#no but really i appreciate it this helped

[v1rtu4ld0ll]

𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 | 𝐍𝐒𝐇.𝐑

⌞♡⸝⸝ 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬⌝ You loved your Boyfriends Moles , they were pretty , like stars scattered on his pale skin — his skin the universe and his moles the stars. You couldn't help yourself other than to kiss each and every mole you could see on his skin. ⌞♡⸝⸝ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬⌝ fluff, established relationship, pet names (Princess), playful banter , kissing ⌞♡⸝⸝ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭⌝ 1k

⌞♡⸝⸝ 𝐃𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞⌝ Kissing his moles would heal me for real. Reblogs and feedback are appreciated!

The room was silent , only the sound of videos playing on your phone filling the room as you scrolled through Tik Tok , alternatively switching to Instagram reels from time to time while you were waiting for your boyfriend. The shower turned off in the bathroom next to his room , the dull sound of the shower door opening following after — he should be back soon. You sighed softly to yourself as you changed your position , moving from laying on your back to laying on your side with his warm blanket tucked between your legs as you continued to watch silly cat videos , silently cooing or laughing to yourself because of how cute and silly cats were.

“Made yourself pretty comfortable huh?”, the door opened and in came Riki , his hand rubbing the towel against his damp hair to dry it — an amused expression on his face as he took the sight in front of him in. There you were , laying on his bed and wearing his clothes as if you didn’t have your own — although , that didn’t bother him , he loved seeing you in his clothes. You couldn’t stop your eyes from roaming his upper body since he was shirtless , you loved his body , he looked like he was sculpted by the demi gods themself, and the moles — oh the moles , you love his moles.

They were so pretty , like the stars decorating the night sky , his moles were scattered across his skin just like the stars in the universe. He already had a lot on his face so it was only natural that he also had them on the rest of his body , you just wished you could kiss all of them. “Your room is my room which means your bed is my bed and your clothes are my clothes — So yes , I did make myself quite comfortable here”, you replied which brought a smile on his face along with an amused chuckle, mumbling about how silly you were while he picked up your discarded clothes on the floor and threw them onto his black couch.

The mattress dipped slightly as he sat down on the edge of his bed , your eyes staring at his back — the moles on his back forming a constellation on his skin , his moles really were like stars. “What’s this all about?”, Riki asked softly, yet he couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice as he felt your warm lips on his back , momentarily stopping drying his hair with his towel before he laughed quietly. “That tickles Princess”, he muttered as he turned his head to glanced back at you , only seeing the top of your head as you continued to kiss the moles on his back while your arms circled around on his waist — drawing invisible shapes on his abdomen which only made him laugh more. “Kissing your Moles , they’re so pretty and I feel like I’m not worshiping them enough”, your reply only made him shake his head before he fully turned around to look at you.

“You’re so silly. You literally count the moles on my face every single day and make sure you haven’t forgotten to kiss one of them”, he was beyond amused , a soft flush of pink dusting his cheeks — god damn it , you were too cute for your own good. “So? I can’t miss out on one of them!”, you argued back which only made him place the towel next to him before he put his hands on your shoulders and gently pushed you down on the bed , hovering over you with a silly smile on his face — even if he would have tried to stop smiling , he couldn’t.

“How about instead of kissing my moles, kiss me instead”, he asked in return as he stared down at you with love filled eyes , the back of his hand gently caressing your cheek as he leaned his face down to yours. “Boriiiiiiing , I want to kiss your moles”, you responded back in a teasing tone which only made him roll his eyes as he sighed in feigned annoyance. “Alright fineeeee, but kiss me first, after that you can kiss my moles as much as you want”.

“Deal!”, you chirped as you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down to you , his chest pressing against yours as he wasn’t prepared for you to pull him down so suddenly. “I’m going to crush you like that”, he mumbled with a slight chuckle but made no move to pull himself up , your body heat radiating through your clothes warming up his bare chest. “I don’t care”, you huffed before taking the initiate and placing your lips against his , his own practically melting against yours as he kissed you back, It seemed like he missed you or your lips as he , whenever you tried to pull away , chased your lips with his own to drag out the kiss as long as it could go —  the kiss so slow and gentle and filled with love.

After 5 minutes , he finally pulled away and let you breathe as he moved to lay down next to you , his head resting on his arms as he placed them behind his head. “Now you can kiss my moles as much as you want”, he chuckled softly as he watched you sit up and let out a small “Yay!”, his smile only widening once again before he fell into a fit of giggles as you kissed the moles on his tummy. “H-Hey , that tickles!”, he squirmed but didn’t try to push you away , his hands instinctively coming to cover his tummy to which you could only pout slightly.

”We had a deal!”, you complained playfully to which he could only huff. “I’m starting to believe that you love my moles more than me”, he replied back , returning your playful energy to which you could only stick your tongue out at him before attacking his upper body which kisses —  making your lover giggle and trash around again while telling you that it was tickling and that you were being silly. You loved his moles.

[transamus]

my birthday is in just over a week and i have. $0.36 in my account & we Really need groceries & my phone is. very close to being nonfunctional. if anyone wants 2 send me birthday money to get a new (probably like $50) phone & groceries, maybe even help out with rent a little bit, that'd be super appreciated. i've been trying to find work again but it's hard as a disabled person w/o transportation esp when i've had like No commission work in around a year now

my paypal is here

[welldrawnfish]

Just wanted to rb since I noticed we are at like 32k notes, that’s wild to me like a certified banger thank you so much for taking time to see my art, I’ve been feeling really lost and purposeless lately and this makes me feel like I might have a purpose in comics

I hope this comic helps all of you appreciate the time you have

Time.

[hsnlv]

“all mine.” (altered) | s.jy

pairing: boyfriend!jake x fem!reader

synopsis: a moment of doubt clouds your mind, but jake’s gentle touch and heartfelt words remind you just how loved and perfect you truly are in his eyes.

warnings/others: insecurity, jake is sickeningly sweet in this one :(

wc: 1.04k

a/n: as written, this is actually my old work that i decided to re-write! i hope this will give you comfort like it does to me <3 reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!! happy reading my loves🎀 here’s my masterlist!

����now playing!🎧: take you there- h.e.r

“c’mere,” jake pats his lap with that playful grin you can never resist, the one that makes your heart do flips. his voice is soft but teasing, like he’s already expecting you to curl up in his arms. it’s your spot—his lap, his warmth, his everything. it’s where you feel safest, where you always feel loved.

but today, you hesitate. something in you feels… different. heavier. you glance down at your thighs, your stomach, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror out of the corner of your eye. it’s silly, really. you know it’s just your mind playing tricks on you, but the thought sneaks in anyway.

“i’m fine,” you mumble, staying rooted in place. your arms fold over your stomach as you avoid his gaze, hoping he won’t push.

but he’s jake.

he notices everything.

his teasing smile fades just a little, replaced with that soft, tender look he gets when he knows you’re feeling off.

“baby,” he says, his voice gentle as he scoots closer. his arms reach for you, wrapping around your waist and pulling you to him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, trying to brush it off. “nothing. just tired.”

“hmm.” he doesn’t buy it. not for a second. instead, he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing lightly against your skin as he murmurs, “tired of what, hmm? me? ‘cause if that’s the case, you’re breaking my heart here.”

you can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, though you try to smother it. “jake…”

“there she is,” he teases, pulling back just enough to look at you. his fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face toward his. “there’s my girl. now, are you gonna tell me what’s really going on? or do i have to guess?”

you hesitate again, biting your lip, but the way he’s looking at you… like you’re the only thing in the universe that matters. it’s too much.

“i don’t know,” you finally mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i feel… different today.”

his brows knit together, confusion flickering across his face for a moment before realization dawns.

“oh,” he breathes out, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek. “it’s one of those days, huh?”

you nod, feeling a little silly now. “yeah.”

jake sighs, but not in frustration. it’s that soft, loving sigh he does when he’s about to say something that’ll make your heart melt.

“baby,” he starts, pulling you closer until you’re practically sitting in his lap, your legs draped over his. his hands settle on your waist, holding you like you’re something precious. “you know none of that stuff matters to me, right? like… at all. i don’t care if you think you feel different or look different. to me, you’re always gonna be my favorite person.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes, though there’s a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you’re just saying that.”

“i’m not!” he insists, looking mock-offended. “do you want me to prove it? i’ll prove it. actually—hold on.”

before you can stop him, he’s reaching for his phone, typing furiously with one hand while the other keeps you firmly in place. a second later, he holds up the screen.

“you’re literally the prettiest person i’ve ever seen and i will fight anyone who says otherwise.”

“there,” he declares proudly. “proof. now you can’t argue with me.”

you snort, burying your face in his shoulder. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re gorgeous,” he counters, his voice dropping to that soft, serious tone that always makes your chest ache in the best way.

his hands trail down to your thighs, squeezing gently. “see these? i love these. and this?” he taps your nose lightly, grinning when you scrunch it up. “adorable. and don’t even get me started on your smile. do you have any idea how hard it is to focus on anything when you’re smiling at me?”

“jake…” you mumble, your face heating up as you try to hide your grin.

“nope. not done,” he says, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek. “this face? my favorite. this laugh?” he pokes your side, earning a giggle. “even better. and don’t even think about arguing with me, because i’ll just keep going until you agree.”

you laugh again, the sound light and genuine this time, and jake’s smile grows even wider.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice warm and full of adoration. “that’s my girl.”

he leans down, guiding you gently onto the bed, his body hovering over yours as he peppers kisses across your face.

“mine,” he whispers, kissing your forehead.

“all mine,” he adds, brushing his lips against your nose.

“the most perfect girl in the whole world,” he finishes, punctuating his words with a kiss to your lips.

you can’t help but giggle. “jake.”

“yeah?” he murmurs, his forehead resting against yours while his face is plastered with that stupidly handsome boyish grin he has always had.

“you make it really hard to stay upset, you know that?”

his lips twitch into a smile. “good. that’s kind of the point.”

“so beautiful,” he murmurs, his eyes scanning your features like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you. “it’s actually unreal.”

“stop,” you mumble, your cheeks heating up again.

“never,” he replies, grinning as he leans down to press kisses all over your face. each kiss sends a flutter through your chest, the warmth of his lips chasing away the lingering insecurities in your mind.

“you’re impossible,” you manage through a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

“and you’re perfect,” he counters, his voice soft and earnest.

his hand moves to brush a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know that.”

it’s in the way he says it—like it’s not just a compliment, but a promise. and for the first time all day, you feel the weight of your doubts start to lift.

wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his warmth and love, you think that maybe—just maybe—he’s right.

© all rights reserved | hsnlv 2024

[puddingcatbeans]

i really do appreciate leverage: redemption hammering home the message of "it's okay to ask for help. in fact, it's crucial. you better ask for help, or else"

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What a Mess 1

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: thick!Bucky Barnes

Summary: Your new job isn't all that you expect. (maid AU – short!reader)

Note: hate me, baby.

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 ❤️

You punch the code into the keypad. The instructions are in the app, under the corresponding address. It took you sometime to find the building, then a little longer to figure out how to work the elevator. As it stopped on the right floor, the grated door struck you with a glimmer of panic. 

Unlocked, you roll the door back to reveal the condo on the other side. Wow. It’s quite the place. Spacious. High ceilings, polished dark floors, tall counters. Well, everything is ‘big’ compared to you. The world is gargantuan in a way that makes you feel like a spec of dust. 

You set down your kit and roll in your vacuum. It’s a haul and a half and you felt a bit silly dragging it all up the front steps of the building. You always feel a bit ridiculous. Like you don’t belong. Even in a city so big that you’re invisible. 

You tap your earbud twice to turn the music up. You always keep one in to ward off the overstimulation of the New York chaos. It helps you through the hours of cleaning. 

You check the notes in the app. It’s a long list. The work isn’t new, just the place. They chose to give some of your old clients to newer cleaners and you took on the more particular ones. Zuli said it’s because you know how to get in and out without any hint that you were ever there. 

You start your cautious work. The client has included some very direct instructions. What you can and can’t touch. Alright, easy enough. You’re good with that. Details help. 

You get to the spiral staircase that leads up to loft bedroom. The instructions say to dust the railings and sweep the steps. It doesn’t really look like they need it but it can’t hurt. You’re paid to do the job. 

You start with the railings. Going top to bottom as you drag a microfibre cloth down the twisting ascent. You go back to the highest step with the broom, the task made awkward as the broom handle pokes through ceiling that would be the floor of the room above. It’s an interesting set up. 

As you bring the bristles across the metal step, a shadow shifts over you. The windows are tall enough to let the sky in. You ignore it until a voice startles you from above. “Got an extra cloth?” 

Your foot slips as a hand grabs the other end of the broom. You cling to the stick as another hand reaches to catch your arm. You squeak and look up at the man as he bends through the hatch door and keeps you from falling further. 

“Oh, I'm sorry,” you whittle out of your tight throat. 

“Careful,” he steadies you on the step until you get your balance. He lets go and steps back, standing above you as he looks down through the open hatch. “So, a cloth?” 

You tap your earbud to pause the music. You nod and give a wide blink. You turn and scurry down the spiral steps, dizzy by the bottom. You search your kit and take both the roll of paper towels and a microfibre cloth. You go back to him and offer both. 

You bat your lashes as you peer up at him. You know him. Well, you recognise him. The hair, the beard, the bright blue eyes. It's Bucky Barnes. What really gives him away are the metal fingers twiddling by his jeans. He bends to take the paper towel. 

“Thanks,” he rasps and walks away without another word. 

You don’t move for a moment. Then you set back to your work. You’re not there to ogle the famed super soldier. You have your list of tasks. You remember the underlined point on the list. Do not enter the loft.  

You make a slow descent down with the broom and gather the small cluster of dust in the pan. You dump it and begin on the lower floor. You get about halfway around the front room of the open-concept condo before the silence smacks you across the face. 

You hit play on your earbud. That’s better. You finish up with the sweep and start with the mop. You’re sure to use the gentle, unscented, all natural cleaner as specified in the app. You suppose a place this nice requires extra care. 

You bob as you clean, the rhythm of the music soothing your nerves. You can’t help by keep replaying your near disaster in your head. Imagine if you’d fallen down those stairs. That would have been painful and just as torturously humiliating. 

As you finish up, packing up your kit and tie up the trash bag to take out, you sense something behind you. You turn as you wait for the elevator to rise up and blanch at Bucky as he stands at the foot of the metal stairs. How hadn’t you heard him? 

He looks at you then around the apartment. You squirm, too tongue tied to speak. Better off that you don’t. Was that on the list? You can’t remember. 

“Looks good,” he says. 

