#like we are supposed to be on the SAME SIDE

[prlssprfctn]

Jason, being a semi-canonic common hallucination in the family after his death, could lead to the stupidest AU ever.

Imagine everyone seeing him — Bruce, half of the time, Dick non-stop, Tim more often than not, and eventually even Alfred starts seeing little boy's silhouette in the corner of his eye, but he never admits it, because someone needs to stay sane in this family.

It is a lot like real-life cases when cult families start to see collective hallucination, and it somehow syncronises in their minds, so they hear and see the same things, you know?

So, yeah, everyone sees Jaybin around.

Everyone but Damian. Damian is a normal one. He also knows his Akhi is alive and well, so whatever. And it takes him some time to figure out that his family is bat-shit insane, but when he does, he decides to use it on his advantage.

Damian, calling Jason: Akhi, you should visit me. It is getting awfully boring here.

Jason, frowning: You know I can't. They think I am dead, and I can't risk my plan, especially now, when Red Hood is gaining-

Damian: We will pretend you are a hallucination.

Jason: ...What?

Damian: So, there is a plan...

So, a few days after this call, Jason arrives at the Wayne Manor. He still thinks his brother's plan sucks, but gaslighting is one of his many talents, so surely, they will figure something out. He can lie his way through this meeting.

Expect, he doesn't even need to lie. His family is actually insane.

Bruce, bumping in Jason:

Jason, staring back: Uh-

Bruce: Wow. You look so grown-up. And we look so alike. Nice one, brain.

Jason: ?..

Tim, leaving his room: Hi, B, hi- Oh, damn. Hi, Jaybin. Nice leather jacket.

Bruce: Right? I guess his ghost just grows up with us now.

Jason: ????

Alfred, nodding along, out of nowhere: Master Dick will hate it. He looks taller now.

All of them: (peacefully leave the room)

Jason: What. The. Fuck.

Jason waits for the moment of clarity to happen as he chats with Damian in the kitchen, but... nothing changes. They really, really think he is a hallucination. So... he starts hanging out around more. Both because Damian is getting angsty, and because it is kinda... amusing.

Tim, stuck on the same case for a few nights, non-stop: Oh, it is really just me and you in this, Jason.

Jason, playing Mario Cart on the table by his side: Maybe take a nap, dude.

Tim: No, I need to figure out this case with-

Jason, rolling his eyes: Red Hood had already dealt with it. Go to sleep.

Tim: ...You are such a good self-care kind of hallucination.

Jason: ...

Damian: Your bets, when will they realise that you are a real person?

Jason: At this point, I am not sure that they will, even if I start screaming that I am real.

Damian: Fair. I bet a year would do.

Jason: ...A year and a half.

Dick visits the Manor. He cooes at Jason, muttering something about "of course, he would have grown up in a punk," and Jason almost breaks his role to hit him on the head.

Jason, arms folded on his chest: You know, you need serious help, dad.

Bruce, blinking at him slowly: Probably. You know what else I need?

Jason: Sleep? Retirement? To stop adopting strays? The list is endless, man.

Bruce: ...Coffee. I need more coffee.

Jason, groaning: What the fuck!!!

Alfred figures out that Jason is real, eventually. Solely because he catches him sneaking a few extra cookies, and hallucinations are not supposed to eat. He plays along with him and Damian until the very end, anyway.

(Damian ends up winning the bet because Jason loses it once and pushes Bruce down the stairs, when he starts reciting some precautionary tale about him. Everyone is flabbergasted.)

[harrysfolklore]

31st - hs

happy birthday to the one and only love of my life 🥹🥹 31 omg! i hope he has the best day ever <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You woke up early on February 1st, carefully slipping out of bed without disturbing Harry, who was still peacefully sleeping. The morning sun was just beginning to peek through the curtains, reflecting light across his face. At 31, he was somehow even more beautiful than when you'd first met him - a few more laugh lines around his eyes, his curls slightly shorter now, but still undeniably your Harry.

Making your way to the kitchen, you began the birthday breakfast preparations you'd been planning for days. You started brewing his favorite coffee and pulled out the ingredients for the banana pancakes he loved so much.

As you worked, you couldn't help but smile, remembering his 30th birthday last year - the big party, all their friends and family gathered together. This year, though, Harry had asked for something quieter, more intimate. "Just us," he'd said, "maybe dinner with family later."

The sound of footsteps made you look up, and there he was, leaning against the doorframe in his pajama bottoms and that old Rolling Stones t-shirt you loved so much.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," you scolded playfully, whisking the pancake batter.

"Bed was cold without you," he mumbled, voice still rough with sleep. His hair was adorably mussed, and he had pillow creases on his cheek. "Besides, something smells amazing."

"Happy birthday, love," you said softly, abandoning your cooking to wrap your arms around him.

He hummed contentedly, pulling you closer and burying his face in your neck. "Thank you, baby."

"Thirty-one," you mused, running your fingers through his hair. "How does it feel?"

"Honestly?" He pulled back to look at you, his green eyes twinkling. "Pretty much the same as thirty. Though I did find another grey hair yesterday."

You laughed, reaching up to touch the single silver strand at his temple. "I think it makes you look distinguished."

"Distinguished?" He raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Mhmm," you nodded seriously. "Very sophisticated. Very George Clooney."

"Oi!" He tickled your sides, making you squeal. "I'm not that old yet!"

The pancakes were momentarily forgotten as you both dissolved into laughter, play-fighting in the kitchen like teenagers. Finally, Harry pulled you close again, pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

"You know," he murmured, "this is already my favorite birthday."

"It's barely started!"

"Doesn't matter. I'm here with you, in our kitchen, and you're making me breakfast. What could be better?"

Your heart swelled with love for this man who could find joy in the simplest moments. "Well, it might get even better when you see your presents."

His eyes lit up like a child's. "Presents? But you said we weren't doing big gifts this year!"

"And we're not," you assured him, turning back to the pancakes before they burned. "Just a few small things. Though..." you paused for dramatic effect, "there might be tickets to that vintage guitar show in Nashville you were talking about."

Harry's gasp of delight made you laugh. "Really? The one with the '59 Les Paul?"

"Maybe," you sang, flipping a pancake. "You'll have to wait and see."

He wrapped his arms around you from behind, watching you cook. "Have I told you lately that you're the best wife ever?"

You felt your cheeks flush at the word 'wife,' still not quite used to hearing it spoken aloud. After nearly a year of marriage, it was still your precious secret, shared only with family and closest friends. The ring on your finger was usually hidden away in public, and you'd both become experts at careful wording in interviews.

"Shh," you teased, though your heart fluttered at his words. "The walls might have ears."

Harry chuckled, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "You know, I've been thinking about that actually."

"About what?" you asked, sliding the last pancake onto the plate.

He turned you around gently, his expression thoughtful. "About keeping it secret. Don't get me wrong, this past year has been incredible, having something that's just ours. But sometimes..." he paused, running a hand through his hair, "sometimes I just want to tell the whole world that I'm married to the most amazing woman."

You set down the spatula, studying his face. "Really? You want to go public?"

"Only if you're ready," he said quickly. "But yeah, I do. It's been almost a year, and honestly, I'm tired of not being able to call you my wife whenever I want to. Of having to take my ring off for appearances. Of watching you do the same."

Your heart raced at the possibility. "It would change things," you said softly. "The privacy we've had..."

"I know," he nodded, taking your hands in his. "But maybe... maybe it's time. And what better day than my birthday? We could post something simple, just us."

You thought about it for a moment. The past year had been magical, your private bubble of newlywed bliss protected from the public eye. But he was right - there was something exhausting about constantly hiding, about choosing your words so carefully, about slipping your rings off before stepping outside.

"Okay," you finally said, a smile spreading across your face. "Let's do it."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug. "But after breakfast! These pancakes are getting cold."

Later, after breakfast and presents, you both sat on the couch, phones in hand. You'd chosen a simple photo from your wedding day - just your hands intertwined, both wearing your rings, nothing too revealing but unmistakably a wedding photo.

"Ready?" he asked, his thumb hovering over the 'post' button.

You took a deep breath, nodding. "Ready."

With a click, your secret was out in the world. You both turned your phones to silent, knowing they would explode with notifications any second.

"How does it feel?" Harry asked, pulling you close.

You twisted your ring, which for the first time wouldn't have to come off when you left the house later. "Liberating," you decided. "Scary, but good scary."

"No more hiding," he agreed, kissing your temple.

"No more hiding," you repeated, then laughed. "Your mum's going to be thrilled. She's been dying to post those wedding photos."

"Oh God," Harry groaned good-naturedly. "She's probably already sharing them as we speak."

You snuggled closer to him, enjoying this quiet moment before the world would inevitably explode with the news. "Happy birthday, H. Sorry I kind of hijacked it with our announcement."

"Are you kidding?" He grinned down at you. "This is the best gift you could have given me. Now everyone knows I'm the luckiest man alive."

"Charmer," you muttered, but you were smiling.

"Your charmer," he corrected, then added with obvious delight, "Your husband."

"My husband," you agreed, loving how it felt to say it out loud, knowing you wouldn't have to whisper it anymore.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

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harrystyles Best birthday gift was marrying my soulmate almost a year ago. Thank you for keeping our secret. ❤️

February, 2024

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username1 WHAT THE HELL

username2 IS THIS A JOKE

taylorswift Finally!! 🥂 Keeping this secret was TORTURE. So happy for you both ♥️

gemmastyles Bbout time you two told everyone!! now i can finally post all the cute photos from the wedding 😭💕

lizzo YALL I WAS AT THE WEDDING AND HAD TO PRETEND I WASNT THIS WHOLE TIME 😭 CONGRATS AGAIN BESTIES

niallhoran The most beautiful day! Love you both!

yourinstagram Finally 🤍 Happy birthday to my husband (!!!) who makes every day feel like a love song. Thank you for choosing me, always.

username3 HUSBAND???????? MARRIED????????? IM SHAKING AND CRYING AND THROWING UP

username4 OH MY GOD THE SIGNS WERE THERE ALL ALONG. REMEMBER WHEN HE KEPT TOUCHING HIS RING FINGER IN THAT ONE INTERVIEW??

username5 not me zooming in on every detail of this photo 👀 THE RINGS ARE SO BEAUTIFUL IM SOBBING

username6 the way they kept this secret for a YEAR?? we love a private couple

username7 HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. I REPEAT. HARRY STYLES IS A MARRIED MAN

username8 im so happy for them but also crying in the club rn 😭

username9 THE WAY YN JUST CALLED HIM HUSBAND IM SCREAMING

username10 not me thinking about how they had a whole secret wedding and we had no idea 😭 they're so powerful

username11 "best birthday gift" STOP IM CRYING THIS IS SO ROMANTIC

[towers-in-starlight]

Musing a bit on how to build more porn-without-plot literary-analysis-community:

On one level: as suggested in the post, set up something like TV Tropes but for porn. I don't expect "more permissive TV Tropes" itself to gather much momentum—All The Tropes tries to be that, but the network effects are against it and it ends up having trouble holding onto an active userbase as a result—but I could see a more focused project, a catalog specifically of porn tropes and of tropes-of-porn-works, maybe succeeding, in much the same way that no one has managed to make a serious general-purpose Wikipedia competitor but people have succeeded at building up a lot of very successful relatively-narrowly-topic-specific wikis.

But trope-centric literary analysis—although I pretty strongly disagree with the no-qualifiers "it's bad" crowd—is only one angle on literary analysis, and there are a bunch of others it would be good to build more community around, too. Theorycrafting, fine-grained analyses of character psychology, fine-grained analyses of theme, et cetera. We don't just want TV Tropes for porn; we also want tumblr for porn.

...at which point I need to stick on some qualifiers, because tumblr already kind of is tumblr for porn. Like, this post is solidly tumblr-permitted and is good porn-analysis. It would be nice to use a site with fewer annoying restrictions pornwise—Dreamwidth comes to mind as a better preexisting option in this field—but, mostly, the problem isn't one of site support—unlike in the tropes case—and is instead one of community. Getting the people who read/view/play/etc. porn to post analytically about it more-rather-than-less often, so that fewer people think of it as something to keep hidden, so that more people post about it, et cetera. Moving social norms towards porn—especially less-plotty porn, since it's more needed there—more in the direction of "thing to build fandom around", basically.

(Where, at the moment, people often build fandom around porn in the narrow sense of "fandoms often produce a lot of porn"—kink memes are a thing, and all—but only infrequently do so in the broad sense where the porn is the thing they're fans of and not just as an artifact produced and consumed in the process of engagement with other nonporn source materials which they're fans of, especially when it comes to the less-plotty side of the porn genre.)

I know, from the ground up, how to do that. Make more fan-posts, especially literary-analysis-shaped ones, about the porn I like, and thereby hopefully inspire others to follow in my footsteps, thus slowly shifting social norms to make it more common. But it's hard, because it needs scale: me alone doing it won't accomplish much, if lots of others don't join me.

So I suppose I'll end this post with a call to arms: for any fellow porn-fans who want more literary analysis of porn to exist, make it! Write your own analyses of the porn you find most in need of analysis! It's through our efforts—not just the efforts of anonymous others in the crowd, but also of you and I—that we can arrange for writing those analyses to be normalized.

while i completely understand why sites like tvtropes have rules against pages dedicated to explicitly nsfw media, i do sort of wish there were spaces to analyze pornography and ecchi content in a literary manner. “all porn, no plot” stories are still stories which still have a history and meaning to them, and they are still worth examining in a critical manner, even if their sole purpose is to titillate.

essentially what i’m saying here is that things like niche fetish novellas are still art and should be treated as such, even if there’s a lower bar for quality and smaller target audience compared to traditional fiction.

[g1rld1ary]

heart shaped doodles - james potter x reader

wc: 836

summary: you accidentally get given james' essay, covered in doodles with your intials together

me: wrote this in one sitting i love loverboy james!!!!!

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

you were in agonies waiting for your latest potions essay. usually, you had a pretty good grasp of how you were doing academically, but this last project just had you muddled and confused.

the confusion you felt about your essay, though, was completely overshadowed by the utter bewilderment you experienced as you looked down at the piece of paper slughorn had handed you.

all over the heading and through the margins laid doodled hearts, slightly smudged from carelessness. even stranger than the hearts was that your initials sat right in the middle of them, paired with the unmistakable ‘j.p.’.

you quickly paged through the rest of the essay, face draining of colour at the characteristic chicken scratch — and even more so at the clearly accidental inclusion of a page in the middle, filled with doodles and the repeated mantra of ‘mr james’ followed by your last name.

before you could process what you’d just read slughorn snatched the essay out of your hands, booming laugh echoing through the potions classroom.

“sorry about that,” he shook his head as if to reprimand himself, “i must have gotten confused with your initials being all over it.” that got the class’ attention, and several gryffindors craned their necks to catch a glance of the paper as the professor passed.

when slughorn finally made it to james’ desk, dropping the essay down silently, the class erupted into chaos. teasing and heckling ensued as both you and james sunk into your seats, and you were sure your face was the same shade of red as his.

slughorn failed spectacularly at controlling the class after the revelation that the james potter had a crush on you. and not just any crush, a doodle-your-names-together-in-the-margins, down-bad kind of crush. knowing that no more learning was going to happen slughorn dismissed you all, and you had plans to run straight to your dorm and hide there until everyone stopped caring about the whole incident.

remus lupin was immediately at your side, chatting to you about something you weren’t particularly interested in, but you were too polite to tell him of your hibernation plans. you nodded and agreed with him until you were the only ones left in the classroom. apart from james.

you froze, panic overtaking you as you stumbled to put the last of your things in your bag and run when a voice called your name. you knew instantly it was james and turned slowly to face him, forcing yourself to reluctantly make eye contact.

there was still a light dusting of blush above his cheekbones, and the way he was rubbing the back of his neck betrayed his own nervousness.

“hey,” he said, hand clutching the single strap of his bag.

“hi,” you replied, trying to stop your hands from shaking.

“so you, uh, saw my paper?”

“yeah,” you breathed, “um, congrats on the ‘o’ by the way. wish it really was my essay.” james laughed softly at your joke, messing up his hair for something to do.

“i could help you sometime! if you need it, of course.” james cringed at his own reply, the instant realisation that it maybe wasn’t the right thing to say at the moment.

“right,” you trailed off, “well, i’m gonna—”

“wait!” james reached out, a hand catching your bicep lightly. it sent goosebumps up and down the length of your arm. you looked at james expectantly, heart hammering in your chest.

