#so essentially it's him wrestling with that

[timothy-drakewayne]

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

- Tim Drake is no stranger to Gotham's shadows, having grown up in a city that constantly tests the limits of his resilience. Originally a tech-savvy and resourceful teenager, Tim discovered Batman and Robin's identities after piecing together clues from the tragic death of Jason Todd. His sharp detective skills and natural instincts led him to eventually become the third Robin, stepping into the shoes of those who came before him.

But Tim isn't just about fighting crime; he believes in strategy, in outsmarting the odds with careful planning and always thinking several steps ahead. After spending time under Batman's intense mentorship, he’s proven himself not only as an essential part of Gotham's vigilante network but also as Red Robin, taking on the mantle when the need arose. He's found his own identity in the chaos of Gotham's streets and skies.

Tim's intellect and loyalty to his friends and family are unmatched, though beneath that sharp exterior, he often wrestles with the weight of his responsibilities. Still, he remains determined to be a hero in the truest sense, never losing sight of his purpose: protecting the innocent, no matter what.

- Tim is around 18 in the Universe. He attends university and helps with running Wayne Enterprises as per Bruce’s request. Tim and Bruce’s relationship can be strained at times. He wasn’t given then best Bruce, and was having to practically parent a grown man at the age of 13. He still respects and adores Bruce, but he could never truly be open with the man. There’s just too much baggage there. His relationship with his siblings is pretty neutral. He tends to get along slightly better with Cass, Steph, and Duke. He does get along with Dickie he just doesn’t always reach out because he doesn’t want to burden his older brother knowing he has more to worry about. His relationship with Jason and Damian isnt out right terrible but it isn’t sunshine and rainbows either. He respects them, and they have good moments but there are times where it feels stand offish. Tim doesn’t blame either of them. He understands, more so with Jason, Damian he doesn’t always understand his issues with him. Tim struggles with Damian, he loves his brother but there are sometimes where he just wants to throttle him at the exact same time. To be honest that’s probably how Jason felt about him too at first. They’re truly siblings. Tim stays strong, and as said before he works hard. He does have a bit more secretive touch to himself, and he won’t straight out ask for help from anyone. He’d rather figure it out himself before bothering the others with something he should probably already know.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

OOC NOTES: I am 18, so if anyone would want to do romance I’d prefer it’d be 17+! I’m open to any interactions! I’m cool with different plots that being angst, fluff, romance, etc. All I request is we have fun! Constructive criticism is cool and I’d like to apologize in advance if anything seems ooc! Just no unnecessary negativity. Theres truly no need for cruelty, no proshipping or creepy behaviors either. I’ll just ignore it.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Red = Red Robin

Green = Joker Junior

Purple = Tim Drake

Blue = OOC

[mulderscully]

just saw someone say mr brightside lyrics don't make sense... if ur straight just say that

[beatcroc]

Mecha-Sonic, Dr. Robotnik has created other robots based on Sonic and thrown them away before he created you. Do you have any thoughts on this?

[bumblingbabooshka]

A Klingon and a half Vulcan participate in a myriad of rituals.

[todayisafridaynight]

I mean, I like Daigo and Y3 but it's undeniable that a lot of the reason of MineDai being small is cuz Mine, Daigo and Y3 are generally unliked? Not like hated but like just not liked down upon the bigger side of the fandom. Add to that that the yaoi girlies, like us, are just like a fraction of the fandom... well, not exactly big shit to have.

Personally... I'm kinda glad Mine is overlooked cuz... dear fucking god the radioactive waste he could create if he was popular. Mind you, I'm not exactly a Mine fan but I know he would be... not the best for larger audiences.

minedai really is just for us yaoi girlies you're so right .....

[coloursofaparadox]

lil rant about dog training oops

[monaluisa]

Shoutout to my boyfriend because I say “this is so Romulus coded” about everything and he agrees

[whysamwhy123]

We could have gotten a fun Ruby/Angelo vs Saraya/Daddy Magic mixed tag match, but noooooooo, Tony had to go and do his whole ''Blonde women are all Evil Lying Whores'' thing again 😒

[luveline]

i think it would be adorable seeing a conversation of spencer freaking out about pregnant!bombshell and hotch just calmly telling him all about different ways to help and them talking about new dad fears :((

pregnant!reader, 1k (sorry it was more about the pregnant part than the new dad fears!)

Hotch doesn’t know what Spencer’s going to say when he knocks, but he ushers him inside his office regardless. He has the appearance of someone with grief to share; Hotch immediately starts to think of the people he and Spencer have in common. 

“I need your advice,” Spencer says desperately. 

Hotch puts his pen in its holder. “Of course.” 

“She won’t sit down.” 

Hotch lets himself relax. “Ah.” 

“She’s acting like she isn’t pregnant at all. I want her to be happy, but she keeps running up the stairs. What if she falls?” 

“Y/N has very likely thought of that possibility already.” 

“Then why doesn’t she stop?” 

Hotch chews his cheek for a moment. “Spencer, sit down.” 

The chair squeaks as Spencer sits, scrubbing at his face roughly. 

Hotch has watched Spencer grow up, in a way, moving from twenty three to thirty quick as blinking, and he’s watched him fall in love with you, and now he gets to watch Spencer have daily conniptions over your apparent lack of self-preservation. He’s enjoyed it, genuinely, and he doesn’t mind offering some wisdom now as a partner who’s made enough mistakes to know better. 

