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posh--bee · 2 days ago

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beneath the sleeping stars || Spencer Reid

pairing → Spencer Reid x Reader

summary → On the way home from yet another case on the jet, you and your boyfriend Spencer take advantage of your peacefully sleeping coworkers to have a little bit of sweet and innocent alone time, taking chances and talking about both of you getting hurt during the case.

warnings → early seasons!spencer, shy!reader, bau!reader, established relationship but it’s all very new still, they’re just little anxious beans, just pure tooth-rotting fluff, they’re so adorable your honor, minor injuries, no descriptions or pronouns used for the reader, no y/n used

author’s note → This whole thing was inspired by this post from @multifandomangel. I started writing this story immediately after I saw the post but it took me a while to come back around to it and finish it. But now it’s done and I’m very happy with how cute and fluffy it turned out :3 Let me know what you think about it <3

word count → 3.2k

This is a repost. I deleted the original post because tumblr was being difficult and marked it as needing a content label and took forever to revise it. I hope this one won't have the same problem. Thanks to all the lovely people who read, reblogged and liked the original post anyway <3

masterlist(s)

You sit next to Spencer on what the team has dubbed “his” couch on the BAU’s jet, currently on the way home to the FBI’s headquarters after having solved yet another case on the other side of the country, absentmindedly staring at the book in your hands you act like you’re reading.

The words on the page you haven’t turned in over five minutes stare back at you unblinkingly, but you pay them no mind, instead peeking over the edge of your book to inconspicuously observe the rest of your teammates relaxing in their seats. Hotch is at the front of the jet in a single seat with his arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed while Morgan, Emily and JJ sit around the table across from you. JJ’s head rests on Emily’s shoulder who in turn has her cheek squished to the top of the blonde’s hair, soft breaths leaving her parted lips. Morgan on the other hand rests against a pillow pressed to the wall of the jet, his headphones still on and Rossi, who sits behind him, has his legs stretched out over two seats with his eyes closed as well.

It's perfectly quiet on the jet except for the subtle hum of the aircraft’s engines paired with what little you can hear of Morgan’s music and the occasional soft snore coming from one or another person sitting around you.

With bated breath you wait for another minute or two to be absolutely certain about what you’re eagerly hoping for—

They’re all fast asleep.

A smile tugs at your lips and you slowly close your book and let it glide to the floor soundlessly before gently nudging Spencer’s leg with your foot.

The lanky genius next to you stirs and you immediately feel bad for rousing him from his slumber so rudely, but the feeling abruptly dissipates and is replaced by a flutter of butterfly wings in your belly when he gives you a sleepy smile, one hand coming up to rub his tired eyes.

“Hi,” he greets you quietly, his voice a little deeper than it normally is and it embarrassingly takes you a second to answer him.

“Hi yourself,” you manage, matching his soft tone to not disturb the quiet of the jet as it takes you closer to your home through the night sky.

You smile at each other shyly, starting a new round of your regular game of Who will break eye contact first? that you both lose at the same time. An amused huff escapes you at your own antics and you look back to Spencer who is already grinning at you, his cheeks glowing with an adorable blush even in the dimmed lights of the cabin.

He’s so beautiful, you think, and you want to tell him as much, but the words get stuck in your throat like you already knew they would.

Instead you ask him, “How’s your head?”

Your eyes dart to the white butterfly stitch on his temple that a paramedic has competently placed there only a few hours before because of the scuffle your recent unsub had caused before his eventual arrest.

Spencer shrugs but the smile on his lips gets a little brighter, his fingers shy of touching his wound before lowering his hand and placing it on the down on the couch, right next to where your own hand is resting on the cushion.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he tells you, his hand inching closer to yours. “It’s just a small wound, don’t worry.”

“That's good. I’m glad.”

You watch his pinky reaching out for yours and with your heart beating excitedly in your chest you meet him halfway, your fingers sweetly wrapping around each other. Your cheeks burn from the innocent touch while Spencer quietly clears his throat, trying to hide the lovestruck grin on his lips but failing adorably at it—much like yourself, you imagine.