His eyes meet yours and you flinch. His irises are a blue so bold and deep that they threaten to swallow you up like the sea. And the way he stands. His posture. He’s intimidating without trying. Or maybe you are a bit of a wuss. 

You press on your earbud, once more silencing the music. You wait for him to say something else. He doesn’t. He goes into the kitchen and opens the fridge.  

You hesitate and face the elevator again. Tension roils at your back as you hear the glass tingle followed by the hiss of a cap popping free. You push your shoulders up and lift your kit, hanging on tightly to the hose of the vacuum. 

He must deal with enough leers, he surely doesn’t need that from a cleaner. The elevator doors open and you step inside. You roll the vacuum into the corner and go to close the gate.  

Bucky appears at the threshold as he pulls it across himself. The whole time, his gaze doesn’t leave you. He hits the keypad on his side and the lock clicks before the outer doors roll across and block him from sight. You stay there, frozen, even as the elevator jolts into motion. 

Did you overstep? Miss a check on the list? You hope you didn’t mess this up already. You really hate starting all over again. You prefer to know what to expect than to have to keep guessing. 

[luvologyy]

daisuke thigh riding? pretty please? :3

Ik who u are..... sigh.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚ — 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 w/ daisuke

Daisuke x F reader ♡ˊˎ-

CONTAINS: thigh riding (duh..), dry humping, a little bit of dirty talk, marking, orgasms, readers wearing panties and shirt.

Reblogs and likes are always appreciated, baby ౨ৎ

"Yeah, just like that.." He coos, holding your hips as you slowly rub your clothed heat on his thigh. You moan softly, your slick soaking your panties as you grind against him. "ffuckk baby," his hands trail up and down your body. You can feel his bulge press up against your knee.

"Please, let me have it..." he beg, looking down at his erection while you push yourself onto him, grinding against his thigh faster and harder.

"No no no baby.. That's not really fair. Not until i cum first." You mash your mouth against his, slipping your tongue between his lips before you continue pleasuring yourself, desperately chasing your orgasm on him. Daisukes moans, becoming more loud and needy, his dick throbbing in his pants.

"Fuck," he whined softly, burying his face in your shoulder to stifle the little noises he made as he jerked his hips against your knee, pushing his dick against you. You're so wet- and hes a whiny begging mess for you. BEST COMBO. He grips your hips tighter, fingers digging into the flesh there.

He can't help himself. pushing you back and forth and grinding you onto his clothed thigh, the friction of your panties stimulating your clit, making you melt. leaning forward and tucking your head into the crook of his neck. You softly moan into his skin while your hands hold him firmly. As your orgasm comes closer, you squirm.

"T-this feels so goodd.." he moaned, his precum soaking his sensitive tip. He can feel his orgasm building up as you grind against him.

You litter daisuke soft skin with marks and bruises, your puffy lips sucking onto his neck, your wet tongue circiling around his bruised hickey. Daisuke felt his cock quaken in desperate for release. he humps into you, his pulsing cock hitting against your clit. Your wetness fully soaked your damp panties.

He looks at you, his eyes pleading, his body quivering under your control. His heart is pounding out of his chest. He swallows, looking up at you as his entire body screams for you to keep going while his mind fights back.

"I-I think im gonna cum,"He looks at you, his eyes pleading, his body quivering under your control. His heart is pounding out of his chest. He swallows, looking up at you as his entire body screams for you to keep going while his mind fights back.

Daisuke moves with reckless abandon, hips jutting against your own. Neither of you can talk past groans and whines. This act feels primal, both of you desperately chasing your release.

Your hands fist the fabric of his shirt as you bounce back and forth against his thrusts and grinds against your clothed pussy. “cum with me baby," you moan out. You can feel his hips start to move out of rhythm and he lets out a final low moan before you feel the stickiness of his cum seep through his jeans and onto you, his cock pulsating from pleasure.

"Shhhh.. it's okay, I gotchu. " You rub the back of your head as you writhe in his embrace. His whimpers filled your ears, him shaking beneath you. Your swollen, desperate clit tingles with pleasure. You whisper-moan sweet nothings into daisukes ear.

[drarrily-we-row-along]

Winter Flu

"Absolutely not, Potter," Draco said, trying to close his door in Harry's face.

Harry laughed, "Stop being ridiculous," he said, pushing at the door to Draco's room.

"I'm not," he said, "while I appreciate that it is our tradition to grade papers together on Friday night before we watch a movie, I cannot take that chance today."

"Draco-"

"No," he said again. "Matilda Bagweather has that horrible winter flu and you didn't have the good sense to send her out of your classroom. You've exposed yourself to it and I'm not interested in getting sick."

The door closed firmly in his face and Harry sighed, letting his forehead drop against the door. This couldn't be happening to him. Not today. Not when he'd planned to-

"Draco," he called, knocking on the door again.

"Go away, Potter!"

"I brought a Christmas movie," he cajoled. "You're really going to like this one." He was certain about White Christmas, Draco was a sucker for cheesy love stories.

The door opened a crack and Harry wiggled the DVD so he could see it. "Are you feeling any symptoms? Any scratchiness of throat, tickling in the ears, are your eyes watering?"

He rolled his eyes, "I feel fine. I feel great, actually. I just wanted to watch this movie with you."

Draco debated for a moment, Harry could see it playing out on his face, then after what felt like an eternity, the door fell open. "Fine. But you're sitting at the other end of the sofa."

-----

An hour into the movie and Draco's head was where it always ended up, in Harry's lap. And Harry certainly wasn't complaining. He combed his fingers through Draco's hair, scratching lightly at Draco's scalp with his nails, like he knew Draco enjoyed from a great deal of trial and error.

He'd slipped right into Harry's lap as he argued with the movie:

"Why is she upset?" "Why wouldn't she just talk to him!" "For Cirice's sake, getting engaged isn't going to help!" "Do you see now what could have been avoided if you'd just talked to him, you silly woman?"

But none of the ranting stopped Draco from tearing up when the General stepped into the room and everyone started applauding.

He sat up and reached for a tissue on the table, sniffling and hair askew from Harry's fingers, and Harry loved him and loved him and loved him. Godric it wasn't healthy to love someone this much. To want nothing more than to look at them and make them happy.

"I don't know why they always have to be so emotional," Draco said, turning to look at Harry. "What?" he asked, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'd just really like to kiss you," he said because he'd decided that tonight was the night. No more waiting, no more holding his feelings in. It wasn't quite how he'd planned it but it would do.

"What?"

Harry shrugged unrepentantly, "I would like to kiss you," he repeated.

"Well then why haven't you?" Draco asked, sounding affronted now.

He laughed, "Well I thought I'd get your approval first."

"You have it," Draco said, "so what are you waiting for? Do I have to do everything my-"

Harry leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet, making the butterflies in his belly take flight all around his body.

"Oh," Draco breathed when Harry drew back. "I think you should do that again."

He grinned and cupped the back of Draco's head as he leaned in to kiss him once more. When he moved away he murmured, "You're missing the ending."

Draco blinked at him and Harry nodded to the screen as the barn doors opened and the snow appeared like a backdrop. Draco leaned back against Harry and Harry wrapped an arm around him, drawing him even closer.

When the movie finished, Harry squeezed him and pressed a kiss to his cheek before he shifted and stood up.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He grinned and leaned down to press a soft, short kiss to Draco's lips once more. "My own room."

Draco raised an imperious eyebrow but Harry spoke up first.

"I want to do this right," he said softly. "I want to woo you, I want you to feel pursued. I want this to be something that lasts."

Draco blinked up at him, that guarded part of him falling away, leaving him looking young and unbearably sweet.

"You're too important to me to rush this. So," he said with a fortifying nod, "I'm going to give you one more kiss, and then I'm going to leave." He nudged Draco's foot with his own, "but before I do, I wanted to ask, would you come with me to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

"Like a date?"

"Yes, Professor Malfoy, exactly like a date."

He smiled and stood up, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, "Yes," he murmured, leaning in to steal a quick kiss. "I'd love to."

----------

By the time the two of them did get the Winter Flu six weeks later, they were both all too happy to spend the time cocooned in a room, watching movies together while they recovered.

[jeonstudios]

dextrocardia | 16

Dextrocardia. Originally a medical term, but also a way to describe someone who's got their heart in the right place.

"She's been moved to another operation to help out. This pairing is necessary because you'll be undercover as spouses. I know you two can be professional about this."

"What?!" It's Jeongguk's upset voice that sounds, and for once, you share his displeased opinion.

Spouses.

pairing: cop!jk x f detective!reader

genre: undercover cops, fake marriage, e2l au, angst, fluff, (smut?)

word count: 6.5k

warnings: none besides.... fictional police work...

rating: NC-17 – Adults Only

masterlist

part 16/? 

<previous | next>

© dextrocardia is copyright jeonstudios. this fic can not be modified, re-posted, or translated without my permission.

Despite everything, you fill with a sense of excitement as you drive off, Sana in the passenger seat beside you. It’s nice to feel like you have a purpose again, and even if you technically had one during the last mission with Jeongguk, it was overshadowed by the danger you believed resided under the same roof. 

It’s a comfortable journey, and soon enough the highway turns into a pristine neighborhood, bearing no trace of the traumatic events that occurred there months ago. Most of it looks the same as you remember it but other parts don’t. There’s an unfamiliar car parked outside ‘your’ house, and not only that, but glancing through the large windows as you cruise by, you spot movement inside. Children? You knew people would eventually move into the house–a house that never even belonged to you to begin with–but it feels weird.

Putting your more than illogical feelings aside, you focus on parking your car outside the Jungs’ house instead. Before stepping out, you and Sana give each other one last once-over. Despite the relatively low risk of this initial part of the mission, you’ve still made an effort to appear inconspicuous, and it’s not only for your own sake. Considering what they’ve done for you–Hoseok especially–you don’t want to be a bother if they’d rather not have law enforcement be seen knocking on their door.

It’s Eunha who opens the door, eyes going wide when they land on your face. For a second, your worry grows; what if your presence isn’t actually appreciated? At all? But then her lips pull into a smile.

“Oh, hello?”

“Hi, we were wondering if we could ask you a few questions? About another case, not… yours,” you find your greeting turning into rambling.

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. Come on in. I’m a little busy baking at the moment, but Hobi is home, and I’m guessing he’s the one you really want to speak with?”

She wipes her hands on her light blue jeans, leaving a white, powdery residue on the fabric before opening the door wider. 

“Thank you,” you smile as you step inside, looking around to see that, as far as you can tell, everything looks the same as when you last paid the Jungs’ a visit. When you think about it, Hoseok never brought up the bugs you placed in their house, so you’re guessing they never found them. Or if they did, they haven’t brought it up for some reason or another. You’re not sure, but what you do know is that you’re not gonna be the one to do it, just in case.

“Make yourselves at home. I need to check on the cookies. Hobi!” she turns to call out into the house, “We have guests!”

With an apologetic smile, Eunha excuses herself, and then you and Sana are left alone in the entryway. You share some kind of look. Sure, you didn’t expect too much hostility, but to leave you, two detectives, unsupervised in their home? 

A second later, the sound of footsteps approaches, and you smile toward the brown-haired man as he comes into view, his confused features turning happy. He takes in the sight of you before he closes the distance to give you a warm hug.

“How are you? You look good!” he compliments, also turning to shake Sana’s hand, a very sweet smile on his lips. “Hoseok.”

“Sana,” she greets.

“I’m doing well,” you answer, “He is too; made a full recovery.”

Hoseok’s smile falls, and he takes on a rather baffled look instead. “We saw on the news. About the station and the investigation and all that. Crazy. I mean, we knew there were corrupt cops, but to that extent?”

“Yeah.”

“So what brings you here?” he asks, a glint slowly returning to his eyes. “Was it maybe something I said one time at a hospital?”

You nod, “Yeah. Can you tell us what you know? Or give us any tips at all so that we can stop Kyung Sunghyun once and for all?”

You watch him contemplate. Since he first let that comment about Ksung slip at the hospital, you’ve felt that he’s a good enough man to at least not mind Sunghyun being investigated and possibly put behind bars. But what can he say without incriminating himself for essentially planning a robbery? And can he trust you if he accidentally lets something slip? You might seem like you’ve stopped pursuing him, but can he trust you not to, ever?

“Why don’t we take a seat in the living room?” He gestures for you to follow him, and after quickly taking off your shoes and jackets, you do, with Sana in tow.

Sitting on the Jungs’ couch, you wait for Hoseok to get comfortable and for Sana to pull her pen and notebook out of her bag. 

“Hey, love?” Hoseok calls out to his wife, turning to the two of you, “You want something to drink?”

“Oh, water would be fine,” Sana accepts, and you nod, “Yeah.”

“Hm?” Eunha appears in the doorway. She seems to have more flour on her pants than last time.

“Could you bring us some water?”

“Of course. Anything else?”

Hoseok thinks about it for a second before he lights up, “Oh, do we have some of those brownies left?”

“Uh, yeah, I’ll bring a few pieces.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as Eunha leaves, Hoseok turns to you again, a look of concentration coloring his features. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Well, everything,” you say.

“Okay. I’ll warn you that I might not know as much as you think, and some things–not that I know them–I can’t say. I guess I can start by saying that, hypothetically, if I were a criminal of any kind, I would probably still stay as far away from other criminals as possible; especially if I had… valuables that might make me a target. No honor amongst thieves and all that, you know?”

Although his words deny any criminal activity, his expression reveals that he’s well aware that everyone in the room knows that he’s far from innocent. At least as far as the law is concerned. You watch him intently, waiting for whatever information he has and praying that it’ll help.

Sana drives you both home an hour or so later, you sitting quietly in the passenger seat and staring out the window as the world passes by.

“We need to tell Jihyo as soon as possible,” Sana says, “I can drive you home after if you want me to? Unless you’d rather stay with me?”

“No, it’s… fine. I’m fine.”

You are fine. Although it could’ve sent you into some sort of panic attack, it didn’t. It’s just a reminder of why you don’t trust men, and you feel yourself withdrawing instead.

Hoseok didn’t have too much info on the Ksung trafficking case. As you expected, they spent a pretty significant amount of time trailing Sunghyun and his closest men in order to map their routines. Not that Hoseok admitted it; it was very ‘hypothetical’. But from what you gathered, it was difficult to get close to the top men and almost harder to follow anyone. Then, when everything happened and Hoseok and Yoongi understood that you’d been watching them, they put the plans mostly on hold. Except for one thing.

“He, of course, doesn’t actually get his hands dirty if he can help it, and we weren’t–you’d have to be a whole team to keep track of everyone and what they’re doing. But …there might be a private plane flying mostly under the radar about once a month. Someone might’ve found… ‘receipts’ for fuel from different places, and when pieced together, they form a vague route.”

