't mean it strictly literally.

if they do not understand it, again, asking why is a normal and expected thing. lucky ten thousand, yeah? responding negatively to that is....not nice. does not create a pleasant atmosphere. i don't think most people are familiar with serious fandom; most people aren't part of it, meaning they watch a thing, like it and move on without engaging further. the "fandom" people are generally familiar with is juggernauts that have lasted decades, things with dedicated yearly events: things that have never died down and the average person always likes. it is normal to think that if you like a thing, you don't suddenly stop. that's wrong, but it's how people think of fandom.

if they do not mean it literally, imo it usually means something to the effect of "why did people stop liking this". a normal thing to ask, especially if they also don't understand the fad nature that most fandoms go through.

"Why is there no more content why did everyone leave"

follows naturally from the previous. "there is nothing" generally means "i can't find anything". it's a request for help. people are uninclined to phrase it as "please help" because.....a lot of people respond to that with "haha what a fucking ignorant asshole". it should not be hard to see why that's destructive.

it could also mean "there is way less", which again, is normal to wonder. "there is way less" is only asked if you....want more. because you enjoy it. that brings us to

"it's about the blatent dismissal of creators' work and being content-hungry"

which you unambiguously mean in a negative way.

"i am sad that there is less" does require that the speaker enjoy the content and would like more. that is....the opposite of "blatent dismissal". the most common fan question is "will there be a sequel" and "what's the release date". you seem to think those are disgustingly hateful things to ask, which is a bit odd given that most fandoms get upset when their canon content is cancelled.

"i like this so much that i want more" is second breakfast and elevensies type behavior. of course people are.....content hungry. i think it's a bit mean to take gollum's view that pippin and merry are nassssty wicked hobbitses for that. it should be obvious that such an attitude drives people away and makes it feel like their appreciation isn't wanted.

....

i gotta say, i'm tickled pink that people who identify as "serious fans" deny that there can be meaning beside what you personally interpret, especially when the common fandom sentiment is "oh that was a clumsy accident, it doesn't mean anything deeper" while.....inserting all this extra meaning for actual, real, people who haven't had years to craft what they mean. we imbue two seconds of thought with hatred, but nothing for years' worth of a deliberate act?

"there is less" is about those who stopped. it is not about those who remain. it's quite obviously not about you. to answer with "it's not dead, i'm still posting" is to insert yourself where you weren't addressed. sir this is a wendy's. even when it IS a personal question, that's not inherently a demand to perform, it is literally just interest in you and your thoughts. "why" is not a hateful question. and even, EVEN a personal question, you still really can just. not answer at all. regardless of the valence you assign to it.

people are always going to have the same questions as other people, because every day someone new shows up, or someone old has a new thought. reality and your reaction to it are separate things. if they were not, we would have to shout down every kid asking endless whys, since obviously the parent's annoyance and frustration must be synonymous with the kid being a hateful greedy dismissive monster telling its mother she's not good enough, a child who needs to be taught that expressing interest is a sin. bad way to go about interacting with other people, if i do say so myself.

if you don't enjoy the culture of having everything you say reprocessed into its secret and true evil meaning that you obviously totally intended, perhaps we should. just not do that. to other people. as a general rule.

hostility is unpleasant to be around. there shouldn't even be "doubt" to benefit from, but even then, assuming other people aren't evil should not be treated as a sin. whereas doubt literally is a canonical sin.

'Where is all the Deadpool and Wolverine content'

'Why has all the hype died down'

'Why is there no more content why did everyone leave'

Meanwhile the people who are making the content are left feeling insulted because lord forbid we're not enough. Dude stfu and make your own stuff or didn't complain.

Do you see me whining about Boondock Saints? No! Because that's an old franchise and there's not near as much stuff as they're used to be, but I love everything that comes from it. And I don't ever complain.

#post diem: “hey that's negative”/“yes and I'm going to insist on being even more nasty”#do you not hear yourself?#you WANT me to agree you're a horrible person?#I'm not going to apologize for treating people with decency #boy do they want me to though #reminds me of the time someone accused me of quote enquote changing the subject for using a simile

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writingonleaves · 18 hours ago

Text

to not know who i am, but still know that i'm good long as you're here with me - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x original female character

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, nothing much else i can think of!

inspired by + title: i like me better by lauv

word count: 6.4k

author's note: hello everyone!! i feel like i've been in such a rut lately but i'm glad i managed to write this one out! this is for the lovely @wyattjohnston for her winter fic exchange 2k25. demi, thank you as always for your hard work in putting this together and i hope you enjoy. sorry that it's a few days late! to everyone, please let me know what you think!!

*****

When Maia Flaherty left her usual lunchtime coffee run with a number from one very Jack Hughes, she didn’t really quite know what to think.

“No pressure,” he had said with an easy smile. “I just think you’re pretty and the glare you gave that couple that was making out at the table next to you sold it for me.”

As she stares out on her train ride home, she’s deep in thought. This might be just a one date thing and then they find out they have nothing in common and they move on. But she knows herself. She doesn’t fall fast, but when she falls, she falls hard. What if she ends up falling harder than him, setting herself up for heartbreak. But she knows that’s also unfair to him, especially because she doesn’t know him. She appreciates his boldness in asking her out, but she doesn’t understand how he can be so confident and sure that he wants to go on a date with her. To be fair, maybe he’s only looking for something casual, to which she has even less of an idea of how to handle it, because she has never done casual and doesn’t think she could do it.