“look, i — fuck. there’s no point pretending we both don’t know now. i really like you. like, an embarrassing amount, as everyone’s discovered today. and i wasn’t gonna do anything about it because i figured you’re so out of my league and aren’t interested, but i suppose i’ve already made a fool out of myself today, might as well full send it. so, what do you say? can i take you out to hogsmeade sometime?”

you pretended to mull it over to give your internal voice time to scream. james potter was without a doubt the hottest guy in school, not to mention smart and funny and good at everything he tried. and he wanted to go out with you! if he wasn’t watching you with anxious interest you thought you might’ve passed out. instead, you played it cool.

“yeah,” you said, smile creeping out despite your best efforts, “yeah, that sounds like fun.”

you almost had to shield your eyes when james beamed, practically its own light source.

“cool!” he said, too loud and fast, “next weekend?” you nodded with almost equal enthusiasm, the two of you sharing the same giggly grins.

behind james you caught a glance of slughorn through the crack in his office door, smiling fondly at the both of you. maybe his slip-up wasn’t so accidental.

“so,” james said, intertwining your fingers boldly as you both turned to leave, “you need me to be your tutor?”

[triplefrontierbabe]

Hiii, I would love some lando!smau with imagine inspired by 2hands by tate mcrae, oc could be the singer?

2 hands Lando Norris smau

imagine linked here

summary: you’re a world famous singer dating Lando Norris

pairing: f! singer reader x Lando Norris

warning: slightly suggestive content

disclaimer: all photos are from Instagram and/or Pinterest I take no credit for them

a/n: I’ve seen so many people do their takes on 2 hands so hopefully you babes enjoy!!!

yourusername

liked by lando, oliviarodrigo and 1, 793, 903 others

yourusername tour has sped by so fast 💫💓

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yourdancer1 I don’t want it to endddd😩

↳ yourusername will the divas survive the end of tour😨

charli_xcx baby’s first world tour

addisonraee mommy

yourfan01 gonna need this tour imprinted in my brain asap

fanofyours0404 what are we supposed to do when this ends

internettroll65 who tf is buying tickets to listen to this mediocre music. she doesn’t even sing

↳ yndefender11 are you ill? she sings hella good and dances better than half of singers these days do

lando

liked by mclaren, yourdancer2 and 2, 893, 193 others

lando summer break around the world 🌍

view 1, 903 comments

mclaren out here doing side quests

maxfewtrell hmm what you taking a pic of there?

↳ lando the world may never know

danielricciardo lan wear a shirt correctly challenge, level impossible

↳ carlossainz55 🤣🤣🤣🤣

↳ lando damn 🥲

papayababyyy fuck he knows he’s hot

yourusername

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yourusername let em all know or whatever

view 992 comments

oliviarodrigo 🤤🤤🤤

larsenthompson so obsessed w you

ynhq let her cook🗣️

ryantedder or whatever 🤣

mclaren cute car

↳ papayagirlie04 help what does this mean

↳ princessofthepaddock what do they know that we don’t

ynfan09 mother back in the studioooo

ynluvr22 whose hands are those

↳ motorsportfan44 I’m starting to think Lando’s esp now that mclaren commented

lando

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lando just having a look around

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texaslonghorns reppin bevo 🤘

mclaren switchin things up for the weekend!!

maxfewtrell man finally put a shirt on

lnfour btw the varsity jacket is on sale, this weekend only!👀

ln4babe he looks like such a frat boy but I fear it’s working 😩

l4ndofan4 is this not basically the same car in yn’s post??

↳ formulagirlie omg wait I think you’re right

yourusername

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yourusername buckle up, new music out next month ✨

view 2,883 comments

lando nice car

↳ yourusername thanks

↳ landoloverrr bro was early asf

ynhq I don’t think you guys are ready for this!!!

mclaren hmm fourth pic looks oddly familiar 🤔

ynfan001 my worlds are colliding eeeek

francisca.cgomes suddenly I’m free that day

↳ yourusername as you should be 🤭

yourdancer2 I’m satttt

sabrinacarpenter finalllllyyyyy

formulawagtea i swear if she’s dating Lando I’ll be so pissed

↳ pitstopbaby actually go touch some grass

lando

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lando buckled up and ready to go

view 1, 999 comments

oscarpiastri 🤜🤛

mclaren our guys🧡

quadrant wishing for a win this wknd

martingarrix quick ab flex there

↳ lando thought i was slick

lnfour helmet design 🔛🔝

landobabeee okay are we all thinking it’s yn in that pic?

↳ waggossipf1 she’s been pretty quiet on social media lately… 👀

mclrnfan81 lando in his soft launch era

norrisfan01 can he fight????

↳ ynlover56 I was thinking the same 😭

yourusername

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yourusername 2 hands out now!!!!🧡💛 thx @/lando for the inspiration

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ynhq available on all platforms!!!!!!!

lando happy to be of service

↳ yourusername 😽😽😽

heidiberger_ absolutely in awe of your talent

mclaren catch us listening to this on repeat

addisonraee actually ate and left no crumbs

ynfan11 asdfghjkl is this their hard launch?!!????

papayafan04810 the caption?????? omg?????

pietra.pilao hottest song ever 🔥

↳ yourusername yk it ;)

yourusername on Twitter

lando

liked by maxverstappen1, quadrant and 3, 783,221

lando hey siri play 2 hands 🎧

view 3, 803 comments

yourusername meant every word of the song btw

↳ landodiva04 oh I know she gets it every night

↳ papayaluvr idk who’s luckier, her or him

mclaren our champ❤️‍🔥

justaninchident16 so obsessed w this couple

oscarpiastri he’s had this song on repeat all day, no joke

lnfourfan if I were her I too would write a song just about his hands 🤤

F1 Masterlist | Indycar Masterlist

taglist: @bernelflo @ifyouaintfirstyourelastt @f1updates4you @r0nnsblog

[hellhunde]

This was an illustration requested on my patreon for $5! This was the illustration for December!

homunculushound on Patreon requested "Something About Condor and Crane". There's not a lot I can show without dipping into spoiler territory, so I decided to just go with their meeting!

Instead of a long winded explanation under the cut this time, I wrote a little scene to go with it! My prose isn't the best, but I thought that would likely be more fun than just hearing me talk about it! I'd honestly love to write more little scenes for these illustrations, but we'll see!

--------

Crane was still lost on what to do without her mother. The flock had only lost Goose a couple of days ago to wounds caused by that supposed King. Watching the life drain from her mother’s eyes, hearing her final words rasp out of her mouth—”Keep the colony safe”—it all weighed heavy in Crane’s mind. Crane had been trained and groomed to take Goose’s place since she was a kitten. But now that the time was finally here….

Crane wasn't a fighter. Not many in the Flock really were. While Goose had made the judgement to allow refugees fleeing the King’s conquest to join the Flock’s ranks, many were not battle hardened either. The majority were widowed mothers and fathers with kittens to raise, the elderly, and the already injured. Not much to be able to honor her mother’s dying wish.

The Flock were sitting ducks if she couldn't get her colony in a place to actually defend themselves. She wasn't going to roll over and let that barbarian wipe out Goose's Flock—Crane’s flock—for his own gain. 

“Mother Crane?” Crane’s ear twitched at being called leader’s title. She still was not used to being called it. It was only the original Flock members that used the Mother honorific anyway. She sensed it often made the refugees too uncomfortable. She tilted her head around to see Blackbird, her medic. 

“Yes?” Crane answered.

“Uh,” Blackbird stammered out. “That cat is awake.”

Crane's ears perked. After her mother's passing, she’d taken a walk to clear her head. How convenient then had she instead found the broken body of a muscular cat in a ditch. She thought he had been a corpse, until she saw his body twitch and his eyes train on her. She sent for the medics to treat him only as insurance. She hadn't expected him to actually live. 

“Oh, good.” Crane wrapped her hairless tail around her paws. “What has he said?”

“Nothing,” Blackbird said. “Nothing at all. He just…stares. I think he might be incompetent.”

“Incompetent or not, he must be a strong soul to survive with those terrible wounds,” she said. “And the Flock needs more of those. Take me to him, maybe I can get him to talk.”

Blackbird scoffed. “Don't see what you could do that we haven't already tried.

“You should never doubt the feminine wiles, Blackbird.”

---

Blackbird was right about one thing. This cat sure did like to stare.

His head sat flat with the floor, paws on either side sheltering his muzzle. Without all the blood coating his body, Crane could more easily see the other scars that littered his huge body. This wasn’t his first tussle clearly. Crane winced as she saw the red bandages on the underside of his belly and neck. 

She spared a glance at Blackbird before she walked towards him. His large amber eyes stayed glued on her. In the morning light they showed almost red. 

“Hello, there,” Crane said soothingly, her mother had taught her. He blinked. “I’m Crane and this is the Flock’s base. Or at least a makeshift base. Our old home got ransacked and destroyed by the King’s army.”

The tom blinked again. Crane shot a look over her shoulder at Blackbird. He shrugged. 

“What's your name?” She tried instead, turning back to the tom.

Still no response. In fact, no indication he had understood her at all. Just those same large red eyes looking at her. They reminded Crane of a kitten’s: innocent, curious, scared. What a ridiculous thought. This tom must’ve been several months her senior. 

“See, Mother Crane?” Blackbird called from the entrance. “Incompetent. Can’t understand a word you say to him. We might as well throw him with kittens for all the good he would do in a fighting force.”

Crane sighed. She was about to open her mouth to sadly agree when the tom lifted his head. 

“...mother?” He said, in a raspy voice. His eyes were still blown out wide and staring at her. 

“He can talk—” Blackbird said, trotting inside to stand beside Crane. “Well, why didn’t you speak up before?”

At Blackbird’s scolding, the tom put his head down again. Crane smiled for a moment, thinking it looked like a turtle retreating into its shell with all the neck fluff he had.

Blackbird gave an aggravated huff. Crame ran her tail down his back. 

“Let me speak with him alone,” she said. “Maybe he’ll respond better to me. I’ll report anything he says back to you, okay?”

Blackbird hesitated. He eyed the tom once more before nodding. He leaped back out through the entrance, leaving Crane alone with the strange cat. Crane watched his eyes follow Blackbird out of the den, unblinking.

“Now,” she said, sitting down in front of him and getting comfortable. “how about you tell me your name?”

He took several moments to answer. Crane was beginning to worry he had gone mute again when his mouth opened.

“Tiny,” he said. Crane couldn't help but huff a laugh. She was glad to see whoever his mother was clearly had a sense of humor. Tiny’s ears perked at the sound of it. 

“Well, Tiny,” Crane said, laughter still in her voice. “This is my colony, The Flock. We’re the ones who saved you. Can I ask what happened?”

“Got ambushed.” Crane watched Tiny’s claws sheath and unsheath. 

“Now why would they do that?”

“I killed some of them.” The frankness at which he said the words sent a shiver through Crane. That had not been what she expected to come out of Tiny’s mouth. He pouted. “It's not fair to get ganged up on though. It’s mean!”

Something is seriously wrong with this cat, Crane thought. She considered for a moment speaking with Blackbird and maybe killing Tiny themselves. Something painless. That's what Goose would've done. With so many mothers and kittens joining the colony, he might be more of a liability than anything. Though, Goose wouldn't have dragged a shambled almost-corpse back to their base during this desperate time in the first place. 

But something kept her from making that call. For one, Blackbird and the other medics had used so many resources on helping this cat, it would be a waste to just kill him now. And for two… the way he looked at her. While before he had been staring at her non-stop, now he seemed to find anywhere else but her face much more interesting. He spared shy glances at her, seeming to gauge her reaction. 

She’d done the same with Goose several times. Whenever she’d come back with prey after a long day for them to share. Whenever she made an order around the colony that her mother had taught her. Whenever she’d brought Scout back to her mother, claiming him as her mate.

Approval. 

But Goose wasn't around anymore. Crane didn't need to get approval from anyone.

She fixed Tiny with a warm smile, a purr escaping her throat. “That isn't fair. We’re in that same situation now.”

“Really?” Tiny said, genuinely surprised. 

“Yes,” Crane continued. “See, the King’s Army is bullying us small colony cats, it's just not fair. We need as many cats in our corner to hold them back. You seem like a strong fighter, you can join us if you’d like.”

“I can?” Tiny said excitedly. He pushed himself up, before wincing at the pain of his injuries. “I’ve never been in a colony before!”

“Yup. All you have to do is change your name to a bird. That's all.”

Tiny thought for a moment, his lips pursed like an overactive kitten being asked some history fact. While his demeanor was definitely odd, Crane was becoming more charmed by it as the moments passed. Tiny was handsome. His build was much different than Scout’s, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all. She felt the burning shame of what her mother would think, but Goose didn’t have a say over her life anymore. Lost it the moment life had faded from her eyes.

“That cat called you mother,” Tiny said, pointing with his muzzle towards the entrance. “A mother is the one that names kittens, so you should name me!”

“Oh, I’m not—” she began before cutting herself off. She didn't think it was worth it to explain to this cat that ‘mother’ was just the Flock leader’s honorific. She wasn't sure he would be fully able to understand it anyway. “...Whatever, sure. I’ll name you. Hmmm, how about Condor? We found you in a bloody heap of yourself afterall.”

At that Tiny—Condor—finally cracked a smile, all teeth. Crane wasn't scared by the sight of them. 

“I love it!” Condor said.

[six-eyed-samurai]

My eyes narrow. Ah, it appears I am thirsty and I must now go get a glass from the water dispenser despite and therefore closer to this supposed alien killer. Jessica from HR side eyes me, having seen me just finish my cup of coffee; I cough and choke out a little show for her benefit, faking a need for the icy cold water.

The portly man seems oddly familiar in the way all portly men with fedoras, a paintbrush worthy moustache and a pinstripe suit on television are familiar. His loafers, impeccable. His laugh, booming. For all the world he looked like anyone's Uncle Jim, the one who sneaked you a little extra pocket money despite your mother's clear disapproval, drank expensive wine and smoked overlarge cigars. He should not be familiar, however, for this was his first day at my office job.

He's shuffling about, mingling, getting to know the crowd. I have half a mind to warn him not to shake Timothy's hand, not when his statistics were BOOGERS PICKED: 9.5, or to stop him from whispering whatever whisper he was into Annette's ear because RUMOURS SPREAD: 168. But if I go over there....make myself known, a chat or two...no, I don't want him to figure out my secret yet. Not until I figure out his.

Extraterrestrials. It could be a video game thing, I reminded myself as he moved towards the lifts. Or a nickname for a type of new insect pest. Oh, who am I kidding? I must know. I must.

Will you look at the time? It appears I will be late for a meeting with my manager, so excuse me, I think I'll quickly head to level two via the lifts... it's going down?...my bad, Mr. Campbell is waiting in the...parking basement, yes.

We're alone in the elevator now. I'm convinced I know that cough, that ridiculous tie pin, that pig snuffle of a sneeze into an embroidered handkerchief. What was an extraterrestrial hunter like him doing in corporate? Perhaps, like me, we needed mone-

"Why, it's you! I'd recognise that old briefcase anywhere!" He chortles and outstretches his hand. "It's old Watson, old boy! I saw you last at that party at what's her name - Vanessa?"

Ah. Him. I shake his hand vigorously.

"Watson! I almost didn't recognize you without your beard, old chap."

He chortles again and corrects his earlier statement. "Venusia, I meant, that Martian cow who's always got too much to drink."

I nod sagely. Watson was here after all, for the same reasons as me: we needed mone-TR FXX 10073 back at base. I gesture at his statistics. "I see three new additions to your alien elimination score since I saw you last."

"Ah well." He puffs up his chest modestly. "Business as usual."

"Hear, hear." The lift doors ding open and I step out smugly, straightening my coat and shooting him a pleased look. "As long as you remember I'm still one up above you, Cousin, with twenty eight."

You were born with the unique power to see the most interesting "stat" of a person floating over their head. For most, it's stuff like "TIMES WON GAMES OF POKER: 43," or "PROMISES BROKEN: 105." Today, you glance up at someone sitting nearby to see "EXTRATERRESTRIALS KILLED: 27."