“I guess the question is, why the need to fly incognito? Is it possible it flies… cash or other valuables from the bank that they’d rather not have everyone know of?” Sana asks, and you nod in agreement. It’s a very valid concern; you wouldn’t want just anyone to know if you’re transporting valuable cargo, even legally.

“The plane is refueled more often and with less fuel than a cargo plane, according to the receipts. It seems to be a very small plane, with a correspondingly small fuel tank. And these days, flight tracking is the default; it’s definitely an extra step to opt-out. Sometimes even difficult to achieve.”

“So we’ll be looking into this plane, alright. Where are the receipts from? Is there a pattern? Somewhere we can go to see if we catch them as they’re refueling?”

“The first stop is around three hours from their headquarters, so you’d assume the plane is stationed around there somewhere, but it might have proved hard to actually find it. I’ll give you the coordinates for that and the other locations.”

“Thank you.”

It’s with genuine gratitude that you thank Hoseok. It’s truly ironic that one of the sweetest men in your story is a bank robber, while the police have taken on the role of your enemy.

“So how is your case coming along? You haven’t found them yet, I assume?”

You press your lips together briefly before sighing. You know you shouldn’t disclose anything, really, but again, with how much has been on the news, the public would’ve known if the wanted police officers had been apprehended. And they haven’t. You’ve been told not even the Jimin-lead actually led to anything.

So you shake your head. "Still looking.”

To your surprise, Hoseok looks to be thinking hard about something.

“Okay, so… this might not lead anywhere, but if you’re stuck and possibly trailing Ksung’s people anyway… rumor has it that Ksung has been paying off the cops for a while. Not sure what station, but maybe, someone–at least up until around two months ago–used to meet up with someone at seven a.m. on the fifteenth of every month. Like I said, it’s supposedly around two hours away from here, essentially smack dab in the middle between the closest stations, but given your previous colleagues’... reluctance to follow the law, it might be worth checking out.”

“But they’ve been on the run for months now,” Sana questions, “If Ksung has been paying for police protection or their deliberate ignorance, then what would be the point now? They don’t have anything left to offer.”

“Their silence, maybe?” Hoseok tries to offer an explanation. “They could be blackmailing Ksung into giving them the money they need while on the run. Pay up, or they’ll tip someone off?”

“If what we think about Ksung is true, wouldn’t he just… get rid of them if that were the case? Can’t be that much of a leap between trafficking and murder? Especially if they’re a threat to everything Sunghyun built?”

You adjust your position on the couch, sitting quite literally on the edge of your seat and looking at Sana. “Yeah, I honestly think so too. It wouldn’t make sense to let some of the most wanted people blackmail you like that. There’s a big risk that they’re caught and then they might blab and drag you down too. Better to get rid of them.”

“Maybe,” Hoseok adds, “But there were a lot of officers caught in the investigation, weren’t there?”

“Yeah. All fired,” Sana confirms.

“Again, I can’t promise it’ll help because it’s somewhat of a long shot, but what if you didn’t catch them all? What if…”

“--Someone’s still working at the station,” you continue where Hoseok trailed off. “And taking bribes?”

“And you think that person is helping Hoseong?” Sana wonders, her eyes wide.

“Don’t know, but what are the odds of two separate groups of officers being corrupt?”

You really don’t want to answer that.

Jihyo is surprised at your findings, but when you turn it around to look at it from another angle, it makes an awful lot more sense. Instead of questioning the odds of your two cases being connected, it’s not so strange to think that a criminal bank CEO might be bribing the town’s corrupt police. It’s just strange for you to have found yourself in the middle of it.

“So what do we do?” Sana whispers, glancing at Jihyo’s closed office door behind her.

“Wait. What’s today’s date?” Jihyo asks, her eyes going wide as she realizes what you’ve already had time to see.

“January fourteenth,” Sana explains.

Jihyo looks at you and Sana and the look you give each other. “No. We should wait for backup; the outsourced detectives will be here in a week.”

“We’ll miss the window,” you argue quietly.

Jihyo raises her eyebrows. “What if it’s not true? What if it’s a trap to get rid of you?”

“Set up by Hoseok? I don’t think so. He could’ve gotten rid of us today if he wanted to, and I don’t think he would; he saved us, after all.”

“Well, you more or less surprised him today, and people knew where you were, so it would’ve been stupid on his part. Getting rid of you while you’re ‘looking for someone else’ would be a better plan. And like you’ve said before, when he saved your life, he didn’t know that you were investigating him yet. Now that he does, he might’ve just been waiting for an opportunity. What are the odds of you finding all of this out on the fourteenth when the supposed meeting is taking place tomorrow?”

Well, when she’s putting it like that you have to agree that there’s a risk. Not a big one, you don’t think, but a risk nonetheless.

“I want to go,” you say before lowering the volume of your voice further, “If there is someone here still… if there’s a mole, we need to… we need to act as soon as possible. The longer we wait, even if we try to be discreet, the higher the risk of him finding out.”

Jihyo sighs, lifting her hand to rub her forehead until she seemingly decides.

“Fine. Do you want to go tomorrow? Together? Maybe you should bring someone else as well?”

“Who? We don’t know who the mole or informant is, and if you suggest bringing Jeongguk…” you trail off. Jeongguk is great, but this is not his area of expertise.

“He’ll want to go, regardless.”

“He’s not a detective.”

“He’s out on a call right now?” Sana asks.

Jihyo nods. “Yeah, I think so. Out patrolling, at least.”

“Don’t tell him,” Sana suggests.

“You don’t think it’s him, right?” Jihyo asks in disbelief.

Sana continues, “No, but… the more people who know, the bigger the risk. I think he’ll do more good here, keeping up the charades.”

A few hours later, you’re already in the car, heading toward the spot Hoseok pointed out on a map. The meeting isn’t supposed to take place until tomorrow morning, which gives you a valuable opportunity to scope the place out beforehand.

The sun has set by the time you reach a hill, the road ending in an empty cul-de-sac with a low stone wall overlooking the arches of a large, gray viaduct. There’s a road running parallel to you, only on the other side of the wall, below the hill. It doesn’t pass under the viaduct, which stands almost perpendicular to you, but instead turns to run alongside it. You lean your gloved hands against the stone wall, following the road and its sidewalk below with your eyes. 

The meeting point is supposedly a few meters from the sidewalk, up underneath the viaduct’s closest arches. From this spot, you can’t see beyond the arch, except for a few bushes and trees. It looks like it might be downhill.

Hidden by the elevation, the stone wall, and some trees, the current spot will be where you park the car tomorrow, and before checking in at a nearby hotel for the night, you decide to also check out the other side of the viaduct.

“So, how does it feel to be back for real?” Sana asks, stepping out of the bathroom and putting her toothbrush in her mouth.

Sitting on the bed, you flip through the TV channels. “Uh, good. I really missed this… feeling of having a purpose?”

She pauses the brushing, toothbrush still in her mouth as she speaks. “Mhm, I get what you’re saying. And… how does it feel, knowing that there might be someone we… missed?”

You take a moment to think about it. “I don’t know. I’m so used to walking around the hallways, paranoid of who might be waiting around the corner. Waiting for me to be alone somewhere. After a while, you just don’t have the energy to be that scared anymore.”

Sana nods in understanding, brushing her teeth thoroughly for another few seconds before she enters the bathroom again to spit the foam into the sink.

“Did you know that I basically didn’t fight them at all when they came for us during the undercover assignment?” you ask, fiddling with the remote on the white bedspread.

“Jeongguk mentioned something about feeling like you’d given up, but not a lot more. He wanted us to stay close and check up on you; said he thought the last year had taken a bigger toll on you than we’d assumed.”

“Yeah. I’ve been so scared for such a long time; felt for so long that I stand no chance whenever they actually decide to try it. I didn’t think there was any use in fighting them when they came, so I just… stood there. I closed my eyes.”

“But Jeongguk saved you.”

“He did, yeah. Let himself be stabbed by a fucking samurai sword.”

Sana’s quiet as she exits the bathroom again, a white robe in her arms. 

You let out a deep breath. “What would you do? If you were me?”

Immediately understanding, she sits down on the other bed. “I don’t know. I want to say that I’d give him a chance, but I think it might be easier said than done.”

You look down at your hands. “Yeah.”

“I do believe he’s a good guy, and I think he’s learned his lesson, but a relationship can’t depend on whether he’s good or not, if he deserves you, or whether you should forgive him, can it?”

“It shouldn’t?” you raise your eyebrow at her, smiling a little.

“No, I mean, you shouldn’t be with him if the answer to those questions is ‘no,’ but the next question is just… Do you want to be with him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then… does being with him make you happy?”

You feel your whole body practically answer her question. Your eyes drop sadly to the bedspread again, and your shoulders lift a little anxiously. “I think he makes me feel inadequate.”

She looks at you sadly. “You know that you’re not, though, right? You get to feel that way, and he has no say over your feelings because he’s the one who caused them, but you’re more than enough. We’ll support you no matter what you decide to do.”

Nodding slowly, you take another deep breath, getting up from the bed to brush your own teeth.

Usually, you find it hard to wake up fully when the sun has yet to rise and it’s freezing cold. Even the hotel’s hard but warm bed would be tempting you to stay in. But not today. The moment the alarm blares, you’re already reaching for your phone to quiet it, sitting up and looking around. On the other bed, not far from yours, Sana is rubbing her eyes and yawning. Today’s the day you might actually find a good lead.

Due to the nature of today’s assignment, you’re armed, just in case, and you’re clipping small body cameras to your thick, black jackets. On your head, you’ve got black beanies, and your hands are gloved as well to withstand the cold.

The sun still hasn’t made it far on its journey across the sky when you park the car in the same spot as you did yesterday. 

“I’m in my position,” Sana informs through the earpiece. You dropped her off closer to the other side of the viaduct, where she’s currently hiding a little farther down a walkway and behind some parked cars. 

“Good. Me too,” you confirm, leaning your elbows against the wall. Thanks to the trees and the relative distance, you’re well hidden as you kneel behind the stone wall, focusing on the meeting point through your black binoculars.

“It’s five fifty a.m., and we’re both in position,” you repeat, more so for the recordings.

“And so we wait,” Sana concludes.

Despite the thick jackets, it doesn’t take long before you’re freezing. If you could, you’d sit in the car, at least to be protected from the biting wind, but the angle from there wouldn’t let you see over the wall. Sana complains quietly about her fingers while your cheeks hurt the most. Every glance at your watch is painful.

Six fifty arrives, and you focus further. But there’s no one. Once every few minutes, a car or two passes on the road below you, but that’s it. Seven o’clock. Still no one. You’re starting to fear that maybe you missed them? Did they change location? Or maybe they decided on another time? What if they really just stopped meeting up, altogether? Hoseok didn’t seem too sure, after all. You bite your lip, trying to keep your cold body still. If there is an informant, you need to catch him.

Then, at seven twenty, you hear something. It’s the rustling of thick fabric as Sana adjusts her position.

“Dark-clothed male, moving in. 4 o’clock.”

As slowly and inconspicuously as you can, to not draw attention, you turn your head. Sure enough, a man is walking on the sidewalk below and to your right. 

Just like you, he’s dressed in all black, a bulky jacket covering most of his body except his legs. He’s got the hood pulled over his head and his hands in his pockets.

“Can you get a visual of his face?” you ask, watching wide-eyed as he passes below you.

“No, he’s got something–a shirt or something–pulled up over his mouth and nose.”

“Okay, looks like he’s headed for the viaduct,” you say, waiting to see if he follows the sidewalk as it turns to run parallel to the viaduct, or if he steps in under the arch. “We’ll wait and see if anyone else shows.”

But the man doesn’t stop to wait for someone. He steps off the sidewalk, casually walking over to the closest of the huge pillars, graffitied in blue and green, and swiftly retrieves something from under a small bush. A bag?

“It’s a dead drop,” Sana exclaims as the man continues on his path, heading in her direction. It only took a few seconds, and anyone less observant would’ve missed the pickup. 

“Do you recognize him?” you ask, on the edge of your seat. “Can you follow?”

You’re too far away to follow him on foot, and driving down would be impractical and likely draw his attention, so you stay put.

Instead, Sana moves, the rustling loud in your ears, and you hold your breath. It’s always more nerve-wracking to watch someone else pursue and track a target than doing it yourself. If this man discovers her, you don’t know what will happen, much less what he’ll do if he recognizes her.

The man disappears from view, and for a while, all you hear is Sana’s breathing and that same occasional rustling of her jacket as she moves. Then, there’s a bout of silence before her quiet, shocked voice comes through. 

“I can’t follow him further; he’s getting into a black car. I… I think it’s JJ.”

As quickly as possible, you drive back to the station, wondering if you ever missed a clue about JJ. Considering how many men work at the station and how you’ve had to keep a very close eye on some of them, JJ has flown under your radar a bit. The tall man wasn’t anyone you’ve paid much attention to or interacted with, but he never came across as weird or suspicious; just as a regular man. He never outright harassed you, but he never stood up for you either, but then again, he wasn’t the only one using that approach. Additionally, you’ve seen him with Jeongguk a bunch of times, and you figured Jeongguk had cleared all the remaining men. Not that it’s Jeongguk’s fault, but still; you don’t think he’s easy to fool.

“How sure are you?” Jihyo asks in a hushed voice, her worried eyes flitting between you, Sana, and the closed office door. You know JJ is already at the station, you walked past him in the hallway, dressed in uniform. You weren’t able to follow the man, but considering you had to wait a bit and then drive down to collect Sana, it’s entirely plausible he made it back before you.

“Like eighty percent. It was hard to see, but… I’m pretty sure. Don’t know if I captured anything of value, but we can go through the recordings to be sure?”

“Maybe we can look through the work schedule as well?” you suggest. “If he hasn’t been clocked in at seven to eight a.m. on the fifteenth of the last few months–probably since they went on the run–then–” 

“–We still can’t rule him out,” Jihyo interrupts sadly. “Even if he’s been clocked in, he–maybe together with his partner–could’ve simply driven there while on duty, assuming they weren’t on an active call. Maybe not super likely, but not impossible. So if he’s been clocked in, we’d need to look at those exact hours and place him on specific calls.”

“Which might take a while,” Sana adds, and you nod, realizing that she’s right.

Your heart races. “So what do we do?”

“His car’s in the garage, right?”

Jihyo gives Sana a warning look. “We’ll need a warrant to search it, and this is not enough for one.” 

“But not to take a look through the window,” you say, biting your lip and meeting Sana’s eyes.

You wait for Jihyo’s objection, but it doesn’t come. “Be careful,” she whispers instead, following you toward the door. “If there’s one, there might be more.”

