#i didn't even feel the existential dread when i walked the neighborhood

[barabaraoranges]

welcome to your new life!

ft. gn!reader, sam, dorian, mentions of dishy

brief mentions of reader's "microflora" in relation to washing sex toys in dishwasher. does not specify what microflora. reader is called "dude" by Sam

explicit content: none. there's an anal joke, discussions of fucking dishy, discussions of arson, and brief imagery of fucking dorian but nothing explicit. regardless, please remember this is a primarily 18+ nsfw blog when interacting and scrolling.

wc: 2.2k

written before game release. this is a laundry list of the author's initial thoughts and immediate sex jokes when it came to this game. will probably be inaccurate to canon. reader has also not discovered everything is alive. this is also straight up the first i've written in upwards of half of a year so apologies if it's rough.

"Do you think my dishwasher knows I looked up if I could wash my sex toys in it—I mean, him?"

A stranger turned their head as you walked down the sidewalk. You, oblivious to the mortified stare, continued your pitiful attempt at a calming stroll through the neighborhood, loudly chatting with Sam on the phone.

"First, gross. Microbiome flora and stuff," Sam replied. You could hear water running in the background. Dishes, probably. "Second, why would it know that?"

"Oh, he's, uh… He's connected to the—uh—the wifi."

It had been a week since that the thing. The glasses. The thing that made you question every single thing in existence, that made you look into the trees and ask, are every single one of these leaves secretly alive? And do they die each winter? appeared in your life. A single item that introduced a level of existential horror and dread you could have never dreamed of.

You were thankful for your friend Sam and the fact that the outside, well, still existed. Even if the outside consisted of family homes snatched up by corporations that butchered them into grayscale or beige per-the-room rentals for semesterly college students. Or became a revolving door for GroundInn users, shutting out any potential families to settle down. There was at least somewhere to debrief that didn't feel like there were a million things watching, listening to you at all times.

Briefly, you wondered if the HOA had a human form. An image of a businessman popped in your head—grayscale, beige, lifeless like the homes that filled your street. Your grass is too tall! No native wildflower habitats! Your house color is too bright! The bylaws, the bylaws, pay the fine!

A sweat pearl rolled down your face.

"… Okay, that's fucking weird and super intrusive. So like, yeah, he probably does know. But like, dude-"

She paused.

"-I think you're edging your dishwasher."

So casual. So passive with the delivery. And yet, it felt like a truck with how tight your chest felt. You needed somewhere to sit to process.

Thankfully, at the end of the neighborhood was a small café, its windows shuddered and door boarded up. Café au Café had been an established, family owned café that you remembered fondly from childhood. It'd grown with you over the years, in all the good and bad ways. It's where you celebrated many birthdays, had many of breakdowns in over college work, and celebrated your eventual graduation. Its croissants warm and flaky, buttery and to die for. The pastries delicate, a work of art to brighten even the dreariest day. The coffee and drinks, always perfectly tailored to fit your mood, like the machines had a magic in them to make everything right.

And much like your job, it was shut down thanks to the robot cafe that had opened just down the street. Its croissants arriving frozen and simply needing thrown in the oven, the coffee bland and prone to triggering a depressive episode. But it was cheap and that was enough for everyone to overlook the lifeless husk serving them their morning meal. The family owned Café au Café was no match for it. In less than a year, your childhood had shut down permanently.

It did, however, make the perfect narrative backdrop for a Pastel Revelations Catholicism level mental breakdown. A last moment of comfort and reassurance from an old friend. You sat down on the once welcoming metal chair, now rusted from time and neglect. Elbows on your knees and hunched over, you rubbed your face with your free hand.

"Or is it foreplay?" Sam wondered, not giving you a moment of rest. "Like, dirty talk and shit. 'Oh, I'm gonna do all these dirty things I said I was gonna do to you' but with like, the weird shit you search."

"Sam." It took a moment for words to come out. "I'm not fucking my dishwasher."

"Okay, but like… It'd be an experience."

"Sam." You sighed, exasperated. "He's got two human legs and his upper body is a dishwasher. I'm not fucking a dishwasher with legs."

"Ugh, boring."

You thumbed through your mental archive of dishwasher anatomy. There was a drainpipe and something to let the water in, obviously. But what about the inner parts? The little squirting parts, the racks, the dish tab spot.

None of those seemed particularly pleasant.

Or was the dishwasher part just a mascot? Something he put on over himself? Maybe he was just, some guy underneath it all? No, that wasn't possible. The top half was your dishwasher, through and through. There was no mistaking it, not with how intimately you knew his inner workings from deep cleanings in the past. Clearing his drains, snaking out the clogs, scrubbing the gunk buildup away with a Father Scrub and a thick, heavy squirt of milky Dusk dish detergent…

… Had you been teasing your dishwasher this entire time? Did he expect you to…?

"I don't think whatever hole he's got would be fun to fuck," you concluded, shutting that down. "I think it'd be painful."

"Okay, but like… You don't have to be the one topping."

"… Didn't you just lecture me about microbiome flora stuff?" You retorted, exasperated. "I think getting fucked by the dishwasher would be considerably worse for my microbiome than fucking myself with dishwasher cleaned sex toys."

In the call background, you could hear the telltale signs of dishwashing. Water running, hard scrubbing. I guess that's an option, you thought. Or would he start getting weird about not using him? Would he understand? Does he have an ego? If he did know that you had searched if you could wash sex toys in home, it would be a bit less awkward.

You made a mental note to start cleaning your toys in your basement bathroom.

It never fully struck you exactly the gravity of your situation. So many people with different personalities. You had Dorian who stressed the importance of friendship and getting along with everyone. You had Dishy who seemed to be on the verge of a mental breakdown. Admittedly, you'd been avoiding using the glasses to find out exactly what all was alive, with Dishy being a complete accident. You didn't really want to know exactly what all was alive, with those two being enough to rattle your entire view on the world. But with the way Dorian stressed friendships and getting along with everyone…

How expensive would it be to move? The housing market was in shambles and renting seemed miserable. Shelling out a few thousand dollars would eat into your emergency savings you needed to live out the newly unemployed, single life. Plus if all your furniture was alive, you'd have to get all new furniture too. Or would the new furniture come alive too? If you got rid of the glasses before moving, you'd probably be able to avoid everything coming to life. Just toss it in the trash can, put it out for trash, and good-bye to all your problems!