[dkniade]

🌌💫🌒

Fan art of @kianamaiart’s characters from I Don’t Want To Be A Magical Girl! (with glasses, ft misc glasses characters & two IDWTBAMG universe fan characters)

I’ve been following this project from the start so it’s been great seeing interactions between the characters and how the fandom is so excited for it. ^^

I tried to draw the cast from memory and, while Miss seems a little different from canon, at least I got the dark hair roots and strands sticking out lol. But details aside they’re all recognizable! Which means they’re lovely designs that are unique from one another✨

Eclipse’s shades are a combination of his usual eye mask and the shades from this artwork, and Hoshi’s glasses are inspired by this one!🌒⭐️

Designs… (I don’t have a name for her yet but) the pigtails girl’s shapes are a combination of curves pointing downwards and curves pointing upwards. The idea ended up being that she’s on Eclipse and Lady DeVoid’s side so (after reading this post by Kiana about how most of the characters had Aika’s design as the springboard and are designed to complement eachother) I wanted her design to complement those two’s, with some influence from Zira. I like that the strands of hair on her forehead and the shape around them mirror both Zira’s hair and DeVoid’s horns haha. Plus, I was trying to figure out how to design her glasses and they ended up being kind of the inverse of Eclipse’s eye mask, which is very nice. Eclipse and DeVoid seem to be associated with sharp curves and circle shapes; maybe her outfit could be a lot fancier…

As for what her role might be in the story… I dunno, if she works with Eclipse and DeVoid, and Eclipse is all ~theatric and grand~ then maybe she could be like… his assistant… or something? Who knows. Or, I say “observer from afar” so perhaps she actually gets along with Zira well and they’d watch on the sidelines while Aika and Eclipse duke it out…?

Eclipse… Moon… Umbra… man what if I just name the pigtails girl Yueshi (月食, lunar eclipse)(for both the moon motif that Zira and Eclipse have, and the darkness motif that Eclipse and DeVoid have haha)

Shooting star and telescope don’t feel quite right, but with the circular shapes and the lunar eclipse, I could kind of see her having some star trail motifs with her sweater…

I guess Umbra would be the same type of elf (? darkness/concept personified?) as Lady DeVoid but I’m not sure haha. We don’t have much information on DeVoid other than the fact that she is darkness itself and that she lost most of her powers which she can’t remember how to use. Banished by a Star Guardian, revenge, recruiting Eclipse to help spread the darkness particles to destroy the Star Guardian… If she has a similar backstory to MLP:FIM’s Princess Luna then does that mean she was originally Aika’s teammate or something? haha

About Umbra’s hair… (Feel free to correct me for any inaccuracies.) I think from the reference photos I was trying to draw box braids but got so focused on also making the braids look like moon phases that I’m not sure if it’d still be box braids in the end? They seem more like cornrows now, at least for the side ones?

Here are some earlier versions of the OCs! and more rambling about designs

Well, initially I scribbled down Yueshi so I could experiment with values because I was thinking about how light-coloured pants draw the eye too much if the outfit or the top half of the character is darker. (Half way through she ended up looking like a IDWTBAMG character so I tried to match the proportions with Aika’s turnaround.) But I suppose if there’s enough contrast for the upper half (and IDWTBAMG’s stark black design style gives a lot of contrast) then it works out better. I think the combination of making Yueshi’s hair and the top half of her sweater black and the circle shape white worked out okay. Initially she had large round eyes so I tried giving her round glasses too but since she ended up being a fan character in the universe, it was too similar to Aika and Zira.

Umbra’s design kind of popped into my mind today so I tried to scribble it down and experimented with hairstyles. But green and purple are already associated with Zira, and that shade of lavender is more like Eclipse so I guess I’ll fiddle around with her colour scheme more. Maybe there’s not enough of the signature black there, and both could use some more details to match the level of details in the canon designs… (If Yueshi works under DeVoid then she’d probably get a fancy outfit too.) Then again, Umbra is more like Miss in terms of detail so it seems she’d be a background/supporting character or something…🤔

(I can’t seem to escape the puffy sleeves/cone shape silhouette🤔 Gotta diversify. Also, not sure if it’s ‘cause of the project’s style or if I just really love circles in character design haha)

[revelboo]

REEVVEEELLLL

That Rumble fic DESTROYED ME. If you can or want to I NEED a part 2.

Bringing that sucker home and trying to sexily help take off his 'costume' but we find out 'HOLY MOTHER OF FUCK THATS A REAL ROBOT'

Thank you dear author xoxo

Hi! Rumble’s fic is an ongoing storyline. I’m just trying to go back and create proper first chapters for some of my fics

Alcohol Eyes Pt 10

Rumble x Reader, Frenzy x Reader

• Loading up plastic totes with clothes, food, anything you might even possibly need and a lot of crap you probably don’t, because what do you even pack to move in with your two alien boyfriends who as far as you can tell are hiding from the government? And they’re both adding stuff to the totes every time you’re not watching them. You’ve already had to remove the manual for your fridge, a TV remote, and a stuffed tiger that had somehow escaped the purge of anything your ex had given you. That had been a fun little bonfire. “What do we say again?” Frenzy asks as he lifts one tote and Rumble grabs the other.

• “We’re filming a TikTok video and you’re cosplayers. Not aliens,” you say with a little frown as you look around your home. And Rumble really hopes you’re not having second thoughts about agreeing to go with them. “I think that’s it.” Turning, you flash him that same mischievous little smile you’d given him in the club right before you’d pulled him down for a kiss. The one that goes straight to his spike. How far out is Thundercracker? They might have time for a quickie. But you’re opening the door and he groans and dutifully follows you outside instead of bending you over the kitchen counter. Figures the Seeker probably wouldn’t appreciate them fragging in his interior, either. “Your guy is meeting us in the park?”

• Their guy had been annoyed that they’d commed him, words clipped and angry. Trying to blow them off with an ‘I’m busy,’ before finally relenting. Shifting the box in his hands, Frenzy follows you in Rumble. They’re going to owe the Seeker for this, but it’s at least delaying the inevitable. Explaining to the boss that they’re keeping you. And that they need their own habsuite now. “Said he would. He’s usually good for his word,” he says. Grinning widely at an elderly human walking a tiny little dog that yaps at them as disapproving as its owner. Primus, that human must be thousands of years old, skin sagging and bunching, hair gray and fluffy. Hears your cheerful excuse the old lady didn’t even ask for as the woman hurries her little dog away.

• Cutting across the street and through the woods to get to the park and avoid running into anyone else, you tug your coat closer around yourself. You’d dressed a bit nicer than normal since you’re kind of like a human-alien dignitary. Though, dignitaries probably aren’t supposed to be fucking the other diplomats. Or maybe that’s normal. Furthering human-alien relations one orgy at a time. You’re like an explorer discovering uncharted territory. And you stop short. “Is that a fucking jet?” Just in the middle of the woods?

• “Meet Thundercracker,” Rumble mutters as the Seeker transforms and kneels to stare at them in dismay. Aware of how much sleeker and powerful the Seeker looks compared to them. ‘You didn’t say anything about a human. Why is there a human?’ The Seeker growls and Rumble shifts the box to one hand and hooks an arm around you. “This is our mate.” And the Seeker vents, servos lifting to press to his helm when you wiggle your fingers at him before curling into Rumble’s side, attention firmly on him instead of Thundercracker and that little flicker of jealousy fades. ‘Why not,’ Thundercracker groans, reaching for the totes to subspace them. ‘Soundwave has no idea, does he?’

Previous

[prettygirl-gabi]

Title: The Yapper, The Listener

Pairing: KK Arnold x Reader

Fandom: UConn's women's basketball

Rating: Fluff | First-Person POV

Summary: kk has always been the yapper, til you

Word Count: 1.4k

If you had told me a year ago that I’d somehow out-yap KK Arnold, I would’ve laughed in your face. I mean, KK? The loudest, chattiest, most relentless talker on and off the court? The same KK who could trash talk you into a bad game without even breaking a sweat? Yeah, right.

But here I was, sitting across from her at our usual booth in the student union, rambling about the absolute disrespect I’d endured in my morning class while she sipped her smoothie, nodding along like I was delivering the most important speech of the century.

“And then, tell me why this man had the audacity to mark my paper down a whole five points just because I ‘lacked conciseness’—KK, can you believe that? Lack conciseness? Babe, I am a storyteller. I paint pictures with my words.”

KK hummed, swirling her straw around her cup. “Mhm. Can’t rush the art.”

“That’s what I’m saying! He just doesn’t get my vision!” I huffed, leaning back against the cushioned booth. “Anyway, that ruined my whole morning. I had to go get an iced coffee just to recover, and then—”

I paused, narrowing my eyes at her. “Wait a minute. You’re way too quiet. What’s going on? You’re supposed to be my hype man in situations like this. Where’s the outrage? The energy? The unnecessary side commentary?”

KK smirked, resting her chin in her palm. “I mean… I figured you had it covered, mamas.”

I squinted. “What does that mean?”

She reached across the table, tapping my lips with her thumb. “It means you yap more than me now.”

I gasped, clutching my chest like she’d personally offended me. “That’s crazy. That’s actually insane.”

KK just laughed, settling back in her seat. “I used to think nobody could out-talk me, but you? You be talkin’.”

“Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, you act like you don’t love hearing me talk.”

She shrugged, lips twitching. “I do. That’s why I let you.”

That made me pause. My mind ran back to how things had shifted. When we first started dating, KK and I had been on the same level when it came to running our mouths. We’d banter back and forth for hours, seeing who could get the last word in (spoiler: it was usually me). But somewhere along the way, she’d settled into this… listening role.

Not because she had nothing to say—KK always had something to say—but because she liked hearing me talk.

I felt my face heat up at the realization. “Wait… have I just been yapping at you nonstop for months and you let me?”

KK grinned. “Mhm. And I don’t even mind.”

I stared at her. “I feel like I should be embarrassed. But I’m not.”

She reached for my hand, playing with my fingers. “Don’t be. I like it.”

And just like that, I melted.

Basketball practice had ended an hour ago, but I was still sitting on the sideline, waiting for KK to finish getting shots up.

Correction: commentating while waiting.

“There she goes, folks, lining up for the free throw—she dribbles once, twice—oh, she hesitates. The tension in the air is thick. Will she make it? Will she fold under the pressure? The crowd holds its breath—”

The ball swished through the net effortlessly.

KK turned to me with an unimpressed look. “You doubting me, mamas? That’s crazy.”

I grinned. “Never that, baby. Just setting the scene.”

She jogged over, resting her hands on her hips. “You ever thought about a career in commentary? You already talk enough for the both of us.”

I gasped dramatically. “So you admit I took your spot as the biggest yapper?”

KK shrugged, tapping my knee. “Go ‘head and take the title, baby. I like hearing you talk. You keep me entertained.”

I tilted my head at her, softening. “You really mean that?”

KK rolled her eyes, but there was a fondness there. “Yeah. Your voice is my favorite.”

Damn. How did she always make me feel like the luckiest person alive?

Later that night, we were curled up in my dorm, KK stretched out on my bed while I laid half on top of her, tracing patterns on her arm.

“I’m just saying, if you’re gonna sit there all quiet while I talk, I feel like you owe me commentary of some kind.”

KK raised a brow. “What kind of commentary?”

I huffed. “I dunno. Like little affirmations. ‘Mhm, that’s crazy’ isn’t gonna cut it all the time.”

She laughed. “Oh, so now you need me to hype you up while you talk? You getting greedy, mamas.”

I pouted, looking up at her. “I just like hearing your voice too.”

KK smirked before leaning down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Okay. Next time you go on a rant, I’ll gas you up properly.”

I smiled, satisfied. “Good. Because I’ve been holding in a rant about how the dining hall got rid of my favorite cereal and I need you fully engaged.”

KK chuckled, wrapping her arms around me tighter. “I’m all ears, baby.”

And just like that, I went right back to talking, knowing she’d listen to every word.

---

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!���🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[ziminy]

Coming back to you

How to get back with your ex

Tags: smut, minors and ageless blogs do not interact, f!reader, normal au (because we suffered enough), my bbg Caleb the manipulative king he is (break me in half and all I'll say is thank you), implied stalking (if you squint), creampie, oral (f! receiving), fingering, marking, dirty talk, praising, size difference, little bit of crying, not proofread

Author's note: almost lvl 60 affinity with him, it was hard work and a lot of dedication. Trust me when I say I won't be able to recover financially from this any time soon.

Masterlist

Life was good when you were together, and somehow it even better after breaking up. It's not like your split up was messy, because you two parted ways on mutual accord, deciding that this isn't going to work since both of you were so busy lately. Why dragging the other down when you have your futures set?

In fact, the break up wasn't even supposed to be a break up, you were supposed to take a little break from each other that turned into a break up some time later. You said that you'd still be friends, that it's alright to talk and greet each other if you somehow managed to meet again.

But it was all lies. Both of you knew that. Because you never texted each other after that, and somehow you tried to avoid all the places he might be at. You don't really know why you're doing that, if just.. you feel a little uncomfortable looking back at what you two used to have.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at you, how he leaned down to talk to you, or that dumb smile that made your heart skip a beat.

He was caring, attentive, maybe a bit obsessive, perhaps a bit insane too. And maybe that what scared you, kept you away from dating again. Finding another one like him. God, what if you had the misfortune to wake up with another one like him at your door? You'd rather jump out the window than have the luck of getting another Caleb.

But he was good, in his own ways.

Well.. you can't really name any of his good traits at the moment, but he was a great guy. If you put aside his manipulative side, that he doesn't even try to hide to begin with.

You promised yourself to not fall for another guy like him, that empty words mean nothing to you. Threats had no effect, and you don't feel guilty anymore over things that you shouldn't be to begin with.

So, why was he here? You were supposed to meet with the old friend group, to reconnect and talk about the old days and how college used to be. I mean, he was part of the group, but why exactly was he here? And why did nobody told you he was coming?

"It's so good to see you guys!" one of your friends said, instantly jumping from person to person to hug.

"I feel like we're young again." someone else said, making you shake your head and let out a soft laugh. You can't show that you're affected, you're all grown now, you matured. He had no effect on you anymore. Even if it only been a year, you're still a different person that you were a few months ago.

"We aren't old to begin with." you said with a smile on your face. "How haves everyone been?" you sounded so calm, like you forgot how much stress was put on you back then. Everybody looks in much better shape after graduation, perhaps that place was rough for everyone.

"Let's just skip greetings and drink." of course there was that one person. "Caleb, you pay." everybody's eyes were on the tall man.

"You brought your wallet, no? Why should I pay." your eyes made contact for a moment, and you felt your face getting hotter. This night better go quick, because you don't know for how much longer you can handle this.

Everything was how it was back then, the way you sit in groups at the bar. How you found yourself next to the same girls you used to, deciding that you don't want to be loud and take it easy, just like before.

"So, how have life been for you? Haven't heard anything from you after we graduate." one of the girls looked at you, reminding you of how you chose to go no contact with everybody after your breakup.

"You and Caleb broke up? I thought you'd last a life time." is there nothing better to talk about?

"I'm a career woman now." you decided to change the subject, rather chosing to talk about work that your failed relationship.

"Oh?" why everybody looked so surprised was a mystery. But somehow you understood their reactions, you're also surprised you went this path.

"Got any boyfriends?" they still want to get info on your personal life, huh? Well, guess you won't be able to dodge that question any time soon.

"Nothing at the moment. Just focusing on work."

"I guess it's hard to date again. Normal guys must be so bland, not comparing to that piece of meat over there." you looked displeased with your friends choice of words. Yes, your ex might look good, but looks isn't what matters right now. Your well being was your top priority, and you enjoyed the freedom you had way too much.

"I'd be like that too if I had your ex. Imagine recovering from that." you don't even have to imagine.

"Is it even humanly possible to find somebody who's better than him?" their questions doesn't affect you, because you already know that you're the best you'd find. You understand and give yourself more than enough space that it's needed. So the right questions was if he will be able to find someone as good as you, because he won't.

"He's looking in this direction." the girls started giggling, and somehow, this was nostalgic.

Didn't this happened already? Before you started dating, right before you two confessed your feelings. Because somehow, you managed to do that at the same time. It was funny, if you're thinking about it. How you two were so in sync, you had no idea.

"Go talk to him." the girl next to you tried to push you, to make you get up and walk to the dark haired man.

"Don't want to." you kept avoiding any eye contact ever since you got in that bar. If you don't acknowledge him then he doesn't even exist to you.

"But he's looking at you." you grabbed the drink in front of you and gulped everything down your throat, trying to ignore him.

"Are you shy?" the girls started giggling again.

It was annoying. Why can't they understand that it's over? He understands this, so why can't they do it as well?

"We don't have anything to talk about."

"But he seems to want to?" it doesn't matter even if they point it out. It's been a long time already, you both moved on.

"Isn't there anything you want to tell him? Like things you didn't got the chance to while you were together?"

"This is the time to clear any bad blood between the two of you." but that wasn't necessary.

Frustrated, you looked in his direction. Eyebrows furrowed and biting on your lip so you wouldn't let out any curses you wanted to say at the moment. That classical expression, looking like he's good, even if there was no smile on his face, but he kept nodding to what his friends were saying. His eyes were betraying him however, those sleepy eyes, looking at you like you were more interesting, like he had to or else you'd evaporate from there or who knows what worse. It wasn't often when you'd see him like that, so you can't even answer your own questions on why he seemed like that.