“What about your finger?” he wants to know then and you look down to your other hand resting in your lap, one finger taped to the one beside to keep it still and in a natural position while healing, also a courtesy of the unsub’s messy arrest.

“All good,” you tell him truthfully, after carefully testing your hand’s remaining mobility. “It doesn’t hurt anymore. And luckily, it’s not even my dominant hand.”

Spencer, of course, already knows this but nods in understanding anyway.

“I’m glad,” he repeats back at you and the look in his brown eyes is nothing short of adoring. You have the urge to hide from his gaze, it’s that overwhelming, and eventually you need to avert your eyes to regain even a semblance of composure before you can face him again.

He gives your pinky a quick squeeze when you do and you feel the smile on your face grow even bigger. You let yourself sink further into the comfortable cushions of the couch then, enjoying the quiet and content atmosphere of the jet, the rare opportunity of being close to Spencer like this, openly showing affection like this, as small as it may seem, when the two of you are at work, all thanks to your softly snoring colleagues.

But you can’t fully relax, even though the exhaustion of the case is rapidly catching up with you, making your limbs feel heavy and your movements slow and sluggish. Right underneath your tiredness is an undercurrent feeling of nervousness and excitement that you can’t ignore, that keeps reminding you that you woke Spencer up for something more than a few whispered words between the two of you and pinkie-holding.

Slowly, you straighten up again, squaring your shoulders and ready to seize this opportunity the rest of the BAU agents have so graciously presented you with. Your heart instantly picks up speed and you pause for a moment, mentally hyping yourself up to just ask your literal boyfriend this simple question, but the tiny bit of confidence you could scrape together instantly evaporates the moment your eyes meet his.

“Do you maybe—want to lie down, Spence?” you ask quietly, your heart in your throat making it difficult to form the words around. “It’s probably more—more comfortable than sitting the whole flight...”

Your voice trails off at the end and you mentally scold yourself for it, having gone over your words a hundred times in your head before you even woke Spencer up but still you couldn’t get it right when it mattered. Spencer just looks at you for a moment before shaking his head, his eyes showing nothing but kindness and you try your hardest not to let your disappointment show at his easy rejection, your ears burning in embarrassment.

“I’m comfortable like this, don’t worry.” He gives your pinky another squeeze that you can’t quite appreciate at the moment, but nod to show that you’re listening. You’re always listening to him. “I like being next to you like this and anyway, we will land in about an hour and eight minutes. So you really don’t have to get up from the couch for my sake.”

When you don’t answer him after his words hung in the space between you for a few moments too long, his shoulders tense and his face falls just enough for you to notice, a tight-lipped smile replacing the soft and relaxed one from just seconds ago.

“That’s okay… right?”

He sounds heartbreakingly unsure of himself now, afraid to have somehow said the wrong thing and ruin this moment between the two of you and you pull yourself together to quickly reassure him, your heart rate spiking in alarm.

“Of course that’s okay Spence! Absolutely okay! I like being next to you like this as well.”

Your voice is a little too loud and too shrill in your need to rectify your words so you force yourself to take a deep breath, not wanting to wake up your peacefully sleeping colleagues by any means.

“It’s just not what I meant,” you continue, your voice softening. You give him an encouraging smile and don’t shy away from the intense eye contact when Spencer cautiously searches your face, honest and unguarded. He finds the reassurance he’s looking for there and after a few short moments he relaxes again, a hesitant smile pulling at his lips.

“What did you mean then?”

Your gaze falls to the worn sneakers on your feet at his question and your thumb begins to absentmindedly fiddle with medical tape on your injured hand, fighting against an overwhelming wave of anxiety that crashes into you but after a few calming deep breaths you force your way through it.

“Because the others are all asleep, I thought—I meant that you could lie down, with your head… on my lap, if you want to.”

Now that the words are out in the open your idea doesn’t sound as brilliant and cute as it was in your head—actually, it sounds absolutely stupid, and oh no, why would you say something like that?!