As she’s walking the streets back to her place in West Village, she thinks about how to approach this. Knowing her, she’s too curious to not text him and she probably will think on it over the weekend. But, should she protect herself and go into this as just meeting a friend or go into this romantically? She admits that he is cute and she was the slightest bit charmed by him, but she knows that she knows nothing else about him. She takes the time to look up some of his highlights of his career (he had dropped his Instagram handle to her “just so you know I’m a real person”) and she knows that he’s good. Almost annoyingly good. As a University of Minnesota alum, she’s familiar enough with hockey as a whole. She stalks his Instagram and doesn’t find anything much besides posts with family, friends and teammates. Pretty average. But she’s still weary.

Monday morning rolls around, and on her train to work, she takes a deep breath, clicking on his contact and copy and pasting what she had written last night.

hi!!! it’s maia from the cafe. if the offer still stands, i’d love to go out on that date

Not even a minute later, and she gets a response.

what a wonderful text to get on a Monday morning

the offer absolutely still stands. what’s your schedule looking like this week?

not around during regular people work hours so monday-friday 9-5 won’t work

my weekend is pretty empty atm but idk if that works for you? i’m assuming you have games this week

no games this weekend, for once. all weeknight games.

lucky timing

lucky indeed. you around Saturday for lunch?

works for me!

you’re in jersey right? i can come out to you if that’s easier

are you kidding me?

i’m not gonna make you come out to me, especially because I’m the one who asked you out

where are you in the city? I’ll come to you

She smiles to herself.

I’m in west village, but i can meet you anywhere

i’ll do some research after practice and get back to you?

sure

i also can suggest some places as well!!

appreciate it. i got it though. i’m the one who asked so I feel like it’d be unfair to ask you to plan

Huh, she thinks, being surprised again. She doesn’t have much to compare to, but she can’t remember a single date she’s been on where she hasn’t been the one planning.

okay lmk if you need my help! no rush we have a whole week

(Jack has a break in a morning practice and he’s just staring at his phone with the biggest smile on his face. His teammates are all making fun of him, but he pays them no mind. It’s not new for them to poke fun at him for texting girls, but he knows, he just knows that this one is different.

He also kinda likes the idea of “we.”)

kinda wish we didn’t

oh?

saturday is so far away

you’ll survive

She gets into the office just then and her phone is forgotten as she’s thrown into spreadsheets and meetings. It isn’t until 4 p.m. where she has the mental energy and time to look at his responses. The last text he had sent was two hours ago.

i found a place. well, a couple

i asked some of my friends who know the city better than I do

*screenshot of list in Notes app*

i tried to find places in different parts of Manhattan, mostly in West Village. i don’t know where exactly in that area you are and how easy or hard it is for you to get wherever

sorry, just realized I’m spamming you and you’re probably working

I’m so sorry i left you hanging work was literally insane until now

honestly all of these places sound wonderful

i’ve been to a couple of them before so tell your friends they have good taste

any one in particular you like?

you choose

since you’re planning it after all

lol

i really don’t want you having to travel that far

i literally live in nyc so if I want to see any of my friends who don’t live by me I have to travel far

and you’re literally coming from jersey

i’ll be fine with any choice you make

seriously

He chooses one of her favorite Greek food joints about 10 blocks from where she is and she tries to put it away in her mind. She still has this whole week to go. She’s known for years that she gets overwhelmed and stressed if she thinks ahead occasionally, and this is definitely one of those times.

(There’s a game on Wednesday night, and her best friend and roommate Carrie urges her to put it on TV in the background while they’re eating dinner. Carrie knows next to nothing about hockey, so Maia tries to explain it to her. But most of the time, she’s quiet and her eyes are zeroed in on 86. Or trying to, because everyone skates so fucking fast. He scores a goal and assists another, and she knows that that’s literally his job, but she can’t help but feel something watching him skate around so confidently.

She’s always respected the skill it takes to play hockey. Skating is hard. But the hockey attitude wasn’t always something that she loved. She understands that she’s projecting a lot of unwarranted judgement. But she doesn't think it’s all based on lies.

As the minutes wind down in the game, she zones out. She really doesn’t understand how or why this literal superstar of the sport just approached her and after knowing literally nothing about her, asked her out. This shit doesn’t happen to her. She also knows the usual crowd that hockey players go for. She’s not blonde. She’s not a model. She’s not anything like that.

What does he want from her?)

*****

She wakes up Saturday morning a bit groggy, thanks to the glasses of wine her and Carrie had the night before. She goes through her morning routine, but decides to forgo the coffee and make a smoothie instead. She usually likes to sip on her coffee for hours rather than down it all in one go. And she knows if she downs it, she’ll start shaking.

She doesn’t need to be shaking today.

Carrie stumbles out when Maia just leaves the bathroom and offers to make a smoothie for her. With a yawn, Carrie nods as she slides past her to go into the bathroom.

It’s 9:48 a.m. They’re meeting right at noon, so she has a bit of time. Her phone buzzes right after she finishes cleaning the blender.

good morning! see you soon

She just sends back a couple of emojis, before scrolling around on her social media accounts, sipping on her smoothie. It’s just the waiting now that’s making her more nervous.

She already knows what she’s gonna wear. An olive green sweater she bought recently that she’s been loving, black leggings, brown booties and earrings that she got years ago when she studied abroad. She’s leaving her hair down and putting some light makeup on. Nothing crazy. This is literally lunch. And she’s not gonna overthink for a boy.

Carrie proves to be a good distraction, simultaneously hyping her up, assuring her and talking about other things to keep her head level. She walks to the subway station and goes on the train, airpods in. This is all routine. The way there is no stranger to her, often meeting up with her brother for dinner around the area.

