#i can’t imagine either of them with anyone else

[m-robinavitch]

TROPE TUESDAY!!!!! Yessss let’s gooook

Accidental pregnancy + sibling’s best friend with Abbot!reader x Robby?👀👀💕💕💕💕

SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG MY LOVE-

A continuation of this ask here.

Pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Abbot!Reader

Trope: Accidental Pregnancy w/ Sibling’s Best Friend

“I guess we have to tell him now-“ you wanted to cry. Wanted to run away like you used to do when you were a kid and you broke Jack’s expensive speakers that you poked because the holes looked fun to stab. You had been feeling like shit for the last week- nauseated and lightheaded and were so exhausted even a trip to the store had you take a 3 hour nap to recover. Robby was adamant that you should go to the doctor, even looking around for the best one around where you lived because this was supposed to be just a long distance fling. A fling that lasted for 10 years almost. A fling where you call each other once a week and spend hours on the phone until either of you fall asleep- usually you first, but Robby loves to hear you sleep because it feels like you’re in his bed again. A fling- but he whispers that he loves you in your ear while he fills you up and takes you apart. A fling- but neither of you have even tried to even date anyone else because they don’t compare. A fling but other than Jack- Robby is the first person you want to tell everything to and he can’t wait to listen. A fling- because it would break your brother’s heart that you’ve lied to him for this long.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to do this,” Robby’s voice broke through the silence on the phone. He would love nothing more than a child with you. The nights where he had you asleep on his chest and he stroked his fingers along your back- he let the fantasy play out in his mind. Robby wanted you to have his baby, he wanted you to give him a beautiful baby with your pretty eyes and soft hair. Robby wanted to marry you. But he was still grappling with the fact that you wanted him. Even a decade later- he still didn’t believe you wanted him and that you deserved someone who wasn’t a mess. Someone who could give you the world and not fuck it up. He was already old and broken- even if you slowly put pieces of him back together. He wanted you to be sure because not only will this mean you’re stuck with him forever- Jack might never forgive him and Robby knows that you can’t live without either of them.

“I want this,” you wanted him. You’ve wanted Robby since you first met him. You’ve wanted more than weekend long visits back and forth every other month or so. You wanted more than phone calls and texts. The only thing that held you back was Jack. At first it was because of the age difference and it really was a fling- mind blowing sex only. But then you spent more time together and- your sister in law died, you couldn’t spring anything more on your brother. And it’s been so long now that it’s become second nature to hide it. Jack was all you had left of your family and was one half of your heart while Robby was the other half. You’d lie in bed sometimes missing him and crying because you were thinking too much about the missed opportunities- you could’ve had Robby fully if you had just told Jack years ago. Maybe you would’ve had kids already? Well it doesn’t matter anymore. “I want you.” Bite the bullet. You made a plan to visit your brother next week.

Jack was a little surprised about your random visit- happy of course because he loves you and continues you to try and get you to move closer but he’s resigned from the fact that you were an adult now. An adult who makes her own decisions. It was hard. Because he still remembers carrying you in his arms- pink bundle of blankets that his parents handed to him. He still remembers walking you to school every morning and tying your shoes. He remembers crying when you graduated kindergarten because he couldn’t imagine you growing up and not being his baby sister anymore- he cried the same way at your high school graduation. He remembers how small your hands were in his. They still felt small- sitting across from him with tears in your eyes.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me anything- you know that.” He grabbed your hands in his, ducking his head down so you can look into his eyes and- why is Robby pulling up? He tried to tell him that it wasn’t a good time right now but you stopped him- told him you asked Robby to come. His mind was racing. He needed to know what the fuck was going on because he feels like he can’t breathe because something is wrong with you and Robby is here and- are you sick? He can’t lose you. He’s lost so much already and-

“I’m pregnant,” Oh? Oh- well, as far as situations that’s not the worst that could happen. So you’re pregnant? Okay well you can move in with him and- why do you take Robby’s hand?

Oh?

Oh.

Robby deserved the way Jack’s fist connected with his nose.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Hi! I don't think I've seen any fluff on poly141 x f reader in the tags on this type of ask, I'm hoping to see in this request. But imagine poly 141 taking f!reader on a local fair date. Things have been going smoothly, eating great food, going on rides, until f!reader saw a cute giant plushie at one of the game booths. She wants one and poly 141 ends up into a small competition? Game? On how many can they win. By the end of it they ended up kicked out 😭 but at least they won her a plushie and a good time.

Ride or Die

Pairing: Poly!141 x F!Reader

Warnings: Shameless PDA, ridiculous competitive energy, mild suggestive behavior, tension that could ignite a plushie, public teasing, light swearing, handsy behavior, emotional softness, them being completely in love with you and not hiding it

Author’s Note: What starts as a sweet local fair date turns into chaos, heated glances, and a full-on plushie war. They're competitive idiots, you're their favorite thing in the world, and everyone else is just an NPC tonight.

Summary: You just wanted a fairground date. Your boys just wanted to spoil you. But when a giant plushie catches your eye, they start a war they don’t know how to walk away from. Between cotton candy kisses, jealousy-fueled games, and being very publicly in love, it’s anyone’s guess who gets banned first.

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The fair smelled like fried sugar and hot pavement, thick in the air like summer nostalgia.

The sun had dipped low enough to make everything golden—carnival lights buzzing to life as your boys flanked you on either side. John’s hand was wrapped around yours, fingers warm and easy. Kyle had claimed your other side, brushing your shoulder every few steps. Behind you, Simon and Johnny were fighting over who’d finish the lemonade you’d barely had a sip of.

“Oi,” Johnny said, stealing it again. “She’s not drinkin’ it fast enough.”

“Because you keep draining it,” Simon muttered.

“Boys,” you said, smirking, “if you’re gonna argue over my spit, at least do it with some class.”

Simon choked on a laugh. Kyle turned, eyebrows up, grinning like he’d just won something. John gave your hand a squeeze, his mouth twitching at the corner.

“Y’realize we can’t take you anywhere,” he murmured.

You leaned up and kissed his cheek anyway. “Yet here we are.”

You’d been walking the midway for maybe an hour—funnel cake dusted all over Johnny’s shirt, Kyle’s phone full of silly pictures, Simon grumbling in the background about crowds while still keeping a hand on your lower back.

You were happy. Loved. Completely and utterly seen.

And then it happened.

You stopped in your tracks, heart doing a stupid fluttery thing.

There it was.

A game booth decked out in hanging prizes—and smack in the center, dangling high above the others like a trophy, was the biggest plush golden retriever you’d ever seen. Soft tan fur, lopsided smile, ears flopped like it was already tired of life.

Your eyes lit up.

You pointed without saying a word.

Kyle followed your gaze. “Oh no.”

Johnny grinned. “She’s in love.”

Simon just sighed, muttering something under his breath about consumer traps and plushie scams.

You turned to them, full tilt. “I want it.”

John raised an eyebrow. “That one?”

You nodded, dead serious.

“It’s huge,” Kyle said.

“Perfect,” you replied.

And just like that, the game was on.

—

They tried to be casual about it at first.

Simon handed over a crisp bill to the carnie like it was a briefing. No wasted movement. Eyes locked. Threw the first ball at the bottle stack like it owed him money.

Clang. Miss.

Johnny snorted.

Simon threw again—bullseye. Half the stack tumbled, but the top stayed balanced, mocking him.

Johnny stepped up next, clapping him on the back. “Lemme show you how it’s done.”

He winked at you before hurling the first ball wildly off-center, nearly knocking a nearby prize off its hook.

“Solid start,” Simon deadpanned.

“Warm-up,” Johnny said.

Kyle went for the ring toss. Missed every time. John tried his hand at the dart balloons—popped two, got a small keychain.

“This is bullshit,” Johnny muttered, arms crossed as the carnie shrugged again.

You leaned against the side rail, watching the whole thing unfold like it was the best movie you’d ever seen. The way they kept looking back at you—checking if you were laughing, if you were still watching, if you were impressed. Their eyes glittered every time you smiled.

“You don’t have to win it,” you said gently.

Simon looked over. “Yes, we do.”

Johnny rolled up his sleeves like he was going to war. “For you? We’ll burn this booth down if we have to.”

That got the carnie’s attention. “Hey now—”

John stepped forward. “How many tickets for the dog?”

“Gotta win the top shelf prize,” the carnie said. “Five knockdowns minimum.”

Kyle grinned. “Say less.”

—

They did not walk away after the first win.

Or the second.

By the time Johnny nailed the fourth prize, they were drawing a crowd.

You were covered in prizes—arms full of teddy bears, snakes, a foam hammer, and a neon star pillow that Simon won after muttering “last try” five different times.

Finally, finally, the dog came down.

The carnie handed it over with a grim look, muttering, “You’re banned after this. Fair warning.”

You didn't even hear it.

You were too busy squealing as John and Simon lifted the thing between them, showing it off like it was a trophy kill. Johnny kissed your temple from behind, whispering, “Told you we’d get it.” Kyle gave you a little spin, hands at your hips, eyes soft and full of heat.

“You happy?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless. “So happy.”

They looked at you like you hung the damn stars.

And then security showed up.

“You can’t keep blocking the booth,” the guy said, arms crossed.

“We paid fair and square,” John said.

“You’ve been here forty minutes. People are complaining.”

Simon rolled his neck. “What a tragedy.”

Johnny muttered, “Philistines,” while Kyle tried to bribe the guy with a free plushie. You were trying so hard not to laugh your face hurt.

Eventually, they walked you out—escorted, not arrested, but the vibe was definitely banned-for-life adjacent.

You didn’t care.

You were holding the stupid dog like a life raft, tucked under one arm as you giggled the whole way back to the parking lot. Johnny was hand-feeding you bits of fried dough, Kyle was still holding your waist, Simon’s arm was slung over your shoulder, and John had your fingers laced in his.

The truck was quiet, finally.

Late night breeze. Prize bags in the trunk. One ridiculously massive plush retriever stuffed across all your laps in the backseat.

You leaned into Simon, curled against his chest, your hand still warm from John's grip.

“Worth it?” Simon murmured.

You looked around at all of them.

At Kyle’s lazy grin from the passenger seat. At John’s soft eyes in the rearview. At Johnny’s foot tapping on the dash while he hummed under his breath.

You kissed Simon’s jaw. “You won me a dog.”

Johnny leaned over and whispered, “And a lifetime ban.”

John sighed. “Add it to the list.”

You pulled your new plush closer, grinning ear to ear.

They gave you a fair date.

They gave you chaos.

And most importantly—

They gave you them.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[litsenn]

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about how Astarion would handle such new things as tenderness and care.

(Also sorry, since I'm exploring EA, I deleted all my previous playthroughs and can't make new screenshots to illustrate this post; So I'll use old screenshots/gifs + the datamined dialogues)

It’s clear to me that in act 1 and for most of act 2, it’s not part of who he is.

He doesn’t even pretend to care for anyone, except for himself. Yet, there are only a very few instances which indicate that something is moving inside him and that there is a growing sense of concern and eventually affection (for you and your companions). The first that comes to mind is when you refuse to sleep with him the second times he asks.

Or when you learn about Mystra asking Gale to sacrifice himself; Astarion seems to genuinely care, even though he immediately deflates it with irony.

(the last one is from Origin Gale)

Or even in the creche, if you use the zaith'isk.

There are probably a few other instances showing that he begins to care about you and your companions, but he’s still his own prioprity and you can’t really blame him for that; It actually makes a lot of sense, since we all know that no one had ever cared about him before.

Besides when he dared to care about someone else (the sweet boy he tried to save from Cazador, for instance), he was terribly punished for it.

So yes, in Act 1, he doesn’t want to be a hero, and he won't sacrifice himself for others. And he seems to associate being kind and showing sympathy as a form of danger/weakness. His bias make him believe that being kind would probably make him look "too precious", a vulnerability which was mocked/punished by Cazador and probably his siblings (I talked about it at the beginning of this post)

And what’s interesting is that the selfless, uncaring aspects of his personality already coexist with a genuine will to connect with people; He’s not pushing you or your companions away (unless you treat him like shit, of course) – he shows interest in you, in them, but he doesn’t want to get too much involved. Which again, makes perfect sense to me. He's self-centred but he doesn’t want to be alone, he reaches out, but he doesn’t want to get too close either, because

that would be too dangerous (trust issues included)

2. he wants to remain in control of you, of his own feelings

3. he doesn’t really expect anything from anyone.

Astarion doesn’t pretend to be selfless, and he doesn’t pretend to be caring. He’s used to violence and he himself is rough around the edges because of the violent environment in which he’s been evolving for so long. Which can make him difficult to like when you meet him for the first time. He's not gentle. And I like it, it's very good writing, spitting in the face of the 'perfect victim trope'.

Gentleness and tenderness are alien concepts to Astarion. Even if we consider the few gentle target-lovers - like Sebastian - he might have met during those 200 years, I don’t think that would be enough for him to give into gentle love-making.

Dissociation is easier, with mechanical responses to his 'lovers' - be they violent or not, especially since he knew they were doomed anyway. And if most of them were rascals so, better get used to violence and reproduce it to better protect himself.

I can’t imagine the first nights with Astarion in act 1 being particularly tender, and if they were, I’d tend to imagine that Astarion was performing. After all, there’s no cuddle in the morning, he won’t give into that kind of gentleness because he associates it to 'vulnerability', and it makes sense.

I can imagine a few cuddling nights in act 2, but I think it would be quite exceptional, and would never last long if only because Astarion isn’t used to that kind of intimacy and might quickly feel quite uncomfortable with it.

Still, it could happen. And he probably starts to enjoy it at this point. But he needs time. He needs more assurance.

As for support and care, he's capable of it in Act 2 - it shows in the Durge scene for instance, when he explicitly says "you will get through it. I'll be there to make sure you do."

On the other hand, he's still his old harsh self too in Act 2, sometimes cruel, accepting the darkest choices the PC can make.

Also, the way he talks to you if you don’t get the confession scene by the beginning of act 3 is revealing in terms of how harsh he can be even with people he trust(ed).

But with the confession scene, something entirely new and genuinely softer emerges, not just in his words, but also in his body language; the way he holds your hand is most explicit.

But if you choose the hug, it's even clearer.

Obviously, this episode doesn’t instantly change him and turn him into the sweetest partner ever. His kisses are gentle yes, but it's no peak of tenderness. Not only because he’s not ready for being 100% soft and vulnerable, but also because he doesn’t know how to. Tenderness is uncharted territory, and intimacy is way too appalling for him to give into that kind of open fondness (yet).

Things begin to change a little in act 3, but again, it takes time. He's capable of showing care, support and affection. He can be vulnerable with you when you show your trust. He wants to be there for you, to be real with you.

...but that's not the main aspect of his personality. He hasn't completely changed overnight.

After the meeting with Petras and Dal he returns to his old patterns of manipulation and pretended indifference. I says "pretended" because it's easier for him to think he doesn't care - it's coping mechanism. One could even say that he's gaslighting himself into believing that he doesn't give a fuck about his siblings as long as he can ensure his own safety.

Desperate situations call for drastic remedies, right? But is it what he really wants? (I'm not saying that he secretly adore his siblings, but I still believe that he's capable of feeling some empathy for them - he feels 'pity' for them, and it's made clearer later.)

His issues with his siblings is that it reminds too much of who he used to be, and the risks of being like them again:; controlled by Cazador. So he plays indifference and bitterness, to keep all those feelings away.

Likewise, when the spawns attack your camp, he’s distant again – a defence mechanism triggered by the presence of his siblings.

(My two cents on this line here)

And yet, we can already see a few changes in his behaviour after you reached Baldur's Gate; he's much more prompt to openly show genuine concern and support to you, when you consider taking Araj’s potion, for instance.

Or the way he worries about you if you accept Haarlep’s deal:

But that's because it's you. And in spite of this, the selfish and cruel parts of him still exist, because it's his personality and that won't disappear. Funny what he says here of you have low approval by the way:

If you're not close friends, he doesn't actually care, but still warns you. Interesting.

Anyway, if you're his partner, he can explicitly show in public how much he cares about you. And to a lesser extent, he also cares about your companions, especially when he can relate to what happens to them.

The first signs of a growing empathy for others. It's not just about himself anymore.

As for tenderness, it’s also growing little by little. First, through words...

...but probably in gestures too. Of course, this point relies on headcanons because the game doesn’t give us much before the graveyard scene. But I tend to believe that Astarion is progressively learning tenderness (in private settings) throughout the third act. I like to imagine both my Durge and Astarion learning about gentle gestures together; holding hands, a kiss that lasts a little longer than usual, a look that leads to a quiet hug, restinig in each other’s arms, etc.

Just like in Act 2, I don’t think they would cuddle every night. I believe that kind of intimacy would progressively take place in their relationship. But before Cazador’s death, I can’t imagine them being constantly et overly tender together (but that's a headcanon).

Now the graveyard scene marks a shift. Again, he’s not overly sweet or dripping with tenderness during the discussion. He’s tranquil. He’s at peace. He doesn’t need to perform any grand declaration. But the gentle way he takes your hands, the way he tells you he wants you, he loves you.... The  gentle lovemaking. All of this seems to indicate a slow shift; he’s still learning, still discovering affection and gentleness, it's a reappropriation of his own intimacy, and he can do it freely now that Cazador is gone.

Baby steps.

Of course, even then, it’s not always easy to express that soft side in public – it’s all so new, there still must be a part of him that feels quite vulnerable about it. So he jokes, it's easier, safer.

And yet, he can do it, he can publicly show his attraction and love for his partner.

And he can even admit how good it feels to love and be loved - but again, he can't help jesting a little, just to look less vulnerable.

It takes time to get used to it, to learn how to enjoy gentleness and care, to learn how to show gentleness and care. It can be terrifying, destabilizing, and confusing. But I want to believe that Astarion and his partner will find their own love language through gestures and words. Maybe there will always be some kind of reserve in public, understandably. But by the epilogue, with that sweet hug, it's clear that he’s comfortable showing genuine affection in public.

And in the epilogue he feels bad for your companions who aren’t as free as you are, even if he doesn’t feel like talking to them.

Likewise, he’s genuinely happy for them and for the both of you if everything turned out well for everyone.

I could mention many other instances from the non-romanced epilogue that show how much Radiant Astarion cares about the companions.

And yet, as he says himself, darkness is part of him, and violence is still part of his life. He has not become an innocent puppy, he can still be cruel and violent, and he enjoys it.

And I tend to believe that Astarion is not the romantic type like Wyll or Gale, and that his demonstration of love and affection remain quite simple, quiet, even more meaningful in their temperance. Radiant Astarion, although capable of gentleness, remains someone who can also be harsh, with sharp remarks, sometimes hiding his vulnerabilities behind blunt irony. He has discarded the mask of the suave and charming lover and allowed himself to be true to his own personality, and I don't think the latter is the romantic, super kind type. I like my radiant Astarion caustic, sly and feral, while still being able to love and be loved by the few persons he trusts.

And that’s what I love about this character! The nuances, the subtleties of his narrative arc and of his personality, the way he learns and discovers himself and the gentle beauty of genuine love and affection without becoming an entirely different person. Even if he learns to care about others, he will still choose his own safety and sanity over others, he will not sacrifice himself. He's not that kind of hero.