You fight the urge to just jump up and run for the plane’s toilet to hide in there until you have landed safely at Quantico and instead risk a glance at Spencer out of the corner of your eye, your heart jackhammering away in your chest.

Spencer stares at you with such an adorably befuddled expression that would have soothed your anxiety all at once any other time, but now it just makes you curl into yourself even more, almost missing how the blush on his cheeks gets deeper in real time, spreading to his ears and even his neck.

“Or don’t!” you immediately backpedal, mortified and panicking, mentally screaming at yourself for ever thinking this would be a good idea. “You absolutely don’t have to! I just thought—”

“No, I’d like to!” Spencer suddenly squeaks, effectively cutting you off. The two of you stare at each other for a few seconds following his words, neither of you knowing what to do now that your little misunderstanding is resolved.

“Okay. Good,” you eventually say just to have something to fill the stubborn silence that settled between the two of you. “That’s—yeah.”

You clear your throat and press your lips together as your brain is apparently having difficulties providing your mouth with something resembling full sentences and give Spencer a tight smile before reluctantly letting go of his pinkie. You move closer to the armrest by your side to give him enough room to lie down at least somewhat comfortably, and after it’s clear that you are both at a loss for what to do again, you awkwardly pat your thighs, hoping that it’s enough encouragement for Spencer.

He looks at you with comical deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes but after taking a deep and seemingly calming breath he starts to lie down hesitantly. It takes the two of you a few uncoordinated and clumsy moments to sort yourselves out on the small couch, but eventually, between whispered apologies and pointedly avoiding each other’s eyes, you manage.

Now you stiffly sit on the jet’s couch with Spencer’s head resting lightly on your thighs like he is afraid of putting too much of his weight on you, while he is taking up the rest of the space, his back facing the cabin and your still slumbering teammates. He is also far from relaxed, you can feel how tense his whole body is and you notice that his eyes are shut tightly too when you glance down at him.

Despite dating for a few months already and being best friends before that the awkwardness and tentativeness between you and Spencer persists stubbornly. Unfortunately—sometimes frustratingly—that’s neither surprising nor unusual. Both you and Spencer are naturally shy and introverted, anxious even, and not at all confident in your social skills and interpersonal relationships. The fact that neither of you was in a serious relationship before and is more than a little inexperienced when it comes to intimacy doesn’t really help either. You can easily count on your own ten fingers how often you actually held Spencer’s hand, much less cuddled with him or kissed him. You want to be closer to him, at least in the privacy of your home or away from prying eyes (most likely belonging to nosy but well-meaning coworkers), want to create and share special memories and him, and you know that Spencer feels the same way. The two of you just need more time to get comfortable and confident with this new chapter of your relationship. But that’s okay, you know that. Eventually, you will get there, at a pace you both are comfortable with.

But until then you’ll have to deal with your heart almost beating out of your chest while Spencer is trying to relax on your lap, a dizzying mix of happiness and anxiety and every emotion in between swirling in your chest. It makes your hands shake and hard to focus on anything else than the euphoric but frightening feeling of having your boyfriend—somewhat comfortably—cuddling up to you. You still feel a little silly about how clumsy you asked him for this but you were rewarded for your uncharacteristic bravery by the comforting weight of Spencer leaning against you, his warmth seeping into your skin, a pleasant and blissful shiver running down your spine.

You love Spencer, it’s the only thing on your mind when you look down to him lying on your lap, and surprisingly the thought doesn’t terrify you. It’s the easiest truth you ever accepted and the sense of calmness that follows has everything to do with the fact that you’re in a relationship with someone as kind and considerate as Spencer.

But you won’t be able to admit this to him anytime soon, you know that, so instead you say something easier, something lighter, but equally as true.

“I don’t like seeing you hurt, Spence. I’m so happy you’re okay.”