She checks the time. On time.

She approaches the restaurant’s front at 11:57 and decides to walk in and grab a table. She stops in her tracks when she sees that he’s already there, in the corner by the window that she usually loves to sit at. He’s wearing a gray sweater and blue jeans, a baseball cap flipped backwards on his head. She waves off the hostess and heads in his direction.

He looks up from his phone and immediately locks it, standing up. She smiles in greeting and he comes around to grab her bag as she shrugs off her jacket. She thanks him softly, to which he just smiles back at. As she’s sitting down, he pours out some water.

“You didn’t get lost getting here?” She jokes.

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not that directionally challenged. Just not used to it.”

“That’s what you get for living in Jersey.”

“Oh. So that’s how we’re gonna play this?”

And that just sets the tone for the rest of the date. It’s…surprisingly easy. The follow up question immediately is if she’s from the city, to which she snorts and says “absolutely not,” but she’s been living here for over two years now. She grew up in Buffalo, she says, and went to college at University of Minnesota, to which he, of course, widens his eyes. “You went to Minnesota, and you’re not a hockey fan?” She rolls her eyes. “When did I say I’m not a hockey fan?” She talks about how yes, she went to a couple of games when she was there and they were always fun, but she wasn’t necessarily an avid fan.

He talks about growing up in Toronto even though he was born in Orlando and then going to Michigan and how hockey was literally just his life from a young age, especially with parents who were also involved, as well as an older and a younger brother growing up to play too. Sure, she knows all of this (she couldn’t help herself and did enough research), but it is nice and different to hear from him directly. She does slip for a second and makes fun of his private school upbringing (“It tracks.”) but the shocked delight on his face lets her know that he doesn’t take offense.

As they order the food and it comes and they start eating, she lets herself be charmed. She didn’t expect him to be so…normal. Normal in the way that she often forgot that he was one of the best hockey players in the country. Normal in the way that parts of him remind her of her closest guy friends. But then he would mention something about his career or just a random detail in his life that would make her remember.

She notices that he also is very aware of how much he talks. It’s natural for her to ask more questions, because that’s just how she’s wired, but he turns questions back to her that excite her or make her laugh, and then she goes on a minor tangent. It’s very back and forth. Balanced.

She’s having a really good time.

She expected him to be more…straight-forward in terms of flirting, due to how he asked her out, but he’s not. He seems a bit nervous at times even, chuckling adorably and avoiding eye contact, but then he says something that’s so just so incredibly confident that makes her flustered or let out a scoff of disbelief.

Before they know it, they’re done eating. She protests when he immediately grabs the check and pulls out his card, to which he just playfully glares at her for. She does relent and thanks him, and she’ll never forget the boyish smile he gave her.

They’re both on the same page, not wanting their time together to end quite yet, lingering to leave. And then she suggests grabbing a coffee from a place around the corner and walking to a nearby park. She teases him, asking if he’ll get cold to which he scoffs at (“I’m basically a Canadian and I live at the rink. I’ll be fine. Will you?” She laughs. “I was born and raised in Buffalo. Don’t worry about me.”)

They grab coffee (to which she puts her foot down and pays and he lets her), him a black coffee and her an iced chai, and she leads them leisurely to a nearby park. It’s a little chilly, but it’s not windy which is good, and they find an empty bench and sit down, their conversation and battering just coming so incredibly easy. Even to the point where sometimes, she’s not necessarily calling him out, but she’s challenging some of his thoughts. She’s not shattering his confidence at all, but definitely subtly giving him a reality check and just being honest.

And not even purposefully. It’s just how she is.

(He really appreciates it, actually. It’s been awhile since someone who he’s just met isn’t afraid to challenge him off the rink. He loves the attention and always has, and she’s giving that to him, but there’s also something innate in her that’s so grounded and in turns, grounds him.)

But it’s also different. It’s different when he randomly throws out a compliment here and there, saying how he loves her laugh and how cute she is. The way he’s paying attention to everything she’s saying. The way he just can’t help but chuckle almost incredulously because she’s so much more than he imagined, even though he’s the one who asked her out.

Before they know it, it’s almost 4 and they’ve been chatting the whole time. Yet somehow, it still feels like they could keep going. She walks him to the nearest subway station since it’s on her way home. She gives him a farewell hug and he follows his gut and kisses her on the cheek, promising to text her. She smiles one more time before turning to walk back to her apartment.

When she gets back to her place, Carrie’s there and ready for a recap. She says everything she can remember them talking about, which is a lot, while Carrie just listens carefully. Throughout it, she’s trying to downplay it, probably for self-preservation purposes, looking back. Carrie lets her dwell on it occasionally, but also interrupts when needed to try to assure her friend that she’s a catch and there’s a reason he asked her out in the first place and she can’t play herself down like that.

What she knows for a fact at this point is that she likes spending time with him, and she does have romantic feelings for him. Everything else? She has no idea. She has no idea if they’d pair together well. She has no idea what he wants from this. She has no idea how he actually feels about her, because he could’ve just thrown out those compliments because he’s naturally flirty. It wouldn’t surprise her. And god, she can’t help but let her mind wander into his career and being in the spotlight and how that just affects…everything.

She just doesn’t know.

(Meanwhile, he returns to an empty place, Luke out with some friends for the night. He can’t stop smiling, replaying the whole day in his head. She’s just so much more than he expected, able to keep up with his quips, often beating them. She laughs and smiles so freely. She’s so damn smart. She’s beautiful.