No, if you payed attention to his surroundings, his friends might be annoying him. Saying something that he doesn't like, or.. they were talking about you. Just the way your friends were talking about him.

Was he feeling like that because he didn't want to talk to you either? No, you doubt that. It's probably because you refuse to give him any attention.

You turned to face the girls around you, who still seemed to push you to him. Maybe you should in fact go for it?

But, was there really anything that needed to be said? You don't have any regrets, you can't think of anything you want to say. And he's the same, even if he looked like he was holding back from time to time. You doubt he ever did something he's regretting. After all, you matched each other's freaks. You managed to stay together for that long just because you completed the other, understood yourselfs on a level no one else around you could.

Was this why you were pushed to him? Because everyone knew how well you fit each other?

You looked at your friends one more time, sighing as you finally gave up. You're still afraid to approach him, because he was still intimidating in a way you can't explain.

Or you can, because whenever you look at him you feel a chill down your spine. Your head was filled with stuff you said to him in the past, memories coming back to embarrass you, to make you forget what you want to do so you'd fuck up in front of him.

You stopped in front of him, staring at him as he looked at you. He still had that expression on his face, like you're still his softest spot, his weakness that makes him weak in the knees when he's around you. You opened your mouth, trying to say something but then forgetting everything once you looked into his purple eyes.

You can't be like this forever, you had to step up your game. You really had to move on, and maybe that's what you have to talk with him. Because he seems to be stuck in the past too. "You have time?" you noticed the way he almost raised his hand, to grab onto you and drag you closer like he always did. But he held back, because he knew this wasn't the time.

"Yeah." he tried to keep it nonchalantly, but you could see past his poorly executed facade. Should you feel happy with how you still affect him? You feel like you could laugh.

"Wanna talk outside?" you don't even know why you said outside of all places. You wanted to stay inside, where everybody else was. You wanted to have a reason to keep it cool, to not lose yourself in your emotions, because you know you'll fuck up if you're alone with him.

He got up, standing much taller than you as he followed you quietly. Seriously, this was like a deja vu. You still remember how you used to follow him just the way he's doing now. Not questioning a thing, and trusting him a bit too much. But you also had no idea where you're going. All you know is that you want to go outside, take some fresh air, say a few words and then go back to your friends.

For a moment, he got in front of you, opening the door and letting you walk out first. He used to do this all the time, didn't he? You almost forgot about it.

You walked a little further from the bar, resting your back against a building's wall as you looked at the sunset. No one said a thing, and the distance between the two of you was colder than the night's breeze.

"So.." a few words and then go back, that's all. You can go to your friends after this and rest. "How have you been." avoid eye contact, because you don't know when you'll fuck up, look forward, don't let yourself be distracted.

"Busy." his voice still makes something in your head ring, like a little bell that seems to not calm down until he said so. "You?"

"Busy." you couldn't even think of what to say, just biting your lip in frustration.

It was quiet again, like both of you forgot how to communicate.

For a moment, you looked to your left, at where the bar was, and then at him, catching him staring at you with a expression you can't quite explain. Sadness? No, it was a mixture of sad and frustration. And you understood him. He had you this close, next to him, and yet he couldn't do anything.

"You're bigger than I remember." you don't even know why you said that. It's just.. he looks different and you can't exactly say what it was.

"I stopped growing a long time ago." he kept looking at you, at the way you were scanning him for anything that it might have changed. "Maybe you're the one who shrinked." he extended his hand, he doesn't really know why, but it seemed alright in that moment. Like he knew you wouldn't run anymore. "My hands are still the same."

You looked at his palm, at his long fingers and at the way he looks so familiar, yet new. Like you forgot how his body looked for a moment, like you were back in the past before you two started dating. Because you did this back then too, you were in this situation before.

How he was trying to tame you, let you touch him just the way you want, explore and discover more. All just to show you how inoffensive he is, that he's not a threat.

And you bite the bait every single time. Taking his hand in yours, slowly touching it just to see if it was indeed like what you remember.

You should put more effort if you don't want him back in your life. Just look at you, you look like you've missed him so so much. You shouldn't be this sweet or else you might not be able to break up again this time.

He tried his luck, interlocking his fingers with yours, and showing you more of that size difference you haven't seen in a while.

You don't reject him, his actions only made you be more curious. What else was he hiding? You looked up at him, only to see that expression again. You really didn't understand how his eyes can be just this dark, like there was absolutely no life in them, only a purple abyss that seems to drag you in towards him.

"It's getting dark." he said in a low voice, forgetting that he was supposed not to scare you for a moment. "Let me drive you home." he's the same as ever. Getting ahead of himself just because he was able to feel your perfume for once, the same scent that you had since back then. It suited you, and he missed it.

"Alright." he always knew how to calm you, let down your guard so he can get more under your skin. Or perhaps you were doing that voluntarily, because he doubts you'd be like this just for anybody.

The ride back to your place was quiet, only the radio on, playing some mainstream songs over and over again.

The silence was loud, but not uncomfortable. It was better this way because you had nothing to say. And he will not talk until you talk.

But once you got to your house, you somehow didn't wanted to get out the car just yet. It's just.. can't he stay? You don't know why you want him there, and you don't want answers to that.

"You're.." you played with your fingers. "You're not busy, right?" you avoided his eyes, or to look in his direction at all. This was all his doing, wearing that one fragrance that made your head spin, and the shirt that he knew was your favorite. "Want to come inside?" you're doing this on your own accord. Because he wouldn't push you over your limits like this, especially when you just met again after a long time.

You came to him, you talked to him, and you dragged him into your home on your own. He didn't do anything, this was all your doing.

You were brave enough to make the first move, so he might as well reward you for it, no?

You didn't looked surprised when you started kissing the moment the front door closed behind you, you also looked unfazed when he started taking off your clothes, now going towards your bedroom, looking for a bed so he could place you on it.

How could you forget this feeling? Or the way he used to take care of you. Always stopping you from lifting a single finger, not letting you do anything until you start begging him, or worse, do things without even warning him first.

"Tell me if it hurts." he placed a kiss on your cheek before going down, biting softly on your skin and leaving kisses all over the places he touched. He was going to mark all of your body, so people would see a part of him on you even if you're not together.

He stopped when he got to your pussy, leaving a kiss on your inner thigh, before placing his lips over your heat. He was going to scream, he missed this so much that he just couldn't help but let out a lustful moan deep from the bottom of his heart.

How could you left him? Take this away from him, leave him all alone to suffer. If he didn't craved so much for you he would have punished you for it.

"You're so tight." he said as he got two of his fingers inside.

"It's been a while since I did it." he looked up at you from between your legs, placing a kiss on your clit.

"Have you done it with someone else?" he was asking as if he didn't knew everything you did while he was gone. And yet, hes jealous.

"No." you shook your head. "What about you?" are you questioning his loyalty?

"Did you touched yourself?" if this was his way of changing the subject, then it wasn't working. Because it only made you want to ask the same thing, embarras him just the way he did to you.

"Did you?" he should feel embarrassed, ashamed or anything between those two, but no, it was just you who feeling that way.

"Every time I missed you." seriously, can he calm down for a moment. You can't take it. "You didn't do a good job." he said, licking on your clit as his fingers curled up. "But I guess you can't do much with those fingers of yours." you couldn't face him when he was saying such dirty words. "Did you had a hard time stuffing yourself? Don't worry, I'll do it for you from now on." you placed a hand over his face, to cover his eyes so he would stop looking at you.

"Don't look at me." you whimper. "It's embarrassing." you were always so easy to tease.

"Alright." he moved your hand away. "I'm sorry." he was in fact not, but if that's what you want to hear then he'll lie again and again, as long as you're happy.

Your pleasure was more important to him. So he focused on that, paying attention to the places that made you melt, on your soft voice and your touch. You're still so hesitant, like you don't really trust him, like you're still testing the waters.

What more do you want from him? What can he possible give that he haven't gave you already? You have his heart, you have his mind and soul, his well being is all yours, his body and everything he owns. So give him attention, touch him more and tell him that he's doing good because he's about to burst.

For a moment he looked up at you, just to see how you're doing, to check on you and make sure you're alright.

How did he lived for so long without looking at you was a mystery. Why he accepted you leaving him and trying to move on. Who else is going to make you feel like this? You need him, you needed his cock and his touch.

But he's not going to fuck up, since it's been a while since you last did it, he shouldn't push you. So, he placed a last kiss on your clit before taking his fingers out of you, leaving you panting and waiting for more. He didn't even let you cum, how mean of him.

Still, how dumb of him, to come here with nothing on him, not even a single condom. I mean, it wasn't really his fault because he never knew he'll end up like this.

"Take it off, your clothes." you were all naked while he was still fully dressed. He also looked like he wasn't planning on getting undressed any time soon and it was annoying you.

"I don't have any condoms." that was the problem?

"It don't matter." you took him by surprise. "Come here." you knew how rail him up. And you better not regret your decision later.

You looked at him taking off his shirt, his defined muscles jumping right into your face. You were right when you said he looked bigger, he must be working out a lot more lately. He took his pants off after, your eyes on his hard cock as he came back next to you.

"Relax." he said when he got between your legs. "Look at me." it would only be harder for you if you keep overthinking. Yeah, he was big, so what. He's going to give you all the time in the world until you adjust yourself to take him. It's gonna be hard at first, but it's going to be so much easier once he models your insides into the shape of his cock. And that's a promise, believe him.

He slowly pushed the head of his dick inside your wet core, making you move a little from how it was feeling, trying to find a better position. He lowered himself, now his chest pressed against yours, placing kisses all over your face as he kept pushing more of him inside your warm pussy. It's alright, take your time. He's not going anywhere, he'll wait until you're ready for him to move.

"You're doing good." he whispered in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. "I'm all the way inside, see? It doesn't hurt." it hurts a little, maybe more than just a little. But wasn't it normal when he was stretching you like that? But just as much as it hurts, it also felt good, in a way that left your mouth watering. He was going to be the end of you, really.

"Move." you ordered him, wanting to feel more. Just being stuffed to the brim wasn't enough, you needed much more than that.

He followed your orders, moving his hips slowly, paying attention to your next move.

You were so cute when you're sticking to him like that, holding onto his shoulders and trembling every time he touched that spot deep inside that he wasn't trying to touch to begin with, to not overwhelm yourself.

He's going to give you everything you want, there's no need to rush. If this was how much you can handle then that's how much he's going to give you. So why were you grabbing him like that, and asking for more? "Deeper." but you couldn't take it? You're going to say that he bullied you later, and he doesn't want to take the blame for something you made him do.

"You're sure?" you nodded, looking at him through your eyelashes with a pout on your face. Alright then, if that's what you want. How could he refuse you?

So he got deeper, hitting that spongy spot with long slow strokes that seems to work wanders on you.

He kissed you, again and again, to mark everything that missed his touch. To make sure you feel him, more than just inside.

"Is it good?" he asked as if he doesn't know your body like the back of his hand.

"Mm." you nodded, leaning in to feel more of his warmth.

"Then say my name. Let me know how good I make you feel." how could you forget he was like this. He always had to mark his territory as if you're not already his. But unfortunately for him, you're not in the mood to fulfill his desires. Screaming his name seemed nice, but at the moment all you wanted was to feel him, have him to yourself and let nobody know about your business.

Maybe his greedy side rubbed on you, or maybe it's the other way around. Or not, because at the end of the day you both knew that your unsolved issues can't be fixed that easy, and it can't be passed into the other when both of you are insane.

That's why you're trying to consume each other in other ways.

Kisses that seemed way too loving for someone who just got reunited after a long time. Touches that linger on the other's body even after moving away. Whispers and words that really makes it seems like you two were just a day apart, talking about moving with him, how you don't need anyone else but him. And at the moment you're too drunk on him to even realize that you're nodding, agreeing to every little degrading thing he's saying.

You want him, don't you? You missed him, you were such a mess without him. Right? Why did you permited him to leave when he's made for you. "I love you." that's the most normal thing he said tonight. "I love you, you heard me?" you heard him, but if you're giving him an answer that satisfies him, you'll never make him pay for the pain he caused you.

"You do?" you didn't sounded loving at all, even if your arms were wrapped around his neck, looking at him in the eyes with something only he saw before, your lust and obsession.

"I love you." he'll say it until you finally give up. Placing a kiss right next to your eye, he caged you in his arms, a hand under your ass and lifting up so he could go even deeper than before. Move in even more, since you said you wanted deeper. He'll show you places you didn't even know existed if you're asking for it.

He can't say that he's a brat tamer, because he's not. He likes everything about you, your sweet side, your mean and angry side. He likes it when you punish him, it shows him that you care. And if you believe that he's not doing enough to deserve your love just yet, then he'll do more.

He liked trying after all. And he'd be damed if he said that he doesn't want to show you just how far he can go. Because trust him, you can't handle it.

He's going to eat you, or even better, sacrifice him as you see fit. He wants to be inside you forever, be part of you. Because he feels like he's finally at home only when he's with you, in your arms. And when he's balls deep inside you? He's in heaven.

"Does it hurts?" he licked your tears away, wanting to taste them and claim them as his.

You nodded, feeling his cock twitching before moving in a way that got you throwing your head back. This fucker. He thinks that he can just do this to you and not pay a price? And perhaps sometimes he forgets how you can be so cruel, mean, and play with his feelings in a way only you could.

All he needs is a look from you, fluttering those eyelashes in a pretty way, and a sad expression that he can't resist.

You win, if you wanted him to fumble, then you win. He's all yours, do whatever you want with him because he doesn't have the ability to think anymore. "Cum with me?" what gives you the right to ask such a dumb question when you knew that's the only thing he wants. If you're not, the he's not doing it either. He knows he's asking for too much, but let the man dream.

"I'll fill you up nice and pretty, alright?" he made it sounded like a question, but you both knew he was just letting you know.

"Mm." you nodded, your lips smashing together the next moment. Eating each other out as you were both so so close. Touches becoming more and more desperate, his grip on so tight you won't be surprised if it leaves a bruise. But it's alright, because you feel like that's not quite enough.

More, you both needed more. And some heated sex after fucks knows how long won't be enough to satisfy the empty holes in you. You needed so much more.

Will you even be able to get out the bed tomorrow? Both of you. Because from the way you drag each other back, refusing to give up just yet was more than enough proof to show you won't step back any time soon.

But who knows, maybe you'll finally be happy by the time you both dry your energy out.

[pursued-by-the-squid]

vi. wait for the green light

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

word count: 9.3k

content warning: the games are finally beginning and i'm not shying away from the violence, so just be aware.

[ also, happy birthday in-ho!!! ]

ao3 | masterlist

Everything is painfully bright. You can see the lights through your eyelids even before you wake, but they’re still brilliant enough to hurt your eyes when you open them. For a moment, there isn’t much of anything beyond the sterile tint of fluorescent lights. And then, suddenly, there is everything.

The figure in your apartment, Gi-hun’s departure, the kiss – it all comes rushing back. You frantically push yourself up so you’re sitting and very narrowly miss hitting your head on a metal beam. “Oh, shit!”

Your hands fly up to shield your face while you simultaneously twist to the side, but the sudden shift in weight throws your balance off and you topple over onto the floor. Your shin rams into something hard and your tailbone aches when you land, but you’re otherwise unharmed.

“What the–?”

There’s a massive metal bunkbed looming above you, stacked five beds high and devoid of any personality apart from utilitarian despair. You see another one when you tilt your head back, then another and another, until your head is swimming. What kind of kidnapper has rows and rows of empty bunkbeds, and for what purpose?

You’re just about to spiral into a full panic attack when you spot a flash of teal green, then a splash of white, and suddenly there’s a woman kneeling in front of you. She has pretty eyes and the kindest smile you’ve ever seen, and stitched onto the breast of her jacket is a patch with the number ‘120’. She offers you a hand. “Are you alright?”

What the hell is she wearing? You glance down and practically crawl out of your skin, because what in the hell are you wearing? It’s the same outfit as hers – green zip-up jacket, green tracksuit slacks, white shoes, and white stripes running down your shoulders and legs – only your number is different. 457. Is that supposed to mean something?

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, Miss 120, and her touch is even softer, little more than a brush of her fingertips on your kneecap. And even though you’ve never met this woman before in your life, the contact is enough to soothe you temporarily. “It’s alright. Here.” Her palm is offered with a little quirk of a smile. “Take my hand.”