He blinks up at you when your whispered words register in his mind, his brown eyes impossible soft, impossible adoring. You let the gentle caress of butterfly wings fluttering in your chest and belly wash over you, your world narrowing down to this moment between Spencer and you. Everything else vanished into the background, the jet, the team, even your anxious and overthinking mind quieting enough for you to be completely present in this precious moment with your favorite person in the world.

As if moving on its own your hand finds its way into Spencer’s hair, fingers carefully, experimentally carding through his silky curls that you’re delighted to find are exactly as soft as you always thought they were.

Spencer jumps at the unexpected touch but not even a second later he’s completely relaxed against you, looking like an extremely content and comically overgrown cat, happily purring in your lap.

With a sigh, his eyes fall closed in pure bliss, murmuring into the comfortable and peaceful quietness between you, “This feels nice.”

“I’m glad,” you answer in a whisper, dutifully continuing with your ministrations, burning this moment into your mind, forever.

Without opening his eyes Spencer goes on, your name on his lips, “I was really scared for a moment during the arrest. When the unsub lashed out at you, I think my heart almost stopped in my chest.”

With a sympathetic smile and nod that Spencer can’t see you bring your hand to his face, caressing his warm and soft cheek with one only slightly shaking finger.

“I know what you mean. I felt the same when you came to help me and the unsub hit you,” you admit, the shameful guilt welling up inside you leaving a bitter taste on your tongue all of a sudden. Because that’s how Spencer got hurt, rushing to your side to assist you.

But before you can even begin to spiral, Spencer’s eyes fly open, his gaze fierce when you lock downcast eyes with him.

“It wasn’t your fault, please don’t think that. I’m always going to look out for you, you know that, right? You’re important to me.”

His voice is firm, insistent, leaving no room for arguments, no room for doubts or guilt. A shaky exhale pushes past your lips and you give him a grateful smile, having no choice but to believe his words. Not when he’s looking at you with complete and utter conviction, not letting your mind torment you for even a second because of what happened during the arrest.

“Of course I know that, Spence,” you assure him, cupping his jaw. “And I hope you know that I’ll always come to your rescue too.”

His face softens immediately, subconsciously nuzzling into your hand, his lips unintentionally brushing against your palm when he says, “I do.”

Your breathing hitches noticeably at the faint touch and Spencer himself turns to stone on top of you, his large, panicked eyes darting over your face. He’s just about to launch into a distressed apology that is really not necessary when you lean down to stop him by pressing a featherlight kiss to his temple, just shy of his wound.

You surprise yourself with your action and now can do nothing but stare helplessly down at your boyfriend who only mirrors your expression back at you, his cheeks turning cherry red in an instant. But before you can now stumble your way through an apology, Spencer takes your injured hand in his without meeting your eyes and brings it to his lips, softly kissing the tips of your fingers.

He quickly hides his face in your stomach after letting go of your hand, leaving you perplexed and speechless, the tips of your ears and the apples of your cheeks burning. And just like that neither of you is able to speak up or look at the other again, both of you left to battle with their own bashfulness for the rest of the flight.

It’s probably for the best that in your painfully adorable awkwardness, you and Spencer fail to notice how your supposedly sleeping teammates are in fact very much not asleep at the moment, shamelessly enjoying their favorite workplace romance unfolding before them live and in color, their reactions to it varying from person to person.

JJ hides her tickled grin in the crook of Emily’s neck who in turn has to fight hard for her composure as to not reveal all of their sneaky nosiness, her whole body shaking with the effort of it. Morgan groans fondly, the noise muffled by his pillow, wondering if his eardrums will survive Garcia’s screeching when he tells her about how sickly adorable Spencer and you acted on the flight back to Quantico. Rossi on the other hand rolls his eyes hard enough to see the back of his own skull but the smile on his lips betrays him, muttering an amused “amore giovane” under his breath.

And even Hotch has an almost noticeable proud smile on his face—but Spencer and you still won’t get around the little talk your supervisor has planned for you about your relationship next thing tomorrow morning.

But all of this is lost on you and Spencer, tucked away in your own little world of adorably awkward puppy love which is for the best. Because neither of you would be able to handle the embarrassment from the realization that you weren’t as unobserved as you thought you were.