Wait, the trash can's probably alive too, you thought, remembering Dorian's lecture on friendship. Shit, there goes that plan… Maybe…

"Ya know, I could just commit arson," you concluded rather reasonably, "claim it with insurance, then move and start a new life somewhere else."

A splash of water, followed by swearing and clattering dishes in the sink. You could feel the disappointment radiating from the other end of the phone.

"Well, now you can't because you just told me-" More muttered swearing. "-And I'm not getting involved in the investigation."

Mentally, you crossed a life of crime off of your "new career path" list. You wouldn't be able to shut your mouth, evidently.

"Besides, wouldn't you feel guilty burning everything down, knowing everything is alive?"

Now that… That was a question you could dwell on. Something to distract you from everything. What were the metaphysical properties behind your furniture? Did they have a soul? Did they exist in some quantum realm? Mentally you thumbed through an extra dusty, cobweb covered, steel filing cabinet drawer labeled "philosophy 101". Or was it a question of quantum physics. A pity you didn't study physics in college, that might have saved you from being taken over by AI.

But the possibilities. The possibilites of discovering a new philosophical concept that will stump the future generations to come. Something to leave your mark on the world. A question of "can something temporarily have a soul if you are specifically focusing on it through certain lenses?" How would this apply to court rulings? Legal proceedings? Would these glasses be required in court cases to determine damages to a living human being? This discovery could be groundbreaking and generation defining.

Triumphant in finding a proper course for your life that couldn't possibly be taken over by AI, you stood from the abandoned chair. Pride swelled in your chest, your chin held high.

"… Sam."

She groaned at the pride in your voice. She knew that tone of voice all too well.

"Would I be legally on the hook for killing them if I commit arson?"

"… Dude."

"Would the courts consider furniture that comes alive only when you wear specific glasses as human beings, thus making it murder if I commit arson?"

"Dude!"

"I should go back to school and become a lawyer. Or a philosopher. Think about it!"

"I think…" She sighed, audibly shaking her head. "I think you should go home and start applying for jobs before you completely lose it."

It was probably high time for you to head home. You hadn't been out for extended periods of time after losing your job, and you didn't want your now alive front door to worry too much about you. Idle conversation accompanied you as you walked home, consisting of Sam talking you down from going back to college to becoming a lawyer, explaining that people would probably think you'd lost if you tried to argue that furniture had souls. You wondered aloud if you needed to start getting more food, if your grocery budget would go it, if you could claim them on taxes.

Again, a stranger looked back in horror and concern as you had these conversations. Once again, you were oblivious to it.

You'd taken to saying goodbye a block before you got home, not wanting Dorian to overhear what was said in private. You deserved at least the briefest moment of privacy, knowing it ended the minute you put your key in the door.

At least it was useful, to a degree, having a front door that could tell you everything that happened while you were gone. Even if everything else felt like a weird, vaguely panopticon level of surveillance. Closing the door behind you, you slipped your glasses on and looked at Dorian.

The man had a… Puzzled? Puzzled look? Quizzical? Was he even capable of showing confusion? Whatever it was, it was clear he had a question on his mind.

"What's up?" you nervously asked, tensing instinctively.

The last thing you needed was someone casing your house.

"I've noticed something." His voice was straight, reliable. As usual. "If you don't mind me asking."

Stalker? You prayed for a brief moment it wasn't that.

"… Go ahead."

"Do you prefer coming in the back door?"

Such confidence. Such, nonchalance. Such poise. You looked at his face, desperate for an indication of what he was meaning. Was this a joke? An innuendo? Was this a statement about all the hookups and dates you brought to your house? Was this a genuine observation about your door using habits?

Mentally, you thumbed through everything he could possibly mean by that statement. You didn't have many reasons to use the front door nowadays, outside of grocery runs. Admittedly, you'd also been sneaking out the back to avoid any… Conversations with your now very alive door. So the statement wasn't exactly wrong, but-

…. Wait. Was the back door also alive?

"This is the first I've seen you in a while. You've been spending more time with the back door. I wanted to make sure everything was going smoothly between you two."

The back door was, in fact, alive. Because of course it was. Of course it was! Why wouldn't it be alive?

"Well, I, uh," you stumbled, searching for the proper words that wouldn't make this possibly not innuendo an actual innuendo. "I enjoy sitting out in the backyard. Sun is good for the uh, health and stuff. The vitamin D, ya know."

Would a door know about the benefits of sunlight? Does a door know what vitamin D is?

Does a door know about anal?

"Very well. I'll make sure his hinges are lubricated weekly and his knob stays clean. Smooth, easier entrance for everyone."

Lubricated. Smooth. Easy entrance. You thought about the first time you bought lube in college. Something about bullets? You figured a masc like Dorian would know all about that brand.

"I wouldn't want anyone to have a painful, unpleasant entry."

Somewhere in the background of your brain noise, the squeaks from your backdoor turned into moans, into groans, into heated gasps. The banging became actual banging, Dorian bent over in one way or another. His face flush, sweat dripping on his brow.

You weren't sure if you enjoyed the thoughts or if they simply happened because of the conversation's nature. All you could do was stare at him, your face as blank as you could possibly manage.

"… Thanks, Dorian."

"Anytime."

barabaraorange 2025

i only post on tumblr. if you see this posted elsewhere, it is not me. if you find this on ao3 or wattpad, please let me know if you find it so i can report it.

[amoristt]

trust i seek, and i find in you. | pt2

part 1 (x) part 3 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // mild violence, reader is having an existential crisis, gi-hun is baby girl as always, lots of fluff but like also some slight angst lol a/n: i tried to keep readers backstory vague enough to be kinda relatable but also clear enough to understand their motives/struggles LOL i loved writing this chapter i hope u enjoy

Tug-of-war was like hell.

Almost all of you had died, that bottomless pit taunting and swallowing anyone who fell over the edge whole in the blink of an eye. Your team had clear disadvantages much to Sang-Woo's dismay, who struggled to hide the disdain in his eyes as he watched other teams build muscle whereas yours seemed to build... Outcasts.