He’s had his fair share of hookups and casual things, but this? This is different. It’s scary, he thinks, that he’s this invested after one date. It’s unfamiliar territory, and there’s so much more he wants to know about her.

He needs to know everything he can about her. Before she figures out that she’s way too good for him.)

*****

Four weeks pass, and they haven’t seen each other. There have been some sporadic texts here and there, but with the chaos of both their jobs and then Thanksgiving, it hasn’t accounted to more than that.

(She’s trying to get over it and let it pass. He wants anything but that)

On an early December evening, Maia’s just finished cleaning up the dishes when she gets a call. When she sees his name, she blinks. She clicks accept.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Jack.”

She can’t help but chuckle a bit. “Yeah, I know. What’s up?”

“How are you? How was your Thanksgiving?”

“I’m doing okay. Thanksgiving was good! I got to go back home for a few days. How about you? Did you even have a break?”

“Not really. I had some family come to watch some games though, so that was nice.”

“I’m sure it was,” she hums.

“Listen-I…I know it’s been awhile.”

“Almost a month.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out guiltily. “I-I’m really sorry about that. I’ve…the season’s just been so crazy and, yeah. I’ve been meaning to reach out sooner, but just, like. Yeah. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she replies automatically. “I get it. Your schedule is crazy. I feel like you have a game every other day.”

“You’ve been keeping up?” He teases lightly.

She rolls her eyes. “A bit more than I used to, sure. But that really doesn’t mean anything.”

He laughs a bit, before settling down into a serious tone. “If you have time, or if you even want to, because I totally understand why you wouldn’t, I’d love to go out again. I just, I had a really good time with you last time. Again, I know I…if you say no, I get it.”

It’s silent for a couple of seconds, but she knows her answer. “I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she smiles to herself at his surprised tone. “You surprised?”

“A bit. I mean, I kinda fell off the face of the planet. I would understand if you didn’t want to see me again.”

“Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“When are you free?”

He sighs. “This week? Not much, unfortunately. I’m only around for dinner tomorrow and Friday, and then I’m gone for a few days on a stretch of away games.”

“Wanna do tomorrow?”

“You around?”

She snorts. “I’m not as busy as you are, Mr. NHL. I’m free most weeknights.”

He lets out a low laugh. “Okay, yeah. Tomorrow night’s perfect. I’ll actually be in the city in the afternoon to meet up with a friend so I’ll just stay and meet you around there.”

“Oh good. I don’t have to pretend I want to go to Jersey.”

“This again?”

She laughs. “I can choose this time. Do you know where you’re meeting your friend?

“Yeah. I have his address. Hang on, I’ll send it to you.” Seconds later, her phone buzzes and she briefly looks at the location on Google Maps.

“Oh. Battery Park. That’s close to where I am. You must really like this friend if you’re willing to travel that far. It’s a pretty long way from Newark.”

“Right? That’s what I told him. So, tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Yeah. I can figure out a place and I’ll let you know tomorrow morning the latest if that works? What kind of food do you like?”

“Anything you like.”

“Jack.”

“I mean it.”

“Okay, okay. How does ramen sound?”

“Perfect. I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? I’ll text you,”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait.”

Tomorrow comes, this time at a lowkey but busy ramen place where they’re sat side by side and their knees are touching. Jack’s hair is out this time, and the waves are falling across his forehead and she just loves the way it looks. He notices the two rings she’s wearing as one quickly catches a light in the restaurant. They continue on from the last time they talked but this time, swimming the surface of deeper conversations.

She talks about her constant doubts about her job and how she sometimes just wants to pick up and movs somewhere else and start new. He talks about how he knows he’s good at hockey and knows this is the only path for him, but how he recognizes that outsiders look and sometimes see a sell-out or someone who doesn’t work hard. But he’s learned to just put his head down and play and to do it well. That’s something she can also relate to.

She talks about how her relationship with her older brother is one that she’s found to be very grateful for, especially because they’re so far apart in age. A lot of who she is is based on his personality. He talks about being the middle child and being close in age to his brothers, and how competition was always just built into every activity they did. He’s realized, especially as he’s gotten older, how much he appreciates his brothers and having all three of them being in the same league, with Luke on the same team, and going through similar experiences but also completely different trajectories.

(Somewhere, they both take a few sake shots and Maia’s not quite drunk, but buzzing, her laughter more free and her face redder).

Even semi-intoxicated, she decides not to ask the questions she really wants to yet that focus around them and what they are, unclear of where they stand. They’re sitting so close to each other and she relishes in it, wanting more. When she runs a hand through her hair to push it back, she notices his eyes flickering at that action, which means…nothing. She has to break away eye contact sometimes because he’s just staring at her so intensely.

No wonder he has girls wanting him left and right, she thinks. She’s kind of no better.

Towards the end of the night (he paid again and she only let him after he said he would let her pay next time. Next time), they plan out vaguely when they’ll see each other next. He’s away for the next week or so, and she just shrugs. She gets it. It would be naive of her to think she can change it. “I’ll let you know the second I land,” he says, and she just nods. She then jokes that maybe their next date could be skating, and he rolls his eyes, though he takes it into consideration. When he asks if she’s serious, she snorts, “I mean, sure. But you’re not gonna have to teach me how, if that’s what you’re going for.” He laughs. Loudly.

When they part ways, he hugs her tightly and for a long time. She breathes him in subtly, her eyes fluttering shut when she feels him press a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Maybe that’s when she should’ve asked. Because that act was way too intimate to feel friendly. But she didn’t, and she watched him walk away, chuckling as he turned around to shoot her a parting wink.