But if you tell him how much he means to you, how much you care, he will support you and show his love and trust in you.

Of course, healing isn’t linear. There will be days during which being empathetic and caring and gentle might seem impossible to him. Some days he might be distant, and maybe even harsh. And it’s normal, not just because he’s healing but also because there is something selfish and violent in him. That’s the darkness which is part of him and which he has accepted.

 And I think the game manages to show it pretty well in act 3 – this nuanced and ambivalent mindset, between his affection for his partner or his friends, his genuine will to be tender and vulnerable with the person he loves, and the darkness, the violence, which are parts of his temperament.

This ambivalence is precisely why I love him so much. The unpredictability of his reactions, and the fragility of the healing process, but also, mostly, the way Radiant Astarion is at peace with his own ambivalence. 

[girlactionfigure]

To the People Who Only Know Jews from X

If your only exposure to Jews is on this app, I understand why you might think it’s miserable to be one. Maybe you think we walk through life scared, hiding our kippahs, looking over our shoulders, hoping someone will just see us as human.

Maybe you think we’re desperate for acceptance. That we spend our days refreshing X, waiting for validation, hoping the world finally “gets it.”

You couldn’t be more wrong.

At least not in my community.

Where I come from, we don’t live to be liked at all. We don’t change our lives based on who approves of us. Most of us wouldn’t last five minutes in a place where identity depends on popularity. We don’t care if the world claps or boos. It’s irrelevant. We couldn’t care less. In other words, we don’t give a sh¡t.

We have our own world. And it’s rich. Full. Loud. And alive.

We marry young. We build families. Real families. Five, ten, twelve kids(!). We walk into Shul with babies on shoulders, toddlers holding tzitzit, elders greeting grandkids with wrinkled hands and shining eyes. Our life is generational. It's layered and deep. It's not made up of single apartments, silent dinners and depressing weekends, but with full tables and overlapping stories.

We carry the past in one hand and the future in the other. Our holidays remind us where we came from. Our children remind us where we’re going. 

While the rest of the world chases endless freedom, freedom from responsibility, history, and identity, we live within structure, law, purpose, and faith. That structure isn’t a cage. It’s our oxygen. Without it, we can’t survive.

We celebrate constantly. Weddings turn into town parties. Our holidays shut down entire neighborhoods. Purim. Sukkot. Simchat Torah. The streets come alive with song and dancing. People who have never stepped into our communities imagine we live in fear. No. We live in joy. The kind of joy you don’t get from likes, views or applause. Joy that comes from being deeply rooted.

We take care of our own. We built our own ambulance services, because we couldn’t wait for the world to come help us. We built our own security teams, because we know what happens when we rely on others. We built schools for our kids, hospital services for our sick, food banks for our poor. We learned long ago not to wait on anyone. And we don’t.

And I’m not saying all this to brag. I’m not claiming we’re better than anyone else. That’s not the point.

But if you think you can sit behind a screen and spend your life spewing hate about us, thinking we sit around reading it, hurting from it, begging for it to stop. You’ve misunderstood everything.

Let me save you the time.

You are getting hoarse for nothing.

We don’t care. We never did and never will. 

Your words don’t break us. They barely register. While you obsess over us, we move forward. We build, we study, we dance, we pray, we love.

This hate you’ve inherited is not new. You dress it up in new language, but it’s ancient. Older than your podcast. Older than your politics. Older than your country. Blood libels, expulsions, inquisitions, pogroms, gas chambers—none of them needed facts either. Just the right mood. The right rumors. The right scapegoat.

You’re not original.

You couldn’t be more old-fashioned.

And you won’t be the last.

But here’s the part you’ll never understand: We’ve never survived because the world liked us. We’ve survived because we refused to disappear.

We are not here because of your permission. We are not alive because of your approval.

We are here because we chose to live anyway.

And here is what we will continue to do: 

We’ll keep living. Dancing. Celebrating. Teaching. Singing. Building. Protecting. Praying. Giving. Laughing. Growing.

You don’t have to like us.

But we’re not going anywhere.

We’ve already outlived Pharaoh, Haman, Titus, Torquemada, Hitler, Stalin, Nasser, and Arafat.

Do you really think you will be the one to finish the job?

@Average_NY_Guy

[the--last-great-american-dynasty]

physical touch is my main love language and definitely how i express my love the most so it’s obviously super important to me. and this translates over to media too. and it’s not smut i’m looking for (don’t get me wrong, i enjoy smut sometimes) but just non sexual interactions and intimacy. things like hugs and small touches, but the forehead kiss is by far my favorite. something about it feels so vulnerable and comforting and sweet and just affects me more than anything else.

this moment between jonathan and nancy is my favorite because of that. i’ve always shipped them, but this moment just feels so beautifully intimate to me. the way he’s holding her face and the way she closes her eyes… it’s more significant than any other moment to me

[kisses-in-the-void]

Remember how Loras Tyrell said: "When the sun has set, no candle can ever replace it", after Renly Baratheon’s death?

I feel like that perfectly describes how Mairon saw Melkor too.

[titsthedamnseason]

it’s not funny anymore. i need xander and spencer’s book

[bathenaswopez]

moodboard: jay x leia

[emoisthenewemu]

Homie Hopper!

College MHA boys x f! reader!

In which after getting your little heart broken, you get passed around your local University’s hottest friend group! Everyone needs those slutty College years!

Smut Series! Pt 2 here

A/N: I would just like to make it clear that I do not condone some of the behaviors in this series! It is a bit problematic, but it is all just for funsies! Solely for entertainment purposes so just keep that in mind. Also i love sero can you tell. Anyways, enjoy!

Cw: SMUTTT!, lots of different kinks n stuff, sub! Denki, name calling, p in v, reader has female anatomy, reader essentially gets passed around

Katsuki Bakugo as The Shit Talker!

- Katsuki Bakugo is the one who started it all, your hot neighbor who threw parties your ex boyfriend never let you go to. Bakugo always gave you shit for it, saying you were ‘too young and pretty to be tied down’.

- As fucked up as it sounds, he gets excited one day when he spots you getting home super late one night in an oversized hoodie with mascara stained cheeks. And he considers just marching right across the hall when he notices you took all the posts and highlights of that fucker down on your insta.

- He’s even more excited when you finally show up to one of his parties. That is until you get wasted way too fast because you haven’t been out in years and end up crying over your shitty ex boyfriend.

- Katsuki Bakugo, who lets you make it up to him the next day by using you like a toy.

- Bakugo, who says the nastiest things when he’s deep inside of you.

“All my friends wanna fuck you, you know? But I get to go first”

“Can’t believe you were hiding this slutty pussy from us this long”

“Always knew you were a fucking slut”

“Your loser boyfriend ever fuck you like this?”

“Stop mph! fucking running from it!”

-He has your face pressed into the mattress, a hand on your head and one of his feet planted flat on the cushion. You’re drooling due to the way he drills into you, fucking you like he hates you.

- You guess you should have expected him to be so rough. Tough exterior and all but this is so much more than you could have ever imagined. He does not even give you a second to breathe, constantly snatching every bit of air from your lungs with each powerful thrust.

-His headboard bangs against the wall obnoxiously, he warns you not to hide your pretty little noises either or else says he’ll fuck them out of you. He even tells you to shut the fuck up when you whine about your neighbors-or Kiri.

-Katsuki Bakugo who has you in a headlock when you finally cum, back pressed tightly against his front as he thrusts up into you. His free hand pinching and rubbing your clit furiously. “Cum f'me pretty, then I can fill you up till it's coming out yer fucking mouth". His words are enough to make you gush around him, tight pussy squeezing him like a vice. But he’s not done talking shit yet, of course not.

"Better not waste a fuckin' drop. Maybe Kiri'll wanna fuck it back into you. He’s into nasty shit like that"

- Your cry out at his words, his finger remains at your clit but now rubbing at a much slower pace which ensures you let out small whines every few seconds. Still fucking into you so brutally your body begins to tremble. "You like that? Dirty fucking girl, want us to share this sloppy pussy?"

"Mm yes! P-please! Won't tell anyone" You nod frantically, a part of you so fucked out you are unaware of what you're saying. This is so unlike you, truly.

Bakugo's dick made you go dumb, fucking stupid actually. It sets the catalyst for a series of the most unhinged decisions of your life.

-It feels like little explosions eat up his entire body as his seed finally shoots inside you, there's so much it has already begun to leak out. "No, no, no! Keep it in there!" He slaps your ass and lets you finally fall back down into the mattress.

You're a crying mess, you don't even notice it. But he does, of course. Grabbing your (face) cheeks and squeezing with one hand. "Aw pretty girl, you cryin already?"

- Katsuki Bakugo, who is being a complete hypocrite, he's fucked out already too, fucking himself into overstimulation currently as he fucks his own cum back into you. "Such a crybaby. M'not even done with you yet"

Ejirou Kirishima as The Big Boy!

-Ejirou Kirishima-Katsuki’s roomate who invites you over to his parents house (who are out of town) so the two of you can ‘workout’ in their home gym. One month after what took place with his best friend.

-You can’t help but remember the blonde’s words, something about the red-haired man fucking his cum back into you. He wouldn’t, would he?

-He’s such a sweetheart! He opens and closes the car door for you, makes you a protein shake with his own recipe! Even brings you a little snack and tells you how pretty you look in your gym set! The man has even offered to take you and your roomate’s trash out before because ‘ladies shouldn’t be walking around by themselves at night’. He’s just such a gentleman, you can’t imagine him doing anything nasty in his life.

-Ejirou Kirishima who works out for all of about twelve minutes before lifting you up against the wall and gives you the most passionate and sensual make out session you have ever experienced.

-He moans against your lips sweetly, going down to kiss every inch of skin within reach.

-Ejirou Kirishima-who has the biggest, fattest cock you have ever seen in your life. It almost scares you because how the hell is that going to fit?!

He notices your worries, softly smooching the corner of your lips. “You can do it pretty girl, I know you can” His hand gropes your ass, a harsh contradiction to his sweet voice. “Bakugo says you’re a good girl, huh?”

-He manages to bully his fat member inside of you. The stretch is delicious yet painful. You squeal as he sinks deeper, nails digging into his bare shoulder.

“Shit baby you’re so tight for me” The man exhales loudly, hot breath hitting your bare skin. “Wanna hear you scream”

-Ejirou Kirishima, whose wish is answered when he finally picks up the pace. The ease in which he fucks you, holding your weight up entirely only adds to the experience.

-He’s just so strong and big. It makes your ankles cross and eyes roll to the back of your head. He’s so proud of it too-as he should be. He works very hard to maintain such a physique, he does it not only for himself but for pretty girls like you.

It’s obviously working, whimpers and whines escape your lips. Mouth stuck in a constant ’o’ shape and eyebrows furrowed. “S-so big! Fuck!” You cry, giving your very best attempt to bounce back on him. But it’s hard, almost every signal in your body is telling you to push away. It’s too much, the pain of his fat tip smushing against your walls. Yet another part deep within had you convinced that you can take it.

-You open your eyes to catch a glimpse of the sinful sight through the wall length mirror. His frame is so large you are hardly able to make yourself out, whole body covering yours. His back muscles on full display, you watch them move under his skin. The back of his bulging biceps accompanied by little grunts. “So strong Kiri ohmygodd! So good so good, so big!”

-“You like when i use you like a little dolly?” You nod, unable to speak even if you tried. “Love this big dick, huh?”

“Yes! Yes!” You are screaming at this point, in a way you have never done before. You had no idea this amount of pleasure was even possible. You should have been single a looong time ago. “Love it s’much!”

-“Cum on this dick gorgeous! Make a mess please!” He’s so cute, he still says please.

And you’re such a good girl that you just have to do what you’re told-juices gushing all over his abs and dripping down his thighs.

-Ejirou Kirishima who kisses the ache in your thighs before fucking you again in the hot tub. And then in his childhood bedroom.

Hanta Sero as The One Who Talks You Through It!

- Hanta Sero, who somehow becomes your smoking buddy after being paired up with you on a project. He was so funny and cute and you just had to get his snapchat!

-Hanta Sero, who knows his friends had already fucked you but doesn’t really care who came first or second. He just wants you…..bad.

- After a couple smoke sessions he decides to just go for it, glossy red eyes taking in your entire figure as he moves closer. Grabbing your chin and kissing you skillfully, tongue rolling against yours.

- Hanta Sero, who has you in his lap, chin resting on your shoulder with your legs spread wiiide. His legs trap you on either side so you are unable to move and squirm away the way your body tells you to. You have no choice but to take his long digits that are furiously fingering your cunt.

You’re a moaning mess, head thrown back against his chest as he coos in your ear, talking your head (more like pussy!) off. “Ahhh does it feel good mamas?”

Brushing a piece of hair out of your face he continues, strong thighs still keeping yours in place. “Such a pretty little princess pussy”

- Most moments you have no idea what he is even saying, every single one of his words goes straight down there. “So messy” His hand places a firm, wet smack! against your soaked core. “Hear how wet you are for me?” He continues to finger you, picking up the pace with an almost obnoxious squelching noise that accompanies his every move.

The vibrations of his movements shoot up your body, his fingers feel robotic with the way they do not falter. And then he starts curling them to brush against that sweet spot.

It’s not much longer after when you squirt all over his fingers and sheets with a loud cry. And he is sure to maintain eye contact when he brings his hand up to lick clean of all your juices, muttering something about how sweet you taste.

- Hanta Sero, who has you on your back a minute later-one hand on the headboard and the other keeps him steady as he pounds into you, lazy red eyes stuck on all of the faces you make. The way your titties bounce with his thrusts. You’re driving him crazy.

-“Fuck, Fuck princesa. You feel how deep I am?” You only nod, his long curved dick takes the words out of your mouth. “M’in your fuckin’ guts”

-He brings his body down to get closer to you, arms hooking beneath your shoulders to bring you closer to him. One of his hands pushes your head down to force you to watch his sloppy thrusts with the way he slams! you down on his cock.

-Hanta Sero who gets excited when you finally have the energy and brain capacity to talk, telling him all about how good he is. “So deep Hanta….can feel you in my tummy” You pout and it makes his dick twitch. You’re too fucking cute.

He almost regrets putting a condom on, he wishes he could feel the real thing. Make no mistake though, he is enjoying himself to the point where his toes begin to curl as he blabbers nonsense. “Taking it so good for me baby, such a good princess”

-His dick is firmly pressed against the spot you need it the most. You are unable to stop the squeals and whimpers coming from deep within, sloppily rocking your hips against him. He takes notice of this, locking his hips to continue to rub against the spongy walls that make you cry out like this. “Let it out mamas, wanna see you cum again”

- You don’t need much encouragement to coax the orgasm out of you-one that is mind-melting and makes your insides feel fuzzy. “Mm Hanta! Cumming f’you baby”

- Hanta Sero, who moans so loudly when he feels your walls spasming around him. He has to grab onto your hair for comfort-you’re practically choking his dick.

- Hanta Sero, who leans in close to whisper in your ear as you flutter around him. “Just like that baby” He kisses your cheek, a sweet gesture which is quite opposite to the mean snap of his hips. “Come on, come on give me more”.

- He’s practically snatching your soul out of your body, your mouth agape and wide as your body trembles, listening to his words. “Just a lil bit more mama, I know you can do it”

“C-cant!” You squeal but your legs betray you, locking themselves around his hips, he couldn’t move much even if he wanted to. So he uses the opportunity to do slow, exaggerated thrusts into you.

Tears prick your eyes as you do nothing but take it and whine. Hanta keeps on talking though. “Shhh it’s okay mamas….I know you can take it” And then he squishes your cute little face in his hand. “Right? You gonna take more f’me?”

-“Y-yeah”

- Hanta Sero, who is such a blabbermouth that you should not be surprised to find out how talkative he is during sex. Who continues to let you know you are welcome over any time and sends you the filthiest text messages. Ones you respond to with cute little emojis letting him know you’ll be on the way.

Denki Kaminari as ‘The Munch!’

- Denki Kaminari, who feels left out as he is the only one in the friend group who hasn’t fucked you! The other guys have nothing but good things to say about you and even still consider you to be a friend! So why can’t he have a taste? He’s the one who pointed you out to them in the first place!

- Denki Kaminari, who finds himself sitting next to you one night at a end of year party. The two of you being DD’s for the night, which means you are the only sober ones. And you talk for hours, seeing as you’ve known each other since freshman year and have remained relatively close since then. Which means he’s not afraid to ask.

“So what’s wrong with me?”

“Huh?”

“You fucked all my friends and not me? I’m hurt!” He sounds genuine, a hand placing itself atop his chest in offense. “Is it something I did?”

“Shut up!” You grumble, taking a hit off of his puff. “And no! Of course not!” You chuckle, blowing out the smoke directly in his face. “Just didn’t know you even thought of me that way”

- Denki Kaminari, who scoffs at your words. And here he was thinking it was obvious. Even back when you had a boyfriend he would always tell you that he could treat you better but you always thought he was joking! He was a jokester, that was like his thing!

- Denki Kaminari, who is deadly serious when he leans in closer to ensure you hear his every word perfectly.

“M’not hotheaded and ripped like Bakugo. Or big and strong like Kirishima. Or as tall as Sero or nearly as charming”

“You think Sero’s charming?” You laugh.

“Dude’s got game” Denki loves the way you giggle. “But I got something none of those fuckers do”

“Mm?” You raise an eyebrow curiously, a sweet smile on your face as you lean in closer. Lips mere inches away from him. “What’s that?”

“Promise my tongue is better than any of those assholes. Can make you see stars using just my mouth” He speaks so smugly, so confident.

It’s the most attractive he’s ever looked.

- You take him up on his offer, letting him lead you to an empty room upstairs where he doesn’t even wait for the door to click before smashing his lips against yours. Hungry hands grab at your waist and ass, then your tits and hair.

-Denki Kaminari, who keeps true to his word and has you seeing stars in a matter of minutes. Whose hands are holding yours as his face is nuzzled into your heat, breathing in your scent as his tongue works its magic Whose dick twitches every time you squeeze his hands and every time you try to let go he grabs it back, interlocking your fingers with his.

- His tongue swirls circles around your clit, causing your hips to bump up against his face-which makes him moan into your folds. Pulling apart for a second to admire the glossy mess before diving right back in

-Denki Kaminari, who is almost pathetic with the way he slurps you up like he is starving for your pussy. Constantly moaning into it as if he is getting any kind of relief out of it. Oh but he is, he could stay between your thighs for hours.

Whose skilled tongue somehow knows all the right places, eventually he has you rocking against his face as the only thing audible besides your loud desperate moans are the even more desperate slurps coming from him.

- He fucks you with his tongue until he is so deep that it makes him gag. But he does not stop, not even when his dick begins to ache from how hard it is. He fucks you with bis tongue until it hurts and you are a shaking mess, having finished three times already. No fingers involved.

-Denki Kaminari, who somehow convinces you to ride him into oblivion afterwards, shaky legs and all.