Player 244 made you uneasy like a sinking boat in murky waters. Trepidation built up within you like a simmer into an inferno as the elevator climbed up to the planforms. You'd seen group after group perish and tumble over the edge, dragged down like sacks of led before the ropes were cut short, their lives along with it.

It was a close call. Even with Il-nam's strategic placement, even with Ali's strength combined with all of your own, it was close. Watching Gi-hun dangle over that cavern made your entire world stop.

But perhaps 244 had spoken some truth, because when you begged the Lord above to save him, he provided. Dragged Gi-hun right back to that platform and sent the other team spiraling to their dooms.

Your team managed a sour win.

It was hard to forget the look on your opponents faces as they fell, link by link.

Exhausted beyond belief, slick with sweat and heavy with your aching muscles, you were more than ready to get a nights sleep. Everyone was silent on the ride back down on the elevator. Silent during the walk back to the dormitioties.

This heaviness tainted your morale. You knew you shouldn't torture yourself over it- it was your life, or theirs. There wasn't a choice. But between your own rapidly crumbling resolve and 244's ramblings you were struggling to keep your composure.

You missed your neighborhood- which was funny, because you swore you spent years cursing it with your every breath. God, you missed your bed. Shitty as it was, it was yours.

Or maybe it was less longing for your bed and more missing the way you used to be able to sleep with both eyes closed. Staring up at your stained and leaking ceiling, you remembered being so miserable, telling yourself one day things would be different. You would come out on top. Now you'd give anything for it.

It was decided (much to your dismay) that you and Gi-hun would be the first pair to watch over your sleeping comrades. Your hearts were heavy. Your arms feel even heavier. Sore and aching. Gi-hun didn’t say much for a while afterwards. The woman with the long curly hair, Player 212, really put a bad taste in everyone’s mouth. Before the game had even started you were already fed up with her. As you were sitting with your friends, debating who to invite to your team,

"You need some real muscle on your team, not these skinny girls," She'd harped. She'd plopped down beside you and slung an arm around your shoulder despite the way you grimaced and bristled. "You look pretty tough. The two of us could make a good team, yeah?"

She had nerve to do it after everyone witnessed the way she clung to 101 until he'd discarded her like trash. It made your skin crawl. And she didn't stop there, following you and your team around like a lost dog going on and on about absolutely nothing. You really didn't have the energy for it. No one did.

Even Ali had a snark up his sleeve, taunting her for being so unwilling to cooperate with Sang-woo’s quick thinking idea. You didn't think it was possible.

By the time lights out had come, everyone except you and Gi-hun were quick to fall asleep. It had been such a dreadful day, all you could do was pray tonight was different than the last.

You both sat side by side watching. Waiting.

Gi-hun’s eyes were farther away than you’d seen so far. The moment the lights went out, he’d stared off into the darkness, blinking every few seconds in an empty glare. It was odd to see him like that, and honestly sad to know a little bit of that warmth that had drawn you in so intensely had been distinguished. You could the games starting to weigh him down, the lines in his face growing deeper with each passing day.

Just before bed, everyone began to move their beds, forming barriers around every entrance of their forts. And your group did the same. During so, that man, player 101, approached Gi-hun. Taunted him, threatened him. Though it wasn't the first time they'd both had an intense interaction, something was different about the way Gi-hun spoke to him. He wasn't defensive, or apprehensive as 101 approached. He merely stared him down, unfaltering. Glared right into the barrel of that gun. 

“Can you really trust your team?” He asked, voice low and grave. “If that was me there, once the fighting starts to happen, you’d be the first person I’d go for.”

You’d never heard him sound like that before. It’s intimidating. And it worked. 101 stared hard as his team over his shoulder, watching them wrestle like buffoons while the rest of the room prepared their defensives. There was this dubiety in his eyes you hadn't seen yet, his usual sneer falling flat.

Gi-hun had changed, even if just by a little. Hard not to after everything. But you hate seeing the difference. Not so trusting. Not so naïve. 

But… he was still good. Still Gi-hun. 

You suppose you’ve changed too. Maybe in the opposite direction, though. You’d come in so confident and ready to take on anything and everything in your path. A train that wouldn’t stop for anybody. But for some reason you’d found yourself derailed. Whether if it was because you’d clearly overestimated your abilities, or something else entirely, you weren’t sure, but your priorities were shifting right before your own eyes.

In moments of great, great terror, your first fear wasn’t that your life was to be cut short. It was that someone else’s- one of your friends, would meet their demise. 

Even the fact that you were considering them your friends at all was a problem, and you knew it. But you couldn't help it. You valued them. It made you sick to your stomach with worry.

Why was letting people in so fucking hard? Granted you survived this somehow, would you always suffer like this?

Love, even platonically, was foreign. You felt like you couldn't cope, sometimes.

And it was all thanks to Gi-hun. Him and his heart. It was contagious, infected you like a sickness you couldn’t quite shake. Changing and manipulating the very core of your DNA. 

He’s still staring forward, unfocused and lost in thought and tense when you speak. 

“You alright?”

He damn near jumps when your voice cuts the silence. He stammers, recollecting himself from something you couldn’t place. 

“Hey.” You reach out, and you hesitate first, but you touch his arm. He turns to look at your hand, resting faint and unsure on his bicep. 

“This barricade,” he starts, with a shake in his voice. “It reminds me of… an old job I worked at.”

You tilt your head, a little piece of his puzzle shifting into place. 

He told you about his old job. How he'd sank over a decade into it making car parts, had a baby on the way, when suddenly a majority of the crew was fired- dropped off like trash. So naturally, they’d held a strike. 

It takes a moment for him to get it all out, but when he does, his eyes fall downcast. 

So much violence.

Your words betray your thoughts, soft coo’s of comfort even though the smart part of your brain demands you stop right there. 

It was becoming too real for you. Makes you squirm in your skin- you shouldn’t be learning all this about him. He’s crossing your barriers. But you can’t stop yourself. 

You realize, after he shares with you, that the weird disquiet in your gut isn’t brought on by conflicting feelings. It’s guilt. Guilt over the fact that he was so transparent, and raw with you. Meanwhile you lied about something as little as what dish of food you like. After all he had done for you, too. Took you in with a bright smile and never once led you astray. Saved your life during the night attacks. Held you when you couldn’t break yourself from the hysteria. 