She went to sleep that night, somehow, with so many thoughts circling around her mind)

*****

Maia has an idea of when he’s landing, so she’s not surprised when she gets a call on a Thursday night.

He seems a bit out of breath, and she asks him if everything’s okay. Everything’s fine, he says. He just landed back in Newark and is heading home. He cuts to the chase, and asks if she’s around the next night. She blinks, because she knows he has a game. He clarifies. Is she around after the game? (“Or for the game,” he adds quickly. “If you want to come, I can get you tickets.”) While she’s flattered, she knows that’s crossing a line at this point and she politely turns down his offer. But yeah, she says. I’m around after. What’s up? He asks if he can take her out on a date. And she knows her answer (it’s obviously yes) but she says only if she’s allowed to go to him in Jersey. He protests immediately, but she shuts him up (“Both of our dates have been way closer to where I am. It’s only fair, Maia.”)

It’s gonna be a late night date, since the game (assuming no overtime) won’t end until at least 10:00. He’s not sure what he has in store, but she’s okay with not knowing. The only thing he assures her of is that he’ll drive her back into the city afterwards. Traffic should be light, so she doesn’t fight him.

(That should’ve been another hint that this was something worth pursuing. She has a hard time letting go of control of plans, especially with people she hasn’t known for awhile.

She trusts him already)

When he hangs up, she thinks for a second. He had told her during their last date that he would let her know the second he landed.

And he did.

Huh.

*****

The next night, she’s nervous.

Dinner’s already been eaten. She caught the first period of his game, but had to leave to catch her trains to meet him. With encouraging words from Carrie paired with some hype up music, she’s on her way.

When she steps out of the station on this abnormally warm December night, she immediately sees him leaning against his car. His hair is damp from the shower he probably just took, and he’s sporting a peacoat over a sweater and blue jeans.

He perks up when he sees her and she practically skips over to him. She smiles and pulls him into a hug, and she feels him press a light kiss in her hair.

“Hey.” She says softly.

“Hi,” he mutters in her hair, pulling away to lean down and place a kiss on her cheek. “It’s good to see you.” He opens the door for her as she slides in, and she’s thankful that she followed her instincts and dressed comfortably in her beloved Minnesota sweatshirt, stifling a yawn as she thanked him. She puts on her seatbelt and leans back, watching him climb in.

He turns to her, “Wanna aux?”

“Are you sure?” She asks, already fiddling around to connect her Apple carplay.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” He chuckles, looking behind him to pull onto the road.

She shrugs. “What kind of music do you want?”

“Whatever you want.”

She snorts. “You don’t mean that.” She scrolls through her playlists and debates on which one to do. “I saw that you guys lost. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he replies automatically and she catches his eye and gives him a look of doubt. He corrects himself. “Okay, it’s frustrating, but none of that right now. I wanna hear about you. How’s your week been? Did that thing with your boss get resolved?”

She blinks. Right. She had mentioned that briefly when he called her earlier in the week. “Kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I don’t know. You gotta learn which battles to fight, you know? This one is one I don’t have to win.”

He nods with a soft hum, stopping at a red light. “Do you like milkshakes?”

She chuckles a bit at the change of topic. “I don’t mind them.”

“Wanna get some right now?”

“Would it matter if I said no?”

“No,” he admits. “Because I want one.”

“That can’t be on the diet plan you athletes have going on.”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. Worth it though.”

“Do they have oreo or cookies and cream?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.” He grins, and she takes a couple seconds just to watch it. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Thanks for coming out to Jersey at 10 pm.”

She chuckles. His heart drops to his stomach. “I had nothing else to do on a Friday night.”

He snorts. “Yeah, okay. I don’t believe that.”

“Really?”

He shrugs.

She leans back into her seat. “I don’t have the energy to hang out with people every night. Respect to the people who do. That’s just never been me. I can sit for hours and not talk to anyone.”

“You’re an introvert, then.”

“Is that surprising?”

He takes a second to think about it. “Yes, one, because you always talk about your friends so I know you have a lot. And two, because we literally talked for four hours on our first date.”

She shrugs, looking straight ahead of her to get the courage to respond. “There’s very few people in my life who I can talk with for hours.”

“I’ll consider myself lucky, then.”

She looks back over to him, watching as he shoots her a quick smile before he focuses back on the road. “How’s your week been?”

“The usual. Practices and games and travelling in the west coast, so I’m a little jetlagged, which isn’t great.”

“I didn’t realize that you guys play games like, every other day. Which is dumb, because like, it makes sense, but that just sounds exhausting. What am I saying though? It’s literally your job.”

He laughs softly and she tries to ignore the warmth spreading across her skin. “It can be tiring, for sure. But yeah, I love it, you know? Wouldn’t want to be doing anything else.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Just then, they pull into this small, unassuming diner and roll right through the drive-thru. He orders a chocolate milkshake and she gets an oreo one, and before he can think about it, she forces her credit card in his hand. He laughs and relents, and they pull out and are back on the road quickly. She sips on her milkshake and smiles to herself, not even asking where he’s driving them to next.

(She thinks they could be anywhere and she’d still want to keep talking to him forever. He thinks that practically every worry in his life could fade away if he could look at her smile for the rest of his life)

He rolls up to one of his favorite views in Jersey of midtown Manhattan, finding an alcove and backing his car into it. Hamilton Park. They both get out and all she can do is stand there and admire the stunning view, milkshake in hand. She’s literally breathless. The last time she remembers feeling like this is when she saw the Pantheon for the first time nearing midnight with her brother when they were in Rome in 2022. She doesn’t notice him unlocking the trunk and setting up the backseat with blankets and pillows until he softly calls her name.