“Yes, boss.”

Being the first one to step out of Jihyo’s office, you glance the other way, just in case JJ happens to be watching. However, you don’t look where you’re going, and of course, you run headfirst into someone’s chest.

“Hey,” a deep voice says, its owner steadying you by your arms. Of course. 

Embarrassed, you look up, only to meet Jeongguk’s dark eyes. He’s dressed head to toe in uniform, the sleeves rolled up to expose his veiny forearms, tattoos and all, and it’s clear that he’s on his way out to patrol. You didn’t know he was really patrolling again, but then again, it doesn’t seem like they were getting anywhere on your case, and well… you don’t talk much these days. Like always when he’s near, your heart rate picks up, and your skin heats under his hands despite the fabric between you.

“Uh, sorry,” you apologize, looking away. You know you’re normally a pretty good actress, but today, you just feel too wound up and on edge. Jeongguk holds onto your arms, his observant eyes gazing over you.

“Is everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Everything’s fine,” you say with a nod, glancing at Sana. “But we need to go.”

But Jeongguk doesn’t give up. “There’s something’s going on, isn’t there?”

“No,” you lie again.

“You’re making me worried.”

“You don’t need to be.”

His gaze flickers between you and Sana, and even though you don’t think he’s completely buying it, he lets go. “Promise me you’ll tell me if you find out anything.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, already moving away. Technically, you being ‘off’ can simply be explained by the fact that you’re not entirely comfortable around him.

After getting rid of Jeongguk, you and Sana enter the station’s parking garage. The personnel floor is empty, save for about twenty to thirty vehicles, Jeongguk’s motorcycle included. Still, you make sure to look around before you start.

“What did the car look like?” you ask, peering through the back window of the closest one, a small dark blue car.

“Unfortunately, I couldn’t make out much besides the color and size. It was black and a pretty small one, I think.”

You look around. Almost all cars are black. Or at least dark enough to be mistaken for black. "Do we even know what his actual car looks like?"

“Well... Let’s just check all of them. Just to be safe.”

Even though you make sure to check carefully, the process goes quickly. Until Sana calls your name quietly, the black car in front of her being her sixth or seventh.

“That could be it, right?” she points toward something barely visible, halfway under the passenger seat. But yeah, it looks like black fabric, maybe part of a small bag, but you can’t be entirely sure.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“If we could only look inside,” Sana mutters.

“Yeah,” you sigh, your shoulder dropping in disappointment. “But all he did was maybe pick up a bag of unknown contents outside. It’s not enough. Should we just check the rest of them and then head back?”

Sana nods, “I’ll finish this row.”

Jihyo is still in her office when you return, having found nothing but the maybe-bag. She’s pacing on the phone to someone, motioning for you to enter when you cautiously peek your head through the door.

“Okay… Just get back to me as soon as you can, alright?” she says, sitting down behind her desk. “Yeah, okay, bye.”

“We saw what we think could be the bag, halfway hidden under the seat of a car that looks about the one the man got into,” Sana explains quietly after you’ve closed the door behind you.

“Okay, so nothing’s ruled out and nothing’s confirmed,” Jihyo concludes.

You nod, trying to think of the next steps. “Well, what if we review the camera footage? We were probably too far away, but you never know, right? And Jihyo, you could check the schedules and work hours, start cross-checking them with the calls responded to. I’ll see if I can dig up anything else about him.”

For a few hours, you work in Jihyo’s office, all three of you focused. Jihyo sits behind her desk,  trying to see if she can match JJ to specific calls on any recent fifteenths and thus provide him with an alibi. 

Sana sits in a chair on the other side of the desk, her laptop open in front of her as she goes through every frame of your recordings, and you sit on the floor, back against the wall, scrolling through both your phone and laptop. 

“Finding anything?” Sana wonders, sighing in frustration–a sign that the recordings aren’t giving her anything useful.

“Maybe…” Jihyo replies, eyes locked on her screen. “Can you read line thirty-seven for me?” She hands Sana a sheet of paper listing the calls.

“Sure. Uh… Call about vandalism came at six twenty-seven a.m., reported closed at eight thirty-two. October fifteenth, last year.”

“Six twenty-seven to eight thirty-two,” Jihyo repeats as you scroll through JJ’s instagram, clicking on yet another tagged friend.

“Mhm,” Sana hums.

“Well, he was clocked in… But it seems like… yeah, Min and Mark were the ones who responded to it.”

The room feels… tense in a way, something Jihyo is about to put into words. Meanwhile, you focus on your phone, fingers tapping away quickly and your heartbeat rising.

“Doesn’t seem like we can rule him out. Which, you know, sucks because we all trust him–maybe trusted him–and we don’t want yet another one to have betrayed us. But if it is him, then maybe… we might finally be getting somewhere? Maybe?”

“Yeah, I agree. Don’t like the direction we’re moving in, but at least we’re moving.”

“Hey, guys,” you say, your eyes still glued to the screen in your hands. “JJ has a stepsister named Jimin.”

“What?” Sana exclaims, her voice hushed and eyes wide as she turns to you.

“Yeah. JJ’s mom seems to be dating this Jimin’s dad, but it doesn’t look like they’re married; not even like they live together.”

“So there are no ties on paper?”

“No, no ties.”

All three of you exchange silent looks, realizing what this could mean. You might have an address.

After discussing your findings–all hushed voices and big eyes as you conclude that, yeah, maybe Jimin visited her brother at the station and stumbled across Hoseong–you decide to take a break. You need to pee and Sana complained only a minute ago of her rumbling stomach. To be fair, you haven’t had time to take any real breaks, much less eat.

Determined, you leave the office, discreetly looking around before heading toward the bathroom. Sana leaves for the cafeteria.

After using the bathroom, you sit on the closed toilet lid to gather your thoughts. It almost feels like you need to catch your breath, too. Do you dare hope that you might finally get them? Still, you find yourself imagining what you’d do if that were the case. It’s not like they’ve haunted you for decades, but even a few months stretching into years feels like such a long time. A lifetime, almost. You experienced life at the station before everything went down, but is it even possible to return to that? Maybe it isn’t; you’re not the same person anymore.

Still thinking deeply about what this revelation might mean, you head back toward Jihyo’s office. Occasionally–like now–the white halls are empty, but as you approach the wooden door with the frosted window, you hear voices inside. They’re not abnormally loud per se, but louder than they should be.

You open the door, and for a moment, the voices fall silent. Already back, Sana stands with a Saran-wrapped bread bun and coffee in her hands. Jihyo sits behind her desk as usual, her laptop open and the call papers scattered across her normally tidy desk. And Jeongguk is standing in front of it, still in his uniform, wild eyes looking back at you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It wouldn’t have changed anything for the better,” you say, stepping in fully and closing the door behind you. “You’re with the guys more than we are. We don’t want them to find out.”

“There’s a risk anyway,” he says, turning to Jihyo, “We need to go there as soon as possible.”

Jihyo meets his gaze, her expression understanding but firm. “Jeongguk, like I said, we need to wait for backup. We’re understaffed, and there’s too much of a risk that they’ll recognize you. Besides, all of you inside this room are too emotionally involved at this point.”

His hands fly out, and though he tries to keep his voice down, frustration seeps through. “They were allowed to watch JJ accept a bribe in the first place?” he argues.

“Yes, and that was risky enough. If they recognize you, they’ll probably try to kill you. They’ve got nothing to lose, and you’re the reason they’re in this mess to begin with. Just hang in there until backup arrives.”

He shakes his head in frustration and disbelief. “This is crazy. They’ve tried to kill her so many times, and someone connected to them is still here. For all we know, he could be planning something on their behalf as we speak!”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I understand you’re frustrated; we all are, but this is the best course of action.”

He gestures toward you, “She needs to leave in that case. She can’t stay here.”

To be honest, you’re not that scared of JJ. He’s never seemed particularly interested in you, and you don’t think he’s planning to kill you or anything like that. Months have passed without you even suspecting he might be involved, and nothing has happened. Sure, you were mostly with Jeongguk until recently and not that often at the station, so while the opportunities might not have been plentiful, JJ has had his chances.

Jihyo sighs, leaning back in her chair. “It’s up to her.”

He turns to face you fully. “Come stay with me? Take a week off, stay at my place.”

You shake your head. “No, I’m staying at my place, and I’ll continue to work if I feel like it.”

“Please?”

You’ll never stop being surprised at how easily Jeongguk lets go of his pride. But by doing it so quickly, with so few reservations, it’s almost as if he grows in your eyes. You try not to think about him in that way.

You shake your head. “I don’t want you to think that you need to save me all the time. I’ll be fine on my own.”

He glances around at the three women in the room, none giving him the support he wants. He looks like he wants to say something, but suddenly, someone calls for him on his com radio.

“Go,” Jihyo instructs as Jeongguk gives you one last longing look before quickly exiting through the door.

Jeongguk can’t shake the new information, and as the day progresses, it keeps gnawing at him, his mind turning over every possible option again and again. While that last call–regarding a break-in—kept him distracted for a bit, his thoughts return as he enters the station again, Min heading off to the cafeteria.

He knows you’ve already gone home by the time he’s clocking out and heading for the locker room, still unsure of what to do. It terrifies him to know that there’s still someone who might want to hurt you, walking these halls. That he missed someone. 

He’s got three options to choose from. The first: go home. Get some sleep. Or at least try to get some sleep. And then just hope that JJ didn’t spot you this morning and is waiting to attack you outside your apartment door. Jeongguk knows that it’s what you want him to do; go home and not get involved. But he’ll never forgive himself if something happens to you.

Option two is to drive to your apartment and sit in his car outside it all night. He’ll do it if needed, but it’s not very tempting, and it’ll render him useless at work tomorrow. Additionally, if nothing happens tonight–which, yeah, it might not–then he’ll need to guard you the night after as well. Sooner or later, he’ll need to sleep.

Biting his lip, he enters the locker room, taking a lap to make sure he’s alone before pulling out his phone. Google gives him the number to the nearest car rental, and he wastes no time, pressing ‘dial.’

He’s picking option three, and he needs a car that isn’t his.

<previous | next>

author's note: i hope you liked it!! <3<3

[deathlygristly]

Hmmm.

Like I've often said, I read every book the local library had on the Holocaust when I was nine. That is not at all why I still startle at loud noises or jump when someone suddenly comes into view or why I had a self-injury phase in my early to mid 20s or why I'm just now really getting to a point of not hating myself and fawning all over the place whenever someone, even a total stranger, disagrees with me or seems slightly upset at me. It is also very much not why I take escitalopram.

So...yeah.

On one hand I guess it's good to listen to and believe people when they say a very basic book from school traumatized them. On the other hand, it's really hard for me to see a book that you are always free to stop reading or a show that you are always free to stop watching as having the same effect as your mother slapping you and choking you and screaming at you or your half-brother pulling out a gun in the midst of his psychotic episode or your mother's boyfriends after your father died when you were 7 occasionally being handsy.

I guess the closest I can get to understanding it is that when I was in elementary school and still in single digits, like around six to eight or so, I had a collection of cards with pictures of animals, and one of the cards had a snake eating another snake I think? Also somewhere I heard a story about someone getting bit when a snake came up out of their toilet.

I asked my mother if that could ever happen to us. She said no because we lived in the country, not the city. Then she forgot about that but she still remembered later on about how when I was a kid and I needed to go to the bathroom while we were out I would ask if we were in the city or the country.

I have the word snake filtered on here now and in ESO when there's occasionally those giant snake mobs I don't look at them while I kill them and I don't like seeing them and I usually feel a very momentary frisson when I see a picture of a snake.

That's not trauma. That's not PTSD. That's not being triggered. It's a little quirk from when I was a kid. I have never been so dysregulated by seeing a snake that I turned to self-injury to calm my nervous system down. I am not so troubled by that momentary reaction to seeing a snake that I asked my doctor for a prescription about it. I have not spent two decades of my life after moving out into my own home working on building self-esteem and boundaries and coping with other people's emotions because I once heard a story about a snake coming up out of a toilet and biting someone.

And for the Holocaust reading, I'd say that's only had good effects. Obviously it greatly affected me but I like and appreciate the me that resulted from it.

I don't know. I know there's always Nuance and everything, but the spousal person is really into kdramas so I listen to a fair few kdrama podcasts and I read kdrama content online, and I'll admit that when someone says they were traumatized by a kdrama I kind of want to comment and tell them that hey, I get it, escitalopram has really helped me, and here's some ways that I've learned to cope and heal and grow over the last 20+ years. Don't know if the startle reaction to sudden sensory input after watching that kdrama will ever go away, but meds can help with a lot of the anxiety and here's how I've been working on building boundaries and self-esteem and regulating my nervous system without using sudden sharp pain to do it if any of that helps.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[eff-plays]

Ok fine you guys twisted my arm (I say to a completely empty room) here's why I think Mass Effect 2 worked and Veilguard tried to copy it and failed.

First up is the complexity of the goal/plot. In ME2, the end goal was simple: Stop the Collectors from harvesting humans. Blast off through the Omega 4 Relay and probably die. Take down as many Collectors as possible before you die. Basically, shoot stuff until it explodes. It made sense that half of the squadmates were just "legendary badass", "legendary badass (green skin version)" and "legendary badass (huge tits version)." You need to kill dudes, so you pick people who are good at killing. There are a few who are better at tech or science, but they use tech and science to, you guessed it, kill dudes. Then you have a few who join due to aligning goals (Legion) or loyalty to Shepard (Tali, Garrus) or humanity/Cerberus (Jacob, Miranda), or they're literally getting paid to be there (Kasumi and Zaeed). But all of them have reasons to stick around, of various importance.

The specificity of the main plot is also relevant here, because everybody in the galaxy is like "oh humans are getting kidnapped? sucks to suck dude rip in piss ://" so it makes sense to recruit whoever you can get. You need help for an issue that (according to everyone who would otherwise help) only concerns you. So you're like "hey are you good at killing? and do you mind dying?" and most of those freaks go "yeah lmao whatever." They're self-selecting, because the cause is so specific and explicitly suicidal.

The suicidal thing also helps explain the loyalty missions, btw. They're not presented as "hey can you umm help? or I'm gonna be distwacted 👉👈" but as "hey man, these people are willing to die on your command, you should probably help them with their unfinished business at the very least." And yeah, the mechanic of "if you don't help they'll fucking perish" remains the same, but the framing is different. In ME2, you're basically helping a bunch of professionals to do this final thing before they die for your cause. It's both a sign of respect and of consideration for them as people, and strengthens your bond with them and their loyalty to you. The way it's framed means that you don't have to do this in order for them to do their job, but doing it helps strengthen their belief in you.