Trusted you even when you didn't deserve it. That alone drove you do better, just for him.

He falls quiet again. 

“I lied.” You blurt suddenly. Gi-hun glances at you from the corners of his eyes. You chew the inside of your cheek, guilt eating away at your conscience. Man, he had really fucked up your game plan. “I, uh… I don’t really have a family. I never did.” 

He looks at you with an expression you can't quite read. Not anger, or confusion. It’s softer than that, but not quite happiness either. It makes your stomach roll. 

“I know.” Is all he says, nudging you with his elbow. 

He knew? This entire time? 

You blink at him. “How?”

“Everything you’ve said about your childhood has just been so… Unclear.” He sighs and leans forward, elbows on his crossed legs, eyes still scanning the room. “You’re so vague about your dad. You don’t even call your mom mom, just my mother. And- and, in the first game, you were one of the first to cross the line. And you already knew how to play tug-of-war! So I thought to myself, she doesn’t seem like she’s never played games!” He paused briefly, you stared at him slack jawed. Then, he smiles, and he laughs and it rings through your ears. He turns towards you. “And if you really stayed inside reading and coloring all day, dalgona would have been a breeze for you.”

For a long moment, you’re bewildered. He was so observant and you hadn’t even noticed it. The gears in his mind were always turning, eyes always watching.

“You never tried to trip me up.” At first it’s supposed to be a question, but it leaves your lips like more of a statement, or more of an appreciation.

“I'm sure you have your reasons.”

You stare at your lap. This level of consideration and thoughtfulness was new to you, and you weren’t sure how to navigate it. Your cheeks warm up, your breath quickens. He had such a way of drawing you in, even despite your brain warning you to do otherwise. To keep him at an arm's length.

But you don't want him at arms length. Sometimes, when you're lost in thought in the quiet moments that grow more rare by the day, even an inch seems too far away.

“So why are you here, then?” He asks. 

You have this knee jerk reaction to lie through your teeth again. But then you see the way he's looking at you, studying you, taking in every curve of your face, and suddenly you can’t bring yourself to.

“To prove to myself, and to everyone else, that I’m not worthless.” Your voice is so small. 

“Who is everyone else?” 

You shrug. You honestly don’t even know the answer to that, yourself. 

“Are your parents even alive?” He suddenly asks, and the abrupt question almost knocks the wind from you. 

“No.” You answer plainly. Then, you start again. “Well, I don’t know. My dad died when I was a baby and my mom…” You chew the inside of your cheek, ignoring the sore spot you’re starting to create. “She may as well be. I haven't seen her in years. We don’t talk.”

You expect him to sneer at your answer the same way almost everyone else does. You never talk to her? you can already hear him saying. What kind of daughter cuts contact with her own mother?

But, once again, he shocks you. He seems to do that a lot. After a beat of silence, he says, “Ah, So it’s like that, huh? I get it. Relationships are hard. You try to do your best, but…”

Your heart rate picks up again. He gets it. The end of his sentence falls off and you’re sure you could finish it for him if you had to. The same boat. 

Relationships are hard.

“Do you talk to your mom?” You ask quickly, trying to hop away from the topic of your own mother before that annoying lump forms in your throat as it always did when you actually put thought into the whole ordeal. He nodded. 

“She lives with me. Er, or, well, I live with her. She’s been struggling with some medical issues over the weeks but she’s still just as stubborn as always.” His eyes are far away now, somehow softer than before. You feel like you’re at the edge of your seat. “That’s why I came here. She needs surgery but, well… I’ve been… A lousy son, I suppose.” 

He tells you bits of his life in bite sized moments. You learn about his issues with gambling, his struggles with finances. The up’s, the downs, the rock bottoms. How the strike, the violence he’d seen that day had been a catalyst for years of struggling.  Stealing money from his own mom to fuel his addictions, losing custody of his daughter. Missing her birth. 

She’s moving to America, He’d sighed, forlorn with fleeting tears soaking his waterlines. 

It's shocked how much he's willing to tell you. It's almost like he'd been waiting for someone to ask. Or maybe, waiting for someone to actually give a shit.

For some reason, your heart hurts for him. This was his shot to really make it up to those he’d wronged in his life. To spoil and give rather than to cheat and steal. It made your reasoning feel so much less… Worthy. Petty. The moment your mental scale begins to teeter in his favor, your brain tries to fire off the flares all over again. 

You shouldn’t be doing this- bonding with him.

But it’s hard. You want to know everything there is to know. 

There could only be one winner.

And suddenly, the thought that used to bring you comfort, pains you. 

Only one.

Unease planting seeds in your chest, the vines worming their way through your resolve. How cold you’d felt when he was in danger, how you threw yourself in harm's way to help him without even thinking. It was beyond survival. You liked him. Felt for him. Put his life above your own, even if it was just for a second. 

You were supposed to be the one to make it. You, not him. But, oh god, the way he looks at you. Like you’re something actually worth giving a damn about. Someone worth listening to. The way you want to spill every last secret to him. The way you want to know every last bit of him down to the minute detail.  

Fuck, you dont want him to die. 

You were screwed. 

You should sit in silence, and stop this conversation dead in his tracks and get some sleep trying to fight away the conflicting thoughts of him you harbored. But you don’t. 

He tells you stories of his time at bootcamp, with his best friend, Jung-bae. Some were funny, some were a bit scary. At least the way he told it, anyways. All of them successfully blanketing you from the harsh reality that was the games momentarily. You giggled and leaned towards him subconsciously, opening up to him. Letting him in, bit by bit. So you give just a little more of yourself. Tell him stories of your days spent playing in the afternoon sun. Ball, tag, wrestling, tug-of-war. Always covered in bruises and scrapes and always running on an empty stomach, but never really giving a damn. Once you broke your foot jumping from the top of the swings, trying to land farther than your friend had. You did, in fact, draw a farther line in the sand. It was too bad your ankle had to bear the consequences for it.

Gi-hun couldn’t help but laugh at your wild stories growing up free. That’s what you preferred to call it, anyways. Free. And definitely not neglected. 

That’s when he also told you a particularly funny story. One that he didn’t find funny at all but it made you have to cover your mouth while he went over the details. While he was learning to dance for his wedding, he once fell on his instructor, a woman, and he’d fallen just right and broke the poor lady's arm. He remembered how she cursed at him as she was taken to the hospital, demanding he find a new instructor. 