She pulls you up with a remarkable display of strength, damn near hoisting you off your feet instead of to them, but her other hand quickly comes to your shoulder to help you settle and find your balance. It’s only once you’re standing that you’re afforded a better look around, though there still isn’t much to see that you haven’t already taken note of. Rows and rows of bunkbeds, a swarm of green jackets, and too-bright lights that make your eyes hurt.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh?” You’re so disoriented that you’re finding it difficult to focus on any one thing, let alone whatever it is she’s saying. “I-I’m sorry, I’m…Where are we?”

Miss 120 shakes her head as her mouth tips into a slight frown. “I don’t know. I don’t think any of us know.” She casts her eyes about for a moment, cataloging the high rise of the ceiling and the glimpses of strange murals peeking out from behind the beds, before turning her attention back to you. “Did you play ddakji too?”

All your life, you’ve never thought it possible for the world to come to screeching halt. It hadn’t even done that when Gi-hun kissed you – oh God, Gi-hun. Where is he? Is he safe? Is he dead? No, no, wait, you can’t… you can’t think about that right now. Your mind is scrambling to make sense of what little information you have readily available and it feels like twelve separate traffic accidents are all colliding on the same city block inside your head.

Ddakji. She asked if you had played ddakji. That can’t be a coincidence, can it? Looking down at your jacket, you run your fingers over the stitched on ‘457’. The number is remarkably close to the one Gi-hun had given you once, the number that’s been taking turns with the dead recruiter haunting your dreams each night. This… can’t be right. The recruiter’s dead. While that hadn’t been Gi-hun’s end goal, surely that would be enough to get either himself killed or to put an end to the entire witch hunt, right? What more is there for Gi-hun or the higher-ups to do either than to kill each other?

But then, what else could this place possibly be?

“The recruiter,” you start, whirling around to look at Miss 120 once more. “The person you played ddakji with. Was it a man in a suit?”

Her frown deepens considerably as she nods. “Yes. Why?”

You press further. You have to know for sure. “The card. Did he give you a card? With the shapes on it?”

“Yes,” she replies, baffled, “didn’t you get the same?”

The room starts to spin around you, the ceiling tilting one way and the floor tipping the other until you’re stumbling backward into the metal frame of your bed. The games are real, then. You’d always assumed they were, assumed that Gi-hun was tortured enough not to lie to you about something so awful, but it was a distant fear that never came any closer than the printing of shapes upon a business card and a dead man in a suit. Now his words ring clearer than ever before – I was worried they’d hurt you because of me.

You run. It’s the only thing that makes sense. You have to get out of here before the games start. You are not killing anyone, no matter how much money they give you. You don’t need it and you don’t want it. You just want to go back home. You want Gi-hun back, you want–

The doors on the far end of the room open to show a line of men in zip-up hoodie suits, tall and ominous like the one who drugged you, only their hoodies are a vibrant pink rather than black. And just like that, your feet are rooted to the floor. Maybe they aren’t horrifically menacing to anyone else, but one of them wears the same mask as your attacker – all black with a white square. Is that him? The same one?

Where you had wanted to run only moments before, now all you want to do is hide. You push your way through the small section of people you’d already cut through to get back to your bed, back to Miss 120, anywhere so long as it’s as far away from those masked creeps as you can get. What if they drug you again? What if they drugged everyone else here? Your back hits the wall; it’s cool to the touch, almost uncomfortably so against the blazing heat of your neck and palms.

The man in the square mask takes a step forward. “I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you.” His voice is as modulated as the voice in your apartment, but you can’t tell if it’s the same person or not. Maybe it doesn’t matter, but it’s unsettling either way. “Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize.”

The sign hanging above his head – a digital display of Hangul and numerals – feels as ominous as the square emblazoned on his face. 457. The same number on your chest. 457 people, all gathered together so they might kill each other for money. What kind of sick fuck would design something like that?

It seems you’re not the only one wondering, even if no one else in the room has any idea what it is they’ve stumbled into. Miss 120 speaks up first, then another person, and another, and another until the entire room is buzzing with whispered musings and mild accusations thrown in the direction of the masked figures. Everyone is wondering what the hell is going on and how these strange, masked men have any authority over their lives.

And then everyone suddenly stops worrying about it so much because, rather than offer a genuine answer, Square Mask offers footage – men and women alike, ddakji colors flashing in their hands, their cheeks bright red from slap after shameful slap, and a massive debt attached to each name. One of them is Miss 120 – Cho Hyun-ju, apparently, at nearly two billion won. There’s another poor soul with ten billion won in debt. Gi-hun was right, they really do prey on the most vulnerable people they can find.

How is this even legal? Is there footage of you too? Did the woman who approached you so long ago have a camera in her pocket so she could secretly record you? And why? Why would anyone want to watch footage of desperate strangers getting publicly abused? What pleasure could possibly be found in something like that?

“All of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff-edge,” Square Mask asserts. “When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will. You have one last chance to decide. Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?”

The room devolves into further whisperings and murmurs as people start leaning in to one another. You, personally, can hardly believe a word you’re hearing. The manipulation feels so blatant – he’s literally calling everyone in the room garbage, goading them into participating so they can rise above the name calling and the weight of financial stress, and they have no idea. They don’t know they’re walking into a death trap.

Someone should do something, or say something. But who, exactly? You? Who else is there?

Before you can wrestle with yourself further, the lights flash and flicker into a dim yellow glow, casting the edges of the room into shadow. A large, glowing orb descends from the ceiling – only it’s not an orb, but a pig. Plastic, maybe, or glass, you’re not really sure, and at first, you’re lost as to why they would choose such a strange design. It’s wildly out of place. Then you hear the sound of a clicking lottery machine projected over the speakers and you realize it isn’t out of place at all.

It's a joke. It’s a perverted, twisted, fucked up attempt at a joke and it’s enough to make you sick.

45.7 billion won. The number is so mindbogglingly high that you can hardly comprehend it. You’re not even sure how much that would be in your home country, just that it’s a lot. Enough to pay off that one gentleman’s debts 4 and a half times with close to another billion to spare. That’s lifechanging amounts of money. And they’re just giving it away freely?

Not freely, you have to remind yourself. There’s a price to pay and it’s steeped in blood. Even if no one else in this room knows it, you do.

Someone should really say something, you just wish that it could be anyone other than you. There are 456 other bodies in this room, 456 people who could be saved if you just had the courage to speak up, but something holds you back. You’re terrified. You’re frozen in place by the icy chill of fear and uncertainty that clings to your bones. 456 people could easily rise up and overwhelm five measly guards, so why can’t you just say it?

You’re so intent on beating yourself up for your cowardice that you almost miss it. That voice. You don’t actually comprehend the words, you’re too dissociated to understand much of anything apart from the rush of adrenaline in your veins, but you don’t have to understand him to recognize him. Because you’d know that voice anywhere.

Gi-hun’s always had such a distinctive timbre. You could pick him from a crowd of lookalikes simply by asking him to speak, so picking him from a crowd of 456 is light work. You trail blindly in the direction it had come from, somewhere at the back of the room, lost among the rows of bunkbeds and metal platforms, looking at every face, every shock of short, dark hair, every gently sloping pair of shoulders until you find him. Because you have to find him. Because he’s here, he has to be.

Your hand lands on someone’s shoulder, someone who has that same tall and lanky stature, and his name is already on your tongue by the time they turn to reveal that they are not, in fact, Seong Gi-hun. You weren’t imagining things, were you? That was definitely his voice, you’re sure of it.

And then you see him. Cloistered among the metal bedframes with his face tilted toward the back wall. You don’t know what he’s looking at, you don’t care, because all that matters is that he’s alive. He’s here. You’re not alone, you don’t have to face this hellscape by yourself.

“Gi-hun!”

His head snaps toward you, his eyes wide and body stiff, and for a moment you’re left with only the ability to stare and to study. The face swimming before you is familiar and foreign all at once. The angles of his cheekbones are more pronounced in this lighting and his scowl more severe, but it’s really him. Your Gi-hun. And then you’re sprinting, throwing yourself into his arms and choking on his name as you cling to him, the only solid lifeline you have left.

“You’re alive,” you weep. Your hands won’t stop shaking as they grasp at any bit of skin or clothing they can find, desperate to keep him close in case you wake up and find yourself living in a world without him in it. “Oh my god, you’re alive.”

“What are you doing here?” he mutters, all gravel and breathy disbelief.

You’re trying to find the words to tell him everything, but they come out as incoherent babblings. “I don’t know,” you cry. “There was this man, and he grabbed me, a-and then I woke up and I–”

Something iron strong wraps around your bicep and yanks on you until you’re tripping over your own feet. A long, hard rod of metal slams into your spine as Gi-hun wrenches the two of you apart, his neck arched and his face contorted as he transforms into some wild and snarling beast. “What are you doing here?” he demands. He’s shaking you, his fingernails digging into your skin even through the jacket, and he’s everywhere, too close and too angry. “I told you not to come here! You promised me, [___]. You promised! What were you thinking?”

You shake your head, you try to protest, but he won’t let you. “Gi-hun–”

“I told you!” he growls, and no amount of flinching away is enough to give him pause. “Don’t leave the apartment, I said. Don’t go outside. Why?”

You’re clawing at him now, trying desperately to push him back and away, but he’s stronger than you ever gave him credit for. You’d always thought he was just some tall, lanky thing, all bark but no real bite. Now you finally realize how much you’d underestimated him.

“Did you keep the card? You thought you’d call the number and play when my back was turned?”

“I didn’t call,” you explain tearfully, struggling against his grip yet still failing to free yourself from his wrath. “I-I didn’t do anything. Gi-hun, please, you’re hurting me!”

His hand smacks into your chest, and he hits you so hard that the ache he left in your bicep disappears entirely. Your player number is caught in his fist. “What is this, huh? You think this is a Game you can win? You think this is fun?”

“Gi-hun!” you screech, and this time you summon enough strength to tear yourself free. Your palms slam into his chest and shove him backward several steps before your legs finally give out, collapsing you upon the very bed he’d pinned you to, and by then you’re both breathless and wide-eyed, gazing wordlessly at one another as if the other person has just grown a second head. “I didn’t keep the fucking card.”

“Then how?” he asks, his nostrils flaring when his chin tilts in your direction.

“I…” You close your eyes for a moment, thinking that maybe if you squeeze them tightly enough, you’ll wake up back in your own bed, far away from all the death you know is yet to come. It’s a pretty thought, but you know better. You wish you didn’t.

Because you can remember it all so clearly. You can still feel the hands on your skin, the rough gloves and the blinding, gut-wrenching panic that had settled in your bones. Here and now in the arena Gi-hun’s been trying to keep you from for the last two years, your body finally curls in on itself as it threatens to collapse.

“Someone broke into my apartment. They drugged me.”

You’re shaking your head, trying to fight back the memory, the horror, trying and failing to keep your head above the waves of despair lapping at your throat, but instead you feel like you’re drowning.

Gi-hun is there, his hands hovering over you but never touching. You think maybe he sees the way you flinch when he comes close, but you don’t have the strength to either forgive him or indulge him. “Did they hurt you?” he asks softly.

“I fought him, Gi-hun. I really tried, but he grabbed me and I couldn’t…” You think you’re going to be sick.

“Listen to me.” Gone is the spitfire and rage. Now there’s just Gi-hun, a bit softer around the edges than you’ve seen from him in weeks. It’s in the eyes, you think, or the way his brows purse when he dips his head down to catch your gaze. “I’m going to get you out of here. Okay?”

Glancing up through tear dropped lashes, you shake your head. “How? You said they made you kill people.”

“It won’t come to that,” he promises. “I have a plan.”

It takes every ounce of restraint you have not to laugh in his face. A plan? Really, that’s what he’s got? “You almost got yourself killed twice this year,” you snap. “Was that all part of your plan too?” Was showing up at your front door with three hours left ‘til midnight and kissing you part of the plan? Or was that just the act of a desperate man determined to die?

You hate that that’s where your mind goes. You hate that your life and the lives of 455 other people are on the line and all you can think about is whether or not Gi-hun really meant it when he kissed you. You hate that when he looks away, either out of shame or embarrassment, your gaze dips to the bow of his lips and you’re suddenly standing in the open doorway of your apartment, yearning for him to kiss you again.

“This is all part of his game.” He looks back at you and you tear your eyes away as fast as you can, your pulse leaping inside your chest. You really hope he didn’t notice that. “He knows I’m here to burn everything down from the inside and he’s trying to stop me.”

It takes you a moment to comprehend what he’s saying. “‘He’?”

Gi-hun nods as he starts surveying the other players. “The man running these Games, the Captain.” He falls silent for a moment, and the bed squeaks a bit when he leans his weight into it, one of his arms extended to press against the frame by your knee. “Things are different this time. The money – last time it was 45.6 billion won, and now it’s 45.7. Like your number.”

The patch sewn into your jacket suddenly seems to weigh more than the entirety of the planet. “Maybe he got more money this year?” It seems like a far better option than considering that you might be a part of this Captain’s plans.

“No. This is intentional. Now that you’re here, both the money and player count are higher. Even the rules are different.”

“So, what, he’s playing mind games with you?”

Gi-hun nods again, his expression deadly serious. “With both of us. He’s trying to get inside my head. He’s trying to scare me.”

You have half a mind to admit that it’s working because you think you might actually have a panic attack if you have to sit through a single one of these games, but you lose the chance before you can even grasp it. There’s a man pushing through the nearby gathering of players. He looks like any other man you’d meet on the street – kind eyes, a smattering of facial hair, a big smile – but the way that Gi-hun reacts when he sees him is comparable to what you imagine it might be to meet a ghost.

“Gi-hun-a!” the man exclaims as he scrambles up to greet him.

“Jung-bae-ya?” You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this shocked in his life. Well, apart from just a moment ago.

They collide just as Gi-hun rises to his feet. The other man slaps a hand on his shoulder as he draws him into a hug, laughing in total disbelief. They’re talking so fast – or at least, Jung-bae is – that you can hardly keep up with him.

“I thought that was you. I’d know your voice anywhere, you old–”

“What are you doing here?”

Jung-bae’s head tilts to the side. “What am I doing here? What are you doing here? I thought you were dead!”

Dead? Your attention snaps to Gi-hun, who has enough decency to look mildly embarrassed, though he doesn’t say anything to defend himself. You made peace with his quirks a long time ago, but the fact that someone he once knew also thought him dead is concerning. It’s not just you.

“No one's heard from you for three years,” Jung-bae continues, and God, he’s chatty. You’re trying to keep up with him while also processing everything he’s saying. “I heard your mom passed away. I had to hear about it from my wife! What kind of friend are you?” And then he’s spinning to point at you, his eyes wide. “We haven’t been here a whole day yet and you’re already trying to replace me? Is this just because I didn't lend you money? You had to cut me out?”

There’s a beat of silence while Gi-hun struggles to explain himself, but whatever he comes up with seems to fall short in his mind. In the end, he settles for a dejected sigh and a bashful shrug. “Ah, it’s not like that. It’s a long story.”

“Right. I can imagine, seeing as you're here.” Jung-bae scowls a bit, his eyes flickering all over Gi-hun’s face, searching for what, though, you couldn’t say. Likely whatever’s left of the friend he knew three years ago. “Still, you should've told me about your mom. You know how much she liked me.”

Another tense few moments pass as Gi-hun processes this. While you’re not entirely sure what specifically he’s thinking about, his mother or his mistakes, it’s very clear that he’s upset about this turn of events.

“Why are you here?” he finally asks. “What about your wife?”

Jung-bae flounders for a bit as his shoulders crowd inward. “We got divorced. But let's not talk about it here, yeah?” His focus slides to you momentarily. “When we get out, let's go for a drink and talk.”

At the mention of a drink, of actually getting out of here, Gi-hun’s eyes flash dangerously. His face, softened a bit with the weight of his affection for his friend, suddenly hardens and he grabs his friend by the collar, pulling him in so the three of you are crowded together.

“Jung-bae-ya, [___], whatever happens from now on, stay close to me. Both of you.”

You nod immediately. That’s all the convincing you need. Jung-bae, on the other hand, doesn’t realize how serious this is. After all, how could he?

“‘Stay close’?” he laughs. “That’s a bit melodramatic.” He looks to you for confirmation, as if expecting you to chuckle and nod along, only to receive a deeply concerned stare in return.

Gi-hun’s face warps once more. “Just do as I say!” he grits out. “I’m trying to keep you both alive.”

Your little nook is quiet for a long moment as the weight of Gi-hun’s words begin to settle. You know bits and pieces of what these Games entail – fucked up scenarios that twist your mind into something unrecognizable, friend pitted against friend, a detached sort of heartlessness that seeps into your bones – but Gi-hun has always been vague about the details. All this time you’d thought it was to keep himself safe from the trauma of reliving and recounting everything that happened, but now you’re starting to wonder if he wasn’t also trying to protect you. The look on his face seems to say as much.