And because the stakes are relatively low (as far as everyone knows), of course the squadmates will respect and appreciate a Shepard who takes care of them more. Of course it builds loyalty. This person isn't just using you as a meat shield for their pet crusade, they're genuinely trying to do what's right and don't want you to die for nothing.

In Veilguard, you're literally told multiple times that you have to do their dumbfuck busywork or else they're gonna throw in the towel. Hey man can you do this thing? Or else I'm not saving the world :3c The stakes being SO HIGH while their issues are SO NOTHING makes most of them look really immature and incompetent, which clashes against the whole "gang of experts" thing. You're telling me this couldn't wait? I have to go into Lucanis' mind and figure out his traumas or else he won't ... hold a knife good? And that will doom the world because he's the only guy who can hold a knife? Okay???

ME2 presents everybody as professionals and experts in their field, but at the end of the day, they're just there to kill stuff. Remove one, and another will be found. The mission is (as far as everyone in power knows) not galaxy-threatening yet, so finding new guys to help would be easy. That's why Shep taking the time to solve their final issues means something and why it earns their loyalty. It shows that Shep cares about them as people.

Veilguard presents these people as experts in their fields, too. They're considered irreplacable in this conflict. And the conflict is saving the whole entire fucking world. And YET, that has to take a backseat to them figuring out what happened to a work colleague or Lucanis' grandma, because none of these experts can take a fucking chill pill to SAVE THE WORLD.

ME2 offers "low" stakes for the conflict and high stakes for the characters, so when it focuses on the characters' stories, it makes sense. You get the impression that it's character drama with a common goal that brings them all together. Veilguard offers high stakes for the plot and low stakes for the characters, but still focuses on the characters, so you get the sense that we're fucking around playing therapist while the world is on fire in the background, and it's presented as totally logical, because these guys can't save the world without a clear mind!! Despite being ... experts in their fields.

That's why, to me, Rook feels like a therapist while Shep feels like a leader.

Anyway, this is the formal end of the post but I wrote more on the specific character motivations of the Veilguard and why they don't work/feel trite to me and how that adds to Rook feeling like they're a therapist but it didn't fit with the rest of the post so under cut.

Another thing is that, while sometimes the problems of the Veilguard are technically higher stakes than the problems of the ME2 squad, there is a sense of "Hey do you actually need me for this?" And that I think is in part to the lacking motivations of the Veilguard. It's so unclear why some of them stick around that it becomes difficult to justify why they wouldn't just leave to fix their own issues.

(For example, Garrus asks us to help kill a guy. The guy isn't dangerous, he's not out there killing people or in possession of a superweapon ready to destroy a city. He's just an asshole and Garrus wants revenge. He could, technically, leave and just kill the guy himself. He knows where the guy is, so what's holding him back? Well, the job is. And Shepard is. Garrus wants Shep's help, because he doesn't trust himself to finish it on his own. He needs somebody to rely on, but he also knows that he can't just leave without Shep's permission, and that Shep needs him, too. Everything is on Shep's schedule, and there's no real time limit. His revenge can wait until Shep is ready to offer their help.

Neve is hunting an old rival who is a blood mage threatening to enslave her favorite city in all da world. It's pretty damn high stakes. But in my playthrough, Neve wasn't counting on Rook's help at all. In fact, she explicitly mentioned several times that she didn't. Yet, she still sat around and waited for their help. She didn't leave to deal with this on her own, didn't even consider it. But why not? What about Rook or this cause is keeping her there, especially since there's canonically time before the next big move and the issue is so high-stakes and pressing? People will die if she doesn't do something, yet she's sitting on her ass waiting for Rook, whose help she isn't counting on, to step up? What???)

Neve is introduced as being hired by Varric to find Solas, which she does. In the tutorial mission. She sticks around after Varric dies because ... she's in too deep now, I guess. She has to help save the world, you see. Even though all she wants is to go back to Minrathous and protect the people there. She wants your help to. Figure out some stuff. The famous big city detective needs the help of a person who's introduced as somebody who "thinks in straight lines" and whose nickname is probably a play on "rookie." She is not getting paid for this. She's doing this out of the kindness of her heart, even though most of her time on screen is spent dreaming of her favorite city in da world. She's not an expert in anything that has to do with the current plot, so she's in-fiction not really vital to keep around. Her role as a mage is made entirely pointless by the existence of Bellara and Emmrich. Supposedly her area of expertise is in blood magic ... despite hating it and not actually practicing it, on account of it being bad and evil. So she's an expert in killing blood mages, then?

Well, no. That's Lucanis. He's the resident mage killer ... who we find in an underwater prison, guarded by blood mages. I get there is a reason for why he was defeated, but the optics aren't great, ya know? We don't really free him as much as we lightly distract his guards, so he can bust out of the prison fully clothed and armored. He's suuper eager for revenge, but he's also been forcefully possessed. But that's okay, because we need his expertise for um. Killing mages. Which is what the Evanuris are. So this random possessed human guy will know better than anybody else how to kill the Evanuris. Sure. He decides to stick around on account of ... the Crows always finishing a contract. Who is paying him? Who is paying the Crows? His gam-gam ordered him to stay, she's basically offering us his services for freeing him. Guy is an indentured servant but acts like it's his choice, like it's an honor thing and not his grandma putting him in the toilet. And when it's time for him to show/offer his expertise in the field, he says "How am I supposed to fight a cloud?" which is fair enough, sure. But have you not fought mages before? Do you not have any reference for them doing weird shit at all? Do you not know how to disrupt rituals, break barriers? In the end, all he can practically do is hold the special knife and attempt to stick the pointy end into his target. Which my rogue Rook or Davrin or Taash chould've done. But gam-gam says to sit so he sits! It's not a very compelling motivation for this epic expert mage killer to just kinda. Stick around out of obligation. It could've been interesting, if he chafed against it or had to be won over, but he's just fine with it. It's treated as natural that this dude, who isn't even slightly an actual expert and is just a glorified knife holder and who isn't practically useful in any sense of the word, is still in the group. It's treated as natural that Rook has to go out of their way to help him clear his mind so he can hold the knife better next time, instead of just finding another guy to hold the knife. Maybe the spirit in him makes him stronger and more capable of fighting mages? No, the spirit is what made him miss in the first place, actually! So you have to help him figure it out or he'll miss again. DON'T ask somebody else to hold the knife though. It HAS TO BE Lucanis. Because he's the mage killer expert. Who missed. And can't handle mages.

Then we have Taash, who we need to kill the blighted dragons. They're the only dragon hunter around and have an encyclopedic knowledge of said dragons. Unfortunately the blighted state of the dragons that are actually necessary to kill are behaving in unexpected and different ways from normal dragons. They're literally manipulated by the Evanuris to be harder to kill. Making Taash's expertise moot. I didn't even have them in my party when I took on two dragons at once, and in fact the only dragons that Taash is presented as capable of killing are ones that they want us to kill. So this expert we recruit mostly introduces more dragons for us to kill that aren't actually threatening us in any way. The main time Taash has to show off their knowledge is when we use the dragon trap ... which was fashioned by Wardens. Who are all trained specifically to fight Archdemons. Who are dragons. That are blighted. Do you uh. Do you see my problem here. Taash also sticks around the Veilguard for inexplicable reasons. Mostly it seems they don't want to go home to their mother, which is fine, but this is a whole-ass adult, supposedly. They could go back to hunting dragons for the Lords, because they're written as too self-absorbed to really care about stepping up to the fight just for the sake of it. So despite them not really being useful in any way to the overall plot, we still have to help them figure out their gender identity, or else they won't be able to ... fight the blighted dragons. Which they couldn't fight. On account of the blight. Cool cool cool.

Then we have Emmrich, who is a professor and has shit to do. He is also presented as a Fade expert, while Bellara is somehow not, despite doing most of the Fade-related and artifact-related magic on-screen. Emmrich joins the Veilguard on account of um. Well we asked nicely, and he's a good guy, so he has to help save the world. Despite the fact that he's terrified of dying. Which he's far more likely to do after leaving his job. And the thing is, yeah, "the world might end so we need to stop that!" is a valid motivation, but if we accept it as the motivation of a central character whose plot we must find compelling, then why is it that it's only a few guys trying to save the world? This conflict is prestented as bigger than all the previous games combined, bigger than (the) Inquisition, which had literally entire armies and different branches and infrastructure for it's "smaller" conflict, and people were still volunteering and joining in droves, but here we're 8 guys? Are we meant to believe Emmrich's willingness to join the Veilguard is somehow unique to him, and that nobody else in the world would volunteer to join? When Harding exists, on the same team?

Speaking of, Harding is a character who can really get away with "I wanna save the world", because her joining the Inquisition is literally how she got into the plot in the first place. She's a joiner. She joins heroic causes. So her having this sort of bare-bones but noble motivation works. Same with Davrin. Bellara seems to join out of both curiosity and guilt, which are interesting enough reasons and come through visibly in her subplot and characterization, but more importantly, she doesn't have anything holding her back that might take priority until she finds out her brother is alive. Her sticking around also makes some sense because she's ya know. An elf mage Fade expert. Or sorry an elf artifacts expert.

I'm not saying "somebody's gotta do it!" or "it's the right thing to do!" aren't valid motivations, they clearly are, but there's gotta be more to it, especially when it comes to characters who have something to lose like Emmrich. My guy is terrified of death but he's such a good dude that he jumps into this life-threatening conflict without a second thought? But then gets so "distracted" by his wacky scientist former colleague that he needs our help figuring it out? Huh???

Um. I didn't have a conclussy for this part of the post so. bye

[luveline]

𝐰𝐲𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥

part one | chapter list

new visitors in Jackson inspire strong feelings, in both you and Joel. 

cw: super protective joel, all cards on the table slow burn, complicated everything, eventual scary joel, more cw to be added later

જ⁀➴　

The Tipsy Bison is intimate in its capacity. It’s not unlikely to let yourself in and be able to greet each person inside with familiarity —there’s Jesse at the bar talking to Astrid; there’s Eugene at the back with a battered old book; there’s Joel Miller and his rambunctious, not-so-little charge sharing a sandwich. You’re used to it. You’ve come to expect to see your community and nobody else, even the vaguely less familiar. 

S’why tonight sucks. 

“Is this really… you know, is this a good idea?” 

Jesse is younger than you, but he’s nice enough. He can see you’re not comfortable in the crowd and he’s cordoned you off. “Apparently. Maria trusts him.” 

‘Him’ being Jonathan, a travelling tradesman from a small community of only twelve people. Five men, four women, three children. Maria knew the leader from a time before Jackson, and she trusts him enough to give him the secret of Jackson, which is a big deal. 

The idea of losing what you have here makes you feel nauseous. You have to trust Maria, is all, because she wouldn’t wanna lose it either. 

“Do we…” You squeeze your hands nervously without finishing Joel’s sentence. 

Jesse frowns at you. “Why don’t you go sit with Mr. Miller, if you’re so freaked?” 

Mr. Miller is his teasing. Somehow, someway, one of the kids (who don’t seem to be kids anymore) figured you out. It’s not a big deal, you’re not sure you’d even go so far as to call it a crush. It’s an appreciation. You like Joel. Like his nose, his brown eyes, his hands. You like how he stands against doorways and how sometimes, late at night, you’ll walk home and see him sitting on the porch with a candle at his feet. Ellie with him, alone, but always with a dinky acoustic guitar, strumming away quietly, picking at strings. He must learn by ear. You like the way he speaks to people. 

Don’t worry, he says, a smidge pissed. Or, genuine, Could you move, honey? 

That’s how you got caught. Joel called you ‘honey’ without meaning anything by it and you must’ve looked a shade too close to pleased. By the next day, Ellie herself was sidling up to you outside the stables to ask about your lil ole crush. “I can make myself scarce,” she’d said, rolling the words around in a way that hinted at their pre-rehearsal, even as she laughed. “Just tell me when.” 

You look down at your glass of gin. “What business do I have sitting with Joel Miller?” you ask lightly.

You’re not trying to convince Jesse —again, the kids know. You don’t care, so long as they keep it to themselves. Troubling Joel is the last thing you wanna do. He looks tired tonight. Long trip out with Tommy, maybe, or on pins like everybody else now that the bar is full of strangers. 

Said strangers give a raucous bubble of laughter. The electricity is a marvel, the booze a delight, and they sit entranced by the small roller TV, warmed by old malt whisky and the space heater under their table. A fire rips in the kitchen, crackling, and it’s enough to make you flinch. 

“I think I’m gonna head home,” you tell Jesse, not loving the sympathy lining his eyes and brows. 

“Don’t be a coward.” He’s joking, and he softens as he adds, “If that’ll make you feel better, sure. Go home.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

He shrugs. “Seriously. If you can’t handle it, don’t suffer.” 

It’s not your dream to spend the evening with the young ones, anyhow. You’d hoped Tommy would be sitting with Joel, ‘cos Tommy tries to set Joel up every now and then with the available ladies of the commune. And you, pretending it’s a joke you’re in on and not a real reason to sit, always laugh and sit and try your best to flirt, just a little. Joel was frosty to begin with, kinder now. Whenever he sees Tommy beckoning you over, you can’t help thinking that he’s relieved it’s you sitting down. His shoulders relax. 

You give him a last look, not longing but getting there. He’s nursing a dark glass sitting beside the sandy-haired man in charge of the laundromat. Keith, maybe. They’re not talking, frowning in sync as the table of tradesmen once again reaches a fever pitch. 

He turns to you, sensing your gaze. You offer an uneasy smile. Hadn’t meant to. The group of outsiders is making you feel sick. 

His frown stays in place, but his eyes change. They don’t soften, but they shift. His hand uncurls from his glass. 

“Hi.”

You feel your eyes move of their own accord as a man steps in front of your view. The lightbulb by the door flickers. You blink at this new stranger. 

He’s handsome, almost Clooney-like, Thin Red Line but gruff. He has a few strands of salt in his beard, but he’s not much older than you are, you’d wager. 

“Hey,” you say, a question mark suggested at the end. 

“I’m Jamie.” 

“Hi, Jamie.” 

He smiles lightly. “This is usually where you give your own name.” 

You think about turning then and there, a thread of you that knows you don’t have to go through anything that makes you uncomfortable, but just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. You give him your name against your wants, and he asks if he can buy you a drink. 

“It’s a commune,” you say, not sure if he’s kidding. “Drinks are free, so long as you don’t jerk Seth around.” 

“Right, of course they are. It’s a shame, I wouldn’t have minded.” 

You know this is where you’re supposed to say something obligingly forgiving: It’s okay, do you wanna sit down? But you’d rather not. 

It’s not like he really likes you. Clean intimacy is hard to come by. 

“Have you lived here long?” he asks. 