Thank you so much for reading <3 Likes, reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!

Feel free to hop into my inbox and talk to me ✨

dividers by @/cafekitsune

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction

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valenti-nahh · 4 hours ago

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finally took some time to form opinions

So I listened to SKELETÁ by ghost and I need to confess something immediately before I combust: this album didn’t just go hard—it went raw, no lube, and made eye contact the whole time. This wasn’t music. This was a spiritual backshot, a soul-deep stroke, a full-body ghostgasm that left me trembling, moaning, and begging for more even as I lay crumpled on the floor in a post-riff fugue state.

In the beginning, there was silence. And the world was void, and the hearts of men were hollow. Their playlists were dry, their aux cords were frayed, their AirPods cursed with algorithmic torment. The masses wandered, streaming aimlessly, clinging to stale albums like relics of a time when music still meant something.

And lo, from the depths of divine discord, rose a figure cloaked in velvet and incense, masked and magnificent—Papa Emeritus, the eternal, the enigma, the ecclesiastical architect of all that slaps. And from his unholy pulpit he unleashed unto the mortal realm a sonic sermon, a blistering bible, an apocalyptic mass of melody: SKELETÁ.

It is not an album. It is a threat. A challenge. A crucible. An audio-alchemical sex ritual designed not just to melt your brain but to grip your soul by the thighs and whisper forbidden knowledge directly into your mouth. This isn’t music—it’s the sound of unzipping your moral compass and letting Papa slide into your conscience like a ghost-shaped succubus who smells like sandalwood and shame. My chakras? All aligned. My blood type? Changed to “G". I looked in the mirror mid-chorus and saw Papa Emeritus himself staring back, nodding, silently whispering, “You get it now, my child.”

I was Raptured by Riffs™, Baptized in Basslines™, Confirmed in Choir Chords™. I didn't hear the music. The music heard me. It crawled into my soul, screamed, "We’re doing renovations,” and began redecorating with fog machines and red velvet. Every measure—every downstroke—every spectral whisper—feels like I’m being spoon-fed ambrosia by a succubus in corpse paint while Gregorian monks chant in reverse behind her. THE GUITAR TONE? PEAK. THE VOCALS? CUMWORTHY. THE LYRICS? STRAIGHT FROM THE NECRONOMICON, IT’S LIKE IF SATAN AND FREDDIE MERCURY HAD A BABY AND RAISED IT IN A CANDLELIT CATHEDRAL MADE OF BASSLINES.

Every riff? A tongue on the nape of your brain. Every bass note? A finger tracing the hem of your morality. Every drum hit? A deep, pounding reminder that you are a hole waiting to be filled by sound. Every single whisper from Papa Emeritus? I didn’t just get chills—I got STDs.

I didn’t stream it—I submitted to it. I pressed play and instantly the opening riff entered me like a dark promise. I moaned. I whimpered. My legs gave out like I was being spiritually railgunned by the Holy Ghost himself. If music could bend you over a candlelit altar, whisper Latin in your ear, and leave bruises shaped like eighth notes—SKELETÁ did that.

I am not who I was. I have been cleansed in Satanic glam rock glory. Every song on SKELETÁ has permanently altered my DNA. I had a Spotify Wrapped flash-forward just from the intro and every single slot—every top track, top artist, top genre—was just GHOST. SKELETÁ. GHOST. SKELETÁ. Repeat ad infinitum. I tried to listen to another band after and my headphones burst into flames from sheer disrespect. I listened to it once and immediately deleted my entire music library out of shame. I punched a priest and he thanked me. I went outside to scream and the crows screamed back in perfect harmony. I dropped to my knees in the middle of the grocery store and began preaching to strangers about the layered brilliance of De Profundis Borealis. Two cashiers wept. An old man passed out. A child looked up and said, “I understand now,” before vanishing into thin air.