“Guess I didn’t miss out on anything, then.” You snorted, quietly, trying to keep your voice down. He shook his head, trying to shove the bad memory out of his mind. His eyes settled on you. Low, forbearing.

“Missed out?”

“I never learned to dance.” You chirp, leaning back on your palms, like it’s something to be proud of. 

“You really don’t know how to dance?” He asks, incredulous, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. 

You shake your head. “Nope. Never had a reason to.”

He faces forward into the vast span of the dormitory, nibbling his lip in thought. You wonder what he’s thinking. Probably mulling over the fact that you laughed at his not-so-funny-but-also-super-funny story. You almost worry you’d offended him somehow, but then he finally speaks up.

“You should learn how to dance.”

Wow, he’s really stuck on that, isn’t he?

"I'm fine." You scoff. “Not like it matters, any. Look where we are.”

“I can teach you.” 

You freeze.

“What?” Now it’s your turn for your eyebrow to raise. 

“I’ll teach you.”

You’re sputtering for a reply, unsure what to say, or even do, next. The room is suddenly uncannily silent, your friends breathing in tandem around you. The next thing you know, the option is being stripped from you. He stands up and grasps your hand, drags you up with him. He looms over you, and for some reason it only just now strikes you that he’s got almost a full head of height over you. He’s standing so close that you can feel the warmth of him through his tracksuit, hands finding your shoulders.

“It’s easy,” he hums, like you aren’t on watch for your lives. Carefree as a child. He makes it easy to forget your lives are constantly at stake. “Hold, here.” He brings your arm up over his torso, rests it on his neck. You flush a furious red. Was this seriously happening? Right now?

Why are you just letting him do this?

You try to keep your breathing under control when he runs his fingers down your other arm, captures your hand in his and brings it up. His hand is warm and soft. Fitting for him. You feel like you’re going to combust. It gets even worse when snakes his other arm around your waist and bumps you against him, nearly chest to chest now. Surely, he could hear your heart hammering away in the cage of your ribs. And surely you’re gaping up at him like a awe-struck fool. He, on the other hand, beams with a sort of tender glee you've never had the pleasure of witnessing until now.

“Follow my lead. It’s easy. Take a step back when I take a step forward, take a step forward when I step back. Like this, see?”

You’re barely even registering what he’s saying. Too caught up in how you can hear his quiet breaths and the way his thumb is making idle circles into your waist.

He’s killing you. He’s killing you. 

And he’s leading you. Tugging you along with every step. Backwards, forwards. You’re fighting to keep your breathing under control but he captures almost all your attention, eyes on yours. It feels like time isn’t real. As if it’s just you and him. He’s humming something, just barely audible, but there none the less. You don’t recognize the tune, but you realize he’s following the rhythm of it, stepping in time with the tune. You chest feels full. You imagine him from years ago, nervous and misaligned and anxious for his wedding. You imagine his eyes so full of life and shining with love. 

Carefully, he starts to turn, guiding you by your waist. You can’t believe it’s this simple- you can’t believe you’d never had this before. Always on the sidelines, never under the spotlight. Never having anyone's arms wrapped around you. You always told yourself it never bothered you- you didn't need anyone but yourself. No one would ever understand you, no one would ever be worth changing for. 

A fugacious life full of loneliness so profound you wore it like armor.

But now that you’re here, following Gi-hun’s every little movement, leaning into him, flushed tomato red with shaking hands and racing thoughts, you don’t know… Maybe you have been missing out. The way he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room is so alien it feels almost wrong. Like this sort of intimacy wasn't made with you in mind. It takes your breath away. 

You wonder how you're supposed to go through the rest of your life without it.

Ali rolls over in his sleep.

You're supposed to be watching.  

It’s like being thrown into cold water. Your heart lurches as your line of sight snaps at the sound, suddenly acutely, painfully aware. The façade is broken. 

Gi-hun could die at any moment. 

You suddenly feel sick to your stomach. 

“Where’d you go?” His voice drags you back to him. You meet his gaze once more, concerned. “There you are. What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong? What’s fucking wrong?

“I-...” Your gaze flickers anxiously between him and the wide open space just outside of the bunk bed barrier. Anyone could just show up, anytime. You wouldn’t be ready. 

Have you always been this neurotic?

You misstep. 

Your stomach drops at the feeling of losing your balance, but he’s quick to catch you, jumps forward and you fall into his chest, your gasp muffled in the fabric of his top. With your ear pressed to him, you both hear and feel the rumble of his quiet laughter.

It’s soothing in the way you imagine car rides are for infants, a wave of tension leaving you in one deep breath. 

“It’s okay. I did the same thing.” He murmurs, and he says it so delicately it makes you nearly recoil. 

“H-” You flounder in your attempt to speak, having to settle yourself before you try again. “Hopefully no one breaks an arm this time, right?”

His grip, even if he doesn't realize it, tightens around your waist. He shakes his head. “Not funny.”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Is not.”

“...A little bit.”

Gi-hun sighs into the crown of your head. You realize, with a stuttering heave of your chest, that he’s pressed his lips to your scalp. And he’s smiling- you can feel it. He’s swaying back and forth with you tucked against him like you’d done it a thousand times before. Your mind races and stills all at once. Your heart can’t decide if it wants to drop in foreboding gloom, or if it wants to flutter. Maybe both. 

Nothing makes sense anymore.

You aren’t sure how he’s managed to worm his way under your skin like this. Even more so confusing, why you’re letting him. God, it was so easy to let him. There was something different about him- like, if light were to be a person, it’d be him. If love were to be a person, it had to be him. 

Long ago you’d told yourself you’d never be vulnerable for anyone, ever. 

But. It had to be him. 

Back, forward. Left, right. 

You can’t help the way your lips upturn when his pets his hand down your lower back comfortingly. He drags it out of you like a snake to a song even when you’re upset. Even when you’re scared- and god, have you been downright terrified over the days. 

You wished you could dance like this forever. 

Back, forward. Left. Right.

Ali stirs again from the floor. Him and Sang-Woo would soon take over, and you’d be given the grace of getting some real sleep in before tomorrow came and you’d find yourself faced with-

Don’t think about that right now.