- His whines are so pathetic and hot that it unlocks something deep within you. A feeling you had never experienced before. Causing you to go rough on him, pulling his hair and whining when he begs you to do it harder! You aren’t sure who’s moaning more between the two of you.

- Denki Kaminari, who has shivers go up his spine whenever you dig your nails into his biceps, hips bouncing up and down as if your life depends on it. “Please scratch me up baby! Feels s’good”

- You even choke him a bit which is a thing you had never done before but just felt so right in the moment. The way he moans confirms that he enjoys it just as much as you did.

- When he cums, he cums hard, thick ropes spurting out into the condom as he moans freely. His hips rock up into you for more stimulation as he rides out his high.

“Oh shittt didn’t know you were such a freak Y/N!” Denji jokes, poking you in the side and you giggle.

He moans at the way you clench around him when you laugh. It makes him want to make you laugh more.

- Denki Kaminari, who showed you just how much you enjoy whiny subby men!

- And even to this day the whole friend group does a double take when you walk by, always offering to do stuff for you or hold open doors. (Except Bakugo of course). But they all make it more than obvious you are welcome into their beds anytime.

[sloaneispunk]

"the thrill of a double-life"

s3!frontman x you. (season 3 spoilers)

summary-> the only time in-ho would make an exception in the games.

you met in-ho when you were playing ‘red light, green light’ he had pulled you behind him before thanos could push you over with the other unfortunate players.

“stay behind me, it can’t detect movement behind, see.” he told you, waving his hand behind his back where only you could see.

you didn’t know why he saved you, or what he saw in you, but you were more than grateful.

after that, he never left your side.

when he had approached gi-hun, joining his team, he’d made sure to bring you along, leading you like bee attracted to sweet nectar.

you didn’t trust him at first, only giving him one word answers when he asked you questions about yourself. but as the days went by, your walls started coming down.

maybe it was the fact that during every meal, he would give you half of his portion. or maybe it was how he protected you from thanos when he tried taking you away from him.

either way, by the third day, you had placed your life in his hands.

unbeknownst to you, every night as you slept in his bed, he would disappear, heading back to the control room.

“why are you protecting her? she isn’t part of your plan, in-ho.” the masked officer would ask every night and yet, he’d only receive the same answer.

“she will be.”

in-ho stayed up watching you sleep from behind the screens, his eyes always finding it’s way back onto the monitor where you were. he knew his actions would sooner or later have consequences, but he wasn’t ready to face them just yet.

gi-hun was his target, not you. yet somehow you always creep into the back of his mind like a plague slowly infecting him.

but he wasn’t dying, he was being brought back to life.

after ‘mingle’, everyone was rooted in despairing and devastation. they were all just soulless bodies walking back like a herd of zombies. but he didn’t care, not for anyone. anyone but you.

as you laid on his lap sobbing, he threaded his fingers through your hair, it was like a lullaby being sung that stilled the angry waters of emotion that flowed through you. he never shifted, not once, he adored the feeling of you curled up on him, your head so close to his chest he could hear every sniffle and whimper that left your lips, finding the rhythm of your heartbeat against his.

everything was perfect.

until the rebellion formed.

“if we don’t strike now, we might not get another chance!” gi-hun yelled, trying to convince the players to join him in his desperate attempt to take the frontman down.

“we are putting everyone else in danger, gi-hun. it’s not logical!” in-ho challenged, arm tightening around your shoulders as if you were going to be ripped away from him.

“look, if you don’t want to come that’s fine but we are doing this.”

god knew he wanted to stay with you, protect you from the harm that was coming your way. but at the same time, he couldn’t risk gi-hun finding the control room, it would ruin the games. his games.

so he went, leaving you in the care of the old lady and her son.

the worst part wasn’t him leaving, it was him not returning.

you broke down when you realised only dae-ho and hyun-ju had made it back. you had lost too many people in the games, and you thought you had lost in-ho too.

after that, you refused to eat, drink, or even sleep. no matter how many times hyun-ju pleaded, you just sat and stared.

little did you know, in-ho watched your every move. seeing you slowly loose yourself was the most painful, intense feeling in-ho had ever felt in his years of being frontman. in his heart, he silently begged with hyun-ju for you to take care of yourself, but it didn’t seem to work.

“why do you keep observing her?” the masked officer would question again, noticing his strange, out of pocket behaviour.

“i don’t know.” he could only mutter out as his eyes lingered on you. he’d imagine if the circumstances had been different, if the rebellion had never formed, he would still have you in his arms where he swore to the god’s above that you belonged.

you were silently picking at your food as the team’s voices were fading in and out. you couldn’t make out what they were saying as their mouths moved but in a way, it was comforting.

suddenly, the alarm blared at the doors drew open, revealing the masked guards carrying an all too familiar black box.

the air stood still as they slowly placed it onto the cold, hard ground. nobody dared to move at first, waiting to see if anyone stepped up. but nobody did.

you felt like you were being drawn by the box, as if it was calling out your name, pulling you in. so you got up, carefully making your way to the centre of the room.

you felt dozens of pairs of eyes watching intensely as you lifted the lid.

you stumbled back.

it was gi-hun.

“gi-hun? gi-hun! oh my god!” you gasped, checking his pulse as the rest of the team came to your side. “he’s still alive!”

suddenly he jerked awake, wheezing.

“y/n?!”

“i-i thought you were dead! oh my god.” you cried, smushing him, hugging him tightly.

“why am i here?” you heard him whisper, barely audible but you caught it.

“what do you mean?”

“they killed everyone else, killed jung-bae, so why did they let me go?” he questioned and you pulled away.

you didn’t know either.

then he got up, stumbling, tripping over his own two feet as he headed right for the guards.

“why did you let me live?!” he shouted in rage, his throat hoarse as he cried out. “why…”

the guards ignored his wails, taking him by the arms and dragging him back towards the bunks where they handcuffed him to the metal frame. and with one swift punch, silenced him.

when he came to, you were the first thing he saw. you were sound asleep beside him, your hand placed on his.

“y/n?”

you stirred awake, eyes slowly blinking open. “you okay?” you asked.

he shook his head.

“i’m sorry, gi-hun, i really am.”

“it’s not your fault, y/n…i’m sorry too.”

“what for?”

he sighed deeply, hesitating before he spoke again. “for losing young-il.”

oh.

you felt tears brimming your eyes but you quickly wiped them away, wanting to stay tough for gi-hum. he could use any last bit of hope in this place.

“you tried.” you answered, sniffling.

“we both did.”

in-ho watched the interaction between you and gi-hun. on one hand he was thankful that you had regained some sense of optimism again, thanks to gi-hun. but on the other, he knew that gi-hun had broken, which meant that he wasn’t going to be able to protect you. not like he did.

he couldn’t sleep that night. not like he ever could in the first place. his mind raced as he thought about the next game, it was brutal, inhumane even. with the VIP’s joining as guards too, you didn’t stand a chance, not without him.

so he came up with a plan; he would pose as one of the guards be there when you drew your team and played the game.

he knew that by now, player 100 and his team of lunatics would be eyeing you, like vultures circling the corpse of a dead animal. he had to intervene.

the next day, he put on the red jacket, mask in hand as he stood in front of the mirror.

in-ho was living off a double life once again, torn between two roles that he created, two different personas that lived in him, slowly pulling him apart.

he made his way down and blended in with the other guards in red as they entered the next game.

as the team selection begun, his gaze searched for you, his heart racing, praying that the okd trash hadn’t gotten to you yet overnight.

he let out a sigh of relief when he finally found you in the midst of the crowd. you stood silently beside gi-hun, breath held as the players were divided into the red and blue team.

“player 450”

it was your turn.

you just had to get it over with, no matter what, you knew gi-hun had your back and you had his.

blue.

walking towards the blue team, you caught something in your peripheral vision-a guard silently watching your every move. it wasn’t in a intimidating way, but more of a caring one.

in-ho smiled under the mask, he wanted to run to you, pull you back into his arms but he couldn’t. not yet.

“player 456.”

you had your fingers crossed.

red.

nononono

gi-hun locked eyes with you, seeing your panicked state. he mouthed, ‘it’s okay’ and you could do nothing but nod.

as the rules of the game were explained, every player in each team was handed a box. inside yours revealed to be a small key, capable of opening the locked doors in the game they said.

but as you looked over to the red, you saw that they didn’t get a key…they received a knife.

“in order for the players in the red team to pass the game, you must eliminate one player from the blue team.” the guards clarified.

your blood ran cold. it was as if you’d forgotten how to breath.

“eliminate?” you heard gi-hun ask.

“yes, that is correct. you will now have five minutes to exchange roles with another player if they wish the same.”

gi-hun wasted no time running to you. the minute you felt his hands on your face, you broke down.

“just swap roles with me, i can find a place to hide, you’ll just have to-”

you shook your head, “i-i can’t kill anyone.”

from the the far corner of the room, in-ho stood, hid mind racing under the mask. he knew that it was inevitable but now that it was happening, he was defeated.

‘please switch teams, y/n’ he thought, watching you push gi-hun away over and over again.

“no, gi-hun! you and i both know i can’t do it…” you sighed, “i’ll stand a better chance hiding.”

he knew it was no use fighting, so he agreed. he promised that he would find you after he ensured his safety and you didn’t need to ask what that meant, you already knew.

you snuck a glance at dae-ho, he was cowering in a corner. he was gi-hun’s target. but there wasn’t any point trying to get him to change his mind anymore. once he was set, you knew that he would stop at nothing to go through with it.

3..2..1

you ran. to where? you didn’t know but you had to put distance between you and the red team.

for the first fifteen minutes, it was easy. you had almost memorized every twist and turn of the place like the back of your hand. you occasionally took breaks in the various safe rooms you could find, leaning against the door so no one could break in.

but when it got down to the last fifteen minutes, people started to grow desperate. those players that had never laid a hand on anyone else in the games started to become feral, taking down the first person they could find.

you observed the walls as you stepped out of your hiding spot, needing to change every few minutes to avoid getting caught.

they were now covered and smeared with bloody handprints, you shuddered as the screams of players bounced off every layer of wall.

suddenly, you heard the voice of the same old man that had convinced more than half of the players to stay and continue play, it was growing closer. you turned to run but you were too late, his team appearing from the other end, you were trapped.

“where’s your guardian angel, girl?” player 100 mocked, “oh that’s right, he listened to the lunatic and look where he ended up.”

you bit the inside of your cheek. your fists clenched and you narrowed your eyes, you couldn’t beat them, but you’d rather make it even.

then they charged all at once. you dodged and fought back but it was no use against the sharp edged knifes in their hands.

suddenly, you heard gi-hun call out to you, “y/n, run!” he stepped in, holding them back as you ran off, not stopping to look behind as their taunting voices pierced your ears.

you looked up at the clock, three minutes remaining. you passed different players at every turn, but the atmosphere was different. they were driven by greed and fear, it gave them the cofidence drugs give junkies when they took it. there wasn’t a trace of humanity left in the place anymore.

finally, you spotted an unlocked door, you pulled the key from the chain around your neck, quickling unlocking the door but then you froze, it was already open.

as the door creaked open with a loud squeak, you found yourself face to face with nam-gyu, thanos’ sidekick throughout the past few games.

“ah! how nice of you to join me!” he cheered, but his pupils were blown out, he was higher than the tip of mount everest.

you slowly backed away, raising your hands up as if you were pleading with him, asking him to spare you.

“oh, nono that’s not how this game works.” he laughed, stalking toward you, twisting the blade in his palm.

with a battle cry, he lunged at you. you shut your eyes, your hands held up above your face like it was going to protect you from the crazed man.

then, there was a loud gunshot. your senses overwhelmed you, feeling a splash on your face, the air suddenly smelling like smoke and blood, your ears ringing with the buzz of the gun fired.

you waited.

but the impact never came.

when you finally gathered enough courage to open your eyes once again, you found nam-gyu on the floor, his head blown open, trails of his brains covering the ground.

you turned to where the shot came from, seeing a masked guard with his gun still drawn.

you were frozen in place, every fiber in your body tensed up with fear, your feet rooted to the ground.

“follow the arrows on the walls, you’ll find the exit.” the guard ordered.

you just stayed where you were, you could hear your own ragged breaths, but still your chest was tight. the guard immediately dropped his gun, he made his way to you, taking your hand. “if you want to live, you have to leave. now!”

you could only slowly nod. with one last look at the lifeless body on the floor, you took off.

following the blood-drawn arrows, you managed to find the exit. on the other side, you saw gi-hun waiting expectantly at the door.

“y/n! are you okay?!” he asked, voice frantic.

“i’m okay.” you cracked a smile as he pulled you into a hug.

“oh, i knew you’d find your way out.” he sighed into your hair.

“yea…i did.”

that night, you didn’t tell him about the masked guard that had saved your life, you didn’t find the need to.

gi-hun watched over you as you laid in bed, but still unable to fall asleep. he was at the foot of your bed, keeping watch, but the only thing he spotted wasn’t the players, it was the guards walking towards the both of you.

“he would like to see you.” they said.

“who’s he?” you asked gi-hun, the expression on his face dropping into a stoned, scowling look.

“the frontman.”

stepping into the frontman’s room, you felt your stomach drop.

there was no noise, no sound. not even the soft humming of the air conditioning, it was just quiet. not the kind you would want to hear when you were going to be face to face with someone like the fromtman.

it was like death hung in the air, one wrong move and you would face a cruel punishment.

“player 456, player 450. welcome.” the frontman said, inviting you to sit down on the sleek black sofa in fromt of him.

you moved to sit, but gi-hun caught your arm. “be careful.” he warned.

it seemed stupid, but you never denied the man that saved your life.

“please.” the frontman said once more, this time more assertive. “you two must be tired.”

gi-hun only let you sit down after he himself garunteed that it was safe.

happy with the both of you, the frontman sighed.

“do you know how long it took to formulate a masterpiece like this?”

you stayed silent.

“of course you don’t… but you,” his gloved finger pointed at you, “and you,” then moved to gi-hun. “messed it up within a few days.”

“we’re just trying to save everyone before you kill them off eventually.” you spat and he went quiet.

your words had stung him. you were always so sweet to him, never raising your voice once.

in-ho didn’t know what came over him, but he reached for his mask, pulling it over his head as your eyes grew wide.

“young-il?” you whispered under your breath as gi-hun’s eyes filled with tears of anger.

“y/n…” in-ho tried to reach for you but you flinched, pulling away. he nodded, he didn’t need to press on. then he turned to gi-hun, “i’m sorry about jung-bae.”

that did it. gi-hun jumped off the couch, grabbing in-ho by his collar, screaming. but he couldn’t hurt him, he didn’t have time to before the masked guards stormed in, yanking him away.

“please take him back to his bed.” in-ho ordered, brushing himself off, adjusting his collar.

“no! young-il, why?! you killed them! let me go!” he screamed, thrashing in their grip as the elevator doors closed.

it was just you and him now.

“y/n.” he tried again, his voice softer now, as if he was speaking to a little kid. soft and gentle.

you didn’t answer, you couldn’t.

you didn’t remember crying but by now, your cheeks were drenched in salty streams.

“shh, it’s okay, why’re you crying? i’m here now.” he hushed, wrapping his arms around you, kissing the crown of your head.

“you k-killed my friends.” he heard you cry harder, but he only shook his head.

“i saved you, y/n.. i did it so you could live.”

then you remembered the guard that had took down nam-gyu, “did you-”

“yes, and i’ll do it over and over again if that meant saving you.”

you looked up, gazing into his eyes. but he wasn’t the man you knew anymore, this wasn’t in-ho. it was the frontman.

then he drew something from his pocket, a custom made blade. it shimmered in the dim yellow lights, almost beautiful.

“there’s no doubt that that old trash will make you a target in the next game.” he said, his free hand cupping your face, “kill them before they kill you.”

when he got no reply, he simply dropped it into your pocket.

“it’s going to be morning call soon, you have to get back.”

“please don’t make me…”

in-ho took your hand, leading you to the elevator.

“make the right choice, y/n.” he said as he gently guided you in, pressing the level.

then, with a kiss to your cheek, he started to walk away.

just as the door begun to close, he gave you one last advice.

“oh and y/n? your last and final game would be sky squid game.”

you had one day.

[snail-day]

Tummy Ache Survivor

Based in the same AU as this drabble Anesthesia Doctor! Gojo x Reader x Nurse! Geto Tw: Fluffy domestic bliss, tummy aches, established relationship. A/n: I'd imagine reader has a super weak immune system where they have to change their scrubs at work now otherwise you will catch whatever bug they bring home. I think Geto doesn't mind that...because he lowkey enjoys fussing over you.

Tummy aches are the absolute worst. Mostly because you can’t quite place where they come from. Was it that leftover takeout? Something one of your boyfriends dragged home from the hospital? Are you pregnant? WebMD says you’re both pregnant and dying, so that’s fun.

Sure, you could just ask one of them for medical advice. It’s literally their job. They’d probably take one look at you and tell you to take some pepto and chill. But the thought of bringing it up is… humiliating, somehow. Like, yes, hello, my big sexy boyfriend who's seen every internal organ imaginable, please help me with my fragile little tummy ache. No thanks.

So instead, you burrow deeper into the warm sheets of your massive bed. Satoru’s still in the shower, humming off-key. Probably wondering why you haven’t come to join him yet. You just know he’s going to come into the bedroom, dripping wet and pouty, whining about how lonely he was without you in there. Probably tickle you until you're shrieking.

The thought alone makes your stomach churn.

And then there's the smell of Suguru’s cooking. Normally, that scent would have you halfway down the stairs with stars in your eyes. But today? All it does is make the bile climb up your throat.

Must be pregnancy. Or cancer. Or both. Maybe it’s something worse. The internet is not helping.

You close your eyes and prepare to meet your fate.

“Baby?” Satoru calls, water shutting off with a metallic clink. You hear the glass door slide open, followed by the plap plap plap of wet feet on tile, the steam trickling from the bathroom into the bedroom. He’s chuckling now. “Come on, you have to get up.”

Your heart thuds.

Why is being sick so weirdly vulnerable?

“Hellooooo,” he drawls, voice already playful. “You were supposed to join me. I was in there suffering. Naked. Alone. Practically crying.”

You barely stir, tucked so deep in the comforter cocoon that only the bridge of your nose peeks out.

He doesn’t let that stop him. He drops the towel somewhere behind him, no shame in being bare, and climbs onto the bed with a dramatic sigh, knees sinking into the sheets as he looms over your lump of a body.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks sweetly, already halfway through his routine - nose brushing your cheek, lips pressing light kisses to your forehead, wet hair flicking against your skin. “You never miss post-shower snuggles. It’s practically a routine now.”

You groan softly. Not the annoyed kind that he's used to either.

Satoru stills.

He pulls back, not all the way, but just enough to look at you. There’s a subtle shift, barely perceptible to anyone else, but you know him. His playful grin fades into something more focused, less boyfriend and more clinical and doctor like.

“Wait. Baby,” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head weakly.

“Tummy hurts,” you whisper.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

“Where?”

You whimper and gesture vaguely to your lower abdomen.