(When her eyes met his, the glow of Manhattan in her eyes, he swears to this day that his heart skipped a beat. He was hers already then)

They settle into the makeshift couch, not quite touching but really freaking close.

“It’s beautiful,” she says softly, just looking at the view.

He hums, his eyes flickering between the view he knows too well and the girl who makes him feel better about who he is simply for just being around. It sure is.

She lets herself admire the view silently for a minute or so more, before she can’t take it anymore. “Jack?” She asks, still looking out.

“Yeah?”

“What are we doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Wrong answer, if the unimpressed expression on her face is any indication. She nudges her knee with his. “Come on. You know exactly what I mean. What are we doing? What are we?”

He shrugs, trying to ignore the frogs in his stomach. He should’ve known she was gonna bring it up first. She’s too smart not to. “I-I like you. Wouldn’t have chased after you if I didn’t. You-you’re amazing, you know that? I don’t think you realize how much you can just stay on someone’s mind. I know this is only our third date, but I feel like I’ve known you my whole life and I like who I am when I’m around you.”

She swallows, pausing to sip her milkshake and wiggling into the blankets. He thinks she’s adorable. “I haven’t liked someone in so long. I thought I forgot what it felt like. But then you asked me out and I see a text from you or hear you through my phone or see you on TV, and I’m like oh. I think I remember what it feels like now. It feels like this.”

He has to take a second because oh, maybe her dreams of becoming an author aren’t just words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She swallows again. “But I, I can’t do casual. I never have. I really, really wish I could

sometimes. So if that’s what you want, I can’t do it.”

“What makes you think I want casual?”

She snorts, “Because you’re a hot and talented hockey player? You can’t blame me for making the assumption.”

“You think I’m hot?”

Maia smacks him in the stomach. Jack laughs. She takes a breath. It’s now or never. “I just, I know you have girls in your DMs and your comments and everywhere else that are prettier and maybe could give you more of what you’re looking for or something that’s not…me.”

“You’re beautiful.”

She lets out a small noise and smiles slightly. “Thanks. But, I-I know that you have so many options. I won’t be hurt if I’m not the one you choose.”

He taps her knee so she’s paying attention and listening to his next words. “I-I’ve done casual before. I don’t think I can do that with you.”

“You can’t? Why not?”

“Well, A, because you don’t want to, which leads to B, I don’t want to. Not with you.” It’s his turn to swallow now as he looks at the skyline. “I really, really like you, Maia.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“All in?”

“All in.”

“You completely sure?” She interlaces her hand in with his and raises his knuckles up to her lips. He’s utterly floored. But he’s nervous. And she can sense it.

“Yes. I just…it’s, I’m not trying to backtrack. I mean, you’ve already seen some of it. Like, during the season, it’s intense. Game every two or three days, practice pretty much everyday, stretches of roadies and being away. I feel like, not that I doubt you or us or anything, but that’s not, I won’t be around as much as I should be. How is that fair to you?”

“Yeah, I mean, yeah. I figured that from the first day. I get it. Well, as much as I can get it. I’m sure it’s gonna be tough. I know it will be.” She squeezes his hand, leaning on his shoulder. “If you’re willing to try, then so am I.”

“You’re too good for me.”

She scoffs, grinning as he places a kiss on her temple. She places her milkshake by her side, summoning up some courage. She adjusts herself so that she’s fully facing him, and he just watches her intensely. With her white BU crewneck, a blanket around her shoulders, hair falling just past her shoulders, and the soft smile on her face, his mind goes quiet. Peaceful.

She kisses him first. Innocently and softly, before pulling back to gauge his reaction.

He responds quickly, cupping her cheek and pressing his lips against hers again. They’re both smiling into the kiss and everything feels calm. He wraps a hand around her waist as she maneuvers her hands around his neck, playing with his hair. She’s so lost in him that she doesn’t really realize that she moves herself so that she hovers over his lap, knees on either side of his hips. He has his hands placed on her lower back.

He lets out a low groan, “Baby.”

Her brain short circuits, both at the nickname (she’s always flinched at it before, but she loves the way he says it) and the timbre of his voice, but she has enough sense to pull away. They’re both breathing heavily. “Sorry,” she breathes out, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. She closes her eyes. She needs a second.

“Don’t be,” he says, bringing her face back up to his and brushing his thumbs on her cheek. “God, you’re so beautiful. I’ve been wanting to do that since the minute I saw you.”

She chuckles, sliding off of him and settling into his side, staring out at the skyline again. “You’ve had plenty of chances.”

“I kinda knew if I kissed you before knowing what we were, it would be more heartbreaking if you rejected me.”

“If I rejected you?”

“Yes.”

“In what world would I have rejected you?”

“I don’t know. But I’m glad it’s not this world.”

She keeps herself from rolling her eyes, and just leans up to kiss him on the cheek. Because, you know, she can do that now.

(That night, staring out at the stunning skyline of a city she has grown to love, with the warmth of the blankets over her legs and over her shoulder, a boy she was very quickly growing to care for deeply pressed by her side, telling her he feels the same way, she felt lifted. Free.

Unstoppable)

(When he drops her home, it’s 1:18 a.m. and she doesn’t want to get out of the car. With the way his hand has been attached to her thigh, it seems like he doesn’t want her to get out either. But he has an 11 am practice tomorrow and he just had a game. He’s exhausted.