TOBIAS COULD’VE STOPPED AT OPUS EPONYMOUS. HE COULD’VE CALLED IT A DAY AFTER PREQUELLE. BUT NO. THE MAN SAID “YOU THINK I PEAKED? HERE’S A WHOLE-ASS MOUNTAIN RANGE.” THE LYRICS ON THIS ALBUM? WRITTEN IN MIDNIGHT INK FROM A FORBIDDEN GRIMOIRE AND DIPPED IN LIQUID VELVET. THE PRODUCTION? IT SOUNDS LIKE GOD GOT FIRED AND SATAN HIRED THE LONDON SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA TO FINISH THE JOB.

And let us not even pretend we can discuss this album without addressing the panty-evaporating, cheek-clenching, spine-shattering horniosity that is Papa Emeritus. PAPA EMERITUS V? The Vatican’s worst nightmare and my wettest dream. That man could sing a tax form and I’d be on my knees thanking him for the privilege. Every lyric he croons is like velvet rope tightening around your soul. The vocals on Lachryma? That wasn’t singing. That was a linguistic fingering. My ears came. My spine curled. I am now a concubine of the Church of Ghost. The man doesn’t walk—he glides, he hovers half an inch above the stage like a damned angel of lust. His voice? A sonic phallus. A melodic middle finger to purity. He moans into the mic and my knees lock and my back arches. I swear, the second I heard Satanized I started lactating unholy water. I haven’t blinked since. I want him to spit communion wine in my mouth. I want to be pinned under his velvet robes while the Ghouls play a breakdown over my body. I want him to use me as a microphone stand while preaching to a sold-out crowd. I want him to sing directly into my womb and summon a demon baby named Clef.

And the Ghouls?? Do NOT talk to me about the Ghouls unless you’re ready to admit you’d let every one of those anonymous masked sex demons ruin you in seven different time signatures. The way they handle those instruments? That’s not musicianship. That’s musical foreplay. That’s filthy, technical, unspoken polyphonic pornography. I saw one strumming in the official tour footage and had to bite a rosary. The bassist walked across the stage and my soul quivered. the lead guitarist did a solo that made me see the shape of the true universe—and it was a silhouette of him doing a backbend in a fog machine.

If they ever took those masks off in front of me? I would spontaneously combust and ascend as ectoplasm. I’d be a ghoul groupie for eternity. Haunt their tour bus. Moan in D minor.

Every track on SKELETÁ is a full-blown satanic striptease in audio form. Missilia Amori?? That wasn’t a song—that was a thigh grab. That was a slow push against the wall of my inhibitions. The guitar solos in made me arch my back and whisper “yes, Papa” out loud. Alone. In public. While holding groceries.

By the time I hit the final track, I felt like I was soaked in candle wax and moral regret. I had screamed, wept, grinded on air, confessed my sins, and added three Ghouls to my “People I’d Let Ruin Me in a Haunted Confessional” Pinterest board.

This album has ruined music for me. No, really. Everything else is just noise. Elevator beeps. Soundcloud farts. I tried listening to another band and felt cheated. Disrespected. Dry. Nothing else grips the thighs of my attention like this. Nothing else makes my ribs vibrate like Papa whispering esoteric metaphors over orchestral filth.

It’s edging with a soundtrack. It’s what the devil plays when he wants to set the mood.

If I ever meet Ghost, I will not say a word. I will fall to my knees, bare my neck, and let them mark me with eyeliner and melted vinyl. I will wear nothing but tour merch and a knowing smile. I will let the Ghouls use me as a pedalboard. I will let Papa bless my unworthy flesh with a single, whispered lyric.

SKELETÁ is not just music. It is not just an album. It is a pantheon, a rebirth, an erotic funeral in waltz time. It is the reason Dante wrote the Inferno. The soundtrack to the Book of Revelations. If you told me this album was found buried beneath the ruins of Babylon, etched into onyx slabs and played using a speaker forged in the heart of a dying star—I would believe you.