Immediately, he’s brushing the covers back, not harsh or dramatic, just careful, gentle fingers pushing your shirt up as he scoots closer, settling on his knees beside you. You can feel the warmth of his palm hover just above your skin, his expression focused now, all that boyish teasing gone.

“Is it sharp? Crampy? Nauseating?”

You squint at him.

“Don’t use your doctor voice on me.”

“It’s not a voice, it’s a diagnostic tone,” he says with a straight face, though his lips twitch like he’s holding back a grin. “I’m trying to help, baby.”

His palm presses lightly against your belly. His hands are big, always have been, but now they seem extra warm, fingers splayed wide as he palpates carefully, feeling for any tenderness. He’s quiet while he works, eyes carefully scanning your face as if waiting for you to flinch.

His hair is still dripping, one strand sliding down his cheekbone before he absently flicks it away. His lashes are thick and clumped from the shower, and his cerulean eyes - always so stupidly pretty - are narrowed with gentle concern.

“You feel a little warm,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss your forehead. Then again, to check. Then again, just because he wants to.

“You have a thermometer in the bathroom,” you mumble.

He hums. “Yeah, but my lips are more sensitive. Doctor’s secret.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him on that one.

His hand rubs slow, soothing circles into your belly now, just above your navel.

“You been stressed?” he asks softly, like he already knows the answer. “Suguru said you didn’t eat much dinner last night. And you’ve been chewing your lip again.”

“I have not,” you lie, your lip instantly throbbing in betrayal.

He raises an eyebrow. “You want me to call him in?”

“Noooo.”

“Okay, okay. Just me then,” he says gently, leaning over to nuzzle into your hair. “Just me and my genius medical brain.”

You curl into him as he settles beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, his skin still warm and faintly damp against your back.

“I’ll keep an eye on you for now,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “But if it gets worse, I am calling Suguru. And he’s better at the whole bedside stuff, y'know, bullying you into drinking water.”

You groan. “So scary.”

“I know,” he coos, mock-sympathetic as you bury your face into his chest and he exhales, relief softening his posture.

You must’ve drifted off at some point. Somewhere between the soothing rub of Satoru’s hand on your belly and his murmured reassurances into your hair, sleep swept over you with ease. Your tummy still aches a little, but your body finally gives in, tucked safely in Satoru’s arms.

He stays there for a while.

Longer than he probably should, considering Suguru’s downstairs in the kitchen preparing breakfast for three. But he can’t bring himself to move, not when your breathing’s finally evened out, not when your lashes are fanned soft against your cheeks and your fingers are curled loosely in the fabric of bedsheets.

Eventually, though, duty (and the smell of food) calls.

Satoru slips out from under the blanket like a pro, moving slow and careful, even as your hand twitches in protest. He presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls the covers back over your shoulders.

“Doctor’s orders,” he whispers, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Rest. I’ll bring you some toast.”

Downstairs, the clatter of cookware and the faint scent of fried garlic and something sweet fill the kitchen. Suguru’s at the stove, hair tied up in a loose bun, wearing pajamas and an apron. There’s a crease of concentration between his brows as he stirs something in a pan, back turned when Satoru walks in.

“You took your sweet time,” Suguru mutters without looking up. “I was afraid you both got lost." Glancing over his broad shoulder, his voice grows more quiet, "where’s my baby?”

Satoru drops himself onto a bar stool, half naked now thanks to the sweatpants he put on. “Sleeping. Tummy ache.”

Suguru turns, brows immediately furrowing. “What kind of tummy ache?”

“Just a little queasy. Said everything smelled weird, didn’t wanna eat. Was too embarrassed to tell either of us because God forbid she use the fact that she’s dating two medical professionals for her own benefit.”

Suguru sighs through his nose, annoyance already melting into quiet concern. “You check for fever? Tenderness?”

“Yeah. Little warm. No acute pain though. Probably just stress. Or something she ate.”

He nods, turning back to the stove, but you can see it in the set of his shoulders - he’s chewing on it.

“I could’ve made her ginger tea,” he murmurs.

“You still can,” Satoru says, voice gentler now. “I just didn’t wanna wake her. She looked so tired, Suguru.”

There’s a quiet moment. The eggs hiss in the pan. The scent of miso and jasmine rice hangs in the air like a comfort blanket.

“…She didn’t want me?” Suguru asks softly, almost to himself. Violet eyes narrowing down at the eggs. Jealousy hidden in his tone.

Satoru watches him for a second. Then stands.

He walks up behind Suguru and presses his chest to his back, arms wrapping around his waist as he leans down to rest his chin on his shoulder.

“She wanted both of us,” Satoru murmurs into his ear. “But sometimes people don’t know how to ask for help when they feel small.”

Suguru’s hands slow on the spatula.

“…I’ll bring her tea,” he says, voice low. “And the toast you promised.”

“And a kiss,” Satoru adds with a grin.

Suguru climbs the stairs with a tray balanced in one hand - tea steeping, toast buttered lightly, a few cut-up slices of pear arranged on the side like he’s hoping something will tempt your stomach back to life.

He pushes the bedroom door open slowly with his hip.

You’re still curled in the sheets, hair mussed and lashes fluttering as you start to stir. The soft clink of ceramic must’ve pulled you from the edges of sleep, because you shift with a tiny groan, blinking blearily up at the silhouette in the doorway.

“…Toru?” you mumble, voice rough and sweet with sleep.

Suguru almost halts, a bit more frusterated, because why didn't you call him? Why didn't you need him? He’s better at this kind of thing, don't you know?

“…No, angel. Just me,” he says quietly, stepping in. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Your eyes widen a bit when you realize who it is, and you look momentarily sheepish. Guilty, even.

“Oh…” you whisper. “He said he wouldn’t tell you.”

Suguru sets the tray on the nightstand and sits beside you, brows drawing in with something too tender to be disappointment, but too honest to be nothing.

“He didn’t tell me,” he says gently. “I asked.”

You fidget with the corner of the blanket. Not quite meeting his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I just… I didn’t want to worry you.”

His expression softens completely at that, pain and adoration warring in his chest. He cups your cheek with one hand, thumb brushing under your chin just to get you to look at him.

“Worrying about you is part of the job, baby,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to hide when you’re not feeling good. Not from me.”

You swallow, lips wobbling. Tears threatening. Why does he always make it so hard. “But you made breakfast, and you’re always taking care of everyone, and I know you'd ask those embarrassing questions, like if I - ”

Suguru cuts you off by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I want to take care of you,” he whispers, voice thick with feeling. “That’s not a burden, it’s a privilege.”

You sniffle, eyes glossy. “I feel gross. I was gonna throw up earlier.”

He brushes a hand down your side. “And I’d hold your hair back if you did.”

You crumple.

“Don’t make that your romantic line,” you mumble into his chest, and he chuckles softly.

He coaxes you up just enough to sip some tea, holding the cup for you like you’re delicate and precious. Which, to him, you are. You settle into his side as you drink, and he rests his chin on top of your head.

“…Next time,” he says, after a quiet moment, “call for me first. Okay?”

You nod, a little guilty. “Okay.”

He presses another kiss to your crown, arms wrapping around you like he’s keeping all your little broken pieces from spilling out.

“Good girl.”

The next time you wake, the light filtering through the blinds is tinged warm and golden, the kind of hazy evening glow that makes everything feel soft around the edges. You blink slowly, body still heavy, and shift beneath the comforter with a groggy little sigh.

Something’s tucked into your arms.

Not the pillow you remember falling asleep. Your fingers curl instinctively around plush fur and a tiny satin ribbon.

It’s a stuffed animal. A fat, round calico cat with sparkly eyes and a ridiculously oversized head. It smells faintly of Satoru, his cologne and the faint clinical scent of the hospital.

Your heart squeezes a little in your chest.

There’s a folded note pinned between its tiny paws.

“Stopped by on my break. Pedialyte’s in the fridge. Sugu will be back soon. - Toru <3”

You read it twice. Smile once.

The ache in your belly is still there, but somehow… duller now. Softer around the edges. Easier to sit with when you’re wrapped up in blankets, a stuffed cat in your arms, and the quiet knowledge that your boys thought of you, even between patients, even while juggling god knows what in their day.

The apartment is still. Peaceful.

Somewhere in the fridge, there's a bottle of blue Pedialyte with your name on it. And in another hour or so, Suguru will be home too - probably with soup, and a forehead kiss, and a quiet grumble about how they both should’ve stayed home with you.

You pull the stuffed cat closer to your chest and close your eyes again.

Maybe it’s not so bad to admit you have a tummy ache. Not when it means being spoiled so much by them.

[lilislegacy]

does anyone else forget that percy and annabeth (and all demigods) aren’t actually human? they’re part human, part deity. but not identified as either.

like… they have some human dna, they appear human and act human and feel human… but they are not human. just like they’re 50% god, but they are not gods. becasue even though the gods choose to appear as humans, they are composed of the same fundamental particles and forces that make up everything in the universe. they’re incorporeal energy. they’re these metaphysical transcendent entities that can shape-shift

and that is half of what a demigod is. percy and annabeth are not human beings. they’re some kind of hybrids. they’re humanoids. if percy and annabeth were to take DNA tests, the results would look something like this:

findings: what the fuck? error.

and i low key feel like they would have a good time using this fact to make ppl uncomfortable

like imagine percy and annabeth are out with both their families on a walk near the beach, and there’s this little mini cliff. percy and annabeth just casually jump down, but the rest of them are like “uh, guys, we can’t do that” to which percy and annabeth just respond “ugh, humans…🙄” knowing full well that for the rest of the day, all any of them will be able to think about is how the two of them are in fact, not human.

[sakuravalenp]

Don't eat anything else - DC X DP

Using this prompt

Next part

Masterpost

Danny is sure that if it wasn't for his ghost side, he would have already died from malnutrition. Vlad, the monster he is, doesn't allow him to eat any meal without human meat. It's not that he isn't allowed vegetables, fruits, and animal byproducts, but every meal has human meat somehow. Vlad watches him with piercing eyes while he eats, making sure he doesn't avoid the meat.

He's gone days without eating just to avoid it, but eventually, he does have to eat. He has eaten human meat! He wonders if this is why Dan decided to renounce his human side.

Future Vlad had told him that Dan wanted to get rid of his ghost side due to his grief, but maybe Dan thought he would feel better about eating humans if he were a complete ghost. Danny could understand that, but he now knows it wouldn't work...

The Infinite Realms are full of different species, and the act of eating another species that's able to coexist with you in a society feels just as horrendous as cannibalism. Was finding this out what drove Dan mad?

He isn't getting much nutrition when he does eat either, not with him vomiting at least half the times he does. Not that Vlad cares about that;

"Ectoplasm will take care of your body while you stubbornness dies. I do think it would be easier for you if you just stopped being ridiculous and eat."

Ectoplasm and water are the only things he has free access too, and Danny hates how grateful he is for at least having that.

As if things couldn't be worse, he's also been forced to cook the meat. When he started learning how to cook with Tucker's mom, he never, never, would have imagined he would be using his abilities for this. He has grown numb to butchering human corpses…

Corpses are a frequent view in the kitchen. He's scared one day he'll recognize the face of one of them. Vlad knows it and uses to control him, telling him that if he doesn't behave, their next meal might be Tucker or Sam. He hates to admit how docile he's grown.

He hasn't seen Tucker, Sam, or anyone since the explosion in the lab took his family. Vlad doesn't allow him to leave the mansion for anything besides galas. He has him collared like a dog to prevent him from leaving. Except, his collar is a shock bracelet charged with blood blossoms that would inject into his wrist if he tries to escape.

He thought Vlad was bluffing and tried escaping once. His whole body felt like it was burning up in flames, and he wasn't able to move for a week. Vlad told him that next time, the dose would keep him in bed for a month. He hasn't tried escaping since.

He's still talking with them through chat. He doesn't know if Vlad knows, but he doesn't think he does; he told him his phone exploded with the lab. But he can't tell them anything. How could he? How is he supposed to tell them he has cooked humans? That he has eaten humans? That he has grown somewhat numb to it? He can't, and then he feels like he can't talk about anything else that is happening.

Today, as he serves the entrance dish to the first guests Vlad has had since he took Danny in, he forces a fake smile on his face. Inside, he feels a wave of nausea and dread as intense as the first time he was forced to eat human meat. The grotesque irony of presenting this dish, knowing what it contains, twists his stomach and makes his hands tremble ever so slightly.

They don't know. They have no idea that they're being served their own species. They don't know, and Danny is the one forced to make them eat their own kind.

The appetizer is a vegetable-based soup with barely any traces of meat, but the main dish features a full human fillet. The guilt and revulsion claw at his insides, nearly choking him. He has to at least stop them from eating that. He needs to get them out of here somehow. And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to try and put a stop to everything else. He can’t let this atrocity continue.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Tim didn't feel comfortable listening to Masters talk about how good the food would be, while Masters' heir served the appetizer with the fakest smile Tim had ever seen. The teen looked so clearly uncomfortable and scared around his guardian that it was hard to resist the urge to grab the boy and leave.

Masters had praised his godson’s cooking during the gala last week, all the while keeping a hand possessively on the teen’s shoulder. Tim didn't like how controlling it seemed, nor how the grip tightened when the teen mumbled quietly about his name being Danny. It was difficult to witness the entire interaction, especially as the teen appeared to fall into a state of complete dissociation afterward.

They were already planning to investigate Masters due to the suspicious nature of all his contracts, but after the gala, they had to shift their focus to helping the teen. They were fortunate that Masters had granted them easy access to his mansion with the invitation to try Danny's cooking.

They couldn't all go to Masters's and leave Gotham behind, so at the dinner, it was just Bruce, Cass, and Tim. Jason was also in the city because he refused to stay away from an obvious abuse case, but he wasn't allowed at the dinner. He would have attacked Masters just from seeing Danny’s uncomfortable stance under his hand during their greeting.

Masters had insisted that Danny serve the food since he had made it, and now Danny stood beside him, serving him the last plate of soup. Danny stumbled for a moment, and before Tim knew it, he was bathed in soup. Tim blinked, surprised at how the soup wasn’t as hot as he had expected, given the steam rising from the other plates.

"Daniel! What the hell are you doing!?"

Vlad exclaimed, standing up from his place, and the teen beside Tim paled.

“I—I am so sorry!” Danny apologized, using napkins to help clean off the soup, his hands slightly trembling. “Did you get burned?”

"No, no, don't worry about it. I'm okay."

"It isn't okay. Daniel, you ruined Mr. Drake's clothes!"

"Sorry... Let's- I think I have clothes that could fit you... So you could change?"

Oh, so that was why his soup wasn’t hot. Danny had poured it on him deliberately; he was trying to get him alone. Despite how scared Danny looked, it seems he still clung to the hope of escaping. Tim felt a surge of relief and determination. He was glad to see that Danny was looking for a way out, and this chance could be their opportunity to devise a plan.

"Thanks, I would appreciate that." he said as he stood from his sit. He saw how Masters was opening his mouth to say something, but Tim didn't want to risk loosing the opportunity. "Please, don't worry about it Mr. Masters, accidents happen, we'll be back in a moment."

Tim locked eyes with Bruce for just a second, a barely noticeable nod telling him Bruce trusted him to do this right. He then followed Danny through the mansion’s halls and up the stairs, noting that Danny’s bedroom was on the top floor. Danny kept his arms crossed, trying to make himself appear smaller.

"I'm really sorry Mr. Drake. I should have been more careful."

"It's okay really, and please, just call me Tim."

"Oh, um, thanks, but Vlad doesn't like nicknames... would- would it be okay to use Timothy instead?"

“… Yeah, sure.” It seemed Vlad controlled the way Danny was allowed to speak. “Would you mind if I call you Danny then?” Tim asked. He had been mentally referring to him as Danny since the gala and wanted to match that with his spoken words.

Danny shrank farther into himself, and Tim was about to retract his suggestion, but then a small smile appeared on Danny's face and he turned to look at Tim.

"Yeah, I would like that." Danny said in a hushed toned, and a hint of fears in his eyes. Like he was afraid to accept the suggestion.

Tim wondered if Masters had punished Danny for mumbling his preferred name at the gala. However, before he could dwell further on the types of punishments Masters might have used, Danny's eyes widened.

"Ancients, you even have soup on your hair-"

Despite Tim’s attempts to reassure him that everything was okay, Danny continued to apologize throughout the journey to his bedroom. Lamenting how foolish it had been to let the plate slip, and how he should have known better.

Danny’s constant self-reproach made Tim question whether he had misjudged the situation. Maybe it had been a genuine mistake. In theory, it wouldn't matter, because he got to talk alone with Danny either way, but he liked thinking that Danny was reaching out for their help.

Once in Danny's bedroom, Danny beelined to his closet to give Tim a change of clothes. Tim took the opportunity to look around. Danny's room was… impersonal. It was sophisticated and extravagant, like a room that would be featured in a magazine. Tim was sure Danny hadn't decided on the decor. He was surprised to see the bedroom had a large balcony connected to it. Maybe Masters trusted it was high enough for Danny not to attempt escaping through it?

"Would this outfit work for you?"

Danny was holding a suit similar to the one Masters had worn at a previous gala. Now that Tim paid attention to Danny's outfit, he noticed that Danny's clothes today were almost a smaller version of what Masters was wearing, with just enough differences to not be immediately recognized as the same. Thinking back to last weeks gala, their outfits were also similar. To what extent was Masters controlling Danny's life?

"Um... if you don't like it I can grab another one..."

Tim blinked, realizing he had just stared silently at Danny while he offered him the clothes.

"No, sorry, got lost in thoughts, I'm okay using those."

"Okay, I'm glad. Again, sorry for..." Danny motioned to Tims clothes "You can change in my bathroom over there." He pointed to a door beside the bed. "Maybe also take a shower?" Danny got a towel from his closet and offered it to Tim.

"Yeah a shower would be good." Tim said, taking clothes and the towel and entering the bathroom.

He'll talk with Danny once he was changed into clean clothes. If only to calm Danny's guilt about the incident.

Danny's bathroom was spacious, with a jacuzzi bathtub, a separate shower, and one of those popular bidet toilets. From an outside perspective it must look like Danny has anything he could want, but Tim knows better than anyone that money doesn't guaranty a good household. It's sad knowing that any CPS agent that did decide to look into this, would be easily push away by Masters money.

Once Tim had showered and changed clothes, he prepared to go back to the bedroom to talk to Danny, but before he did, a green glow from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Tim sucked a breath when he saw what it was. A syringe with traces of Lazarus waters and blood sat beside the sink.

"Timothy? Everything okay in there? Did the clothes don't fit?"

Tim took a photo of the syringe and sent it to the group chat with the caption, "We may have to add experimentation to Danny's abuse." After taking a sample, he decided to leave the syringe behind, considering the possibility that Masters might use the same syringe more than once and notice its disappearance. He really hoped to get Danny out of there that same day, but if they couldn't, he didn't want to make things more difficult for him.

"Everything is okay! I'll be out in a second."

Tim took one last look around while picking up his dirty clothes, just in case he found anything else. When he left the bathroom, Danny was waiting for him, shifting nervously from side to side. It was time to talk to him.