Your brain puts the breaks on your spiral. You’re not sure when it learned how to do that. 

Just focus on right now.

Gi-hun’s gentle breathing, ghosting over your hair. His hand on your waist, the other clasped with yours oh so sweetly. 

Back. Forward. Left. Right.

You shut your eyes and press your face into his chest. This could be the first, and the last time.

You let yourself have this. 

Time slows again. It’s just him. He begins to hum again, and you teeter on every note. 

“Ready for the best part?” 

His voice is just a whisper, but you’re confused, because how could it possibly get any better than this?

Your conjoined hands are brought down between your chests, gently pushing you backwards. Without his arm wrapped around your waist, you try your best to not stumble, watching him with a strained expression, unsure what to do next. His eyes crease at the corners in excitement, and then, he spins you.

It’s slow, and it’s choppy as you struggle to not topple over, but you spin. Once, then twice. The dormitory is just a nonexistent blur of darkness, Gi-hun’s hand the only thing in this world truly anchoring you. It feels beautiful. After the third spin, it feels dizzying. Then you’re fished right back into his arms, his lips pressed against the top of your head once more. And that… That feels perfect.

Meant to be. 

“Woah.” You say into his chest, partially referring to the light feeling in your head, partially referring to the way you’re in active motion of understanding the true depths of your feelings for the man before you. He chuckles at your amazement.

“Pretty fun, right?” 

You wished you could stay right there. Prayed that somehow, tomorrow wouldn’t come. Or that it’d be different. Anything but what you know is coming. You don’t know if you could bear to see him get hurt. At this point, you weren't sure if you could handle seeing any of your little rag-tag group get hurt. The night everyone had slaughtered one another like animals… the way you felt knowing their lives were on the line.. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before. 

You’d never cared before. It’s a difficult feeling to navigate- a concoction of adoration and trust blending and twisting with non-stop anxiety for their wellbeing. 

To have is to lose. You never had much in your life. But, the things that were yours, you were so tired of losing. 

You can't lose this.

When Gi-hun separates from you, it takes all your willpower to not chase him. He sets his broads hands on each of your shoulders, and you gaze up to find his line of sight. You can’t read his expression- something far away, or maybe something close, at the tip of his tongue. His thumbs brush the sides of your neck. 

You'd never had the urge to kiss someone, but it's there now.

But then, Ali sit’s up and yawns with a wide, broad stretch. Gi-hun’s hands leave you- and you’re suddenly aware how cold you are. Everything just feels wrong, disappointment dragging a frown out of your previous smile.

But you greet your friend regardless, crouching down in front of him as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.

“Your turn?” You breathe. He nods. There’s no mistaking the let-down that thrums at your heart. 

Gi-hun leans down to tap at Sang-woo’s shoulder. The sleeping man rises in silence and he's quickly sitting up without so much as a groan. The moment his eyes opened, he did a head count, his eyes settling on you afterwards.

“It’s been quiet.” You already know what he’s going to ask, so you beat him to it. 

He nods once, eyes passing between you Gi-hun quickly. “Good. Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.”

So cynical.

Even if he was right- you found the taste in your mouth always so much more bitter when Sang-woo spoke than when Gi-hun did. 

Despite it, you agree.

Gi-hun lays down before you do. Practically throws himself on the ground with an oof. You take more care, kneeling down before you plop onto your side and let out a breath of content. 

Ali’s voice is low from where you had been moments before, murmuring something to Sang-woo. You can barely see the outline of them sitting side by side. What you can see, however, is Gi-hun rolling onto his side to face you. His expression looks deeper, eyebrows furrowed in thought like something was truly eating at him. You tilt your head and prop yourself on your elbow. 

“You okay?” 

He stares at you. 

“Is your favorite food really Bulgogi?”

“No.” You snort. There he went, surprising you again. He was such a strange man. A strange man that really gave a damn about your likes and dislikes. The thought of food makes you hungry, and you remember your favorite dish your friend's mom would prepare now and then. It was one of the few warmer memories you’d stored. “...It’s grilled fish.” 

His eyes light up. It makes your heart swell. “Mine too. Grilled mackerel.”

“I can’t say I’ve had mackerel.” You murmur, eyes starting to slip shut.

“Yet.” He’s quick to retort. 

You blink at him. Something bittersweet and knowing blooms in your belly, but you echo him regardless.

“Yet.” 

It's a promise of some sort. You're sure of it.

He smiles again, something real and dear, before he rolls on his back and hums. That same little tune he’d played in the soundtrack of his mind while he brought you to himself and danced like there wasn’t a care in the world. It makes you happy. Content. 

He’s the last thing you think of before you fall asleep. You don’t even try to force the reoccurring lovely thoughts away, either. In fact you’re almost too happy to welcome them in, allow him to infect your dreams and hurdle over every wall you’ve built to keep yourself safe. 

Only one winner gnaws at you from somewhere deep and buried in your brain. 

Your eyes crack open to stare at the high ceiling overhead that seems to be lost in the darkness. 

You were so damn screwed.

[rikli]

going "home" for just an afternoon is perfect bc i hear the minimum amount of conservative bs 🤪

[msmarvelwrites]

Season Of The Witch - Part 3

Summary: Your witchy abilities get you in quite a bit of trouble from time to time… But this time you don’t mind so much. 

Pairing: Bucky x reader 

Warnings: Swearing, Anxious reader, implied smut but still 18+ pleasee! 

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: Hey you guys! Hope everyone is having a good week so far! It’s been a long couple few days here, but I’m feeling productive today so here we are. Happy reading! Please like and reblog if youve read, your support means so much to me! 

Thank you forever to @cutie1365​ for all her help and advice on this fic. She’s killing it and you should definitely go check out her work! 

You sat, defeated and mentally drained in the wreckage that was your bedroom floor. After you ripped almost everything out of your closet it was decided, you simply could not go tonight. All you wanted to do was sink into the floor and let the miss-matched fabric swallow you whole without surrender. It could be the idea of spending the night surrounded by screaming thoughts… It could also be the frigid rejection you had received earlier from Bucky, but either way your fate was sealed. It was better if you just bailed. Peter would be disappointed he wouldn't have someone to escape the ‘adult-ier adults’ with him, but he would understand. Wanda, however, would not be so forgiving. 