Jung-bae is swiftly guided to sit beside you on the bed. He glances at you again, tries to smile at you, but you can see that he’s rattled, or at least confused. But by the time he attempts to ask anything more, Gi-hun is already crouching before you, his elbows braced against his knees.

“We don’t have much time, so listen carefully. Whatever happens out there, do exactly as I say. Understand?”

“But Gi-hun-a, out where? What is all this, huh?”

He swallows heavily, his jaw clenching, and then suddenly, he’s lowering himself so he’s kneeling, pressing his fingers inside his own mouth. You and Jung-bae both immediately recoil.

“What are you doing?” you ask, mildly horrified at the sight of Gi-hun gagging with his hands in his mouth. It’s… well, it’s…

“Fuck,” he spits a moment later, holding a –

“Is that your fucking tooth?” you exclaim, and it comes out much louder than you had intended.

He waves his hand absently in your direction, too focused on turning the tooth over in his trembling hands. You catch a glimpse of metal prongs and what looks like a hollow space carved out of the tooth, but it’s gone before you can make proper sense of it, caught in Gi-hun’s fist as he slowly slumps in defeat.

What the fuck is going on?

You’re leaning down to reach for him – his hand, his arm, his face, anything that will bring him back to you so he can explain, so he can help you understand – when his head snaps up and his eyes bore directly into your skull. “Talk to me,” you implore. “What is it?”

His eyes, dark and glittering, squeeze shut for the briefest of moments before he suddenly draws himself to his full height. With the way you’re sitting on the bed, it makes him appear mountainous and detached, soaring high into the stratosphere while you’re left at ground level, alone and confused and so painfully far away. “I’ll explain everything later–”

“But we might not get a later!” And that, at last, is enough to give him pause. He watches you pull yourself up and shuffle close. “You told me these games were deadly. What if something happens out there and–”

Gi-hun rests a hand on your arm, as gentle and soothing as he can manage under the circumstances. “Nothing is going to happen. Trust me.”

“I do. But you’re not making it very easy.” Your chin drops against your chest. “I’m scared. I don’t want to die.”

He shakes his head. “You won’t. I won’t let you. Stick with Jung-bae-ya and me, alright? We’ll keep you safe.”

Whether he’ll be able to or not remains to be seen, but you know Gi-hun well enough to know he means it. He’ll do anything he can to keep you safe. You just hope that fate agrees with him.

Player consent forms. As much as you despise the people running these games – the Captain, Gi-hun had called him – you have to admit that it’s smart. Many of these people will have already signed their bodily autonomy away in return for unpaid debts, so a blanket consent form with no real context isn’t going to matter to much of anyone. It’s nothing they haven’t seen before.

Your palms are clammy, sweat already slickening your skin as the player ahead of you departs. You don’t have any qualms about choosing not to sign – you have no desire to be here any longer, not even for a chance at 45.7 billion won. Besides, you already have all the money you could ever need.

“Player 457. Your signature has already been taken.”

Your head snaps up forcefully enough that you hear the joint pop. “What?”

The man behind the table inclines his mask to you – all black with a white circle – as if he were merely a polite, mild-mannered secretary breaking some unfortunate news. “Your consent form has already been signed.”

Maybe you’re not translating him correctly. Your Korean has improved a lot over the past few years, but there are still some gaps in your fluency. You take a step forward. “I haven’t signed anything. I didn’t even ask to be here. Gi-hun,” you start, turning to look at him over your shoulder, “I’m not hearing that wrong, am I?”

He shakes his head. The lump in his throat bobs just slightly, but Gi-hun’s focus isn’t on you. He’s glaring a hole into the head of the masked figure before you, his jaw clenched tightly enough that you hear his teeth scrape against each other.

The guard, however, doesn’t even seem bothered by either of your responses. “Rest assured, Player 457, that your consent form has already been signed and filed. Please step aside to allow the other players to sign.”

“No.” Your hand smacks on the table between you, hard enough that the discarded pen used by the previous player rattles and lolls to one side. “I don’t want to be here. I haven’t signed anything, so if you have something with my name on it, it’s a forgery.”

A quiet, creeping feeling has begun to swell deep within your gut. Gi-hun going AWOL last night was one thing, getting kidnapped and taken to the very games he’d told you about was another, but now being forced to participate against your will? It’s all horribly wrong.

“If you do not allow the other players to sign their consent forms, then we will be forced to disqualify you,” says the guard. “Please step aside.”

“Good! I don’t want to be here, and I’m not letting you sign me up for this shitshow without my actual consent!”

Already, the players lined up closest to you are starting to murmur amongst themselves. Some of them are staring at you, whispering behind their hands, and even a few of the guards have turned their helmets to watch you. That quiet, creeping in your stomach quickly turns to dread, hot and heavy and nauseating.

“[___].” Gi-hun rests a hand on your shoulder, his voice low and soothing, but you don’t know how he can manage that. How can he be so calm when your consent has just been ripped from your hands?

“Player 457.”

Your chest is suddenly tight. It… hurts. It hurts to breathe, actually. You press your palm flat against your sternum for a moment, your eyes fluttering wildly as you attempt to find your breath, to focus, to think, but it’s overwhelmingly difficult. The tracksuit itches at your wrists and neck, and the shoes are uncomfortable around the back of your heel. Your palms are getting sweaty again. And your pulse is skyrocketing faster than you can catch your breath.

Your name is called again, louder this time, and you know it’s Gi-hun, you know he’s trying to help you, but you can’t find it in you to hear him. You feel like a tiny sailboat adrift in a great sea of teal jackets and numbered patches. Everyone is watching, but not a single face looks familiar. Not a single face holds an ounce of pity for you.

“Player 457.” Your head snaps to the right, toward the voice, and you’re met with a massive wall of pink. It’s a different guard, you think. Taller. “Please step aside or we will be forced to remove you.”

“No,” you mumble softly, one foot already dipping behind you. The room tilts, and for a moment you’re back in your apartment, the room dark and shadowed, and you’re crying out for help because you’re about to be assaulted or worse. You can still smell the chemicals they drugged you with.

Something grabs you by the arm – to steady or to harm you, you don’t know – but you spin around in a blind panic, teeth bared, terrified and ready to fight when–

“[___].” It’s Gi-hun. Your Gi-hun, but he’s all wrong in this light. You don’t like the tracksuit on him, how the color clashes with his eyes and marks him as the same helpless, frightened animal that you’ve become.

“I didn’t sign it,” you gasp as you uncoil in his hands. “I wouldn’t, I swear!”

You half expect him to explode. It might almost be worth it to see him lose his temper, to give the bastards running this place a piece of his mind, but he simply doesn’t. If anything, he seems to freeze. You can see his hands trembling at his sides as they drop and curl into fists. He turns toward the Circle Mask, the back of his neck stiff above the collar and his shoulders tense. “Are you certain? You have the right player?”

The guard inclines his head. “Player 457’s consent form has already been signed and filed. We apologize for any confusion on the terms of your participation, but once consent is given it cannot be rescinded.”

Consent cannot be rescinded.

You cast your eyes about the room in daze. Most of the other players have taken to ignoring you now that you’re not making a scene, though you do receive several wary glances. You catch Hyun-ju’s eye for a moment – the only other person in this place you recognize, the only person out of 455 strangers to have offered you a bit of kindness – and she smiles briefly at you. You’re too upset to even attempt smiling back.

Consent cannot be rescinded.

You’re stuck here. You’re going to have to play. Everything Gi-hun has already told you about, every waking nightmare he’s been living with in the three years since his first bout of bloody games, is now going to become a part of your reality. The blood. The death. The bodies. You think of the corpse in the suit, his brain splattered on the wall, and you choke on your own saliva. Oh God, the bodies.

“Come on.”

His hand wraps again around your bicep, urging you to move even when your feet refuse to answer, although he’s mercifully gentler this time. You stumble blindly alongside him, not protesting, not crying, not able to summon a single thought apart from the realization of your impending doom. He guides you to one of the beds and forces you to sit.

“It’s going to be alright,” he promises, but the words are empty. They ring in your ears like a bell that’s gone sour with time and disuse. “[___], listen to me, you’re going to live. Do you understand me?”

You understand that you’re going to die. You understand that whatever comes next might be your last moments on Earth. What if they force Gi-hun to kill you? Or force you to kill him? What about his friend, Jung-bae?

“Whatever happens,” you can hear him say, “you stay behind me. If I tell you to freeze, you do it.”

When you don’t respond – too horrified by the notion of your own execution to do anything more than sit and wheeze – you notice Jung-bae lingering nearby. They’re talking about you, you think, but even if they are, you don’t have it in you to care. You know you’re going to die today and you’re trying desperately to find some peace of mind in the certainty of it, but all you can feel is the yawning, gaping pit of terror that’s opened up in your stomach.

The whiskey burns pleasantly at the back of his throat when he swallows. Normally he would be indulging merely for the sake of the drink, but he’s restless today, almost abnormally on edge. He could pretend not to know the reason why, but In-ho has never been inclined to lie to himself. The reasons for his uncertainty are displayed on the television with striking clarity. There’s no hiding from it now.

The first game isn’t yet in motion, so he takes the opportunity to study you. A review, of sorts, before the real test begins. He studies the footage of your capture the previous night with a hint of pride. Your strength is no match for his finest Manager, of course, but you’d put up quite the fight. After the bouts of vulnerability he has seen from you in the past, he wasn’t entirely sure you would have the mental fortitude to defend yourself; he’s pleased to note that the opposite is, in fact, true. And while he’s loathe to admit it, seeing you so quickly subdued after 456’s startling display of emotion only minutes prior is something of a balm for the grating ache in his chest.

Now that he hadn’t liked. Something dangerously sharp had stabbed through his lungs when he first saw it, akin to disgust but not entirely separate from anger either. Why should Seong Gi-hun be granted the pleasure of your kiss when, after everything he had killed and bled for, In-ho was left widowed and childless? Why should a man who had abandoned his own daughter to America and betrayed your trust countless times be allowed to have even the slightest glimmer of hope when In-ho has been the one to lose everything?

The Game is an equalizer. It is meant to offer no advantages or disadvantages, only opportunity, and yet Player 456 has somehow managed to survive an entire six rounds of gameplay, a bout of roulette with the most deranged recruiter under his employ, and has found both purpose and pleasure in simultaneously courting you and tearing In-ho’s empire to the ground.

And so, an idea had taken shape. It had started with your capture and blossomed into something more the moment 456 had stepped into his limousine and demanded to return. Rather than taunting Gi-hun with anonymous images of your gameplay, or even of your death, why not allow him to witness your destruction firsthand? Why not twist the Games in In-ho’s favor, just this once, to prove that there is nothing a deadbeat gambler like Seong Gi-hun can do in the face of human greed and bloodlust?

He'd watched you throughout the night, mulling over the possibilities as he nursed a bottle of whiskey. He’d watched you through the camera installed in your bedframe, watched your brows wrinkle as you slept, how your chest rose and fell beneath your jacket, and found himself inexplicably entranced. In the years he has watched you from your apartment, In-ho had never breached the privacy of your bedroom. That was a line he was uninterested in crossing, yet even now he finds himself wondering what details of your life he’s missed because of that decision.

How many hours have you spent pouring over Magritte’s book? How many hours have you dedicated to late night phone calls or messages exchanged with Gi-hun that he was unaware of? And that kiss… What else have you two been doing outside of his reach? What opportunities for manipulation has he missed out on by attempting to be gentlemanly, knowing full well the monster he’s already become?

He shakes his head and pours himself another glass. It’s better not to dwell on such things. The board is set, the pieces are eager to move, and the Front Man has a job to do.

Settling back into his chair, one leg crossed over the other, In-ho watches your player photo flash across the screen. Your eyes are devoid of emotion, the lines of your smile distorted into a flat expression that is so unlike you it makes him physically uncomfortable. It’s a remnant of your shock and horror, he knows, but the difference in your face is startling all the same.

He tries not to think on that either. Instead, he tries to recapture the contentment he has come to know during the Games. There is always death, there is always fear and greed; a cycle that never changes and never ends, and there is comfort in that certainty. He grasps it firmly with both hands and doesn’t let go.

Gi-hun’s reaction to the arena is expected, but enjoyable all the same. It’s an exaggerated rendition of the horror he’d displayed upon realizing his dental tracker was missing. In-ho almost wishes he had been the one to remove it, that his hands were suited for such a task, if only to revel in the knowledge of besting 456 yet again. But he finds that the satisfaction he craves comes in another, more surprising form.

He's never been sure of how much you were told. Likely vague ideas of heartless and bloody murder that have no doubt been tainted by Gi-hun’s irritating inclination for self-righteousness and self-pity, left to fester in your imagination. He’d seen glimpses of it earlier – the bobbing of your throat, the fear in your eyes, the wash of panic as you began to realize that you were trapped in his game, all the result of Gi-hun’s carelessness, not that either of you would ever see it as such. But the trepidation in your face as you stumble into the arena tells him that you know more than he first suspected.

This should be interesting.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for Gi-hun to start interfering so soon. Perhaps he should have anticipated as much, but In-ho finds him to be something of a mystery. Every time he thinks he’s figured 456 out, the man turns around and does something unexpected like dyeing his hair, or abandoning his daughter, or taking in a stray. This time it’s taking command of the arena. A desperate attempt to save lives that aren’t even worth the effort.

“Don’t move! Everyone freeze!”

There’s a muscle in the corner of In-ho’s jaw that begins to tick. The whiskey suddenly tastes like gasoline, all traces of its usual bittersweetness erased in the wake of 456’s mounting victory. He’s not concerned – it’s been years since he’s felt anything, fear or otherwise, beyond the yawning void his soul has become – but neither is he foolish. Gi-hun may be a lucky scrap dug out from the garbage heap, but he is also a gambler and gamblers are dangerous. They take too many risks. They’ll crawl in the dirt like animals rolling in their own filth if it equates to survival.

A problem, he muses. A problem he may just be inclined to solve himself. After all, his hands are itching to wrap around something fragile and squeeze, and the urge is strong enough to make his breath catch.

The table clatters softly when he snags the remote from the center tray. The little display across the room lights up in shades of red and pale yellow, and In-ho swirls his tongue over his teeth as the music begins. He turns his gaze to you, to the small corner of the screen set aside for your live cam feed, and he finds himself wondering.

Your mouth is pressed into a thin, trembling line as you cower behind another player’s back, an old friend of 456 if he’s remembering the number correctly. A thin streak of blood is splattered across your ankle, but he can see no other signs of injury or contamination. Ironic, really. You would already be dead if he hadn’t given the order to spare your life.

In-ho swirls his glass in a slow, circular motion, studying the watery sheen of your eyes when a player falls dead on your right before finally downing the rest. He catches glimpses of you as he begins pacing around the room, can hear you screaming when Gi-hun does something particularly foolish and self-righteous, but it quickly becomes little more than background radiation. Another layer of music that curtains his thoughts as he strips himself of his Front Man attire.

The last thing he sees before rushing out of the observation room is your grief-stricken face and the gangling, flailing limbs of 456 as he stumbles over the finish line. In-ho catches himself smiling.

It’s quite a remarkable sight.

The chaos is overwhelmingly loud. Everywhere you look, there are people chattering, grasping at their friends or loved ones, weeping, conspiring in the shadowed corners. Everywhere are eyes too sharp and smiles too vicious, all pointed teeth and bloodlust. And oh God, the blood. You see it splattered on one player’s face, on another player’s shoes. When you walk, the soles of your feet are slick with half-dried blood caked in dirt. It’s awful. It’s so, so awful.

All this time, this is what Gi-hun had feared. This was the hellscape he’d escaped from, the very thing he’d warned you against. You’d known it was terrible, but now that you’ve seen it firsthand? Everything you’ve come to learn about him clicks into place.

He doesn’t protest when you curl yourself into his side, your eyes unseeing and your breath coming to you in stuttering phrases. It’s a small mercy. You think that if he had turned you away when you wordlessly reached for him, you would have burst into tears. Or even a mild panic attack. As it is, you’re already struggling to stay composed. But his presence is stabilizing and that’s good enough for now.

You don’t pay much attention to the masked figures when they enter the room, their garish pink suits at odds with the gruesome horror of this place. You simply burrow further into Gi-hun’s chest, nuzzling against his ribcage until he shifts uncomfortably and is forced to bend his frame around yours to accommodate you. The weight of his arm around your back is grounding enough to bring you back down to reality, to remind you that you’re alive.

People are crying, you soon realize. Not the same crying as before. It’s different now, they’re begging, pleading for mercy as they get down on their knees to grovel. But don’t they realize what they’ve done? They’ve signed their rights away, there’s nothing they can do now but accept the fact that they’re as trapped here as you are.