"Danny, look, I wanted to talk-"

"Ah, let me take your clothes! I'll make sure to clean them and get them back to you!" Danny interrupted him, grabbing his arm and shaking his head with a pleading look.

Tim looked incredulous at Danny for a second, before he realized what was happening and mouthed. "Your bedroom is bugged." He hadn't meant it as a question but Danny had nodded anyway. It was fucked up, Danny couldn't even talk confidently in his own bedroom?

"Right, thank you Danny. I would appreciate that. Perhaps we could take the opportunity to meet again in the future."

Danny gave him the look an adult might give a naive child when talking about an unreachable fantasy, and Tim couldn't help but frown at it. Did Danny believe that even seeing them again was too out of reach?

"That would be great, I'll talk with Vlad about the possibility."

Tim was going to say something else to try to reassure Danny that they would be able to meet, but Danny just handed him two pieces of paper. One was unfolded with text on it, and the other was folded into a small square, smaller than his pinky. He read the unfolded paper first.

- Don't eat anymore of the food. Pretend to have some sort of family emergency and leave, please. Read the other paper when you're far away. -

Tim looked at Danny with questioning wide eyes, but Danny just gave him another pleading look. Tim took a deep breath and took a photo to the paper and sent it to the group chat.

"Oh common, aren't you a little old to ask your guardian about every little meet up you have?" (Would you leave with us?)

Danny gives a nervous chuckle.

"Maybe, but after my family, Vlad tends to be really protective, you know?" He said while pointing to his bracelet.

Tim hadn't noticed how tick the bracelet was before. It was metallic, with a red liquid line in the middle.

"Shock bracelet?" He mouthed.

Danny nodded and then mouthed, "if I scape, it poisons me."

Tim pales a bit at that. They had underestimated how dangerous Masters was.

He motioned to his phone and took a photo of the bracelet after Danny nodded and sent to the group chat with the caption: "Shock bracelet with the capacity of poisoning Danny. We won't be able to get him out right now."

"We should probably go back with the others now."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Group chat

Coffee is my life: *Photo of the syringe*

Coffee is my life: We may have to add experimentation to Danny's abuse.

Death boy walking: Fuck!

Death boy walking: @ Adoption addict, we have to get the kid out of there now!

Bones? What bones?: Bruce is entertaining Masters with Cass at the moment little wing.

Bones? What bones?: I doubt he'll read this.

The blood son: There's no way that buffoon has any relation with grandfather. He's company does not follow any of the leagues morals.

Light & shadow: Maybe he found another Lazarus pit?

Light & shadow: They're supposedly naturally formed right? It shouldn't be that crazy for someone out of the league to have one.

Computer genius: It might not even be Lazarus waters. The tone is slightly off.

The blood son: It is possible that it is a different variation of dionesium.

Death boy walking: Who cares? He's injecting the kid with that thing!

Not Bruces kid: Hate to say it but the zombie is right, we can find what exactly when Danny is safe.

Coffee is my life: *Photo of paper with text*

Light & shadow: ????

Light & shadow: Is the food poisoned!?

Computer genius: Already told them through comms to not eat anymore food.

Computer genius: If the food is poison it hasn't affected them yet.

Light & shadow: Do you guys have a way to deal with the poison there?

Bones? What bones?: Don't worry Bruce doesn't go anywhere without the poison antidote kit.

Death boy walking: Of course he doesn't. The paranoid bastard.

The blood son: It isn't paranoia if the danger is real Todd.

Computer genius: I'll call Bruce in 10 to pretend a family emergency.

Death boy walking: You are NOT going without Danny!

Bones? What bones?: Any possibility on taking Danny with you @ Coffee is my life?

Coffee is my life: *Photo of bracelet*

Coffee is my life: Shock bracelet with the capacity of poisoning Danny. We won't be able to get him out right now.

Not Bruces kid: WTFWTFWTFWTFWTFWTFWTF

Not Bruces kid: Wasn't this a low stakes rescue???

Not Bruces kid: Why is this man coming up with plans in the big villain category?

Light & shadow: I'm scared of whatever "the other paper" that Danny gave Tim says.

Light & shadow: Wouldn't be surprised if Masters was connected with a trafficking ring.

Bones? What bones?: @ Death boy walking?

Bones? What bones?: You're too silent...

Bones? What bones?: Remember you won't be able to barge in without putting Danny in danger.

Death boy walking: I ALREADY KNOW THAT DICKFACE.

The blood son: Tt, don't be so surprise by the warning Todd.

The blood son: Your past actions have prove it necessary.

Death boy walking: Shut the fuck up demon brat. You're not one to talk.

... The blood son is writing ...

Light & shadow: Everyone have had their outburst of bad decisions.

Light & shadow: Can we go back to Danny?

Light & shadow: How likely do you think it is that he's a meta?

Light & shadow: Because, I think it's pretty high.

Not Bruces kid: Did you see something strange in him on the gala?

Light & shadow: No, but the bracelet are pretty similar to the meta-suppressors collars I've seen in the past.

Computer genius: I'm calling Bruce right now.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

next part

[custody-if]

CUSTODY is a slice-of-life IF rated 17+ for explicit language, child abuse, substance abuse, self-destructive behavior, sexism, sexuality and more. Inspired by the movie Thirteen. Please avoid if you don’t enjoy reading these themes.

Note: I’m new to all of this so please bear with me!😭 Also know that I don’t condone to any of this, if you see or know a child is being abused please say something or call the authorities!

⟡ DEMO (TBA) ⟢ FORUM (TBA) ⟡ INTROS (TBA)

Step into a life of a teenager, trying to survive along with their three siblings, and with the court system trying to pull you all apart—you must not let them.

You always felt that you’ve been cursed since birth.

You and your siblings being taken away from your parents when you were twelve by child services due to child abuse and domestic violence really put a traumatic impact on your innocence and child like imagination. And thanks to the court systems and such you and your siblings weren’t split apart—imagine what could have happened if they did…

Moving from place to place and home to home has really put a weight on you, but that’s not the real issue. The real issue is them, your foster “parents” and they are something you can’t really get rid of either. Finally settling in your new home, California Los Angeles, you really thought everything would get better. I mean you just started becoming a teenager lucky number thirteen, by now life should be better right?

No.

In fact it got much worse.

Your older brother stopped coming home more, your sister started bringing a new boyfriend home every week because something obviously went wrong and she won’t tell you, and then there’s your younger brother who doesn’t even know what’s truly going on.

The world along with your body is changing every second.

Your now in the 8th grade where there is significant physical changes and emotions all over the place, your starting to notice things that weren’t as important then they were as before and the main focus is to fit in.

Completely shut down and make your own decisions because you feel like you’re old enough.

Make your foster parents life a living hell, and deal with your siblings.

Deal with running away, drama, fights, teen heartbreak, late-night parties, peer pressure, self-discovery, court systems, small teen romance, and parental relations along with family dysfunction…yea it’s a lot.

Will you be able to keep yourself from breaking?

✦ CUSTODY is highly inspired by the movie Thirteen but will have no spoilers! ✦

Full character customization (with wide-ranging effects on story and gameplay): pick your gender, height, build, personality, and sexuality.

Choose your background such as race and backstory.

Choose your aesthetic and how your bedroom looks.

Choose how you react with your older siblings (such as being clingy, avoidant, dependent, innocent, quiet and more).

Be a parent figure for your younger sibling or let the older ones do the work.

The choices you make affect how others around you look at you.

Customize your foster parents by choosing them to be FM, FF, or MM.

Choose to trust your foster parents or don’t it’s your choice. (You don’t have a choice)

Make your foster parents frustrated by being a rebellious teen or obedient.

Choose the family pet (Cat, dog, parrot, or bunny).

Try to fit in with the other kids in the neighborhood by choosing to do drugs, skip school, or dress more “revealing”. (That’s if you fall into the peer pressure)

Create friendships or be a loner.

Have a small crush, full time relationship (by choosing between 3 love interests)

Create a reputation for yourself in the 8th grade.

Avoid being split apart from your family by behaving or misbehave.

Child services checks in every time once a month (choose how to react when you see them).

⟡ MAIN CHARACTERS ⟢

The Older Brother: Sylas ⟡ he/him, 18 ⟢ The ordinary rebellious teenage boy who literally doesn’t give a shit about you or anyone else in that matter. Sylas who was born first already knows how it all goes, he told you many times how child services had almost taken him away before you was even born, and to be honest it almost sounds like he brags about it. Highly reserved and keeps to himself in his room or is either never home. You wondered why he never tried to save himself and run away. Maybe it’s because you and the rest of his siblings are his last hope in this hell hole.

Personality: confident, rebellious, short tempered, and charismatic. He likes dark humor and is not afraid to tell you how stupid you look.

Appearance: 6’3 in height with chin length dyed black messy wavy hair dyed with black streaks that he somehow makes looks good, with tanned like skin which is weird since he never leaves his room, and dark brown eyes along with his angel bite piercing, tongue piercing, eyebrow piercing on the left, and ear piercings. He wears a black band t-shirt from the 90’s that he stole from a thrift store and wears baggy grey ripped jeans with a black belt that has silver rhinestones with a skull along with black sneakers. He also has a full tattoo of angel wings on his back, rumor says it’s because it was his nickname back at his old “job” when he was 17.

Your Only Sister: Darcelle ⟡ she/her, 16 ⟢ Darcelle always gotten the spiteful looks from mom every time she was either getting ready for school or just to go hang out with her friends. It was obvious that she was jealous of her, even dad would give her unusual stares. Darcelle was one of the prettiest girls in her whole school and neighborhood, and I mean everyone loved her but that didn’t take her time away from you and the rest of her siblings. She would always take you out along with your younger brother when things in the house got really bad. Now..she doesn’t do that anymore. Maybe there’s something more going on than you realize.

Personality: sharp and quick-witted, she holds confidence on the outside but in the inside she’s emotionally unstable. She treats you and your siblings entirely different than she treats everyone else.

Appearance: 5’5 in height with long length brown wavy hair with dyed blonde highlights and amber eyes along with pierced ears that holds gold hoop earrings. She wears makeup which you don’t understand why since she looks beautiful with or without it. She has tanned skin just like your older brother but with moles all over her body. She wears a red lace crop top and jean shorts with long white socks with red stripes at the top along with red adidas. She likes the color red which is obvious, her nails are also painted red with gold highlights.

Naive Younger Brother: Ollie or Oliver ⟡ he/him, 7 ⟢ You can’t blame him from being naive, I mean he’s only seven but even you knew what was really going on by the age of five. You guess that happens when neglecting parents choose to live through their youngest child. Your older brother always told you that Ollie wouldn’t survive in a world like this and should just hurry up and put him down before something worst gets to him first, he was quickly put to silence by your sister. What ever happens you will make sure nothing ever happens to Ollie, not while you’re still here.

Personality: shy, quiet, dependent, he has a hard time looking at people in the eyes and always hovers around you when he doesn’t have his toys to play with.

Appearance: 3’9 in height with short messy dark blonde wavy hair with brown eyes and tanned skin with freckles all over. He has a small scar near his eyebrow ever since he fell from climbing a tree, you can trust that he never climbed a tree ever again. He wears a normal dark green hoodie with a picture of a dinosaur on the front and long jean shorts with brown sneakers and white socks. He carries his stuffed bear that’s nearly falling apart every wear he goes.

⟡ ROMANCES ⟢

The Handsome Stoner: Scott or Smokey ⟡ he/him, 13 ⟢

He’s known all around town as the stoner kid. He is usually seen behind stores or with his group of friends near the abandoned mall. He’s popular with the girls and rumors say with the boys as well, but when it comes to teachers and police officers not so much. He was the first to talk to you on the first day of school, he gave you some pointers of what you should and shouldn’t do, which was no help at all but you didn’t tell him that. You will always know if he’s near when you smell that huge aroma of marijuana.

Personality: easygoing, creative, openminded, and empathetic. Smokey will always have your back and even more if you offer him a blunt, if you smoke ofc! He once told you that his first blunt was when he was 8, it was offered to him by his older brother which he talks about all the time. When that stupid redhead tried beating you up along with his friends, Smokey came to the rescue earning himself a purple eye and a free new Pokémon card deck which is his second favorite thing besides weed. He said he never had a fear of death since everyone dies, but his true fear was never being able to be high again.

Appearance: 5’3 in height with shoulder length dirty blonde hair, fair skin with light freckles, and hazel eyes with a silver eyebrow piercing on his right and a single silver peace piercing on his left ear. He has a secret tattoo of a weed plant on his shoulder. He wears a brown hoodie with a white peace logo on the front and dark grey sweatpants with floral patterns, green converses, and a grey beanie. He also wears a sliver ring on his middle finger that he got from a corner store near the bowling alley.

(TBA)

[rosachae]

safe | karina x reader, part one

⁍ song: hold on, we're going home - drake ⁍ genre: idol!karina x idol!reader. angsty, suggestive. ⁍ w.c: 14.3k ⁍ warnings: curt language, a little bit nsfw(?), more so just suggestive. ⁍ synopsis:

y/n is the 6th member of le sserafim, and an incredibly skilled dancer. when she's set to perform a special stage with karina, she finds herself growing closer to the girl in ways she'd have never imagined. the problem is, sometimes things don't work out the way you want them to.

current day

there were plenty of pretty people in the world, each carrying their own charm, but none of them compared to yu jimin. there was something about the way she carried herself that made everything else fade into the background. it wasn’t just her face, though that alone could turn heads with little effort. it was the way her expression shifted when she listened, the way her eyes held a quiet confidence that made you want to look longer. her beauty didn’t scream for attention. it settled into the room like it belonged there, like it had always been there. from the moment you saw her, you felt it, this quiet certainty that no one else would ever measure up. not because she tried to be more than anyone, but because she simply was. every small gesture, every glance, every word seemed to land with a weight that lingered longer than it should have. you didn’t even try to convince yourself otherwise. no one could rival her. not for you.

if you’d have asked your childhood self where you’d be in your twenties, you never in a million years would have expected this.

your knee bounced up and down, restless against the pleated fabric of the le sserafim dorm couch. across from you, chaewon watched in silence, her stare steady and unreadable. it wasn’t disappointment. it wasn’t frustration. it wasn’t pity either. whatever it was sat heavy between the two of you, stretching out the quiet until it felt suffocating. she stood with her arms crossed over her chest, unmoving behind the coffee table, her lips pressed into a thin line as if holding back words she didn’t want to say yet. her voice cut through the stillness, sharp and persistent.

"when did it all start?"

the question echoed inside your head like a bell that refused to stop ringing. you knew exactly what she meant, but the weight sitting in your chest made it impossible to speak the truth. shame curled in your stomach, anchoring you to the couch.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about." you lied, eyes darting anywhere but at her. the words came out dry and sharp, like something sour you had no choice but to swallow.

chaewon shook her head, a quiet sigh slipping past her lips before she finally stepped around the coffee table and lowered herself onto the couch beside you. with the distance gone, you had no choice but to meet her eyes. her face was drawn tight with concern, but beneath it was something softer, something like confusion that she couldn’t quite mask. she didn’t let up.

"y/n, don’t play stupid with me now. why are you so reluctant to talk to me?" her voice dropped, softer this time, almost unsure. "when have i ever made you feel like you can’t?" 

the vulnerability in her voice was all it took for everything to finally crack open. the frustration that had been building inside you surged forward, breaking free as sobs shook through your body. you lurched forward and felt her arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you into the safety of her shoulder. you cried harder than you had in years, not since you were fourteen and your parents sat you down to tell you your beloved pet was gone. but this sadness was different. it felt like grief that hollowed you out, like something inside you had splintered and left you struggling to hold the pieces together. part of you was thankful the dorm was empty, the other members busy preparing for the upcoming ‘different’ comeback. you weren’t sure you could handle their quiet concern or the weight of their sympathetic stares.

"i’m sorry, chae," you mumbled through your sobs, your arms tightening around her waist as if afraid to let go.

"hey, no, no, why are you apologizing to me?" chaewon’s brows pulled together in concern, her voice soft and steady as she instinctively began to rock you back and forth. her hand found the small of your back, drawing slow, soothing circles, trying to ease the tremors still rolling through your body.

"i made a mistake," you choked out, barely louder than a whisper. the words clung to your throat like they didn’t want to leave, heavy and sharp, weighed down by the shame you could no longer suppress.

chaewon’s arms tightened around you, anchoring you to her warmth. she didn’t say anything right away, giving you space to breathe, to find your footing. when she finally spoke, her voice was even softer than before. 

“talk to me," she coaxed, patient and careful, like she was afraid to push too hard but needed you to know she was right there, ready to catch whatever you couldn’t hold on to anymore.

you took a deep breath, letting it rattle through your lungs as you tried to gather the courage. the words sat heavy in your chest, but there was no turning back now. finally, you spoke.

“it started when we met.”

__

past

the energy backstage hummed like a slow building current, thick with hairspray, heat, and the collective nerves of idols pacing polished floors in their stage outfits. someone from the sound crew was yelling into a walkie, his voice half swallowed by the bass leaking from the main stage monitors. across the corridor, makeup artists huddled near mirrors, adjusting stray strands and patting down foreheads, while stylists crouched on the floor, arms filled with lint rollers and spare in-ears. you were standing with the rest of le sserafim near the waiting area, makeup carved sharp to match the mood of the performance and a dark brown trench coat tight around your frame to combat the arena's cold conditioned air. you were set to go on after txt and just before illit, the kind of lineup that kept your stomach in knots no matter how many stages you’d done.

no matter how many times you’d been here before, performing in front of fans at music bank, the nerves never seemed to completely fray. 

you’d rehearsed ‘hot’ until your joints felt fused with muscle memory, the choreography living in your spine even when the music wasn’t playing. still, the thought of the audience made your breath catch in the back of your throat. fans, seniors, label staff, cameras broadcasting to god knows how many countries. it was so numbingly daunting. especially considering it was your first performance back from a hiatus.

chaewon was beside you, quietly mouthing the chorus under her breath, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket like she was trying to keep every last ounce of warmth close. kazuha stood a little apart from the group, leaning against the wall with one heel pressed to the baseboard, head tilted like she was listening to something no one else could hear. yunjin adjusted her belt with a short sigh, chewing at the inside of her cheek. eunchae held her water bottle like a lifeline, wide-eyed as she stared at the screen above the hallway showing the live feed from inside the venue.

you stayed still. part of you wanted to stretch again, or check your reflection in one of the handheld mirrors scattered across the benches, but your body didn’t move. the adrenaline had started to creep in already, making your pulse feel a beat too fast under your skin.

chaewon leaned in just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours as she glanced down the hallway.

“you okay?” she asked under her breath, voice low enough to disappear under the buzz of staff calls and monitor feedback. she didn’t look at you directly when she said it, but you could feel her watching anyway.

you nodded once, too fast to be convincing. “yeah. just cold.”

she huffed a soft laugh, barely audible. “you always say that when you're about to freak out.”

you cracked a smile, or tried to. your face didn’t quite cooperate.

“how’s your leg?” she added, quieter now.

you shifted your weight subtly, the movement instinctive. it didn’t hurt, not exactly. not anymore. not in the way it did when you first fell wrong during rehearsal, when the whole room had gone sideways with pain and panic, or in the weeks after when even watching the others practice felt like swallowing glass. but you still felt it, like a ghost in the muscle.