The knock on your bedroom door sufitialtly pulled you from your own daydreams. 

“Miss Y/L/N, Miss Maximoff is here to see you. Shall I let her in?” The A.I. spoke. You rolled your eyes, a groan slipping from your lips as you hawled yourself off the floor and onto the bed. “Yes, thank you, Friday.” You mumbled. 

Seconds later, Wanda was skipping into your room with a shy grin smoothed over her pink lips. You knew that look all too well, and to this day, it worried you. 

“Hello there friend.” She chimed, swinging the fabric bag she carried onto the bed and taking a seat beside you. “I can see I’ve interrupted your existential crisis.” She chuckled, gesturing to the mess you had made. 

“I’m not going, Wan.” You stated, watching her carefully as she rolled her eyes.

“Like hell you're not going. What’s Bucky going to do without you to shadow?” He chided, eyeing you carefully. She was watching for a reaction, anything to confirm her suspicions. She had probed you for information this time last week. You couldn't hide from her, she knew you too well. Not only in her gifts, but also in spirit. She was one of the first people you really opened up to, and she often used that against you. Especially when trying to discover why you andBucky seemed to be in a much better mood lately. ‘Antidepressants’ was your final answer. 

“I actually don't care what Bucky does. Maybe he’ll get lucky with Steve tonight.” You joked. God you hoped you were joking. 

“Shut up, Y/n. I know somethings going on with you two.” 

“Who two?” Peter inclined striding into your room and flopping onto the bed, his head sitting between you and Wanda as he looked up at her. 

“Y/n and Bucky are doing it.” She indulged him as his face fell. He crawled around so he could look at you dead on, his face contorting into that of disgust. 

“You and- and… Mr. Barnes? No…” He grimaced, shaking his head like he had tasted something sour. 

“No! There is nothing going on between Bucky and I.” you insisted, glaring at Wanda. 

“Don’t listen to her, Peter. She’s a filthy liar. And she’s totally banging Barnes.” Wanda giggled as you shoved her into the pillows. 

“Banging? Oh god no- I’m picturing it… Make it stop!” Peter gagged sarcastically, toppling over onto Wanda as they both fell into a fit of laughter. 

“I don't know why I tolerate you two.” You chuckled, watching your friends writhe on the bed. In a moment of distraction, Peter grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you down on top of him. 

“You know you need us. What would you do, huh? hangout with Steve the ninety year old virgin? And I know you avoid Natasha like the plague because everytime you see her she drags you to the gym… No, no you need us.” Peter smiled, tucking one of his arms under his neck as he shifted onto his back. You laid there on the bed between him and Wanda as you all contemplated that. 

“If I tell you, you have to promise it stays between us. I’m looking at you, Parker. Stark canNOT know about it.” You signed, glaring at him until he nodded. “So… Maybe it's possible Bucky and I might be… I don’t know what you’d even call it… I guess we're trying to…” 

“Is bump nasty’s still a term?” Wanda asked, false innocence in her eyes as she looked at you. Both you and Peter threw your heads back laughing and he elbowed her. 

“That’s awful.” Peter giggled, pointing his finger in his mouth and gagging. 

You spent the next hour explaining what was really going on between you and Bucky. How you were definitely not ‘bumping nasties’ and that it was just pure and new and so, so incredibly hot. 

“You have to go tonight.” Wanda sighed, holding up a little black dress infront of the floor length mirror.

“And do what?” You huffed, falling back on the bed and worrying on your bottom lip. “Bucky basically ran out of the room the moment I brought up the idea of-”

“Bumping Nasties?” Peter piped up, to which Wanda rocketed a pillow at his face, the crimson current sizzling around it. 

“Yeah, that.” You chuckled, letting your face drop in your hands. This was just embarrassing. You’d never been so hung up on a guy before. But then again, Bucky wasn't just some guy. 

“If only you could know what he was thinking…” Wanda smirked, turning on her heel and silently asking Peters approval of the dress. He shrugged in response, gaining a frustrated eye roll from the redhead. 

“Contrary to popular belief, I don’t mean to listen in… It’s an invasion of privacy.” 

“That's never stopped you before.” Peter argued, a goofy smile plastered on his lips. 

“Listen, read his mind- don't read his mind. It doesn't matter. The guy is obviously crazy about you. He’s always so dark and gloomy but lately the guy actually smiles. I heard him laugh the other day,” Wanda smirked, sitting beside you on the bed. “At one of Sam’s jokes.” She finished. 

“Yeah, Y/n. You gotta go. Do it for us. Also because you're the only one who will sneak me booze under the table.” Peter chuckled, his bottom lip wobbling as he pleaded with you. 

“Fine. But only because drunk Peter is the better Peter.” 

Wanda nodded her head in agreeance, grabbing the fabric bag off the bed and throwing it in your lap. “Perfect. Wear this, I picked it out specially for you…”

The thumping sound of music vibrated through the hallway as you tangled yourself in the orange and black tassels hanging from the door. You always liked Halloween as a rule, but Tony’s parties were starting to put a damper on your fun. 

You had thought that Bucky would have met you at your room to escort you to the event. He knew how badly you dreaded going, but he never showed. Maybe you had read him all wrong, you thought. Maybe this was all in your head, piecing together his thoughts into something you wanted to hear rather than the truth. Maybe the dress that Wanda had picked out for you was starting to cut off the circulation to your brain because it was getting harder and harder to think straight… Or was that just the music drowning out your mindless babble. 

“Good evening, beautiful.” Peter hummed from beside you. His presence startled you as you hadn't heard him coming. He held out his arm offering it for you to hold. “Are you going in?” 

The question hung in the air for a moment before you finally nodded your head, swallowing hard and taking his arm. It was moments like this that you were thankful for Peter. Truthfully you knew if he wasn't standing right there you might have ran for your life, bunkering down in your room in a blanket fort. 

“Such a gentleman.” You cooed, resting your head on his shoulder as he walked you into the party. 

“Nah, just a friendly neighborhood spider man. It’s good for my street cred, nothing more.” You brushed you off, pulling you into the buzzing room. 