“Uh, couple years. Great years.” Should you try to sell it? You could spin a lie. Jackson is the worst and nobody should ever want to raid it. “Living in a commune is the hard part, there’s not much time to rest.” 

“Seems alright now.” 

He’s right. The evening’s are often your own to do as you like. “Not too bad,” you agree quietly. 

Jamie has cloudy blue eyes, light in the light and dark in the dark. He turns his head and seems fiercer than you’d expected him to be. Your mind is playing childish tricks. You’re too old for monsters, but he seems off, then. 

“I’m going home now. Nice to meet you,” you say. 

He frowns. It’s nothing like Joel’s. “Okay, yeah. Have a good night, sweetheart.” 

You rush out of the double doors of the Bison and skirt around the wall until you’re hidden. Jackson’s hardly ever dark, but there are shadows to retreat to when you’re not feeling right. You press yourself into an alcove, feel the chill of the stone behind you seeping into your back like water, frozen air kissing your cheeks. The cold isn’t in the wind, it’s everywhere, and after half a minute your nose feels like it’s hurting. A couple seconds later and the door is whipping open. 

Joel cuts right down the path toward your shared street. 

You rush after him, your shoes packing snow, alerting him to another presence. 

“Oh,” he says, whipping his head to yours. “What’re you doing standing out here?” 

“Nothing– wanted some air. You going home?” You wipe your cheek. “Can I walk with you?” 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

You sniffle. The change in temperature does it to you every time. Any transition from warm to cold makes your nose run like a faucet. “I’m tired.” 

Joel’s eyes dart inside. “What did that jackass want?” 

“Nothing. Asking me for a drink or something, I don’t know. I told him Seth and Cory make them.” You sniffle again, self-conscious as you rub your wet nose. 

“He upset you?” 

“No, no, it’s real cold, that’s all,” you rush out, trekking a bump of snow to stand beside him, the reality of his face closer and finer. You can feel the scratch of his scruff under your fingers without touching it. He has a scar on the left side of his cheek still red with newness. “How’d you get that?” You point to your own. 

“Pulled a nail out of a doorframe, I was standing too close.” 

“Did it hurt?” 

“Did it hurt?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“No, it’s hardly a scratch. What about you? He hurt you?” 

“Jamie?” 

“I don’t know his name. Did he?” 

You shake your head. Joel’s like this. He doesn’t smile for nothing, but he’s the first one to offer you a hand if you fall on your ass. ”Didn’t so much as touch me.” 

“So why’re you crying?” he asks. 

You’re lost. 

“If he touched you, said something to you, anything, I’ll take care of it,” he says firmly. “They aren’t here to do whatever they want, nobody gets to upset you, not here.” 

You wipe your eyes again. The cold, you think, is making you glossy-eyed and sad. Joel must’ve caught you looking earlier and figured you were asking for help. “You came out here looking for me?” you ask.

“You didn’t look happy.” 

“I’m not. I don’t like new people. Don’t like what might happen if they won’t keep Jackson a secret.” 

“Nobody’s gonna get you in here, honey.” He ducks his head, his hand judging your arm. “Alright?” Less sure of himself, he clasps your elbow. “Alright?” he asks again. 

“I’m okay. It’s just cold.”

“Warm ya’ up,” he mumbles, letting his hand slide behind your back. “Head home and stoke a fire, that’s what we’re gonna do.” 

“You don’t have to, Joel. I’m really fine, I am, it’s the sniffles–”

“‘M gonna take you home,” he says surely. “I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on you now, ‘til you’re feeling alright.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything at all as he leads you down the snow-packed road from the Tipsy Bison to the neighbourhood street. In five minutes you’re at his door, he’s pushing it open, shouting down into the garage to see if Ellie’s home. He’s taking off his coat and tossing it over the bannister, hands open, expecting you to do the same. 

You shrug out of it and pass it over. He puts it with a hell of a lot more care beside his own. 

“C’mon,” he says quietly, “this way.” 

He stokes the embers in the fireplace. Throws a couple of logs in when they start to glow. Adds some scrap paper, a conservative splash of fire starter. The heat starts to nip your fingers, like a painful pinging you can’t shake. 

“What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at your shaking hands. 

“Just hurting.” 

“Your hands?” He takes your wrists into his hands and holds the bottoms of your hands to his chest. “You gotta be careful. Frostbite don’t take long to set in.” 

“I don’t have frostbite, it’s ’cos it’s warm now, it’s– it’s like getting in the bath too soon.” 

Joel’s hardened, sure. But there isn’t one person living in Jackson now who doesn’t have at least one good thing to say about him. Joel fixed my front door, found my bike a new tire, took my kid for an hour when I felt like I was gonna explode.Youve heard the bad with the good, whispers of what he did before he got to Jackson, and the rumour of what he did after. Thing is, you can see past it. You’ve done cruel shit too. 

He doesn’t feel cruel as he rubs your fingers back to life. “What do you mean? Getting in the bath too soon?” he asks quietly.

“When it’s cold, and it’s always cold here, and I get into the bathtub as soon as I get home from the stables, it makes my hands do what they’re doing now…” You shudder as he presses them flat to his chest and covers them. “You’re gonna make it worse,” you murmur, tepid teasing. 

“The quicker you warm up, the quicker it goes away,” he says. He’s smiling, and his voice is all full of something sweet, like it’s rolling around in his mouth before he uses it. 

“I really don’t like these new people.” 

“Yeah, me neither. They won’t be here long, couple more days.” 

“That Jamie guy… I don’t know, guess I wasn’t as nice to him as I should’ve been, he didn’t want anything. Well–”

“He wanted something.” 

“I know that, but– it’s not a crime, is it? Doesn’t everybody want that?” 

“He’d be blind if he didn’t want it with you, honey,” Joel says. 

There’s that word again, tacked at the end of an implication that makes you go white hot. 

For once, he notices your reaction. “Shit,” he says, “sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t mean it like that. You’re beautiful.” He shakes his head. “Shit,” he says under his breath. 

“…Thank you, Joel.” He’s holding you awfully tight, really, saying this stuff. You’re grown. You know what it means; can’t pretend it away, can’t will or while it into an insecure maybe. He can’t want me, I’m me. But Joel wouldn’t do this to you if he didn’t feel something for you, even if all that something is is just thinking you’re beautiful. “I think you’re handsome, too, you know.” 

He transfers both of your hands to one of his, the other coming up behind his neck in a show of bashfulness you aren’t sure is real or not. “Ellie mighta let something slip about that.” 

“What sort of something?” 

“Said you might like me. You know.” 

What were you thinking, back at the Bison? It’s not a crush, it’s worse, you’re totally fucked because he’s looking at you like he wants to lean in and kiss you, and he’s solid enough to do it, to take you by the shoulders and tip your head to the side with a nudge of his nicely shaped nose, he could kiss you sick. 

Joel Miller, you think, frowning at him softly, please don’t mess me up. 

“Took you long enough to find out,” you say. 

“You think I didn’t notice? I was waiting on you to come clean.” 

“And this has nothing to do with Jamie?” you ask, heart popping under your ribs in a panic that you might actually like feeling. 

“Of course it has to do with Jamie, j’s not all of it.” He ducks his gaze. “I don’t like seeing you like that, all antsy, and I really don’t like seeing you crying.” 

“I wasn’t crying,” you say with a soft laugh, sure you’re about to be kissed, “I was cold.” 

He lets go of your hand and begins rubbing twin lines up and down your arms. “Shit,” he says, potty mouth, “I was doing something about that. Let me get you a blanket. I got a huge one up in the bedroom, you stay here.” 

Leaving you blinking next to the crackling fire. Unkissed, and without an invitation. 

“You want a cup of coffee?” he calls from the stairs, looking down at you, wearing an expression you can’t decipher. “You go on and help yourself, honey.” 

You nod at him until he carries on upstairs. Coffee is the last thing on your mind, but you find your way into Joel’s shining kitchen and warm the coffee pot, pouring a brew in a ceramic mug, the scratch-owl drawn on its side bumpy to the touch.

You get to thinking. You’d wanted to be kissed, but what if Joel actually kisses you, big hands on your face, weight between your legs? He’s bringing down that big blanket to cover you up, both of you, ‘cos even with the fire it’s too cold to get undressed without one–

“You alright?” Joel asks when he returns, a throw blanket slung over his shoulder. “You look jittery.” 

You swallow roughly and wave a shy hand. Just the coffee, you explain. 

[ka1rin]

A Match in Munich (part 1)

— kaiser x fem reader

summary: You move to Germany to pursue your studies and volleyball career, adjusting to a new life in a foreign city. Along the way, you meet a confident soccer player, and the growing tension between you both sparks an unexpected connection, leaving you unsure of what comes next.

author note: oikawa is mentioned here btw!! And I posted this at 3am without proofreading so if there’s a mistake, don’t be surprised. (T—T”)

The hum of the airplane engines faded into the background as you leaned your head against the window, watching the cloud-streaked horizon. Moving to Germany was a big step, but it was part of your plan—pursue your studies while preparing for your future as a professional volleyball player. Volleyball was your passion, but your education was equally important.

As you stepped into the bustling Munich airport, you spotted a familiar figure waiting for you. Noel Noa, your cousin and one of the world’s most famous soccer players, waved at you, his platinum hair catching the light.

“Welcome to Germany,” Noel said warmly, pulling you into a brief hug.

“It’s been too long,” you replied, smiling up at him.

Noel helped you with your luggage and led you to his sleek car parked outside. As he drove through the charming streets of Munich, you took in the cobblestone roads and beautiful architecture, feeling both excited and overwhelmed.

“I’ve set up a place for you near your university,” Noel explained. “It’s small, but it’s close to campus. You’ll like it.”

“Thanks, Noel. I really appreciate it,” you said sincerely.

He nodded, then glanced at you. “Actually, I need a favor.

You raised an eyebrow. “Already?”

He chuckled. “I’m swamped tomorrow. Can you pick me up after practice? It’s at the Bastard München stadium. I’ll send you the details.”

“Sure,” you replied with a shrug.

The next evening, you drove to the Bastard München stadium, parking near the players’ entrance. While waiting for Noel, your eyes wandered to the field, where the team was practicing. Their movements were precise and calculated, a testament to their elite status.

One player stood out—blond hair shining under the stadium lights, his confidence radiating as he effortlessly commanded the field. You couldn’t help but watch him.

Then, as if sensing your gaze, he turned. His piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. You quickly looked away, heat rising to your cheeks.

When practice ended, Noel approached, towel slung over his shoulder. “Thanks for coming. Sorry for the wait.”

“No problem,” you said, trying to sound casual.

Before you could leave, the blond player walked over, his stride casual but purposeful.

“Noa,” he greeted your cousin smoothly before turning his attention to you. “And who’s this?”

“This is my cousin,” Noel replied, his tone guarded. “She’s a professional volleyball player studying here in Germany.”

The player extended a hand, his smirk deepening. “Michael Kaiser. A pleasure to meet you.”

You hesitated briefly before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you too.”

His grip lingered just a second longer than necessary, his gaze holding yours until Noel cleared his throat.

“All right, Kaiser, don’t bother her,” Noel said, ushering you toward the car.

As you left, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Kaiser’s eyes on you, his smirk etched into your mind.

A few days later, you found yourself at the stadium again, this time after classes. Noel had asked you to pick him up, but when he arrived, he had other plans.

“Sorry,” he said, climbing into the passenger seat. “I have a meeting downtown. I’ll need to leave my car here for now.”

“Okay,” you replied, shrugging.

Before you could drive off, Kaiser appeared, his gym bag slung over his shoulder. “Noa, heading out already?”

“Yeah,” Noel replied, nodding toward you. “(y/n)’s heading back to her place. You live in the same direction, don’t you? Why don’t you ride with her?”

You blinked in surprise, but Kaiser grinned. “If (y/n) doesn’t mind, I’d be happy to.”

You hesitated, but his relaxed demeanor made it hard to say no. “Sure, why not?”

Kaiser slid into the passenger seat after Noel left, his presence immediately filling the car.

“So,” he began, breaking the silence. “What’s a professional volleyball player doing chauffeuring her cousin?”

You laughed lightly. “It’s a one-time thing. I just moved here, and Noel’s been helping me get settled.”

“Ah, a newcomer,” he said, studying you with curiosity. “How are you finding Munich so far?”

“It’s beautiful,” you admitted. “But I’m still adjusting. It’s a big change.”

“You don’t seem like the type to be overwhelmed easily,” he remarked, his smirk returning.

You glanced at him, caught off guard. “And you can tell that from a ten-minute car ride?”

He grinned. “I’m good at reading people.”

When you arrived at his stop, Kaiser lingered, his hand on the door handle. “Thanks for the ride. I owe you one. How about I buy you coffee sometime?”

You hesitated, unsure if he was serious.

“It’s just coffee,” he added, his smirk softening.

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling despite yourself.

A few days later, you met Kaiser at a cozy café. The atmosphere was warm, the smell of freshly brewed coffee filling the air.

"So," Kaiser began after taking a sip of his espresso, "why aren't you playing volleyball right now? You're clearly passionate about it."

You smiled, leaning back in your chair. "I want to finish college first. After that, I'll focus on volleyball completely—no distractions."

He tilted his head, intrigued. "No distractions, huh? What's the plan after college?

"Brazil," you said, your eyes lighting up. "I have a friend there—Oikawa. He's one of the best setters I know, and training with him will push me to my limits. I'll stay there for a few years, then join Japan's national team."

Kaiser raised an eyebrow. "You've already been offered a spot on the national team?"

You nodded. "Yeah. It's a dream come true, but I want to be ready. I don't want to hold back when I step onto that court."

He leaned forward, his blue eyes locked onto yours. "You're playing the long game. That's rare. Most people I know rush into success without thinking."

"I'm not most people," you said, your tone teasing but firm.

Kaiser grinned. "I noticed."

After finishing your coffee and a shared plate of pastries, Kaiser leaned back in his chair. "So, what now? Should I call you a cab, or do you want to walk home?"

You glanced out the window at the calm evening streets. "I'd rather walk. It's not far, and I like the fresh air."

He stood up, slipping on his coat. "Then I'll walk with you. Munich's safer than most cities, but I don't trust it with you walking alone."

You laughed softly but didn't argue, letting him accompany you.

The walk was quiet at first, the cobblestone streets glistening under the streetlights. The city seemed to glow, a mix of old-world charm and modern energy. Kaiser walked beside you, his hands in his pockets, his usual confidence seemingly muted by thought.

"So," he said suddenly, his tone casual but his eyes sharp. "Where will you be staying in Brazil?"

You turned to him, surprised by the question. "Oikawa's already reserved an apartment for me. It's next to his."