“it’s fine,” you said. “tight. but fine.”

chaewon finally looked at you then, head tilting the slightest bit. “don’t push it.”

you nodded again, this time slower. “i won’t.”

the injury had pulled you off the last cycle of promotions, and even though everyone was supportive, there was a quiet pressure in your chest that hadn't gone away. something about being away too long, about having to prove you still belonged here. you’d come back in time for end-of-year rehearsals, cleared for stage just weeks ago, and every performance since had felt like walking on a wire.

chaewon’s hand brushed yours for a second, nothing more than a touch, and then she stepped back into place as the call came through the earpieces.

“le sserafim, standby.”

you felt your body move before your brain could catch up, following the rest of the group toward the stage entrance. only, before you could step too far, you’re stopped at the feeling of a lean body knocking into you. your shoulder jerked slightly from the contact, slightly dazed. it wasn’t hard. more of a fleeting bump, the kind that happened constantly backstage with too many bodies moving through tight hallways. still, something about it snapped you out of your thoughts like cold water poured down the back of your neck.

“sorry,” came a voice, low and smooth, so casual it almost didn’t register.

you turned, expecting a rushed bow from a staff member or maybe one of the rookie groups shuffling into their next camera queue. instead, your gaze landed on her.

not framed by a screen. not softened by filters or distant from across a press conference room. she was right there, close enough that you could make out every detail. her presence hit you before your brain even had time to register it properly.  

karina. there was something absurd about seeing her in person. she wasn’t supposed to look like that up close. flawless skin, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, that slight smirk playing on her lips like she knew exactly what kind of effect she had. you’d seen her before, who hadn’t? her pretty face was almost everywhere you looked. but this was different.

her outfit clung to her like it was built around her frame. the black crop top, bold with white lettering, sat sharp above her waist. her camouflage jacket hung from her shoulders in a way that looked effortless but deliberate, like it was meant to fall just so. she wore a belt low on her hips, her entire look edged in something that felt like danger wrapped in gloss. gold hoops caught the light as she turned slightly, and the chain around her neck only made the entire picture feel more untouchable. her makeup was heavy but immaculate. smoky eyes that gave her an almost feline sharpness, lips painted in a soft gradient that contrasted the fierceness of everything else. her hair was loose and wild in the best way, falling in soft waves that framed her face with a kind of studied mess. and her face—god, her face. she looked like a portrait. so symmetrical it almost hurt to look at her for too long. so composed it made you forget how to stand.

her eyes flicked toward you, cool and unreadable, and in that moment it felt like the world around you fell silent. the chaos of backstage, the pounding of your own pulse, even the call in your earpiece faded into nothing. 

you didn’t mean to stare, but the moment stretched longer than it should have. your gaze locked onto her as if your body had forgotten how to look away.

“it’s– karina– i’m– you’re—” you stuttered, the words tangling before they even left your mouth, your brain scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

you weren’t the type to get rattled. years in the industry had taught you how to keep your expression measured, how to stay centered even under the weight of bright lights and louder voices. you’d stood beside artists who had ruled charts before you’d even auditioned, and still managed to hold your ground. but there was something different about this– about her. she didn’t feel like just another idol.

karina tilted her head, just slightly, like she was watching a familiar reaction play out for the hundredth time. the look on her face wasn’t smug, but it was clear she knew exactly what effect her presence had.

she took a small step back, almost unnoticeable, and let the light from the stage hallway catch the side of her face. it brought out the shimmer along her temple, the warm gleam of her earrings, the perfect stillness of someone who didn’t need to say much to own the space around her. her smile curved, a subtle upward tilt that said she wasn’t surprised by your reaction in the slightest.

“i know who you are, too,” she said, voice low but steady, with none of the awkwardness you were currently drowning in. “you’re the one coming back from hiatus, right?”

you blinked, caught between confusion and disbelief. “wha–?”

“you’re hard to forget,” she said, her tone steady, neither flirtatious nor performative. there was no pause for effect, no expectation in her eyes. it was just something she believed, something she thought you should know. “it’s good to see you again.”

she didn’t linger, didn’t wait to see how you’d react. her voice had already landed, leaving you to stand in the echo of it.

her manager approached from the side, moving with the kind of quiet urgency that only came from years of shepherding someone through back hallways and call times. they said something under their breath, too low to make out, and karina nodded in response, already shifting forward. the moment ended as easily as it had begun, her silhouette gliding back into the tide of backstage traffic, the space where she’d stood still warm in your memory.

you hadn’t even noticed you’d stopped breathing until your lungs drew in sharp, like surfacing after too long underwater.

“hey,” chaewon said softly, reappearing at your side, her hand wrapping around your wrist with a gentleness that steadied you. “you good?”

you nodded, slower this time, like your body had finally caught up to itself.

“yeah,” you swallowed. “i’m good.”

the voice in your in-ear sounded again, a warning you were running out of time. chaewon practically dragged you up the stairs leading to the main stage. the bass from the opening bars was already humming through the soles of your boots, the kind of low thrum you felt more than heard.

you took a breath and stepped forward, coat shifting around your frame as you moved into position. but even as the adrenaline surged, even as you slipped back into the choreography that had been burned into your bones, one thing refused to quiet.

the place where her shoulder brushed yours still tingled beneath your coat, like her presence had branded itself into your skin.

no matter how sharp your lines were on stage, no matter how many cameras found your face, the imprint of her gaze clung to the back of your mind like it had nowhere else to be.

__

the practice room was quiet except for the low hum of the heater in the corner, a steady, almost soothing sound against the silence. you sat cross-legged on the floor, your hands resting loosely on your knees, absentmindedly stretching your fingers and wrists while your mind drifted somewhere else entirely. two full days had passed since the performance, but karina’s presence refused to fade. it kept replaying in your mind, like a song stuck on repeat, subtle but impossible to ignore.

her face slipped into your thoughts at odd moments. when you were tying your shoes, when you caught your reflection in the mirror, even during quiet moments when nothing was demanding your attention. it wasn’t just the fact that she was famous, or how every detail of her appearance was sharp and flawless under those unforgiving stage lights. it was something deeper than that. you could still hear the tone of her voice, calm and steady, without any hint of performance or pretense. the way she spoke to you was simple and straightforward, but it carried a weight that suggested she meant every word. her certainty had caught you off guard, and you couldn’t stop replaying it in your mind. it was strange how something so small could linger like this, how the memory of her had settled quietly inside you, pulling at your thoughts in a way you hadn’t expected.

you found yourself replaying the moment she brushed past you backstage, how her shoulder had lightly touched yours for just a second, but it left a strange warmth that lingered longer than it should have. even now, you could almost feel it, like a quiet spark beneath your skin.

chaewon settled against the mirror, her back resting lightly on the cool glass as she glanced your way from the corner of her eye. there was a quiet patience in her gaze, like she was giving you space but still keeping track of you. across the room, yunjin was half sprawled on the floor like she’d been poured there. she looped a hair tie around her fingers with the slow boredom of someone who was pretending she wasn’t waiting for a cue to speak. the silence hung for another beat before she cracked it open.

"so," yunjin said, twirling the elastic. "are we just gonna sit here breathing at each other like a lofi-girl youtube live stream?"

"don’t encourage her," chaewon replied under her breath, a habitual comment whenever the younger girl would stir the pot. 

"i’m just saying," yunjin went on, ignoring the warning like she always did, "if i wanted to watch two people avoid talking, i’d go back to my last situationship."

you didn’t say anything. you weren’t even sure what mood you were in. just the dull ache of overstimulation and not knowing what to do with yourself. practice had ended, no one was filming, and you were just left with too much of your own brain.

“you’ve been kind of quiet lately,” chaewon said softly, ignoring yunjin’s comments with a subtle eye roll as she turned her full attention your way, curiosity embedded in her soft gaze. “everything okay?”

you forced a small smile, trying to sound casual. “yeah, just tired i guess. being back on stage, it’s a lot.”

yunjin nodded. “we get it. it’s a lot for all of us sometimes.”

chaewon gave you a look that said she wasn’t convinced. “you’re not telling us everything.”

you hesitated, the weight of keeping your thoughts to yourself pressing down. “it’s nothing. just nerves. i’m still getting used to stuff again.”

chaewon’s eyes narrowed just slightly, but she didn’t press. instead, she leaned her head back against the mirror, watching you like she was waiting for the right moment to push a little further. yunjin stayed quiet for once, her usual teasing energy simmering down as the room settled into a softer, quieter kind of tension. it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it felt fragile.

you shifted your weight, letting your fingers fidget against the fabric of your sweatpants. the truth sat heavy in your chest, but you weren’t sure how to shape it into words that didn’t sound ridiculous. how could you explain that it wasn’t the comeback, or the pressure, or even the exhaustion that had you tangled up like this. it was one moment, one person, one look that kept resurfacing no matter how many times you tried to push it aside.

“you know,” yunjin finally said, her voice lighter now, as if trying to ease the edge of the silence, “it’s okay to admit when something’s got you in your head. we’ve all been there.”

"or someone," chaewon added softly, like she was testing the waters, her eyes still fixed on you, steady and patient.

your stomach twisted, the words clawing at your throat. you stared down at your hands, thumbs pressing into each other in a nervous rhythm. the name hovered at the edge of your tongue, ready to tumble out before you could stop it. you hated how easily she occupied your mind, how quickly her name wanted to surface.

only, before you could say anything, the sharp click of the practice room door opening cut through the moment. you all turned as your manager stepped inside, his head poking through the doorway, eyes scanning the room before landing squarely on you.

"y/n. company meeting."

"now?" your voice came out confused, your brows pulling together. no one had mentioned any meeting to you.

"yes. let’s get moving," he said with a quick nod, already stepping back into the hallway, expecting you to follow.

you rose to your feet automatically, your body moving before your brain had the chance to catch up. behind you, you could feel chaewon and yunjin exchanging glances, their confused stares following you as you trailed after your manager and disappeared down the corridor.

every time you opened your mouth to ask your manager what the meeting was for, something held you back. maybe it was the way he walked ahead without looking back, or the tension in his shoulders that made you think twice. the words sat heavy on your tongue, but never quite made it out. you told yourself you’d ask at the elevator, then in the hallway, then right before the door. but each time the moment slipped past.

by the time you finally worked up the courage to speak, you were already standing outside the meeting room. the door loomed in front of you, quiet and familiar. you had been in that room more times than you could count, but something about it felt different now. the lights inside were already on, shadows shifting through the frosted glass, and your heart began to thud with a dull, uneasy rhythm. inside were the other managers, already seated and waiting. at the forefront of them was a familiar face, sumin. his eyes met yours the moment you stepped through the door, a small smile tugging at his lips.

his face was weathered in a way that spoke of long nights and too many years in the industry. though still young by most standards, he was clearly older than your own manager, who barely looked past his twenties. sumin had to be in his mid-thirties, if not a little older. there was something steady about him, something that made the room feel more serious the moment he looked your way.

he was already seated when you walked in, scrolling through something on his tablet, a half drunk coffee sweating on the table beside him. you barely had time to sit before he spoke.

“we’ve been reached out to,” he said, tapping once on the screen without looking up. “sm wants you to participate in a special stage.”

your brows lifted slightly, but you didn’t say anything right away. special stages came up all the time, especially with award season approaching. sometimes it was a group number, sometimes backup for a bigger act. but rarely did the spotlight land on you, and definitely not like this.

you settled in slowly, your voice cautious. “okay... what kind of stage?”

he tapped the screen once more before finally lifting his gaze to meet yours. his expression was calm, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, something that made your stomach tighten just a little.

“they want a duet with karina from aespa.”

you blinked. the name settles over you like a quiet shift in atmosphere, not loud or dramatic, but enough to stop your thoughts in their tracks for just a moment. karina. the same girl who had been circling your mind without pause for the past two days, refusing to leave no matter how many times you tried to shake her off. you could still see her face clearly in your memory, almost annoyingly so. delicate features sharpened by confidence, eyes that held your gaze a little too long, and lips that moved with a softness that made everything she said feel like it was meant only for you.

“me and karina?” you asked, trying to keep your tone even. “just us?”

he nodded once. “just the two of you. high profile. one performance only.”

you sat back in your chair, the weight of it starting to settle. it wasn’t just any special stage. it was the kind people talked about before and after. clips that trended. gifs that never stopped circulating. and now, for some reason, they wanted you in it. 

“the team said you match well, in contrast and intensity. they want a dance stage, so there won’t be any singing. something dark and gritty.” he paused, then added, “they asked for you, specifically.”

you stared at the floor for a second. your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror wall. tired, slightly hollowed out from the week’s rehearsals. not someone who seemed particularly suited for a ‘concept-heavy duet.’

but still, you said “okay.” 

he didn’t look surprised. just gave a short nod and went back to his tablet.

you weren’t sure what you’d just agreed to. not really. but her name echoed in the back of your mind like a half-formed thought you couldn’t shake.

__

current day

“it started then? y/n, it’s been months.” chaewon’s voice was soft but edged with disbelief, like she was trying to process the weight of what you were finally admitting.

you exhaled, your fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. “yeah. time flew by, i guess.”

she shook her head slowly, her eyes never leaving yours. “when did everything get complicated?”

you paused, searching for the words, feeling your chest tighten with the memory. “after a few practices together. i don’t know exactly when. it wasn’t one moment. things just... shifted.”

chaewon arched a brow, her arms folding across her chest as she leaned in a little closer. “things don’t just shift without a reason. run me through it. from the beginning.”

you nodded, your throat dry as the scenes unfolded in your mind. “it was awkward at first. not in a bad way, just... careful. we were both professional. polite. she was warm, but reserved, like she was holding back a version of herself until she figured me out. and i was trying not to read into anything.”

chaewon’s gaze softened, but she stayed silent, letting you keep going.

“the first few rehearsals were strictly business. we went through the choreography, fixed timing, adjusted spacing. every move was so precise, so close. i kept thinking about how close we had to get for some of those lifts, how her hands felt steady on my waist, how her breath would catch for just a second after a hard set.”

you swallowed, the words catching a little as you spoke them out loud. “and then little things started happening. small stuff. she'd linger after practice to chat. offer to go over a part one more time even when we didn’t need to. she’d compliment me, not in a forced way, but like she genuinely meant it. and every time, it got a little harder to stay neutral.”

chaewon hummed under her breath, her expression unreadable now.

“sometimes i’d catch her looking at me when we weren’t even dancing. like she was studying me. like she was waiting for me to say something first. and i kept pretending not to notice because i didn’t want to ruin whatever... whatever was building.”

you trailed off for a moment, the weight of it thick in the air.

“and eventually it wasn’t just practice anymore. we started texting. we’d stay late to talk. sometimes she’d show up early just to see me before anyone else got there. i tried to convince myself it was just friendship, but every time she smiled at me like that, i felt it. like my chest would tighten and i’d forget how to breathe for a second.”

chaewon let out a quiet sigh. “so you let yourself fall.”

you looked at her, the vulnerability raw in your voice. “i didn’t even realize i was falling until it was too late.”

__

past

anticipation buzzed through hybe the moment word spread that you would be performing with karina. the excitement was immediate. you, arguably the strongest dancer in le sserafim, maybe even one of the most skilled female dancers in the entire company, set to share the stage with the industry’s untouchable ace. karina wasn’t just popular. she was the kind of idol other idols admired, the one who turned heads without trying, who carried a presence that seemed almost unfair. her reputation spoke for itself. an idol’s idol.

“that’s so exciting!” eunchae practically bounced up and down when you got back to the dorm after sumin informed you of the stage. she clasped her hands together and grinned widely.

and it was exciting. even through the nerves crackling under your skin like static, you couldn’t deny the rush of it. the thought of seeing karina’s pretty face again, of spending real time together, stirred something light and breathless in your chest. maybe you’d become friends. maybe you’d exchange numbers, share advice, trade stories only idols understood. maybe, if you were lucky, this wouldn’t be the last time you worked together.

if only you’d known at the time that you’d be getting more than you bargained for. 

the practice room smelled faintly of pine cleaner and sweat, the kind of lived-in scent that clung to wood floors and mirrored walls no matter how many times they scrubbed it down. it was your first time ever stepping foot into the sm building. the room was practically filled to the brim already with choreographers as you pushed the door open slowly, half expecting to be alone.

karina was already there, too. 

she stood near the center, arms crossed loosely over her chest as she watched her own reflection, quietly shifting her weight from one foot to the other. her cropped hoodie clung just above the waistband of her track pants, rising slightly every time she moved. her hair was down, the strands falling past her shoulders in a way that looked entirely accidental but probably wasn’t. a familiar choreographer stood on her side, regailing information off a clipboard held firmly in her hands. but through it all, the noise and chatter, karina’s eyes glanced up at you through the mirror when you entered. 

maybe you imagined it in your daze, starstruck by her sharp eyes and pretty lips, but you could’ve sworn her eyes lit up when they landed on you. it felt almost cinematic. like a slow motion scene in real time where your breath knocked clean from your lungs. only, before you could sit in the moment a second longer, the choreographer followed karina’s gaze and turned to face you. you recognised her. 

“oh, y/n!” lee yejin bowed ninety degrees, clipboard tugging under her armpit. 

you bowed back, relief coursing through you. truth be told, in a space as unfamiliar as this sm building, you were happy to see a familiar face. yejin was one of the choreographers to work with you on ‘hot’, a kind and creative woman you got along with through the entire comeback process. something told you this was your managers doing. 

the corners of your lips quirked up into a small smile. “yejin.”

“it’s so good to see you again! i’m so excited to work with you both. so, we have a vision here, and i think it’s going to be absolutely groundbreaking. if there’s anything you-“ 

yejin’s voice fell on deaf ears. you nodded along with her words, blips of them registering when you needed to give half measured ‘yes’ or ‘no’s’. but your attention kept drifting off to the girl behind her. 

you watch her stretch in silence. her movements were clean, intentional, grounded. there was a stillness to her that made you feel like any sudden motion might shatter something delicate. if only you noticed that she was sparing you glances, too. that you were both stealing glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking. 

yejin clapped her hands once, snapping your attention back. “okay! before we get started, let’s officially introduce you two.”

you blinked, suddenly aware of how fast your pulse was thudding in your ears. as if you didn’t already know who was standing in front of you.

“y/n, this is karina. karina, this is y/n,” yejin said with a bright smile, like the formality wasn’t a little ridiculous.

karina turned fully to face you now, her expression softening into something warmer. “it’s really nice to meet you properly,” she said, voice even, steady, but with a gentle edge of sincerity that landed heavier than it should have.

you dipped into a short bow, your hands clasped politely in front of you. “nice to meet you, too. i’ve… heard a lot about you.”

“same,” she replied, and there was the faintest hint of something playful behind her eyes. “looking forward to working together.”

her gaze lingered a second longer than it needed to, holding you there. you tried not to read into it, but your skin prickled anyway.