“[___].”

You’re blinking, staring at nothing in particular, when you suddenly realize Gi-hun’s speaking to you. Your head tips back slightly, your eyes bleary as you struggle to focus on his face. “Hm?”

His hands are curling around your shoulders, gently this time, as he prompts you to sit up and move off of him, only you don’t want to move. You want him to stay, to keep holding you. It’s not as scary when he holds you.

“Here. Jung-bae-ya’s got you,” he murmurs.

He passes you off like you’re a piece of bread or a bag of groceries, like you’re some inconsequential thing that he has to be rid of as quickly as possible, and you don’t understand why until he’s suddenly standing, staring down the masked men who have turned your life upside down. Some of the other players turn to look at him. Jung-bae rests an awkward hand on your arm and you try not to be rude and shrug it off; he’s only being polite, it’s just not what you want right now. It’s not Gi-hun.

“Clause three of the consent form,” Gi-hun announces suddenly, “‘the games may be terminated upon a majority vote.’ Correct?”

“That is correct,” says the Square Mask. He doesn’t nod.

“Then let us take a vote right now.”

There’s a bit of confusion between the decision to vote and the actual occurrence. As the shock and dissociation from the day’s events begin to wear off, you slowly become more and more cognizant of your surroundings. You note the decreased number of players and the newly accumulated prize money – 365 survivors out of the original 457 and a whopping 9.1 billion won.

A voting booth is displayed near the front of the room, designed to resemble a gift box with two buttons on display – a red X and a blue O to match the markings on the floor. Rules are announced, what each button means and how much money each player will receive should you all vote to leave now. (It’s ₩24,931,506 per person. You’ve never felt so thoroughly sickened by the thought of money before in your life.)

“If you wish to continue the Games, press the O button. If you wish to end them, press the X button. The vote will be held in reverse order of your player numbers.” The guard suddenly raises his hand and points to the back of the room. “Player 457.”

It takes you a moment to remember who Player 457 is. Gi-hun has to nudge you after several seconds tick by and you don’t budge. “Go,” he whispers, pressing his hand to the curve of your spine to urge you forward.

Everyone is watching, which only makes it worse. It’s not that you care what these people think of you because you know your own conscience, you’re not worried about your choice, but the memory of the game still lingers in the back of your head. With so many eyes on you, it’s almost like you’re back in the arena. One move and you’re dead.

“Aish, [___],” says Gi-hun, giving you another gentle push, “go. I’ll be right behind you.”

Maybe that’s what you were waiting for, this subconscious need for his permission. Whether you’re right or not, though, you don’t even want to guess. You just want this over with. You want to go home. The thought of crawling into bed in your own apartment is less appealing than it should be after being drugged in your own home, but at least it would be better than this.

That’s what finally gets your feet going. Home. Home with Gi-hun. A warm bowl of ramyeon, a movie, and his arm around your shoulder. You’re not sure that’s something he would ever want, but you allow the fantasy to persist anyway, if only because you can still remember the press of his lips over yours. It’s something to hope for, a light at the end of the tunnel.

“This one ends the Game, right?” You point to the red X button on your left. Now that it comes down to it, you’re illogically terrified of accidentally mistranslating every word spoken around you and pressing the wrong button, dooming yourself, Gi-hun, and every other soul in this room to another round of torment. “X means no.”

The guard nods. “Correct.”

You don’t even need to think about it. Your palm slams down on the button and the voting podium briefly flashes fully red before returning to normal. A patch is offered to you – a white X on a red background – which you proudly display on your right breast. Gi-hun is quick to follow, having already started toward the display while you were casting your vote, and when he joins you a moment later, your entire body goes limp with relief. He rests his hand on your shoulder, gives you an affirming nod and an almost-smile that you think you’ll treasure for the rest of your life, before guiding you to the designated waiting area.

You’ve both done your part. Now all you have to do is wait for the rest to follow.

If only it were truly that easy. While you were busy mourning the lives lost and yearning for home, many of the other players have been calculating. They’re greedy. You understand it to a point – life is never easy and money solves just as many problems as it causes – but you find it difficult to understand how anyone could choose to stay in the games after witnessing such a horrific and violent loss of life. Player after player chooses to stay. Young people likely around your own age, older folks with decades worth of debt, the awful man with the purple hair (not a surprise in the least), Miss Hyun-ju (it hurts your heart to watch – she seems so nice that her decision almost feels like a betrayal), all of them choose to stand in the blood and the gore for the sake of a little extra cash.

And when they aren’t dooming all the rest of you to unnecessarily violent deaths, they’re rioting at the slightest inclination of wisdom or sense. Gi-hun tries, he really does, to explain just how dangerous the games are. You can see it in his eyes how much it hurts him. The people who listen aren’t difficult to convince, but the ones who remain have hardened their hearts to anything he has to say, and that becomes a burden in itself. What hope had started to blossom in his chest and lift his shoulders is squashed the longer the voting goes on.

You want to take his hand and reassure him that everything will be fine, if only because the sight of his crestfallen face and haunted eyes makes you want to vomit what little remains of yesterday’s dinner, but it would be a lie. The only thing you’re capable of doing is waiting.

Ultimately, it comes down to Player 001. He’s been sticking to the shadows the entire time, the details of his face hidden behind other players and whatever uncertainties he carries with him. You catch a glimpse of his shoulder when he passes between the X and O groups, then the player number on the back of his jacket, but then he’s swallowed up by the crowd. Standing on your toes doesn’t offer you much more of a vantage point either, so you settle for leaning into Gi-hun and hoping for the best.

The room, once clamoring with competing voices all calling for their group to win, falls deathly silent. 001 pauses for a moment. If he says no, you get to go home. You get safety and freedom, you get Gi-hun, you get hope. But if he says yes…

Your eyes flicker to the scoreboard hanging overhead. A buzzer sounds when his choice is made and the number for the O team clicks up by one. All around you, your fellow players are groaning, hanging their heads in despair. Defeat rises up so quickly and so strongly in your chest that it feels like bile. Tears sting along your waterline as your surroundings grow blurry.

Somewhere in your vicinity, you think you hear Jung-bae attempting to comfort you and Gi-hun, but his words are hollow. Even grabbing for Gi-hun’s hand, clinging to him like some frightened thing lost in a storm offers little comfort.

When the sun rises tomorrow, you won’t be able to see it because you’ll be trapped here, forced into a game to kill or be killed, and you don’t even know if you or Gi-hun will be around long enough to survive to the end.

[aninipanin1]

Hello!!! I have a little suggestion for the manager!reader series.... What if manager!reader made tiktoks/little skits around each stratum for blue lock tv promotional content? I can imagine a lot of people fighting for the spot next to the reader when they do silly tiktok trends hehe ( ＾ω＾ )

Anyways, that's all from me!!! Take care of yourself, and thank you! (*^▽^)/★*☆♪

SUSPECT!

Notes: I don't have TikTok so I don't know much about it. But this turned out to be more player focused lmao enjoy!

"We have to do a what?"

"Some tiktok challenges. Our media manager has already made you guys an account and um, they want you to film some videos so the show can get even more popular!"

You can hear most of them groaning in complaint. Its not that they do not use the app, but most of them could not care less about the cameras or how popular the show could get. As long as they got to continue playing and being in Blue Lock, then everything is all good.

"Can I not join in, Y/n-chan?" Niko asked and most of them soon followed, asking the same question.

"Eh? Oh okay...um, I'll try convincing the JFU but...they said you need to be in it." You said, a sad look in your eyes, knowing that the JFU would probably scold you again when they found out you let the boys do whatever they wanted again.

Isagi, being one of the most sensitive ones in the group, noticed the look in your face. Now, if it was just him, he would also rather say no to whatever the JFU wanted. But knowing that you will probably struggle in convincing the higher ups, and the possibility of you being scolded again, he straightened his posture before clearing his throat.

"Actually, Y/n-chan. We'll do the filming! Right guys?" He said, a fake smile on his face as the rest were just confused.

"What? You do it alone-" Otoya was about to say when Isagi elbowed his side discreetly, before giving a chilling smile.

"Right, Otoya! We'll all do it, Y/n-chan! What do we do?"

Most of them did not like the sound of that, but seeing your face light up in happiness made them get what Isagi wanted. So they just shut their mouths up and let you tell them what to do.

"It's been a while since we even used our phones for fun, didn't know so many trends already came and go." Karasu said as he listened to the trend they were supposed to be doing.

"How do you do this 'suspect' trend, Y/n-chan?" Bachira asked, peeking his head through your shoulder to look at the tablet in your hand where a video of the said trend played.

"So basically, one person will be filming another. The one shown in the camera will be running while the one holding the camera would call them 'suspect' before saying something about themselves that is embarrassing or funny. That's the gist of it, but you all can say what you want, as long as it doesn't cross too many lines."

Oh.

Oh.

A shiver ran through your spine at the smirk on everybody's face. Of course, they all knew each other's deepest habits and secrets, perks of living with each other in this large facility. And exposing and dissing each other? Oh, this was just the thing they have been waiting for.

And that was when you wondered if you picked the wrong trend for the boys to do.

"Um okay, I'll be doing something else in the meantime. I'll leave you with this phone so you guys can film. Um, you can go in whatever order you want. Please try to keep the language to a minimum as possible."

You said nervously, handing a phone provided by the facility to Rin, who just accepted it without a thought. You personally did not know how to feel about this. You trusted them, but definitely not enough to say the weirdest and most out of context things, especially when it comes to their fellow Blue Lock players.

'Oh god, I hope they dont end up fighting...'

The moment you left, they immediately went up to Rin to set up everything and started to point on who will be the scapegoat and be the first one.

"I vote for Barou to go first." Nagi said with a yawn, which only angered the said striker.

"What did you say, you lazyass? How about YOU go first?"

"Hey, hey no fighting!" Bachira cheered.

"Yeah. Hmm, how about rock paper scissors, and whoever loses gets to be the sacrifice." Hiori commented, to which most of them agreed.

It took a while to play the said games due to their number, but as the minutes passed and more and more people won and got eliminated. It was all left to Otoya and Chigiri.

"It's missy versus ninjass!" Karasu laughed.

"Shut the hell up, Karasu!" Chigiri muttered, taking the game very seriously.

But, lady luck wasn't on his side today as he pulled out paper and Otoya pulled out scissors.

"YES! GOODLUCK MISSY!" Otoya cheered. Chigiri fell to his knees at the lost before being pushed up by Isagi, who was laughing at his misery.

Being the one who currently held the phone, Reo snickered at a thought that appeared on his mind as he pressed the video button and started recording the running Chigiri.

"Suspect can't outrun us for too long in this video, or else he'll be in crutches the next day." Like bowling pins, most of the boys fell to the ground laughing at the words. Reo, was busy snickering and making sure that Chigiri's reaction was caught on camera.

"You absolute crud! COME HERE, YOU ASSHOLE!" Chigiri said, fuming, chasing after the chameleon-like striker who just ran away and continued laughing at his offended face.

"Suspect got brotherzoned by Y/n-chan because he started to say slurs on the field!"

"BITCH?! COME HERE CHIGIRI!" Isagi said, feeling offended and a bit heartbroken when he remembered that certain time.

"Suspect thinks his bad taste in fashion brings the girls closer, but actually just shoos them away from him."

"WHAT?! Excuse me, my fashion is good." Otoya tried to defend himself from Karasu's words. But the rest of the boys just shook their heads.

"Your beanies are hideous."

"Nah, its just because they're on him."

"HELLO?! WHY IS EVERYONE SO RUDE TO ME?!"

"Suspect is a closet gay for Hiori." Rin said, filming Karasu who stopped in his steps with wide eyes at what he said.

"What the hell? I'm not gay." But the rest of the boys just laughed at the straight tone Rin said what he said and the expression Karasu currently had.

"Shut the hell up, you crow. You ain't ever gonna beat the allegations!"

"You aren't any better, Shitdough! You are so gonna get it from me!"

"Hey, you're the one who keeps commenting about how erotic Hiori is." Kunigami rolled his eyes.

"I second that. I still can't forget how you called my left leg erotic." Hiori pitched.

"THAT WAS A COMPLIMENT?!"

"How gay can a compliment be, chat?" Otoya joked while slapping Karasu's back, who only yelped.

"Suspect would either get hepatitis from his dreams of Itoshi Sae or his 3 weeks unwashed pillow case!" This time, it was Oliver who filmed Shidou.

"And I don't have anything to hide about that."

"Jesus Christ, you both are disgusting." Rin commented in disgust at both Oliver for what he said, and to Shidou's whole humanity, or what was left in that guy's said humanity.

"Ya'll are getting more unhinged as this challenge pass by." Yukimiya added as he shook his head, not even knowing what you, Ego or Anri would say when they start to view the footage.

"Suspect can't run too fast or else he'll trip because he can't see what's in front of him."

"HAHAHAHA Bachira did not pull any punches." The rest laughed, meanwhile Yukimiya's glasses fogged, his smile clearly fake as he was legit pissed at what the striker said.

"We're here to offend not to ammend, baby."

"Suspect watches anime more for the agenda than the plot."

"So what?" Niko sassed towards Kiyora, who just shrugged while the rest just snickered.

"Nah bro, don't tell me you're one of those in the agenda piece community." Kurona said, only for Niko to shrug.

"Maybe or maybe not. You never know."

"Suspect is a closet mean girl."

"Pfft Isagi!"

"Nagi being a closet mean girl is so true, though."

"All the victims of Nagi Seishiro arise!" Otoya said as Isagi, Barou and even Reo raised their hands while laughing. Nagi, on the other hand just plopped on the ground, not wanting to even continue moving.

Needless to say, the video was a whopping success in social media. Everyone had a good laugh at found out the chill and funny side of the Blue Lock players. But, the JFU was less than pleased of what was in the video.

They expected the boys to behave and say respectable things about each other, not ruin their damn reputation just for jokes and laughs. But, nerdless to say, nobody cared much about their anger because the video did blow up in popularity, and numbers never lie, especially when it brings over money and revenue.

ADDITIONAL TIME!

BLUE LOCK TV TIKTOK COMMENT SECTION:

User1: TO SAY I SNORTED WHAT I WAS DRINKING WHILE WATCHING THIS?!

User2: I swear I always forget these guys are the same age as me, meaning we share the same humour☠️

User3: THE KARASU ONE?! THE GAYNESS IS REAL

-> User4: Idk who to ship anymore Y/n-chan w him or Hiori

User5: I did not expect Rin to actually be funny, good to know he doesn't have his brother's dry sense of humor.

User6: I LOVE THIS! Like I didnt know Nagi and Niko were filled with sass nor did I know Rin can be funny. I NEED MORE OF THESE

User7: Okay, but the brotherzone thing w Isagi proves to me that maybe the crazy harem shippers are right LMAO

-> User8: RIGHT?! Now I'm wondering like theres no way you would use the word brotherzoned if there is no feelings there.

I know this strayed away from the request but I really wanted to incorporate the Bllk boys' friendship so I hope yall enjoy this. I may make a pt 2 that fits more of the request huhu

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[promptedwordsmith]

What are the LaDS like at Christmas?

Really late but had this in my drafts for a really long time and didn't want to have to wait another year to post it <3

Caleb:

It was Christmas Eve, the air crisp with a gentle frost, and the house was wrapped in the quiet warmth of holiday lights. The faint scent of cinnamon and pine mingled in the air, the sound of carols softly playing in the background. Outside, the world was blanketed in snow, but inside, it was nothing but the comforting glow of the tree and the crackling of the fireplace.

Caleb stood by the window, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of the streetlights outside. He was still wearing his uniform, though he had taken off his jacket. His purple eyes were lost in thought, staring at the snowflakes that danced in the winter air. It wasn’t often that he allowed himself moments of calm like this—especially not with his responsibilities weighing so heavily on his shoulders—but tonight, he made an exception. Tonight, he was here, with you.

Turning away from the window, his gaze softened as he caught sight of you, nestled in the cozy armchair by the fire. A gentle smile tugged at his lips, a rare sight these days, one that was just for you. His footsteps were light on the hardwood floors as he approached, his presence familiar and grounding.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, like a promise you didn’t have to question. He crouched down beside you, reaching for your hand, his fingers brushing gently over yours, as though afraid you might disappear if he touched you too roughly.

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the tenderness in his eyes. For all the weight of his duties, all the walls he put up, this side of Caleb—this gentle, romantic Caleb—was still there. He hadn’t forgotten how to love you in the quiet, simple ways that mattered most.

“I’m glad we’re here,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “I don’t need anything more than this—just you, and... the quiet.”