Voices filled your head, swirling around you as you tried to concentrate on just one. There had to be at least a hundred people here tonight. They crashed over you, swarming in your mind like bees in a hive. It had been forever since you had been in a crowd like this and the anxiety was starting to coarse through your veins. 

“Hey. You're alright.” Peter assured you, pulling you across the room and over to the bar where Sam and Nat sat, laughing at something Tony had said. 

“Well if it isn't the wicked witch of NewYork.” Sam called, pulling you into his chest. “Your shadow is around her somewhere. Probably off staring longingly at Steve.” He chuckled. You rolled your eyes, gnawing at your bottom lip as you scanned the room. Lo and behold, Bucky stood in the corner of the room with Steve, his eyebrows fused into a knot as his friend spoke something you couldn't make out over the booming music. 

“He’s looking more pissy than usual.” Nat snorted, watching you as you gawked at the man. You didn't notice the small smirk that had appeared on her lips as she pieced together your frustration. 

“Nah, that's just his resting face.” Tony quipped, pouring a tall glass of liquor and sliding it across the bar to you. You picked it up, lifting it to your lips and downing it seconds later as you clanked it back on the counter. 

“Keep em’ coming. You guys are loud tonight.” You mumbled, your brain already beginning buzz as you forced your friends on ‘mute’. It was like a constant sit-up, you liked to describe. Eventually your body would cave and their thoughts would rush in, but the alcohol helped numb the ache and kept them at bay. 

With another double in hand, you decided the liquid courage was exactly what you needed to confront the ‘gentleman’ he so eloquently had put. 

As you closed in you noticed Steve elbowing Bucky, altering him of your presence. At the sight of you, his face fell, his eyes darting to the floor. 

“Evening geriatrics.” You chuckled, downing your drink as mustering every fiber in your body to make eye contact with the ethereal man before you. To your dismay, he was staring back, his eyes a violent thunderstorm you were on the verge of losing yourself in. You swallowed hard, clearing your throat and attempting to calm your nerves as you scanned him over. 

“Bucky. You look… Nice.” You choked out. His navy blue dress shirt was tucked neatly into his dark washed jeans, his hair perfectly placed in a way you knew had taken him forever before he was content to leave his room. The idea made you smile, but only for a moment as the sinking feeling crept back into the pit of your stomach. 

“I’ll leave you two, to… Talk.” Steve waved his goodbyes, pulling you into a side hug and whispering in a hushed tone, “Take it easy on him.” 

With that, Steve was gone, leaving you alone and vulnerable. 

“You look incredible.” Bucky hummed, his eyes falling down your form, but his face remained unreadable. 

Don’t just stand there, do something… Apologize… Kiss her… God, just stop staring and- 

“I should apologize- for earlier. I shouldn't have run out on you like that. It won't happen again.” Bucky mumbled, his hands, vibranium and flesh stuffed in his jean pockets. You were caught off guard to say the least. You were ready, guns drawn to defend yourself, but there stood the infamous Winter Soldier, cowering before you like a lost puppy. Your eyes softened as a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips. 

“Why did you leave?” You finally spoke, “I didn't mean to push you… Bucky, rushing is the last thing I wanted to do. If you want to-”

“No!” He blurted. 

“No?” 

“You're not rushing me. Damn, doll. I’m trying my best here, but you're walking around in that dress, with those lips and all I want to do is…” He trailed off, his eyes falling on your best as he worried on his bottom lip. 

“So its my fault?” You gawked. 

“No!” He almost shouted, lowering his voice when he caught a few unwarranted eyes at his tone. “It’s my fault. Y/n, I’m trying so hard to be respectful. I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m completely out of my depth here. This used to be so easy and now… The rules have changed and I can’t keep up and all I know if I want to throw you over my shoulder right now and haul you back to my room and make you mine. I just… It’s just that I’ve never…” 

You gaped at him, caught off guard by his confession as you waited for his next words, but his thoughts broke through the air before he could speak. 

Never used my arm as anything but a means to an end… You’re going to kill her with it… How can she see you as anything but a monster…? Doesn't she know how easy it would be to lose control…? It would take minutes… Seconds… 

“Bucky…” You hummed, your hand resting on his metallic arm as you pulled him from his self destructive thoughts. His eyes pleaded with you, boring into your soul. “Dance with me.” 

He stared at you, opening and shutting his mouth, trying to speak. It wasn't a question, but he nodded anyways, allowing you to pull him into the crowd of people swaying back and forth to the lulling music. 

You took the lead, lifting his metal hand and placing it on your hip. You intertwined your fingers with his flesh hand, stumbling forward as he pulled you in, his strength startling you a little. 

Oh, god…. Be gentle… Don’t break her, you ass. 

You chuckled, resting your head against his chest as you relaxed into his form. His heart beat drawing out the incoherent thoughts around you. You swayed back and forth like that, until Bucky’s breathing returned to normal again. Your hand trailed down from his shoulder to his cool metal fingers. They tightened around your waist at your touch as he stiffened, holding in a breath. 

“I’m not afraid of you…” You hummed against his chest. “That’s what you said to me… ‘I’m not afraid of you.’” You recanted the conversation you had had those weeks ago outside your room. 

“I’m pretty afraid right now.” He admitted, resting his chin on top of your head as he breathed you in. 

“You won’t hurt me, Bucky.” You assured, running your fingers up and down his arm, listing to it whirl as he moved. “See? We’re dancing. You're holding me, and I’m not broken. I’m right here.” 

Gently, you placed your hand on the side of his cheek, meeting his eyes. He swallowed hard, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he stared back at you. You would have given anything to kiss him right there, to melt into him and ease his mind like only he did for you. 

“I don't remember how to dance.” He signed, pain dripping from his words. 

“I can teach you.” You smiled into him, the smell of his cologne enveloping your senses. 

“And can you teach me what you like?” He asked, his voice a low gruff in your ear. “Where you crave to be touched, and kissed and moved.” 

His voice sent a shiver down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing as his lips trailed down the shell of your ear. His words sent a heat straight to your core as his breath fanned across your cheek causing a blush to creep up your chest. 

“You have to sneak me out of this party first.” You chuckled, trying (and failing) to steady your rapid heart. 

“Baby, you're hanging with a strained assassin now. Let me teach you a thing or two...” He bragged, his pink lips pulling at the corner of his mouth into a smirk. 

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