“alright!” yejin said, cutting the tension before it could swell. “let’s walk through the choreography. we’ve got a rough draft set, but i want to see how you both move together before we finalize spacing and transitions.”

the word together hung in your head as you followed yejin to the center of the room. karina moved alongside you, close but not too close, and for a brief second, your shoulders nearly brushed.

you couldn’t help but wonder if she noticed the space narrowing, too.

they pressed play. take me to mars poured into the room, the bass low and deliberate, crawling across the floor like something alive. your bodies moved in sync, mirrored but not matching, each beat pulling you closer. the choreography was sharp but sensual, built on tension. every step narrowed the space between you, like an invisible thread pulling tighter with each count.

yejin and the other choreographers moved fluidly around you, watching with practiced eyes. you could feel their gazes tracking your frames, adjusting angles in real time, but none of it seemed to reach you fully. your focus stayed locked on the girl across from you.

karina danced with a kind of contained energy, every movement precise but loose, like she was barely holding back a stronger current beneath the surface. her gaze flicked up every few counts, meeting yours in quick flashes before dropping back into the steps. it made your stomach flip every time. the first contact came fast. on the turn of the next eight count, your arms swept into an intertwined movement, palms grazing as your bodies shifted past each other. the warmth of her skin against yours was brief, but enough to spike your pulse. her fingertips brushed yours like she was reading you, testing the weight of the space between you.

your breath hitched, but you didn’t miss a beat. if she felt it too, she didn’t show it. her face stayed composed, but her eyes flicked to yours again, just for a second. a glance that didn’t need words.

when the moment came, the one where your hand hovered near her waist, where your face came just shy of touching, you felt it. the falter. it was barely anything. a pause no longer than a breath, but enough to notice. her fingers hesitated before landing on your collarbone, a little too soft, a little too late.

after a few run-throughs, yejin clapped once. “that’s good for today. we’ll refine the arm transitions next time. don’t overthink it. the more you do it, the more natural it’ll feel.” they scribbled something onto the clipboard, glanced between the two of you, and added, “great work, both of you.”

then the choreographers, lead by yejin left, pulling the studio door shut behind them with a soft click.

the silence that followed was almost jarring. no music. no directions. just the sound of your own breathing, fast and uneven, as the adrenaline started to fade. karina was still standing at center, arms back at her sides now, her expression unreadable.

you let the quiet stretch a little longer, both of you standing there in the center of the studio, caught in something that didn’t quite have a name yet. after a moment you took a slow step toward her, pulling the words from the space between you like they’d been hanging there the whole time.

“so,” you finally say, your voice soft but steady, “what do you think about all this? the choreography, the concept... everything?”

karina lets out a slow breath, her eyes flicking down briefly before returning to you. “it’s different,” she admits. “i wasn’t sure at first. it feels raw, kind of vulnerable. but i like that. it’s honest.”

“did i make you uncomfortable?”

her eyes widened slightly, like she hadn’t expected the question to be so direct. she opened her mouth, then closed it again. finally, she let out a breath, not quite a sigh.

“no,” she said, shaking her head. “not really.”

you tilted yours, not buying it. “but something was off. i could feel it.”

she looked down for a second, her fingers brushing against the hem of her hoodie. “it’s just…” she paused, her voice quiet. “i didn’t expect to be doing a choreo like this with a girl.”

you nodded slowly, letting the honesty settle between you. “yeah. me neither.”

karina glanced up again, meeting your gaze for the first time since the song ended. her voice stayed soft. “i thought it would feel different.”

“and did it?” you asked.

she hesitated. “yeah. but not in a bad way. just… surprising.”

karina shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her arms folding loosely across her chest. she looked over at you, her expression curious but careful, as if she was testing the waters, trying to figure out how much to say and how much to hold back.

you swallow, feeling the weight of her gaze as it lingers on you, steady and unreadable. the air between you shifts, growing dense with something unspoken, something just beneath the surface. it hums quietly, tension curling around the edges of the moment like smoke. after a pause that stretches longer than it should, karina finally speaks, her voice low, almost hesitant.

"do you want to run through it again? just us this time."

you nod, maybe too quickly, grateful for the excuse to move, to shake off the stillness pressing against your skin. the room suddenly feels different. quieter. more private. the kind of quiet that makes your heartbeat sound too loud in your own ears. without the others, without the eyes and voices and pressure, the space closes in. not suffocating, but intimate. familiar in a way that makes you uneasy and excited at once.

karina steps to the side and taps the speaker. the low, deliberate pulse of the bass rolls out across the floor like a slow wave. you both move into position, muscle memory taking over. the choreography returns easily, but now it carries a different weight. a sharper edge. it’s not just movement anymore. it’s something else.

there’s no one to count the beats. no one to correct your lines. just your body and hers, responding to rhythm and instinct. to each other. every movement is charged. every glance feels like a question. every brush of her fingers sends heat crawling beneath your skin. the air vibrates with it. something electric, something fragile.

your eyes lock again, mid turn, and you realize there’s a conversation unfolding between you with no need for words. it lives in every shift, every breath, every mirrored motion. your bodies speak in silences, in touches that last just a second too long, in the way she watches you like she’s waiting for something. at first, it was just about the routine. the shape of the steps. the mechanics. but now, something else threads through it. you move when she moves, catch her rhythm without needing to think. you dip when she dips. you spin when she spins. her fingers graze your waist, trail along your jaw, and even though she doesn’t say a word, it’s all there. unspoken but loud.

"you learn fast," she murmurs, her gaze flicking toward the mirror, not quite meeting yours.

"so do you," you reply, but your voice is softer now. like you’re both trying not to break whatever this is. whatever it might become.

the moment passed, but something in it stayed with you, clinging to your skin like static. it wasn’t loud or obvious, but it pulsed quietly beneath the surface, impossible to ignore. later that night, as your manager drove you back to the dorm, the city lights blurring past the window, your thoughts refused to settle. they circled around one thing. or rather, one person. karina.

you kept replaying it all in your head. the way her body moved, precise and fluid, like every beat was something she was born to feel. the way she looked at you during that final run, eyes locked, unreadable and intense. it had made your chest tighten, your breath catch, like your body had picked up on something your mind couldn’t yet name.

you told yourself it was the routine. the high of dancing well. the natural chemistry that comes with hours of practice. but even as you stared out the window, pretending to listen to whatever song your manager had playing, you knew that explanation wasn’t enough. it wasn’t just the steps. it wasn’t just muscle memory or partnership.

something about her had shifted something in you. and now, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shift it back.

before you knew it, several sessions had come and gone. each one bled into the next until time stopped feeling separate from movement. you grew attuned to her, how her body flowed with the rhythm, how she anticipated changes in tempo before they even landed. instinctively, you adjusted your own movements to match, to compliment her lines with your own. and she did the same. without words, you learned each other’s timing, each other’s weight and pace, until it all clicked into something seamless. but it wasn’t just your bodies falling into sync. somewhere in between the stretches, the water breaks, and the long hours under dim studio lights, you started learning the smaller things too. how she liked her coffee, the songs she played when no one else was around, the way her laugh softened when she was tired. she asked questions that lingered in your mind long after practice ended, listened closely when you answered.

you learned that she hated the cold but always carried a hoodie in her bag, just in case. that she cracked her knuckles when she was thinking too hard, and that she danced even when there was no music playing. she told you about the time she sprained her ankle during a middle school performance and still finished the routine with tears in her eyes and a smile plastered on her face. in return, you told her things you didn’t usually say out loud. how you got stage fright right before every show, how you used to practice in your bedroom with the door locked and the lights off.

you fell into rhythm, not just with the music but with her. the choreography smoothed out, every transition clean, every beat hit with intention. there were still details to polish, still corrections and notes, but you could feel it coming together. the routine lived in your limbs now, familiar and natural, like muscle memory laced with electricity. not quite stage-ready, but close. so close you could taste it.

today was the fifth session. the bass echoed low through the studio floor, reverberating up your spine as the track looped for the third time. you exhaled, rolling your shoulders back as you caught your breath. sweat clung to your skin, strands of hair sticking to your neck. you were tired. just yesterday you were singing and dancing across the stage at mcountdown performing ‘hot’, running between shoots and interviews, and just narrowly making it on time for a company dinner. today, you wanted nothing more than to collapse on the cold floor.  

across from you, karina stood with her hands on her hips, chest rising and falling in sync with the beat still playing from the speakers. her expression was unreadable.

“again?” you asked, grabbing your water bottle off the ledge beneath the mirror.

“mm,” she nodded, wiping the side of her neck with a towel. “you were a little early on that last transition.”

you raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “i think that was you.”

karina’s mouth twitched, something dangerously close to a smile ghosting over her lips. but she didn’t argue. instead, she walked toward the speaker to restart the track, her silhouette backlit by the soft overhead light. the air in the studio was warm and thick with the scent of sweat, fabric softener, and whatever expensive perfume she always wore that clung to the inside of your lungs.

you moved back into position, eyes meeting hers in the mirror.

“from the chorus?” she asked.

“yeah.”

the music swelled, and you both dropped into motion. each step, each beat, choreographed to bring you closer. your movements mirrored one another, bodies shifting with practiced ease. but the closer you got, the harder it was to ignore the electricity simmering just beneath the surface. it had been building all week. maybe longer. the brush of her arm when she passed too close. the way her gaze lingered too long when you weren’t looking. the deliberate softness in her voice when she said your name.

karina stepped into you for the partner moment, hands on your hips, her body sliding just barely against yours. her touch was firm, professional. but her breath hitched. just for a second, and her hands stayed there too long. you held her gaze in the mirror.

“your count’s off,” she said, but her voice was lower now, less sure.

“no, it’s not.”

only silence followed when the music ended, fading into static and stillness. you didn’t move and neither did she. your reflection looked back at you.  two figures standing too close, eyes locked, tension drawn taut between you like a wire about to snap.

karina stepped back a half inch, but it was pointless. the charge in the air didn’t go anywhere.

“why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, voice calmly measured.

she blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. her pretty features twisted up into a small confused frown. “like what?”

“like you’re trying not to.”

her expression cracked, just slightly. she sighed, shaking her head dismissively. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

karina didn’t answer. her eyes were on your mouth now, flicking back and forth between your collarbone and eyes like she was searching for an out to the conversation. lowe and behold, she found one. 

“we should go again,” she said finally, retreating behind something safe and professional as she hit play on the record for the nth time that session.

only when the music started, she didn’t move right away. she stepped behind you instead. slowly, deliberately. her hands found your waist like muscle memory. 

“fix your posture,” she said, but her voice was hoarse now.

your stomach tightened. 

she stood close, so close you could feel the rise and fall of her breath brushing softly against your neck, just beneath your ear. the air between you was thin, heavy. her chest, warm and steady, pressed lightly into your back, and your body tensed without meaning to. the contrast was jarring. her hands were cold, fingertips like little jolts of static as they slid down your sides, slow and deliberate.

goosebumps bloomed in her wake, a shiver chasing the trail she left behind. she didn’t rush. her fingers paused at your waist, then tightened, just enough for you to feel her there, claiming that space. her breath hitched. maybe yours did too.

the room felt suddenly smaller, the silence stretched and loaded with everything neither of you was saying. the weight of her touch, the heat of her body, the sharp sting of her cold hands. it all sank into your skin like a question waiting to be answered.

you watched her through the mirror, the way she studied you with that same quiet intensity she always wore. eyes dark, lips drawn into a firm line, her expression unreadable. she didn’t blink much. just let her gaze roam over you, slow and deliberate, like she was cataloguing every inch. 

you weren’t naive. you knew she didn’t need to touch you like this. she didn’t need to correct your stance, there was absolutely nothing wrong with it. she especially didn’t need to do it with both hands. not this slowly. she knew it, too. that knowledge hung between you like a thread, neither of you acknowledging it but both of you feeling the weight of it in every careful motion, every inch of space that no longer existed.

she touched you carefully, as if the wrong move would have you crumbling in her grip. her touch was cautious, curious. 

karina wasn’t sure what it was about you that made her so confused. every carefully crafted belief she had was tested the very minute you stumbled into her life. every religious idea embedded into her mind, every self deprecative whisper that told her she was wrong for finding beauty in another woman. with your waist between her hands, your body reacting, your stomach clenching taut and your head tilting slightly so her breath hit your neck— she decided then and there that you were like a drug. 

she tried to tell herself to step away, she really did. she tried to push her attraction to you into the deepest depths of her mind, forced herself to think about the allure she found in tall men like jaewook with coy smiles and handsome features. each and every time, she failed. the intoxication smell of your perfume permeated her senses. the intoxicating way your breath hitched when her right hand drifted up from your hip, nails lightly grazing your back beneath your shirt, lived in her mind like a memory she would never be able to shake. everything about you, she craved. no amount of gospel would ever equal the way she knew she’d commit to you like you were holy. 

whatever guilt she felt in that fleeting moment immediately evaporated when her body reacted on instinct. karina gently turned you around so you were facing her, closed in between her arms. the second you were face to face, she suddenly pushed you against the mirror she ogled you down through only seconds before. a quiet gasp slipped past your lips when your back met the cold surface, but it was her eyes that undid you. 

“this is wrong,” karina whispered, her voice low and wrecked, almost like she was pleading with herself more than with you. her hands still rested at your waist, but there was a tremble in them now, like she was on the edge of something she wasn’t sure she should fall into.

your eyes searched hers, the reflection of the two of you in the mirror blurring behind her. you didn’t look away. “does it feel wrong?” you asked, barely above a breath. your tone wasn’t challenging. it  was gentle, honest, like you were offering her a lifeline instead of an excuse.

she blinked, slow, as if the question hit something deep in her. her jaw clenched, the war playing out across her face in full view. “i don’t know what i’m doing,” she admitted, and it cracked something open in you.

“then stop thinking,” you said, voice soft but certain, and that was all it took.

karina surged forward, her mouth crashing into yours with a desperation that had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long. it wasn’t tentative. it wasn’t careful. her kiss was messy, searing, the kind that stole the breath from your lungs and left no room for second thoughts. her hands slid up your sides, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt, clutching like she needed to ground herself in your skin.

you kissed her back just as hungrily, your hands finding her jaw, her hair, anything you could hold on to. there was heat everywhere. between you, around you, pulsing through every inch of your bodies as they pressed together. your back arched slightly against the mirror, the cold glass a sharp contrast to the fever in your blood.

karina groaned softly into your mouth, her fingers digging in just a little deeper, her lips parting like she wanted to drink you in, like she didn’t know how to stop now that she’d started.

whatever guilt she thought she’d feel was drowned beneath the tide of want, swept away by the way you kissed her like you’d been waiting for this moment just as long. her mouth trailed from your lips to your jaw, then your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses that left your skin burning.

“tell me to stop,” she whispered against your throat, breath hot and shaky.

you didn’t. you tilted your head back and pulled her closer. her fingers curled against your waist, possessive, desperate, like she thought you might disappear.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” she breathed, the words so quiet you barely caught them, but the weight of them slammed into you like a wave.

her voice was raw, frayed at the edges, like the feeling had clawed its way out of her chest. she pulled back just enough to look at you, her eyes dark and blown wide with something far past want. it was too much, too fast, and not nearly enough.

“i think about you all the time,” she continued, barely pausing for air. “when i shouldn’t. when i’m alone. when i’m with other people. and i hate it. i hate that i want you like this.”

you stared at her, stunned by the intensity pouring out of her like it couldn’t be stopped, like she’d cracked open and spilled everything she was too scared to say until now.

“but i do,” she whispered. “god, i do. and right now, i don’t think i can pretend i don’t.”

she trailed kisses down your throat again, each one slower than the last, lips parting just enough to taste. her hands traveled with her mouth. up your sides, around your ribs. not quite touching, but close enough to make your breath catch.

“you drive me crazy,” she murmured, lips barely grazing your collarbone. “i’ve tried so hard not to want this.”

“then don’t try,” you whispered back, voice trembling.

that was all the encouragement she needed. she tugged your shirt over your head in one fluid motion, eyes devouring you like she couldn’t believe you were real. her touch followed, fingertips dragging down your torso, lingering in reverent, slow passes like she wasn’t in a hurry. like she wanted this to last.

you reached for her, fingers sliding beneath her hoodie, needing to feel her just as bare, just as close. her skin was warm, soft under your touch, muscles tense as if holding back. she helped you pull her top off, and suddenly you were chest to chest, skin to skin, heat rolling off her in waves.

her mouth was back on yours in an instant, hands framing your face now, like you were something delicate, something sacred. she kissed you like prayer, like apology, like surrender.

nothing had ever felt more like heaven than it did coming apart in karina’s arms. 

__

current day

at some point, the others came home. you heard them before you saw them. shoes kicked off by the door, the rustle of jackets, the low hum of familiar voices echoing down the hall. normally, you would have greeted them, maybe even joined in on the quiet chaos of winding down after a long day. but tonight, you stayed curled on the couch, chaewon’s arm around your shoulders, your body still trembling in the aftermath of everything that had come undone.

they paused in the entryway. you could feel the weight of their curiosity before they even stepped into the room. yunjin was the first to cross the threshold, all teasing grin and raised brows. until she saw your face. the moment she caught sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and red eyes, the expression melted off her like ice in warm water. all that was left was quiet concern. her mouth opened, like she was about to ask something, but sakura shot her a warning look sharp enough to cut glass.

whatever question was on yunjin’s tongue died instantly.

the rest of the girls lingered for only a moment. kazuha gave you a gentle nod, eunchae hovered like she wanted to come closer but didn’t know if she should, and then, one by one, they dispersed down the hallway without a word. no one asked. no one pried. not yet.

the silence they left behind felt heavier than the noise.

chaewon didn’t speak right away. her arm was still around you, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, grounding you. the silence stretched for a few moments more, just long enough to make you wonder if she was waiting for you to say something first. but then, quietly, she broke it.

“do they know?” her voice was soft, but steady.

you shook your head. “no. just you.”

chaewon nodded slowly, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face with a kind of gentle care that made your throat tighten.

“do you… want them to?” she asked.

you hesitated, staring at the space where the others had just been. your voice came out small. “i don’t know.”

chaewon’s brows pulled together. not judgmental, just thoughtful. “you don’t have to tell them. not if you’re not ready. but you can’t keep letting this eat you alive.”

“i thought i could handle it,” you whispered, blinking hard. “i thought keeping it quiet was the right thing.”

“maybe it was. at first,” she said gently. “but things change.”

you nodded, eyes burning again. “i didn’t think it would get this far.”

chaewon leaned back a little so she could see you better, her expression quiet but fierce in its protectiveness. “y/n… are you in love with her?”

the question knocked the breath from your lungs. you didn’t answer right away. you couldn’t. but she saw the way your jaw clenched, the way your eyes dropped, the way silence folded in around you again.

chaewon let the silence settle again, but only for a breath. she looked at you closely, the kind of look that felt like it could see past your skin, straight into the mess you were trying to hide. her voice was quiet when she asked, but there was no mistaking the weight behind the question.

“when did things start to go south?”

your lips parted, but nothing came out at first. your fingers curled tightly into the hem of your sleeve, knuckles pale. you weren’t sure which moment to name. when the first lie slipped from your mouth? when she started pulling away? when you realized her idea of safety didn’t include you?