You smiled, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, there was no Colonel, no coldness. Just Caleb, the man you had known all your life, and the man who still cherished you, even in the midst of everything that had changed.

“Happy Christmas,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his breath warm against your skin.

In that moment, everything felt right. Even if it was fleeting, Caleb’s love was something you would hold onto—now, and always.

Rafayel

It was the night of Rafayel's latest exhibition, and you were there—not exactly for the art, but to make sure he didn’t disappear into the night again. Last time, Thomas had nearly lost his mind when Rafayel went missing for hours, leaving the gallery empty. Tonight, though, Rafayel spent the majority of the evening whining to you.

"I just want to go home, relax... Can't we leave already?" he grumbled, slouching against you, his eyes practically pleading with you.

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly, your heart warming at the sight of him. It was hard to imagine this carefree, childish side of him as the same person who, just moments ago, had been impeccably poised and professional as patrons arrived to admire his art.

"I thought you were supposed to be an artist," you teased, nudging him playfully.

"Ugh, I am an artist," he sighed, exasperated, but you knew the moment the crowd would thin, he’d turn back into his sulking self. Sure enough, the moment the room emptied and it was just the two of you, he slumped against you once more, his voice low and full of irritation.

"Is it time to leave yet?"

You giggled, shaking your head. His frustration was endearing, but you understood why he hated the bustle of it all. In truth, you were in the same boat. Though you’d been surrounded by art and people all evening, it felt like you hadn’t had much time together at all, and Rafayel hated that.

The second it was acceptable to leave, he was practically dragging you out the door. You tried to keep up as he moved quickly, a sense of urgency in his steps. You smiled to yourself—he was so impatient when it came to being away from you.

When you finally reached his studio home, Rafayel turned to you with a mischievous grin. “Wait outside,” he instructed, his tone sharp, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but frown.

It was December, and the cold air made your breath visible in the night. But you didn’t protest, curious as to what he had planned. It wasn’t long before Rafayel appeared at the door again, this time with a blindfold in hand. "Come on, just trust me," he said with a smile.

You allowed him to tie the blindfold over your eyes, the anticipation building with every passing second. He guided you carefully through the door, and when he finally removed the blindfold, the sight before you took your breath away.

The entire house was covered in sparkling decorations—glimmering lights, pine garlands, and little trinkets that looked like they’d been picked just for this moment. The room felt warm and alive, despite the chill outside. The holiday magic that you’d been missing, that had been absent from the exhibition, filled the air.

Before you could say a word, you turned to Rafayel, feeling overwhelmed by the beauty of the moment, and kissed him on the cheek.

His cheeks flushed bright red, his expression softening for a brief moment, but he quickly turned his head away, as if pretending the whole thing was no big deal. "It’s... nothing," he mumbled, though you could see the tiny, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

The holidays felt so much more real in that quiet moment, and for once, it was just the two of you—no distractions, no exhibitions, just warmth, love, and the peace of knowing you finally had this time together.

Sylus

The evening air is crisp, tinged with the faint scent of snow, as Sylus leads you through the quiet streets, his hand warm against yours. You notice the subtle confidence in his stride, the way he carries himself, never rushing, as if time itself bends to his will. The flicker of nearby streetlights casts long shadows, but with him, everything feels different—safe, contained, almost serene.

You reach the restaurant, a lavish building tucked away from the usual bustle. Its exterior is adorned with wreaths of greenery and strands of gold lights, each one shimmering in the night. A private venue, reserved just for the two of you. No one else. The doors open before you can reach them, revealing the soft glow of candlelight spilling into the street.

Inside, the atmosphere is nothing short of magical. The restaurant is transformed—Christmas in every corner. Garlands of fresh pine stretch across the ceiling, dotted with twinkling fairy lights. A towering tree, adorned with delicate ornaments and a star that glows brighter than the rest, stands proudly by the window. The whole room smells like cinnamon and pine, an aroma that settles around you like a warm blanket.

He guides you to the center of the room, where a table for two sits beneath a canopy of softly glowing lights. A fire crackles in a hearth nearby, casting flickering shadows over the elegantly set table. Gold-rimmed glasses catch the light, and the soft clink of fine china seems to echo in the silence between you.

Sylus doesn’t speak immediately, only looking at you with that quiet, knowing smile. There’s a warmth in his gaze—something deeper than the usual sharpness, something softer, as if this night, this moment, means more than he’s willing to say.

When he finally speaks, his voice is smooth, low. "I thought it would be a night worth remembering," he says, his fingers brushing over your hand, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "For you." His smile lingers, teasing, yet there's something unspoken in his tone, an unspoken sentiment wrapped in the cool, steady confidence of the man he is.

As the evening unfolds, the two of you dine beneath the glowing tree, laughter and conversation weaving effortlessly between the courses. The world outside fades away—only the warmth of his presence, the flicker of candlelight, and the glow of the tree remain.

When the dessert course arrives, a decadent chocolate soufflé, Sylus raises his glass to you. The glint of his red eyes, the soft curve of his smile, all speak of something deeper—a connection, a quiet promise that, just for tonight, all that matters is this moment.

Xavier

The scent of cinnamon and chocolate fills the apartment, curling through the air like something out of a dream. Outside, snow drapes over the city like a thick, quiet blanket, the streets empty, the world hushed. You glance at the clock—Tara was supposed to come, but with the storm growing worse, she sent a regretful text. Looks like it’s just the two of you tonight.

Not that you mind.

Across the room, Xavier stands near the kitchen, watching you with an unreadable expression. Not disinterest—no, something softer. Something almost hesitant, like he’s still figuring out why he’s here, in the warmth of your apartment, instead of out there in the cold.

“Xavier,” you say, turning toward him with a wooden spoon in hand, “don’t even think about coming in here.”

He blinks, tilting his head slightly. “I wasn’t.”

“You were.” You narrow your eyes at him, setting the spoon down with unnecessary dramatics. “I don’t trust you near open flames.”

He exhales, the closest thing to a laugh he ever really gives, and steps back—not far, but enough to lean against the wall and watch you work. The quiet hum of Christmas music plays in the background, something soft, something old, and for a while, the only sounds between you are the clink of mugs and the rustle of cookie dough being shaped.

When the cocoa is ready, you hand him a mug. He doesn’t drink right away. Instead, he just holds it, fingers curled around the warmth, gaze flickering from the string lights lining the windows to you, standing there in the glow of the Christmas tree.

You nudge his shoulder gently. “Come on, help me redecorate.”

The tree is already decorated—mostly. But as you start adjusting ornaments, he follows your lead, mimicking your movements with quiet focus. His hands are careful, precise, like he’s handling something far more delicate than a glass bauble. And when you get tangled in the strands of colored lights, Xavier’s breath catches for half a second.

You don’t notice at first. You just reach for him. “A little help?”

His fingers brush yours as he moves to untangle the lights, but instead of pulling away, he hesitates. The glow from the tree reflects in your eyes, soft and warm, and before he even thinks about it—

He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your fingertips.

It’s barely there—a ghost of warmth against your skin. A silent moment, delicate and unspoken. He doesn’t say anything after, and neither do you. You don’t have to. Because in that small, fleeting gesture, you already know.

Zayne

It had been a long shift. The sterile hum of the hospital still lingered in Zayne’s mind as he stepped into the quiet apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. His coat was draped over his arm, his tie loosened, and his glasses were slightly askew from the long hours spent under bright, sterile lights.

He had promised himself he wouldn’t linger too long on the weight of his shift, but it was hard to shake off the exhaustion. He could feel the dull ache in his shoulders from the day’s work. Yet, as he entered the living room, all that seemed to melt away.

The soft glow of the Christmas lights twinkling across the room cast a gentle warmth in the air, bathing everything in a dreamy haze. The tree, draped in gold and silver, stood quietly in the corner. The scent of pine, mingled with the faint warmth of the lights, made everything feel still, serene.

And there, on the couch, was you. Wrapped in a blanket, tucked in a way that seemed effortless, yet perfect—like you had fallen asleep in a moment of pure peace. Zayne’s heart softened, a tenderness flickering in his chest. He could hardly bear the thought of disturbing you, but the sight of you—vulnerable, relaxed, and so very much a part of the calm in the room—compelled him to act.

He knelt down beside the couch, careful not to wake you. Gently, he lifted you in his arms, cradling you with the practiced care that came so naturally to him. His hands, strong yet tender, guided you to the bedroom, where he tucked you in, making sure the blanket draped perfectly around your shoulders. He leaned over you for a moment, his gaze soft, taking in the peaceful expression on your face.

Just as he was about to step back, your eyes fluttered open, the drowsiness still lingering in your gaze. You blinked, and then—slowly—your hand reached up to touch his face, a faint smile curling on your lips.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep. You leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of his nose.

Zayne froze, his heart stuttering for a moment. A warmth spread across his chest, something deeper than the exhaustion of the day.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured back, his voice low, a small smile breaking through his usual stoic demeanor.

You nestled back into the pillows, and within moments, you were asleep again, your breathing slow and steady. He stood there for a moment longer, just watching, utterly enchanted by the simplicity of the moment—the way you had so effortlessly brought warmth into his life, even in the quietest of ways.

The soft Christmas lights blinked on, a calm, peaceful reminder of everything he held dear, especially you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Three's a Crowd 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Abnesti, Steve Rogers, Steve Kemp

Summary: You’re offered a deal without all the details.

Note: happy friday

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your eyes stray to the table of cookies again. In the rush of days, blending together with back to back shifts and disparate hours of sleep, you lost track of yourself. When you finally thought to eat, you found an empty cupboard and just as desolate bank account. Rent, electricity, all that ate away at your already leaking reservoir.

Your stomach grumbles and you clasp your hands together, pushing on your middle to ease the clenching. You're so hungry you can barely focus on Caroline. You blink and make yourself listen. You don't want to be disrespectful.

If Kelsey is on shift tonight, she'll let you snag a bag of fries at least. Not the best meal, but something.

You feel weak the more you think about food. A bit dizzy. As you push your shoulders back, your eyes meet another pair. Steve smiles at you from behind his square glasses. You rock and give a sheepish grin.

You do your best to stay alert. You have a half-shift after this and you're not sure how you'll get through. You should have skipped today.

When at last the session lets out, you hurry to join the line, checking your phone for the time. You don't want to miss the bus.

"Working after?" Steve startles you as you shuffle up the table and reach for a cookie. The white macadamia are your favourite. You keep from scarfing it down as you so desperately want to.

"Um, yes," you reply.

"Bus?" He takes a cookie and bites into it with a hum. You're salivating.

"Yeah," you cough. "I should go catch it."

You wrap your cookie in a napkin and step out of queue. He follows.

"Would you like a ride?" He offers.

You nearly trip, "oh no, I couldn't. That's so kind though."

"I don't mind." He drawls. "You work a lot?"

"I guess. But really, you don't have to--"

"You look as if you might fall asleep on the bus," he muses.

"Oh, no, I'm... fine."

"Well, I do hate to keep you then but I hoped to speak with you about something."

"Me?" You utter in surprise.

"Yes, well, we all know each other here. I just thought... well, we all seem rather lonely, don't we?"

"Sure, uh," you look down at the cookie then him. "Alright, I'll take the ride. Can I give you some change for gas."

"Please, don't you even fret," he waves you off.

He follows you to the door and holds it open. You go ahead of him and nibble on the cookie, unable to resist anymore. He points you across the lot to the same car he drove past your window. The memory makes you cringe.

You stop outside the passenger door and chew furiously. He climbs in the other side, "coming?"

"I don't want to get crumbs in your car."

"No worry, please. It's cold."

You look down at your sweater. You're shivering. You're not so much used to the bluster as done fighting it. You cover the cookie and put it in your pocket. You dust off your chest and hands before you get in.

He turns the engine as you buckle your seat belt. A smooth hum rolls through the car. It's so nice you feel as if you might mess it up just by looking.

"Um, so," you begin as he backs out. "What did you want to talk about? I hope... when I asked about your wife, I didn't mean to upset you."

"Oh no, that's what these meetings are, right? We're supposed to talk about all that." He steers and glances over at you. "I appreciated you asking. You're a really sweet girl, you know that?"

'Sweet girl.' The way he says it makes you feel even small. That and how big he is. "Thanks, Steve..."

"I was only thinking. About you," he keeps one hand on the wheel as he leans his other elbow on the arm rest. "Working in that window. Two jobs, you said?"

"Yeah, one's only part-time."

"Still a lot." He remarks.

"But er, well, it's not... you don't need to worry about it."

"I do," he insists.

"Why, uh, well, we don't really know each other." You say as you peer put the window, your words sending a chill through you. You don't know much about Steve and you're in his car.

"I know you work hard. I know things have changed a lot for you since your grandmother passed. And you know how I understand that. That I'm going through the same..."

"Yeah, everyone in the group, I guess, um," you babble dumbly.

"I was only thinking... well, you lost more than your grandmother. You lost a whole life. You've had to adapt a lot more than the rest of us." He pauses and your stomach growls loudly. You wince. "Is that cookie all you've had?"

You shrug, "Steve, I hope... I hope you don't think I'm that helpless."

"Helpless, no, but we could all use help from time to time." He slows as he rolls into the lot of the fast food restaurant. The ride was a lot quicker than the bus. "Which is what I'm offering. Help."

"Ah, oh," you sink. "Is it that obvious?"

"You had a nice wool coat a month ago. You didn't have to fight to stay awake. You... spoke a lot more--"

"Right," you sniff. "It's nice of you to offer but I gotta learn to do things on my own now."

"Do you?" He angles in his seat. "Sweetie, it's no big deal."

"It is to me. I don't even know-- what is it? A job? You know I don't have a degree."

"Mmm, no," he pokes the tip of his tongue out and looks away. "Not a job, but... it isn't safe for you to be taking the bus so late. And definitely not good to be sitting in that cold window for hours."

"Steve, please, you're embarrassing me."

"I... I don't mean to so I'll be honest. I lost my wife, I miss her terribly. And you lost the person who took care of you. So we could... help each other fill that void."

You squint at him then your phone. You have ten minutes. You sigh.

"I don't know--"

"I am trying to be delicate here but... there's men who pay for girls like you. They pay a lot."

"What?" Your voice cracks. "You-- I'm not a prostitute. I--" you pull on the door handle but it doesn't budge. "Let me out. I can't believe-- I never even-- how--"

"I know you haven't before. Which is what I'm saying. I'll pay to be your first--"

You turn to him and hit his arm, "that's...wrong."

"I know. I'm just so... I would make it special, sweetie."

He reaches for you and you push yourself against the car door. Your eyes prick and you swat his hand away. You're humiliated that he would even think you would do that.

"Steve," you reach into your purse and take out a handful of change. You drop it in the cupholder and turn to unlock the door. He touches your shoulder and you shrug him off as you escape. "Thanks for the ride."

[lorynna]

The thing that bothers me about the radical feminist community on Tumblr is how unforgiving and harsh some radfems are, when they disagree with your views. I've seen it a couple of times now. We will talk about sisterhood, supporting each other and the love we share for other women but sometimes we cannot criticize each other respectfully.

Especially for the women only slowly getting into radical feminism, because it is new to them, they can be quick to get sassy reblogs due to posting their yet unripe thought processes or making mistakes and that's genuinly sad to see.

On the other hand when it comes to other disagreements: I understand your frustrations and I understand that we won't always agree with each other on everything but that doesn't mean that we have to be unkind to each other.

Sadly, I often feel like me saying things like "I don't think that men are inherently evil", "men have the potential to improve" or "i had a great father figure in my life and I am happy in my current het partnership" puts a great target on my back and I've had many harassive anons sent to me by other supposed radfems.

In all honesty I don't feel free to sometimes say what I think because I just have the feeling that there will be harsh backlash for stating things like the sentences put in quotation above - even when I never challenged radfems that think differently or have had a different life experience compared to mine. Even when all I do is state my own life's reality detached from everything else.

And by sharing mine - I never mean to undermine or disregard the experiences of other women. I respect you. I see you. I see why you hate men and I would never argue with you about why you shouldn't. Again, I empathize with you and I acknowledge that we have different lived realities.

I don't think I have to defend myself regarding this stance but without going into too much detail I was really lucky to have a really amazing father growing up. Generally, I have had great male role models in my life and I love them very much. Just as much as I love my boyfriend who treats me very well. I have seen two sides of the same coin. And if me therefore saying that I don't think that "all men are inherently evil" makes you want to refute my experience angrily - that's your choice.

I am in my early 20s, I have not been part of radical feminist for very long and I am not as smart or as eloquent as many other radfems on this platform - without question. I am here for the discourse, for learning from others and to listen to their experiences. I hope to make Tumblr a little bit of a better place.