He kisses her once, twice, a third time before letting her go. As soon as she steps through the lobby of her apartment building and out of view, his grin practically splits his face. He smiles all the way home)

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starredblood · 2 days ago

Text

NOWHERE GIRL

PART THIRTEEN

kang sae-byeok x fem!reader

synopsis: in a weird turn of events, sae-byeok tries to comfort those around her.

wc. 2.1k

warnings: angst followed by comfort

(nowhere girl masterlist)

Sae-byeok feels delirious. After everyone in the apartment fell asleep, only she remained awake trying to recollect the memories the events that occurred from only a couple hours ago. But they came in fragments. She mostly recalls seeing red when you and her went to Daejeon. She is aware how rigid her words can shift when she is angry or stressed and she regrets yelling at you. This is something she can’t find the pride to admit but, you’re the reason Ji-yeong was found. Not her.

She is losing her way of life. Her currently lifestyle is making her go soft and she’s still nowhere near her monetary goal to rescue her mom. And because Ji-yeong hasn’t been at work for three days now, it’s up to her to cough up a little extra money on the streets in order to pay rent next week. The money you gave her ran out, so instead of going to sleep she waits until everyone else is, throws on her jacket and heads out the door.

This time Sae-byeok made sure to pickpocket out of town.

By the time she arrives back to her apartment it was already the afternoon meaning she spent her entire morning pickpocketing. Her foot is aching and the only thing she had for lunch was a bulgogi onigiri she bought at the convenience store. She was ready to collapse in bed but she had responsibilities to take care of.

The lights in the apartment where still shut off and all the curtains are shut with little light escaping though them. You were long gone by the time she arrived back with her clothes and blanket neatly folded on the couch. You sent her a message when you departed at seven in the morning so she asked that you let her know when you made it home safe. But have yet to reply, it’s starting to concern her now.

Cheol was also sound asleep on his side of the bed, to her surprise. He also tends to wake up early like Sae-byeok, but perhaps he didn’t get a restful sleep last night because she wasn’t here.

She quietly counts the crumpled up balls of money and coins she was able to collect and stuffed majority of the money inside her drawer.

Her next stop is Ji-yeong’s room.

“How long have you been awake?” Sae-byeok asks after Ji-yeong unlocked her bedroom door and let her in. Her roommate jumps back into bed as she sits on the edge.

“I think like three hours ago but I lost track.” she mumbles, her tone more melancholic than usual.

She notices how puffy and lifeless her eyes are, clearly she was crying all night. Sae-byeok sighs, she wishes she could know the words to use to make Ji-yeong feel better. But maybe words aren’t enough in her case.

“So, what happened with your dad?” she asks cautiously and observes her facial expression to check if there’s a flicker of change in them.

Ji-yeong lets out an exasperated sigh and struggles to speak momentarily. “At first, he refused to see me so I had to wait for an hour until he finally changed his mind. Then he kept apologizing and apologizing and was like ‘I ask God for forgiveness everyday’ but when I told him it was all bullshit he went…I saw the dark look in his eyes again.” she looks at Sae-byeok in the eyes. “It was the same look he had when he killed mom. I had chills up my spine seeing him like that I seriously thought I was next.”

Sae-byeok felt a pang in her chest. A part of her feels like she pushed Ji-yeong into this mess.

“What’s with that look?” Ji-yeong asks. She doesn’t respond. “Don’t feel bad for telling me to visit him. I actually feel better—less guilty about his current state. I still need time I think.”

“Time to think?”

“Yeah, to process everything. But unfortunately, I only have today to do that because I picked up a twelve hour shift at work to make up for the days I missed.”

“Is that your way of telling me to get out of your room?”

Ji-yeong reaches to pat her back. “Look at you being emotionally intelligent!”

With a roll of her eyes she gets off the mattress and towards the door.

“Wait before you go,” Ji-yeong speaks up. “have you seen ‘her’ yet?” she wriggles her eyebrows when Sae-byeok turns around.

“What’s with that face and why did you say her like that?” Sae-byeok scoffs, feeling defensive suddenly.

“I take back my emotionally intelligent comment then.” she grumbles, shaking her head. “I saw her get ready this morning so I was wondering if you dropped her off or something.”

“No, I didn’t drop her off. I left before any of you woke up.” Sae-byeok says flatly and takes a hold of the door knob. She doesn’t like where this conversation is taking.

“She seemed off though.” she points out when Sae-byeok opens the door.

“Did she? Didn’t notice.”

When Sae-byeok is fully out the door it didn’t prevent her from hearing Ji-yeong say, “I can see right through you, Kang Sae-byeok!”

⊹ ✿・・───・・✦・・───・・✿

Later in the day, once Cheol woke up and had lunch, Sae-byeok casually mentioned the idea of seeing you. This elated the boy, who asked if it was possible to drop by your place as early as today. And because you haven’t been replying to Sae-byeok’s text, she agreed.

So, this lead the Kang siblings to stand outside your apartment door.

When you open it, Sae-byeok did notice you seem off. Your eyes were slightly swollen and tired almost like Ji-yeong’s crying ones. Maybe she came at a bad time—or bad day.

“Hi. Did something happen?” you softly, adverting your gaze down to Cheol.

“Cheol, wanted to see you.” she says plainly. “And you weren’t replying to my texts.”

“Hi, Noona.” Cheol greets you bashfully.

Sae-byeok can readily tell that you were forcing your face muscles to smile at Cheol. You bend down your knees to meet at his level.“Hey! I’m glad you wanted to stop by to see me I have some things for you.”