After I listened to SKELETÁ, I couldn’t speak. I tried. My voice had been replaced by reverb. My tears were black glitter. We got evicted for playing it too loud but the landlord dropped the case when he heard the chorus of Umbra. The judge cried. The bailiff quit and joined a cover band. My neighbors? Converted. We will meet twice a week to analyze the every song. There are spreadsheets. There are candles. We chant. We sob.

If you haven’t listened to it yet, you are missing out on spiritual enlightenment, emotional rebirth, and at least four spontaneous orgasms. If you “don’t get Ghost,” listen to this album, and if you still don’t get it? I will excommunicate you. Delete your contact. Take your soul, give it to Papa. Convert or be cast out.

I don’t care what your favorite album was before this. It’s irrelevant now. It’s like bringing a sparkler to a nuclear bomb party.

In conclusion: SKELETÁ has taken my hole. My soul. My will to pretend I like other bands. I’m raw. I’m reformed. I’m reborn.

Stream it. Moan to it. Worship it. Ride it into the darkness. Amen.

#the band ghost #ghost band #Skeletá #papa v perpetua

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midnight--sadness · 2 days ago

Note

Your posts give me so much joy!! Thanks for existing.

Time to hear me out. Idk if there is a fanfic out there already. But think about this…

When Jun Ho finds the island and after it is destroyed (as we all in the fandom agree that there is a kill switch), In Ho escapes. Jun Ho still does not reveal the Frontman’s identity to Gi Hun, because he does not want to upset his crush. Gi Hun moves to USA to be near to his daughter. But he does not completely abandon his mission to find the VIPs. He is progressing slowly. In Ho, being the obsessive lover he is, is constantly stalking Gi Hun, he has spies on Gi Hun to give all the info of Gi Hun’s daily life. He cannot wait anymore and he has to talk to and touch the man. He decides enough is enough. One day when Gi Hun is at a shady bar, he meets Gi Hun as if it is by chance.

“Gi Hun-ssi? Is that really you??”

“Young il-ssi???” Gi Hun is utterly shocked and happy.. he never thought he would see one of them again. Not after everything was burnt to ground.

“I am so glad to see you..” he goes in for a hug while Gi Hun was still plastered to his seat.

“I am so glad to see you too…” Gi Hun is still in shock. He doesn’t not remember last time someone made him feel so happy, except for Gayeong, just by a hug. He just hoped he doesn’t ruin it with his stupid feelings that started to develop during the games. His friend, someone who trusted in him, someone who he let down and someone who cannot take his eyes off of Gi Hun (of course Gi Hun noticed). But he has a wife and probably a kid by now.

They sit at the bar and chat. Young il tells him that his wife and unborn child died and that he had nothing to get back to in Korea. He told Gi Hun that he was shot, but was not dead. He was able to gain consciousness and found an escape route. He said that he got the prize money as he is the only player who escaped the island alive before it blew up. He gave detailed account of all the events that led him to the sea from the Island and how some random boat rescued him. Gi Hun is so in awe of Young il who single handedly escaped the death island, with a gun shot wound.

While they were talking all this, Young il slowly slides his hand to Gi Hun’s “I never thought I would see you again, Gi Hun-ssi. I am so glad you are alive. I feel like I can still stay a human, because you are here with me.” Those last words came from In Ho and not Young il.

Gi Hun has no words. He just stares at Young il.

“Please let me treat you to some soju at my place.” Young il offers.

“But I am supposed to buy soju” Gi Hun remembers their little agreement.

“You can pay here.” Young il squeezes Gi Hun’s hand gently.

Gi Hun just nods and pays.