Kaiser stopped walking for a moment, his expression darkening. "Next to his?"

You nodded. "Yeah, he insisted. Said it'd be easier for us to train together."

He began walking again, his movements a little stiffer than before. "Are you and Oikawa... a thing?"

The question caught you off guard. "What?"

"You know," he said, his voice flat but laced with irritation. "Dating. Together. Is he more than a friend?"

You stared at him, unsure whether to laugh or be annoyed. "No, Michael. Oikawa's just a friend. We've known each other for years, and that's it.”

Kaiser's shoulders relaxed slightly, but his jaw remained tight. "Good. Because if he were, I'd have a lot to say about him reserving an apartment for you."

You rolled your eyes, choosing to keep walking instead of engaging. Kaiser, however, wasn't done.

"You're really going to spend years with this guy?" he pressed.

"It's not like that," you replied, exasperated but amused by his persistence. "We're both focused on our goals, and training with someone as talented as him is an opportunity I can't pass up. That's all."

Kaiser didn't respond right away, his gaze fixed on the pavement ahead. When you reached your apartment building, he stopped a few steps away, his expression softer but still guarded.

"Well," he said, his voice lighter now, "thanks for the walk. Try not to let this Oikawa guy push you too hard in training. And don't let him distract you from finishing college."

You smirked, raising an eyebrow. "I can handle myself, Kaiser."

He gave a small wave, his usual smirk creeping back. "Goodnight, (y/n)"

"Goodnight, Michael," you replied, watching as he walked away.

You climbed the stairs to your apartment, his words still lingering in your mind. Kaiser was nothing if not persistent—and somehow, you didn't mind that one bit.

The morning came early, as it always did in your life. The prestigious university you were enrolled in wasn't for the faint of heart, and each day felt like an uphill battle. Despite your passion for volleyball, the weight of academic expectations was just as heavy. You had to be at your best—on the court and in the classroom.

As you made your way through the crowded halls, your mind raced with formulas and historical facts, preparing yourself for another grueling round of tests. Being at the top of your game academically wasn't easy, but it was a challenge you gladly accepted.

The tests, assignments, and lectures blurred into a routine, but one thing was always certain—you thrived under pressure. Each paper, each exam, was a chance to prove yourself, to show that you weren't just another student passing through.

After hours of studying and a few brutal tests, you finally wrapped up the day. As you walked out of the university, exhausted but satisfied, the familiar call of coffee beckoned you.

A quick stop at your favorite café gave you just enough energy to power through the night. It was already 10:00 PM, and you had one final task before you could call it a day: picking up Noel.

You pulled into the stadium parking lot, scanning the area for Noel. It was a late-night session, and the stadium lights cast long shadows over the empty spaces. As you waited, the sound of footsteps caught your attention, and your eyes flickered toward a familiar figure.

It was Michael Kaiser, standing near his car, surveying the area with that same confident posture. His eyes caught yours immediately, his lips curling into a familiar smirk. You felt that familiar rush when you saw him, but this time it wasn't just curiosity. Something more lingered in the air between you.

You approached him, not even thinking twice. Kaiser turned to face you, his expression neutral but something flickered in his gaze.

"You here to pick up your cousin?" Kaiser asked, his voice smooth.

"Yeah," you nodded, scanning the area. "Where is he?"

"He's just speaking with someone," Kaiser said casually, though you could tell his focus was elsewhere. "Noel's always talking to someone. Could never get him to keep his head in the game."

You chuckled lightly. "You sound like you know him well."

"I do," Kaiser said, his tone still flat, but you couldn't help but feel that there was more behind his words. His gaze shifted to you, and after a brief pause, he leaned in slightly, almost like it was an afterthought. "I never got your number."

You blinked in surprise before pulling out your phone. "Right. You didn't."

He reaches for his pockets and pulls out his phone, he presses the power button, yet the screen remains black. “Shit my phone’s dead, can I type in my number instead?”

“No problem at all” You handed your phone to him, and without hesitation, he typed in his number. When he returned your phone, his fingers brushed against yours briefly.

"I've got somewhere to be," Kaiser said, checking the time. "But I'll talk to you later." His smirk deepened, and with a final look, he turned to leave.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Noel arrived, waving from a distance. You smiled and waved back.

"Oh, you're here?" Noel asked, jumping into the passenger seat of your car.

"Yeah," you replied, slipping your phone back into your bag, your mind still on the brief exchange with Kaiser. "Let's go home."

As you started the drive, the silence between you and Noel wasn't uncomfortable—it was more a reflection of how tired you both were. The night was peaceful, the streets of Munich empty as you made your way home.

"You were talking to Kaiser?" Noel asked after a long pause, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him, surprised by the question. "Yeah, I ran into him at the stadium. Why?"

Noel didn't immediately answer, but you could sense his curiosity. "He's a good player. But I didn't think you two would meet like that."

You shrugged. "We just talked for a bit. Nothing big."

Noel didn't press further. Instead, he looked out the window, his thoughts likely preoccupied with the training and his performance on the field.

As you neared your apartment, you couldn't shake the feeling that your encounter with Kaiser wasn't a coincidence. There was something about him that kept drawing you in. Maybe it was his intensity, or the way he seemed so effortlessly confident.

You pulled into the parking area of the sleek apartment complex where Noel lived, the car slowly coming to a stop. He'd been silent for most of the ride, probably too tired from training, but now, as you were about to part ways, he seemed to have a few words left to share.

"We've got a game tomorrow," Noel said as he reached for the door handle, his voice carrying a certain level of seriousness. "You should come watch, after all tomorrow is Sunday. We're playing a strong team, and it'd be good to have you there.”

You glanced at him, curious. "A game tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he continued, grinning a little. "And, you know, you should come and give Kaiser some motivation. Maybe he'll need it." His eyes sparkled with mischief as he added, "I'm sure he could use some cheering up."

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. "Haha, very funny," you replied sarcastically. "We're just friends, Noel."

Noel gave a dramatic shrug as he opened the door, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. "Alright, if that's what you say..." He paused, then added with a smirk, "But I'll still reserve some tickets for you. Just in case you change your mind and decide to come."

You chuckled. "You're impossible," you teased, but the offer still warmed you. "But fine. I'll see about it. Goodnight, Noel."

Noel stepped out of the car, turning back to give you a grateful smile. "Goodnight, (y/n). And thank you for picking me up, really. I know it's late, and you must be tired." He gave you a sincere nod before heading toward the entrance of the building.

"Anytime, couz. Get some rest. You've got a big game ahead," you called after him.

You watched him disappear into the building, your mind still buzzing from the day's events. You were excited for tomorrow's game now, especially after Noel's hint about Kaiser. It seemed like things were definitely starting to shift in unexpected ways.

As you drove home, you couldn't help but feel the pull of the upcoming game—and maybe, just maybe, you'd get a chance to see Kaiser again.

The second you arrived home, you didn't even bother taking off your shoes before you plopped into bed. The exhaustion from the day's work and everything that had happened weighed down on you, and before you knew it, you were under the covers, your eyes slowly closing.

Just as you were about to drift off, your phone buzzed on the nightstand, pulling you out of your drowsy state. You reached for it, blinking a few times to focus on the screen. An unknown number flashed across your phone.

You hesitated for a moment, then opened the message. The text read:

"Hey, this is Kaiser."

Your eyebrows furrowed in surprise. What was Kaiser texting you for? You quickly opened the message, eager to see what he wanted.

The next message appeared:

"Do you know about the game tomorrow?"

You blinked, then typed back, "Yeah, Noel told me. He's been talking about it all day."

Kaiser's reply came swiftly:

"The game starts at 1 PM. Don't forget to come and cheer us on. It's going to be intense."

You let out a small laugh, your fingers hovering over the keyboard as you decided to respond. "You should sleep now, it's almost midnight, and you have a game tomorrow."

Kaiser's reply was almost immediate:

"I'll sleep when I'm ready. But you're right, I need to rest. See you tomorrow at the game."

"Goodnight," you typed, a smile tugging at your lips as you sent it.

You dropped your phone onto the nightstand, turning off the light. As you settled back into the pillows, your thoughts drifted to the game tomorrow—and to Kaiser. Something told you tomorrow would be interesting, to say the least.

With that, you finally allowed yourself to drift off to sleep, ready for the day ahead.

You wake up with a sudden jolt, stretching your arms as you try to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your body feels heavy, but the realization hits you like a splash of cold water. You glance at the clock.

12:15?!

Your eyes widen in shock. You've slept way longer than intended, and now the rush is on. The game starts at 1:00 PM, and you have so much to do before heading out.

Scrambling out of bed, you grab a basic tee and a pair of shorts from your wardrobe. As you lay them out, a small doubt creeps in. What's the right outfit for a game like this? You hadn't thought about it before—just assumed anything would do. But now, standing there, it feels strange to show up unprepared.

After a moment's hesitation, you shrug. Whatever. Simple works.

You quickly pull on the clothes, grab your sneakers, and rush out of your apartment with your essentials—phone, wallet, keys. Locking the door behind you, you head to your car and drive toward the venue.

The trip is quick, but by the time you arrive, it's already 12:45. Just enough time for a quick stroll before the game starts. Noel had reserved a seat for you, so finding a spot wasn't a concern. But as you approach the entrance, you notice something that makes you pause.

Everyone around you is decked out in jerseys—some Bastard Munchen ones, others generic team merch—but they're all representing. Looking down at your simple tee, embarrassment creeps in. You feel out of place.

Scanning the nearby stalls, your eyes land on one selling jerseys. Perfect. You make a beeline for it, browsing through the racks until you find a Noa jersey. Excitement bubbles up, but it's short-lived. They don't have your size.

You frown, disappointment threatening to take over. But then you spot another jersey—a Kaiser one. That'll work.

You buy it and head to the bathroom to change, the fabric feeling a little stiff but comforting in its own way. As you glance at your reflection, a small smile tugs at your lips. You may not have planned this, but at least you won't stand out awkwardly in the crowd.

Alright. Let's do this.

You hurry to your seat just as the game begins. The energy in the arena is electric, the crowd roaring with every play. Your heart races as the teams battle it out, trading points in a nail-biting match. By the time it's 2-2, the tension is almost unbearable.

Then, the final set begins. Your eyes are glued to the court, watching as Kaiser moves with precision and determination. During a brief break, his gaze sweeps the crowd—and lands on you. For a moment, your eyes meet. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you quickly look away.

The game resumes, and with one powerful strike, Kaiser seals the victory for Bastard Munchen. The arena erupts, fans cheering and celebrating wildly. But before joining his team in the celebration, Kaiser glances at you again. This time, a smirk curves his lips, as if silently acknowledging you.

The crowd was chaotic, with players and staff bustling about in the player's area. You were searching for Noel Noa, your cousin, but the sheer volume of people made it nearly impossible to spot him. Frustrated, you pushed forward, determined to find him.

You bumped into someone solid, nearly losing your balance. "Tch, watch it," came an annoyed but familiar voice. You looked up to see Kaiser, his sharp eyes narrowing at first, then softening with recognition.

"Oh, Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm looking for Noa," you said.

Kaiser let out an exaggerated sigh, brushing a hand through his hair. "Figures. Fine, I'll help you. Stay close."

He started cutting through the crowd effortlessly, his confident presence parting people as he went. You followed closely, grateful for the help.

"There he is," Kaiser said, nodding ahead. Sure enough, Noel Noa stood tall, deep in conversation. "Go on, talk to him."

You stepped forward, but just as you called out, a journalist swooped in, pulling Noa aside for an interview. He gave you an apologetic look as he was whisked away, leaving you stranded in the middle of the bustling crowd.

Suddenly, the noise felt deafening, the people pressing in too close. Your breathing quickened as panic started to set in.

A hand grabbed your wrist, steady and reassuring. "Hey, I've got you."

It was Kaiser. He pulled you out of the crowd and into a quieter, more open space. The relief was immediate, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"You good?" he asked, his tone unusually gentle.

Before you could respond, a voice called out. "Hey!"

You turned to see an interviewer with a camera pointed at you, a curious glint in her eyes.

"Hey! Aren't you the star volleyball player invited to join the Japan national team?"

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. Turning, you see an interviewer, her camera pointed right at you.

"And," she continues, her tone teasing, "are you two a thing?"

Her words hang in the air, and you feel the heat rising in your face. The camera clicks, capturing you and Kaiser standing close, his name clearly visible on your jersey.

Before you can respond, Kaiser steps in, a charming grin on his face. "We're just talking," he says smoothly, his voice carrying an easy confidence. "But I guess the press loves a good story."

The interviewer isn't deterred. "So no romance, then?"

Kaiser laughs, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Nope. Just friends," he says with a playful wink. "Though I'll admit—she has excellent taste in jerseys."

You glance at him, half-annoyed, half-amused, as the interviewer snaps another photo and moves on, satisfied with her scoop.

"Well," you mutter, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, "that was... something."

Kaiser chuckles. "You'll get used to it. But hey, we looked good, didn't we?"

You can't help but laugh, his lightheartedness easing the tension. "I guess so."

"See?" he says with a grin. "You've got a fanbase now."

Shaking your head, you reply, "I just hope they don't start spreading rumors."

"Let them," Kaiser teases. "We'd make a great duo" His tone softens, and he gives you a sincere look. "But seriously, you okay?"

You nod, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for handling that."

"No problem," he says with a wink. "Just another day in the spotlight."

And with that, the tension melts away. Standing beside him, you feel like you can take on whatever comes next.

you realize that being around Kaiser isn't as overwhelming as you thought. His charisma, while undeniable, has a way of putting you at ease.

As then crowd thins out, he gestures toward an exit. "Come on, let me walk you to your car," he offers, his tone casual.

You nod, falling into step beside him. The evening air is crisp, and the noise from the stadium fades into the distance. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence oddly comfortable.

"You know," Kaiser begins, breaking the quiet, "you're full of surprises."

You glance at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Most people I meet are either intimidated or trying too hard to impress. But you? You're just... you. It's refreshing."

You let out a soft laugh. "Well, I could say the same about you. For someone as confident as you seem, you're not as much of a showoff as I expected."

Kaiser raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. "Not a showoff? Did you not see that goal today?"

You roll your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. "Okay, maybe a little bit of a showoff. But not in a bad way."

He chuckles, and for a moment, his expression softens. "Thanks for coming today. It was... nice having you there."

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you feel your cheeks warm. "It was fun," you admit. "You guys are incredible to watch."

As you reach your car, Kaiser leans against the door, his hands tucked into his pockets. "So, about that coffee," he says, his smirk returning. "How about we make it dinner next time?"

You blink, surprised by the sudden shift. "Dinner?"