“i think…” you started, swallowing hard, “i think it was always heading this way. but i didn’t want to see it.”

chaewon’s gaze didn’t waver. “tell me.”

you took a deep breath.

__

past

you knew what you were getting into. you truly did. in moments of silence, your mind subconsciously drifts back and forth between all of the stolen moments and the late nights where you felt like you were the center of her world. but of course, you remember her warning. a warning laced in sweetness and compassion, but one that you should’ve known would keep her from ever truly being yours; wholly and completely.  

you swallow when you remember a particular time in one of the many hotel rooms of daegu. she’d just snuck in with her face mask pulled up over her mouth, but still you were rocked by her beauty. you don’t think you could ever truly get used to the absurdity of how gorgeous she was. 

the minute you let karina in and shut the door firm behind her, she practically raced to take you into her arms. discarding her face mask haphazardly, she pulled you in close and towards the bed. she wanted so badly to be close to you that it physically hurt her. she pushed her face into your neck as she held you tight, her breath warm against your neck, her nose cold from the trekk she’d made through the cold hotel elevators. but you didn’t mind. not when she held you like you were the one and only thing she needed. 

her fingers traced idle patterns over the fabric of your sleeve, but you could feel the tension underneath her soft touch. she had been quieter than usual all night, and even now, curled into you like she never wanted to move again, her mind felt far away.

“you okay?” you asked softly.

her hand stilled for a moment. “mm-hm.”

you waited. you knew her well enough to know that when she got quiet like this, it wasn’t nothing. she was trying to find the words, but the words scared her.

“you don’t have to pretend with me,” you whispered, brushing your hand gently through her hair.

another beat of silence. her breath hitched slightly. “it’s not you,” she said finally, her voice barely audible. “you know that, right? it’s never been you.”

“i know,” you whispered, but your chest tightened anyway.

she shifted, sitting up just enough to meet your gaze. her eyes were glassy, wide, full of something heavy she’d been carrying for too long. “it’s just… this isn’t like other places,” she said softly. “it’s korea. you know how it is here. you know what happens.”

you swallowed, nodding. “yeah.”

“it’s not just the fans,” she continued, her voice trembling slightly now, words starting to rush like she was afraid she might lose the courage to say them if she didn’t spill them all at once. “it’s the companies. the sponsors. the media. even my own family. it’s not just about me being happy. it’s about all the people who depend on me. all the people watching. waiting for me to slip. and if this ever got out—” she broke off, biting her lip. “we’ve seen what happens to people here. to idols who don’t fit what they’re supposed to be.”

you reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “i know. i’ve seen it too.”

“they ruin you.” her voice cracked. “the headlines. the rumors. the fake stories. the comments. people get blacklisted, abandoned by their own companies. brands drop them overnight. fans turn on them like they never loved them to begin with. even if it’s not true, even if it’s just speculation, it’s enough to destroy someone’s career. to destroy their life.”

her fingers tightened around yours. “sometimes i think about what they would say. about you. about me. what they would write. how fast it would all unravel.”

you stayed quiet, letting her speak, not wanting to interrupt the dam finally breaking.

“i’ve worked so hard for this,” she whispered. “i’ve built everything on being perfect. being who they want me to be. i know it’s stupid, but i’m scared. i’m scared of losing it all. of losing you, even. if it all fell apart, i don’t know how i would survive it.”

your heart ached. “you wouldn’t lose me,” you said softly. “not ever.”

you meant it. with every fiber of your being, you spoke your words and committed to them like gospel. you knew as well as she did that keeping your situation private was the best for your careers. still, when your mind then drifted between all of the instances it felt like more, the tug in your chest sweltered into a sharp ache. 

another hotel room in busan. the room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only came late at night, when the world outside slowed down just enough for you to breathe. thin streaks of city lights slipped through the gaps in the heavy curtains, casting faint reflections on the walls. everything felt distant. the traffic below, the cameras, the eyes always watching. here, inside this small bubble, it was just you and her.

the door opened with a gentle click, barely louder than a breath. she slipped inside, her movements careful, deliberate, as if even the air might be listening. the moment her eyes met yours across the dimly lit room, her shoulders relaxed, her entire frame softening as though she had been waiting all day for this exact moment.

you sat on the bed, legs folded beneath you, watching her with a small, involuntary smile pulling at your lips. “hey,” you whispered.

“hi,” she breathed, her voice a quiet exhale as she crossed the room to you. her bag slid from her shoulder, forgotten on the floor as she climbed onto the bed beside you, immediately curling into your side like muscle memory. her head rested against your chest, one arm slung across your waist, her fingers lightly brushing your ribs. the weight of her pressed into you in a way that felt grounding, like you were anchoring her.

your hand found her hair, fingers slipping through the soft strands, tracing lazy paths over her scalp. you felt the tension leaving her body piece by piece with every stroke. she let out a long, quiet sigh, like she had been holding her breath all day and could finally let it go.

the two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped in silence, not because there was nothing to say but because neither of you needed words to fill the space. outside these walls, everything was complicated. endless obligations, careful glances, coded answers. but here, where no one could see, it was easy. you could be soft with each other. you could be real.

“i missed you,” she whispered eventually, her voice barely more than a breath against your skin.

your chest ached, the words both sweet and heavy. “i missed you too.”

her fingers traced idle patterns on your side, drawing invisible shapes as her breath slowed. “sometimes i wish i could just stay here,” she said quietly. “never leave. never have to pretend again.”

you kissed the top of her head gently, feeling the familiar sting behind your ribs, the one that always came when you thought too hard about all the ways you had to stay invisible. “me too.”

her voice grew softer, more fragile. “it’s scary, you know. how badly i want this. how badly i want you.”

you held her closer, your hand smoothing down her back in long, soothing strokes. “i know,” you whispered. “i know.”

she exhaled again, and for a few precious seconds, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. just her breath, warm against your collarbone. just your fingers in her hair. just the steady thrum of both your hearts, tangled up in something that felt impossibly tender, impossibly dangerous, and impossibly good.

you remembered the stolen moments at award shows and group stages, the ones where she would find you between the noise. 

the music still throbbed faintly through the walls, distant now, like a heartbeat fading into the background. backstage was a maze of shadows and hurried footsteps, voices calling out instructions as crew members darted back and forth. but for a brief moment, tucked away behind a heavy curtain, there was a pocket of quiet that belonged only to the two of you.

karina slipped through the gap, moving quickly, her eyes darting once over her shoulder before they landed on you. the moment they did, the tension in her shoulders softened, replaced by that familiar look that always made your stomach flutter. like you were gravity, and she was helpless against it.

“there you are,” she whispered, already closing the distance.

her hand reached for yours, fingers slipping between yours with practiced ease. the warmth of her palm sent a tiny spark up your arm. you smiled as she tugged you gently back into the narrow space behind one of the stage drapes where no one could see.

her skin still glowed under the remnants of stage lights, faint glitter clinging to her collarbone and neck, her lips still painted perfectly from earlier. you watched her for a moment, taking in every detail, the adrenaline still humming softly beneath her skin.

“you looked…” you started, but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

her lips curved into a knowing smile. “i know.” she leaned in, voice dropping slightly, playful. “but i want to hear you say it.”

you exhaled a quiet laugh, your free hand sliding up to rest lightly on her waist. “you looked incredible.”

she hummed softly, her body swaying closer to yours, her eyes sparkling under the dim lights. “it’s the outfit, isn’t it?” her voice was teasing, but her gaze dipped to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes. “the way you were looking at me during the performance was very… distracting.”

“was i that obvious?” you whispered.

“completely.” her smile deepened, her fingers tightening around yours. “i could feel your eyes on me the whole time. i liked it.”

the air between you grew warmer, heavier, not uncomfortable but charged in a way that made your breath catch slightly. the press of her body was subtle but deliberate, her fingers brushing lightly over the inside of your wrist, tracing gentle circles like she couldn’t bear to stop touching you.

“you’re really playing with fire,” you murmured, voice low, the smallest edge of teasing creeping into your tone.

“maybe i like playing with fire,” she whispered back, her voice silk-soft but charged. her face was close now, close enough that you could see the faint shimmer on her lips, smell the faint trace of her perfume, feel the ghost of her breath against your mouth. “it’s only dangerous if someone catches us.”

“they’re everywhere,” you breathed, but neither of you made any move to pull apart.

“i know.” she smiled, biting her lip. “but you’re standing so close. you’re making it very hard to behave.”

your hand slid up her waist, fingers splaying gently across the small of her back, drawing her closer until there was barely a sliver of air between your bodies. her breathing quickened just slightly, her eyes never leaving yours, pupils dark and wide.

“then don’t,” you whispered.

for a moment, it felt like the entire world shrank to the space between your mouths. but just before your lips could meet, voices rose from the other side of the curtain, snapping you both back into the reality waiting just beyond this sliver of stolen time.

she laughed quietly, soft and breathless, forehead falling against yours. “one of these days, i’m going to get us into so much trouble.”

you smiled, savoring the warmth of her so close. “i’ll take my chances.”

she squeezed your hand one last time, reluctant but already starting to pull away, her smile still lingering like the echo of a kiss that almost happened. “later,” she promised softly.

and then she was gone again, slipping back into the noise and lights, leaving behind only the memory of her breath on your skin and the electric hum still sparking through your veins.

of course, your mind drifted to those moments. moments where she touched you like you were some kind of delicate scripture she so badly wanted to commit to memory. 

her room was quiet, wrapped in the soft glow of a single lamp that pushed back the darkness just enough. the light was warm and low, curling into the corners and leaving gentle shadows in its wake. shoes were scattered by the door, left where they had fallen. her makeup was gone, wiped away to reveal bare skin that caught the dim light and made her look almost unreal. she sat on the edge of the bed, her legs drawn up slightly, wrapped in loose sweatpants and a simple camisole. she looked tired. but she was beautiful in a way that made your chest tighten. beautiful in a way that felt too fragile to name. it made your breath hitch.

you closed the door behind you, the quiet click echoing like a secret between you. neither of you spoke.

she moved first. she stood slowly, her movements smooth but deliberate. she crossed the small space between you with a quiet kind of confidence, stopping just close enough that you could feel the heat of her skin. her eyes lifted to meet yours, wide and searching. there was something raw in them. something she had been holding back.

“does this mean something to you?” her voice was quiet. steady, but careful, like she was afraid of what the answer might be.

you looked at her. you felt the weight of her question settle heavy in your chest. “does it to you?”

her hands rested on your arms, then climbed to your face, then tangled in your hair as her body pressed against yours. the kiss deepened, pulled, turned rough. she backed you into the wall, her breath hot against your neck. you didn’t know how it turned into the bed, or when your shirt came off, only that when her fingers traced the skin above your waistband, you let her.

it was fast and breathless and intense, like everything unspoken between you poured out through touch.

you swallowed, a feeling of bile rising to the back of your throat. some part of you felt almost guilty. you knew the conditions. hell, you may as well have wrote half of them. still, somewhere along the way, the hotel rooms lost their meanings. the pit stops between shows made you feel like more of an afterthought. 

you just didn’t expect it to come to a collapse just three days before the special stage during a shared interview. 

the studio was too warm, the kind of warmth that made the skin feel tight and the breath shallow, like the air itself was trying to press you down. above, the lights buzzed softly, casting a false glow over everything, as though the moment could be softened by something as simple as studio lighting. between takes, the silence had stretched unnaturally long, not heavy enough to feel like tension to anyone else, but sharp enough that every second vibrated beneath your skin. you hadn’t seen her since that night. not in a way that mattered. not in a way that left you pretending you didn’t still carry her fingerprints on your body.

she entered just before filming began, her arrival quiet but impossible to miss. her hair had been cut, dark waves now framing her face perfectly, falling just below her shoulders in soft, deliberate layers. the light makeup made her features look delicate, almost impossibly so under the brightness of the cameras, and the dark blazer draped over her cropped top hugged her frame with an effortlessness that made your stomach twist. she looked beautiful. too beautiful. like nothing had ever happened, like the late nights and the trembling hands and the whispered confessions had been nothing more than some fever dream you had failed to wake from.

the host’s voice, bright and unrelenting, filled the air almost immediately, eager to direct the scene, to keep things light and marketable. they asked the usual questions, the rehearsed ones, the ones meant to make the viewers at home smile and feel as though they were seeing something candid and sweet. promotions were mentioned, schedules were discussed, jokes about long working hours and friendly banter exchanged. and through all of it, you sat beside her, close enough for your knees to brush, the contact igniting a strange ache inside you, an ache that made you resent your own body for still wanting to be near hers.

the conversation shifted, as you both knew it eventually would, to the dynamic between you. the chemistry. the playful teasing your fans adored. the host grinned widely, their excitement almost palpable as they leaned into the question. "so," they said with a sparkle in their eye, "what’s it like working together? there’s clearly some amazing chemistry here."

karina answered with the ease of someone who had perfected this performance long ago. her smile was flawless, the kind that looked natural to anyone who hadn’t seen the version of her that came apart beneath you. "we clicked quickly," she said, her voice light, her tone effortless, "very professional."

the word professional struck you with a force you hadn’t braced for. as though the stolen glances and secret rendezvous in the quiet hours had been some kind of contract fulfillment. as though the nights where she had whispered your name like a prayer, where you had held her as she cried because she was so afraid of what this all meant, had simply been part of the job. like the trembling in her hands when she first kissed you hadn’t meant anything at all.

and then came the question that you had felt looming in the air, inevitable and cruel in its timing. the host grinned again, voice lilting with playful curiosity. "last question," they said with a theatrical pause, "ideal types?"

karina didn’t hesitate. not even for a moment. her answer was as smooth as it was devastating. "i like someone dependable," she said with a soft laugh that made your skin crawl, "funny, strong. like… a guy who’s confident. someone who knows what he wants."

for a moment, it was like your heart forgot how to beat altogether. you had never expected her to speak your name into this space. you knew better than to think she would take that risk. you hadn’t wanted her to confess you, not here, not like this. but the ease with which she had erased you, the casual way she made you invisible, carved into you with a quiet brutality you hadn’t prepared for.

the host leaned forward, emboldened by her answer. "oh, very specific," they teased. "tall? handsome? does he work in the industry?"

karina’s gaze drifted somewhere distant, not meeting anyone’s eyes as she added, "maybe. someone who can handle the spotlight. someone my parents would approve of. someone stable. safe."

the word safe echoed through your mind, splintering into every corner of your memory. safe. was it safe when she had pulled you into her arms after long days, when her voice broke as she told you she didn’t know how to want you and still fear you at the same time? was it safe when she had whispered that no one had ever made her feel like you did, that she had never wanted anything like she wanted you? was it safe when her body had trembled beneath your hands, when her lips had found yours in the darkness where no one could see? nothing about what you had shared had been safe. it had been terrifying and thrilling and raw, but never safe.

the host chuckled, still completely unaware of the quiet devastation unfolding between you both. "ah, you have high standards! love that."

the noise around you blurred, the studio shrinking into a narrow tunnel of light and heat. your heartbeat pulsed painfully in your ears, the air growing thinner with each breath you tried to take. but she kept smiling, as though her words hadn’t just gutted you in front of the entire world. she smiled because that was what she was trained to do. the perfect answer. the perfect idol. the perfect fiction. the one who could never claim you. not here. not now. and maybe not ever.

the host, still entirely too cheerful, finally turned to you. "and y/n? what about you?"

you smiled. it was slow, deliberate, and held together by sheer will, even though your entire chest felt like it might collapse inward. you could feel her answer hovering in the space between you, still thick in the air, suffocating and heavy. your voice came out steady, but every word scraped against something raw inside you. "i think i like someone who’s not afraid."

the host blinked, leaning forward slightly, as though sensing the shift but unable to comprehend it.

"someone who isn’t scared to claim me," you continued, your voice quieter now but impossible to mistake. "publicly. fully. not just when it’s easy."

the silence that followed was not soft. it was jagged and brutal, cutting through every false smile in the room. you didn’t need to look at her to feel her shift beside you, but you turned anyway. you met her eyes, wide and full of something that looked like panic, or maybe shame, or maybe the sharp realization of what she had just done. she opened her mouth slightly, as though words might come, but nothing did.

the host gave a small, nervous laugh, desperately trying to break the tension that now choked the air. "oh—mysterious! sounds like there’s a story there!"

but you weren’t listening. not to the host. not to anyone. you stared ahead, your gaze fixed somewhere distant beyond the cameras and the lights, beyond the stage where you had been reduced to a secret that no one would ever be allowed to know. your words hovered, irreversible and final, hanging like an open wound between you both. unapologetic. and for the first time, you felt your heart begin to fracture in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to mend. she was afraid. she had always been afraid. and maybe, no matter how much you had given her, no matter how much you had held her trembling hands in the dark, she always would be.

that wasn’t something you could carry for her anymore.

you felt your heart rip in two.

__

current day

when you finally finish regaling chaewon with the story, you see it in her face. not right away. she stays quiet at first, her expression still, eyes fixed on some invisible point just past you. the room feels too quiet, like even the air is holding its breath. but then her brows pull in slightly, her mouth presses into a thin line, and her fingers curl tighter where they rest against the fabric of the couch. it’s not anger exactly. it’s something quieter. deeper.

frustration. secondhand hurt. the kind that doesn’t explode, but settles heavy in her chest, in her shoulders, in the way she blinks like she’s trying to process too many things at once. her silence isn’t cold. it’s protective.

“you didn’t deserve that,” she says finally, her voice low and steady, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “any of it.”

you don’t answer right away. there’s a lump in your throat, thick and unmoving. you’re not sure what response would even be fair. you’re not blameless. you knew what you were getting into. still, hearing it out loud, from someone who’s always been a step outside the storm, makes it feel real in a way you weren’t ready for.

“i told myself it was worth it,” you murmur, eyes locked on your hands. “that it didn’t matter if it hurt, as long as it meant something.”

chaewon shakes her head slowly, a breath leaving her like it’s been sitting there too long. “but it did matter. it does. you can’t keep setting yourself on fire just to keep something warm that won’t stay.”

your throat tightens. “i know.”

she shifts beside you, reaching out to gently touch your wrist. her hand is warm. grounding. “you love her,” she says, and it isn’t a question. it’s just the truth, spoken softly enough not to break you.

you nod, eyes burning.

“but love isn’t supposed to feel like this all the time.”

you don’t say anything, because you know she’s right. because deep down, you’ve known it for a while.

chaewon squeezes your wrist, just once. “whatever happens next, you don’t have to go through it alone. even if she’s not there... i am.”

your chest tightens and you nod, afraid that saying anything will split you open. chaewon doesn’t speak. she just stays beside you, quiet and solid, like she’s holding the space steady so you don’t have to. still, your mind drifts.

you think of karina. the way she held you like you were hers, kissed you like it meant something, then acted like none of it ever happened. how she made you feel seen, then vanished into silence. how she smiled through that interview and said she liked confident men, like you weren’t sitting right there.

to make matters worse, you still had to see her again. the special stage was in three days. you ignored your managers calls when you hauled yourself home and into chaewon’s arms, her comfort the only tether you had keeping yourself to reality. truthfully, you didn’t think you could face her again.

still, chaewon held you.

[saetoru]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)