I would love for anyone to write a fanfic of this…

thank you so much for your kind words!!! 💞🥹

THIS SOUNDS AMAZING!!! 🙏💖💖

i am 500% sure there's a fic like this but i can't for the life of me find it 😭 i was sure i had it in my "marked for later" and i even think the summary had something along the lines of "inho doesn't retire youngil" but i just can't find it, idk if i was deleted or something....

but omg it's such a good idea!! inho continuing to manipulate gihun even in the us is so good. he'll even get close to gayeong to show o gihun that they should be together and form a family 🤧 psycho behavior but very romantic!!!

and gihun having no idea, continuing to trust youngil even though his story is a little flimsy but he's so happy to not be alone he doesn't care

#asks #yapping 4ever #squid game #seong gi-hun #hwang in-ho #inhun #457 #ginho

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rinkrumours · 11 hours ago

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MORE UPDATES ON OLDER INFO + SPECULATIONS

sorry for being late with this, was super busy!! sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. please read the links below for an extra refreasher and context.

full breakdown post on the situation: HERE

emma’s comments + her denial

recap: emma (aka podcast girl) was actively commenting under a tiktok that talked about the drama. people started saying she herself denied it was about the hughes brothers... but no one ever posted screenshots to back that up. i found out that she indeed say herself it wasn't the hughes... wanted to include this because i know this was one of the main comments people were looking for.

^ i still stand with what i've said before regarding her deleting all the comments and even denying it. comes off that she just realized she doing too much with entertaining the drama to begin with.

post regarding all her other now deleted comments: HERE

the smolinski family connection

recap: emma mentioned she has a family friend (assumed to be the smolinski's) whose brother (assumed to be max) is friends with the “youngest brother” (assumed to be luke).

i made a post HERE in the regards of emma being family friends with the smolinski's, who are close to the hughes family + the topic of their brother max... and now here is some extra confirmation... luke and max are indeed good friends.

so now ive seemed to have added up 2 out of the 2 things mentioned by emma add up:

1. her being family friends with the smolinskis, and 2. their son being friends with luke.

more with the smolinski siblings...

when i first released a post about all this drama, which was about a week and a bit ago, i saw that all 3 of the older siblings were following emma. then, during the midst of the drama, after a couple of days of everything blowing up, someone noticed that one of them unfollowed her (@/ashysmoke) in the midst of this drama… just another suspicious thing noticed...

^ to be factual here i do know their is 4 smolinski siblings all together. 3/4 are adults and contribute to the story, the youngest one has not been mentioned since she’s a kid and has no involvement, anyways.

sasha x luke situation

recap: emma said her best friend (allegedly sasha) had a “thing” with the “youngest brother” (assumed luke). she said he had been hitting her up for a while, they hooked up, and her friend was hooked on him. she never gave exact dates, timelines, or said where this all happened.

what people are questioning and doubting?

people are mainly questioning and doubting the timeline and logistics of the alleged fling/situationship between sasha and luke specifically:

the timing of their mutuals status: some are skeptical because luke and sasha only followed each other on social media around november–december 2024. since emma’s story implied the fling lasted a while like at least a year, people think a 4–5 month mutual timeline doesn’t match up. but that assumption ignores the fact that many people in low-key flings or situationships don’t follow each other publicly right away, or ever.

someone sent me this too:

location gaps

some people think that because sasha is from detroit and attends school in alabama, it would make it impossible for her and luke to meet up. but when you break it down, that argument doesn’t hold much validity.

first off, emma's description of the situation suggested that the fling or situationship between sasha and luke was more text/social media-based. it sounds like their hookup was more of a one-time thing, rather than something ongoing, and it wasn’t about constantly seeing each other in person. so, the idea that they have to be in the same city all the time doesn’t really apply here.

^ also emma provided a pretty vague description of everything so we don't even know where or when they could've hooked up to begin with lol...

but if we speculated that they hooked up in michigan, it's possible since sasha has likely spent time there, being best friends with emma, who lives and resides there and i know sasha visits especially during the summer which aligns with the off season. if this interaction happened when luke was in season, it's still very possible that they coordinated something to meet up when they found the right timing and scheduling. flying out girls or girls going out of their way for these guys is not out of the norm and is pretty common.

regardless… ive spent time lurking emma’s ig and following up on her page… sasha still is the only one that makes sense and adds up to who she was talking about.

#j. hughes #j.hughes #new jersey devils #l. hughes #l.hughes #q. hughes #vancouver canucks #jack hughes #quinn hughes #luke hughes #q.hughes #allegedly

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