"Yeah," he says casually, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "You need a proper introduction to Munich. And who better to show you around than me?"

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if he's teasing or serious. But the look in his eyes tells you he means it.

"Alright," you say finally, a small smile playing on your lips. "Dinner it is."

His grin widens, and he steps back, letting you open your car door. "Good. I'll text you the details."

As you drive away, you can't help but replay the day's events in your mind. Somehow, amidst the chaos of your new life in Germany, Kaiser has managed to slip past your defenses. And while you're not sure what that means yet, could you possibly have feelings for him?

[britneyshakespeare]

obviously i can't enforce proper rules of what people "count" and i wouldn't wanna really gatekeep, but :D in my opinion! loosely i believe that if it is recognizably the same story, if it could keep the same title without it being problematic for the reader, i believe it does count. like i personally would allow for most comic/manga adaptations of shakespeare plays, even if they're abridged, to be "reading the plays" (even if not as plays).

perhaps maybe also with an asterisk on the amount of early-modern text honored versus original content infused by the new creator. like, i might say a novelization or prose retelling of the plays is different from comics, which as a form, all you really need to adapt is the dialogue and add your own visuals (which actors, directors, and stage crew already have to do for every production, even the most "faithful" ones). tales from shakespeare by charles and mary lamb, for example, might be a gray area, because they present the stories faithfully but in an entirely different medium, with necessary original narrativizing around it. but while not everyone may agree, i would consider the manga shakespeare series (which abridge but maintain the original language, and take liberties with their visual setting, as many directors do) to be essentially the same as reading the text or watching a stage adaptation—which are already two very different experiences with a theatrical work, and i chose to conflate them in this poll in order for maximum inclusivity.

and then there's the confounding factor of translation. some people talk down about the sparknotes no fear shakespeare series and other prose/modern "translations"—i never particularly enjoyed them myself, even as a beginner, because i think more general-reader-friendly series like barnes & noble shakespeare and the folger shakespeare series were better at helping me (emphasis on just me) appreciate the poetry of the plays and approach the difficulties of the language. perhaps i could've been a little bit snobbish about it; the sparknotes series does not aim to bastardize the verse, and it's still there on the adjoining page. yet, not everyone reads the verse to compare. but, if they're still reading the same story, in the same structure, but the text itself is totally altered, is that not still reading shakespeare? it's a philosophical question, but for the wider purposes and ideals of this poll, i would have to say yes, i think it is.

and obviously, obviously, translation into languages other than english must count. that's just common sense. not everyone can or should read or see the plays in the "original" language—but one can say that about that about 'modern translations' too, right? and philosophically, most artists and language lovers agree that in translation, something is always sacrificed; more is also added; all depending on the will and sensibilities of the particular translator. there will never be such a thing as a definitive translation of poetry. translations are arguably, in their own right, as much original works as any other adaptation or abridgement; they are changes to the text. still i think they count for this poll, unquestionably.

another interesting thing people have brought up is adaptations in children's literature, which i see most people discrediting if it's their own experience with the plays, but it probably depends on the book, imo. like i said, retelling something in prose narrative makes it fundamentally different to me, but i think it's wiggly where the line is, since there are a lot of children's works based on the plays that aim to preserve shakespeare's language, and many that purposefully do not. like sparknotes' no fear series versus folger editions, i think both should exist because they suit different purposes.

on the topic, though, i do wanna shout out shakespeare's first folio: a children's edition (2024) released by the shakespeare birthplace trust. i got a copy for both of my nieces for christmas this year. they're still a bit too young to read it with (both are under 2), but i just had to get it. the goal of the book isn't just to preserve the language, but they're actually formatted as playscripts! i find that to be such an interesting choice, and i can't wait to act them out with them and their toys someday. they are, however, suuuper abridged, like 10-15% of the original text at most, and certainly a lot of the magic of the full pieces is lost by boiling it down to its bare essentials, but its simplicity, obviously, is meant to benefit the young readers as much as possible.

would it count? would it count? i don't know! i'm certainly gonna say hell yeah it counts, when im playing cymbeline and the two gentlemen of verona with my little girls. but will it still count retroactively, when i hopefully get to view the plays more fully with them someday? i'm sure the first time i take them to shakespeare in the park, they're gonna feel like what they watched is substantially different from what's in their book, and in comparison, they might not feel like they've still experienced them in that medium that was perfectly sufficient before.

abridgements can certainly count, though, if you had a fulfilling engagement with it! there is always more to get out of these texts, and they are also often reduced to serve a particular audience or medium. there will never be an end of the ways to read shakespeare, so consider for yourself whatever is meaningful to you.

I'm curious about people's levels of familiarity; I intend no judgment or elitism and it's absolutely fine not to be a completionist, btw. I didn't think I would've intended to have read them all at age 25; it just sort of happened that after I passed the halfway point in the middle of 2023, I came out of a reading slump and was motivated to finish. Fwiw I consider myself a hobbyist (I am not involved in academia or professional theater) but I realize that that label is usually attributed to people with less experience.

I also have always loved seeing other bloggers' Shakespeare polls where they put certain plays or characters up against each other, but I'm often left wondering if it's really a 'fair' fight all the time if you're putting up something like Hamlet or Twelfth Night against one of the more obscure works, like the Winter's Tale. It's not a grave affront to vote in those polls if you don't know every play, but I am curious about it.

Please reblog for exposure if you vote; I would appreciate it a lot. Also feel free to elaborate on your own Shakespeare journey in tags, comments, reblogs, because I love to hear about other people's personal relationships to literature.

[evabby]

toxic!abby cooking you dinner .

a/n : for this request ! i also kind of extended it because why not

the apartment smelled faintly of burnt garlic, mingling with the subtle hum of the ceiling fan.

abby stood at the stove, her shoulders tense, jaw clenched as she stirred the sauce with unnecessary force.

steam rose around her, adding to the heat in the small kitchen, and a muttered curse escaped her lips as she noticed the sauce beginning to sputter.

from the doorway, you hesitated, shifting nervously on your feet. you fidgeted with the hem of your sweater, your voice soft when you finally spoke.

“abby, do you want me to help?”

“i said i’ve got it,” abby snapped without looking up, her tone sharp.

the words stung, but you knew better than to push.

instead, you quietly stepped back, your gaze dropping to the floor as you lingered near the table.

abby’s bad moods had become familiar, though they still made your chest ache.

a few minutes later, abby turned off the stove with a loud clink and grabbed two plates from the counter.

she divided the pasta between you in rushed, uneven portions, her movements rough and frustrated.

without a word, she carried the plates over to the table and set one down in front of you a bit too firmly before slumping into her chair.

“well?” abby said, crossing her arms as she watched you with a hard stare.

“go on,” she said. “tell me it’s awful.”

you picked up your fork, twirling the pasta slowly as you took a tentative bite. the sauce was smoky—almost burnt—but not entirely unpleasant.

you glanced up at abby, who was staring at you expectantly, her arms crossed over her chest.

“it’s not bad,” you said, your voice light.

abby rolled her eyes. “yeah, okay. sure.”

“no, really,” you insisted, though your tone was far too sweet to be convincing. “it’s.. different. in a good way—“

abby let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head. “you’re a terrible liar.”

you offered a small, apologetic smile.

“i appreciate that you tried. it’s sweet.”

abby blinked at you, the words catching her off guard. “sweet?” she scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “yeah, okay. don’t get used to it baby. i’m not cut out for this domestic shit.”

you smiled faintly, not pushing the moment further. you took another bite, savouring it more for abby’s effort than the taste. you ate in silence after that, the clinking of forks against plates the only sound in the room.

when you were done, abby grabbed the plates and carried them to the sink, stacking them haphazardly. “i’ll deal with those later,” she muttered.

“are you sure? i can clean up—”

“i said i’ll do it,” abby interrupted, though her tone was less harsh this time.

you nodded, letting it drop. you watched as abby wiped her hands on a dish towel and then tossed it onto the counter before turning to leave the kitchen.

“you coming?” abby asked over her shoulder, her voice gruff but quieter now.

you hesitated before following her into the living room.

abby flopped onto the couch, stretching her long legs across the cushions. she grabbed her phone from the coffee table and began scrolling aimlessly, her other arm draped over the backrest. the tension from earlier seemed to have eased slightly, but there was still an air of restlessness about her.

you sat down carefully on the opposite end of the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. you stayed quiet, glancing at abby from time to time as the soft glow of the tv illuminated the room.

abby’s hair was down now, falling loosely around her shoulders in uneven waves. you found yourself staring.

“you know,” you said softly, breaking the silence, “your hair looks really pretty like that.”

abby glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “like what? a mess?”

“no,” you said quickly, your cheeks flushing. “it’s nice. it reminds me of the braid you always wear. the fishtail.”

abby frowned slightly, her gaze shifting to the floor. “my dad liked it. said it made me look put together.”

you hesitated before sliding a little closer. “you could teach me how to do it. i’ve never been good at braiding.”

abby snorted, her lips twitching into a faint smirk. “you want me to teach you how to braid? you’re serious?”

you nodded. “only if you want to. it’s okay if you don’t.”

abby sighed, setting her phone down and gesturing for you to come closer. “come here sweet girl,”

you shifted eagerly, letting abby take your hands. abby’s larger, calloused hands guided you through the motions, her touch surprisingly gentle despite her rough demeanour.

“you’re twisting it wrong,” abby muttered, her brow furrowed in concentration. “here—cross it over like this. see?”

you bit your lip, focusing intently as you followed abby’s instructions. “i’m terrible at this,” you mumbled, laughing nervously.

“you’re not,” abby said, her tone softer now. “just need practice.”

when you finished, the braid was uneven and a little messy, but you felt a sense of accomplishment.

“not bad,” abby admitted, running her fingers lightly over the braid.

you smiled shyly.

you stayed on the couch, abby pulling you close as you settled into the quiet hum of the evening. the television flickered softly in the background, but neither of you were paying much attention.

as you rested your head against abby’s chest, you felt the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath her cheek. without thinking, you murmured,

“i love you.”

abby stiffened, her hand freezing mid-stroke along your arm. the words seemed to hang in the air, heavier than they should have been.

“you don’t have to say that,” abby said finally, her voice low and uncertain.

“‘m not saying it because i have to,” you replied, lifting your head to look at abby. “i’m saying it because it’s true.”

abby’s jaw tightened, her gaze flickering away. “people say things they don’t mean all the time.”

“i mean it,” you said firmly, your hand reaching up to cup abby’s cheek. “i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.”

abby closed her eyes, leaning into the touch despite herself. “you’re too good for me angel.”

“you’re good for me too,” you whispered, your voice steady. “even if.. even if you don’t see it yet.”

abby didn’t reply, but her arm tightened around you, pulling you closer.

masterlist

[nachrosas]

A LITTLE BIT OF JEALOUSY, PLEASE | s.reid x reader

summary: in which you're jealous of the new agent. pairing: spencer reid x reader content warnings: none, just pure fluff word count: 776 a/n: i promised to myself that yesterday was the last fic of 2024, but i kinda lied? this can be viewed as the reader version of “a cup of jealousy, please” (but you also can see then separately)! hope you guys like it and feedback is always appreciated! also, my inbox is always open to chat (i love to talk and meet new people)! till the next one!

The BAU's famous meeting room was illuminated by the yellowish light of the fluorescent lamps, and the round table was littered with papers and folders. You and Spencer were poring over the evidence from the latest case the team was working on, analyzing every detail with his characteristic attention. He moved quickly, adjusting his glasses and pointing at the scattered documents, while his words formed a continuous stream of logical reasoning.

"So, if we consider the pattern of the attacks, the modus operandi of the criminal begins to distort... we need to start looking for people with a certain knowledge of psychology, or someone capable of manipulating minds." said Spencer, his voice soft and focused.

You were totally focused, analyzing the data with him. But something in your mind told you that something was wrong. A murmur from somewhere behind Spencer caught his attention, confirming his suspicions. The sound came from one of the corners of the room, where the team's new agent was trying to talk to him, her words sounding louder than usual as if she was trying her best to capture his attention.

"Do you really think that criminals think like that?" she moved a little closer, making an almost casual gesture towards his face, as if she were fixing his hair. "You have such a fascinating way of looking at things. It must be amazing to have a brain like yours."

Spencer, totally oblivious to the change, and possible intentions, in the tone of the conversation, shook his head in understanding. "Well, I have an IQ of… 187. But I like to study patterns and behavior. I believe that every human being is predictable, on some level."

The agent smiled, leaning forward slightly, her eyes shining with an expression you could recognize from miles away: interest. Something more. Her eyes narrowed involuntarily, and an uneasy feeling began to form in the back of her mind - and her heart.

You looked back at the papers, trying to concentrate, but the sound of the conversation continued to flow in the background. The agent didn't seem to want to stop. "You're really modest, Spencer. You don't know how… attractive you are when you talk about your work."

You knew that jealousy was a strange feeling, of course you had felt it a few times before, but now, when she mentioned it, it was completely clear. You were dying of jealousy at the interaction between the new girl and Spencer. Your stomach churned. Spencer seemed so innocent, so absorbed in their conversation, that he didn't even notice her intentions. And that made him even more vulnerable. But who wouldn't? The way she smiled at him, the way she touched him lightly as she gestured. You had to hold on with all your might not to get up from your chair and rip her hand off his arm — Hotch would certainly be grateful if you didn't do that, after all, aggression between agents wouldn't look good on his report card.

You bit your lip, mentally deciding that you had put up with enough of this nonsense — in your own opinion. You raised your head, your voice coming out stronger than you expected.

"Spencer." you interrupted the agent's conversation with a firmness that surprised everyone in the room, even you. "I think we've found new evidence about the connection between the victims. Come and see it here."

He quickly turned to you, his expression of concentration giving way to a gentle, soft smile. "Oh yes! I'm sorry, I'll help you." And, as if nothing had happened, he walked away from the agent, who stood there awkwardly, watching the two of you work together and who was quickly forgotten by Spencer. Giving up, she quickly left the room, stamping her feet at not having gotten what she wanted.

"That's new, huh?" Spencer commented, as he approached, noticing your change in behavior. You didn't want to look at him, but you couldn't help it.

"Oh, it's no big deal. I just didn't like the way she was throwing herself at you. I thought she had something better to do with her life."

Spencer let out a low laugh, understanding but keeping his tone playful. "You know, I didn't really realize what was going on. I'm not very good with… social cues."

"I know," you replied, your lips curving into a slightly annoyed but also relieved smile. "Fortunately, you have someone to take care of it."

Spencer laughed again, more softly, and the two returned to their task. And you mentally prayed that a moment like that wouldn't happen again, otherwise it wouldn't just be words flying at the new girl.