“Seriously?” he blinks.

You nod and tell them to enter the apartment before rushing up the stairs. Minutes later, you come back with a wooden crate full of supplies and plop it down in front of the boy.

Cheol sends you a skeptical glance. You encourage him to look inside the basket. There were full marker sets, graphite pencils of different grades, paint brushes with dried up paint, acrylic paint, and small empty canvases. Maybe there was more in the basket he missed.

“Is this all for me?” he mutters in disbelief.

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Noona.” he says, contemplating whether to reach over to embrace you but held back the urge in fear. You could sense his hesitation so you outstretch your arms and engulf him in a hug.

When you still embrace him, you look up at Sae-byeok, a flicker of sadness was in your eyes. She’s sure of it. She has a hard time grasping your kindness and selflessness during rough times like this. Your gesture made her chest get this achy feeling again.

After the hug, you encourage him to practice on your old sketchpad that had only two of your past drawings on them from high school.

Once he gets busy unloading everything you got him on the floor, you pull Sae-byeok aside. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply that is a bad move on my end knowing what we went through last night. But I also have something for you and Ji-yeong too by the way.”

“What?”

Before she could process it, you usher her up the stairs to your small bed space. Due to the space being so small she had to duck her head and sit on the mattress, watching you rummage through your piles of knickknacks you haven’t yet organized.

You plop down next to her. Right next to her. Sae-byeok wasn’t used to feeling someone’s leg brush up right against hers. You uncurl your fingers to reveal a black woven rope bracelet on your palm and reach your hand out to her.

Sae-byeok bites the inside of her cheek. She doesn’t know if she can handle so much of your tender hearted acts when she doesn’t think she deserves even an ounce of it. However, it would be cruel to turn down this gesture so she reaches to take it.

“And can you give this to, Ji-yeong?” you ask and pull out a thin necklace with a small firefly pendant. Sae-byeok sighs, but nods and takes that too.

“Thank you.” Sae-byeok says, lowly.

“I just got one favor to ask.” you say with rapid fire speed, fiddling with the hem of your shirt anxiously. “Can I paint you for my last project?”

Sae-byeok whips her head to look at you. She forgot the lack of personal space there was in between you two. “What?”

“Can…I paint you—“

“I heard you. But why me?” she asks, frowning.

“You have a unique face.” you answer simply but her face morphs into bewilderment.

“Excuse me?”

“Your eyes are sharp and cool but your face shape is soft and delicate. You have great features for a standout portrait.” you explain with ease. Sae-byeok’s lip part slightly. No one ever talks about her looks, especially not so carefully thought out. “It’s the type of unique face that’s almost—hm…mythical.”

She scoffs at the sheer disbelief she’s feeling. “You’re just bluffing.”

“There’s no reason for me to do that. I had other people as options but you stood out the most.” you say, genuinely. “So, do I have permission?”

Sae-byeok blinks at you. The idea of you having to stare at her face and think about her features for hours is an unfathomable thought. But you appear to be dead set on this decision, you didn’t laugh or mock her to convince her.

“Okay.”

She stares down at the bracelet and fiddles with it, her eyes soften up.

Sae-byeok has a hard time understanding that there is beauty in this world. Growing up in the North only taught her how to fear, and once her managed to flee South she had to became a shell of a person. Cheol, for a long time, was her only light in this new isolated world. She remembers briefly being like her little brother when she was his age, timid and quiet but showed her love. But as the people in her life either died or failed to escape the North, she forgot what it was like to feel and give love.

She never had time to figure out who she was as a person. To her, it was a waste of time. It was better to guard herself from the outside world that was so cruel and unusual.

“Ji-yeong said you looked off this morning.” Sae-byeok says out of the blue, feeling courageous to let her guard down ever so slightly.

“Oh.” is all you said to her surprise.

With another pang of courage hitting her system, she tilts her head to look at you.

You’ve proved Sae-byeok wrong time and time again. She used to be so sure you weren’t this selfless person you presented yourself to be when you came to live in their apartment back in March. But she’s ashamed to admit that she was wrong about your character. Very wrong.

“You did a lot for me last night. I won’t forget it.” she says after more and more momentary silence.

“It’s not—“

“Quit being so selfless for once.” she says in annoyance. She straightens up her posture and exhales trying to gather her words. “Can—Can you look at me?”

Hesitantly, you do as she says. Your face screams of worry and fear.

“What’s wrong?” Sae-byeok barely manages to say while looking into your eyes. “Tell me.”

She feels vulnerable under your tender gaze, noticing that you were studying her facial features carefully. It takes everything in her not to break away.

“I feel sad.” you say, shakily. “I still can’t believe my parents let me go so easily...” your chest visibly heaving. Before your lips start trembling you glance away.

Sae-byeok gulps. Before her brain could start figuring out what to do next she hears Cheol’s footsteps. You both instinctively scoot farther away from each other and compose yourselves.

“Is everything okay?” you ask the boy when he appears from the top of the stairs. Sae-byeok heard the glumness you tried terribly to mask.

“I don’t know how to work this, Noona.” he pouts, holding out a set of watercolor paint.

“Here, I will show you.” you say and hurry to get off of your bed to lead Cheol back downstairs. “This is watercolor paint. It’s dried up right now because you need to activate it with water.”

When Sae-byeok knows you’ve made your way to the kitchen she lets out a set of groans and palms her face. She doesn’t know why she is so bad at this. Comforting—a complete mystery to her.

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