“Spencer, you can’t make her sit down if she doesn’t want to. And she’s four months pregnant. Pretty soon, she’ll have no choice but to sit down. It’s best if you let her stay active as long as she can, so she stays as healthy as she can.” He leans back in his chair. The smirk is unbidden, but he can’t help it. “But you know this.” 

“Her ligaments are weakening, because of the baby. The pregnancy. It’s about to get much more painful for her,” Spencer says. 

“So?” Hotch prods gently. 

Spencer nods. Glances out the window down into the bullpen, before dragging his chair closer to the desk. “Hotch, it’s like she’s two different people. Or three. There’s the crying one, and the happy one, and the��” 

“The hates you one?” he offers. 

“Yes. Which is luckily quite rare, but terrifying.” 

“Just hormones, Spence.” 

Spencer breathes out. Hotch can’t help the immeasurable wave of fondness he’s feeling for his colleague. He genuinely wants to round the desk and pat Spencer on the back. This is all a learning curve, a way of life. Partners have been wrestling with their scary pregnant wives for long before he and Spencer came around. 

“The happy one is worth it, though,” Hotch guesses. He had some lovely days with Hayley. 

“You know what she’s like,” Spencer says.

Hotch can imagine. Before your pregnancy, you adored Spencer. You’ve doted on him since you met him, and if the glimpses Hotch has seen of you these last few months are any indication, you are immovably in love. Yesterday, you brushed the sesame seeds off of Spencer’s sandwich one by one because he doesn’t like them. The day before, you’d pushed your chair next to his and drawn circles into his arm the entire workday (while, impressively, still managing to finish your assigned consults). 

“There’s a common theme, I think, when she’s angry. She’s usually uncomfortable. I’ve started to go through a checklist,” Spencer says. He sounds guilty. 

“I think it’s a good idea. I noticed you’ve been keeping candy in your bag.” Hotch laughs. Spencer joins in. 

“Just the essentials.” 

Hotch doesn’t doubt that you’re on every prenatal vitamin you could ever need, that Spencer has researched pregnancy from the latest journals to the very rarest myths. He has no doubt that you’re well taken care of. You’re going to be fine. Spencer has no need to worry about you. Hotch might have cause to worry about Spencer, though. 

“Reid, I’ll tell you a secret. It might not work for you, but it worked for me.” 

Spencer holds his hands together. “What is it?” 

“The next time you want her to slow down,” —Hotch lays it out carefully, without judgement for you or any private teasing, just genuine care for the both of you— “you can distract her with the baby.” 

“I’ve tried that,” Spencer says. “She tells me I’m worrying.” 

“Not about the baby’s health. If she thinks everything is alright, it likely is. I mean about the future.” Spencer doesn’t seem to understand. Hotch searches for an example. “Baby shoes, clothes. I once calmed Hayley down from an hours-long meltdown by telling her I thought Jack would have her eyes.” 

“That works?” 

“It’s probably much nicer for her to have you encouraging positive thoughts than negative,” he says gently. 

“I guess I worry too much.” 

“Not too much, Reid. I’m just telling you what worked for me. When it’s over, you’ll miss it. A few years later.” 

They smile. Hotch watches with a distinct fatherly pride as Spencer retreats down into the bullpen where you stand talking animatedly to Anderson. You’ve been on your feet all day, in kitten heels no less, and you look tired but not unhappy. 

Spencer joins you for a while. You show no signs of moving. Hotch figures he’ll give Spencer time to act on his advice and goes back to his paperwork, losing track of time, ignoring the beep of his watch that signals lunch time. 

He finishes his paperwork a little while after. 

“I wonder what she'll have,” he hears Spencer saying. 

“She’ll have my hands,” you insist suddenly, your voice floating up the steps. You’ve always had one of those tones that attracts attention, even when you aren’t shouting. “Don’t girls often get their mom’s hands? And their dad’s noses?” 

He’s expecting Spencer to cite an article on genetic lottery, but he doesn’t. He sounds the polar opposite of how he’d panicked in Hotch’s office. “I think so. I got my mom’s hands, too. She had short nail beds.” A pause. Hotch glances out the window to find you sitting in Spencer’s chair, a sandwich laid out in two halves on a napkin, a tray of vegetable batons in your hands where they rest on your bump. “I hope she has your everything.” 

You lift your chin. Spencer taps your noses together. 

“Can I get you a drink?” he asks hopefully. 

“Yes, please. Anything you’re having.” 

Hotch isn’t smug, exactly, but he is admittedly very pleased at the outcome of his advice. 

[tossawary]

Wei Wuxian's first meeting with teenage Jin Ling just gets funnier every time. Especially because, by this point, he should have a rough idea of how long it's been since he died, and he immediately recognizes Jin Ling as a member of the Jin Sect, clearly an important one if he's bossing other people around and spending absurd amounts of money on spiritual nets. If Wei Wuxian had spent A SINGLE MINUTE actively trying to guess this kid's identity, he probably could have worked out that this kid has a high chance of being his nephew.

But Wei Wuxian does not take the time (thirty seconds! WWX, you could have made an educated guess!) to figure out this kid's specific identity! He's just been wrestling with an incredibly stubborn donkey all day and he's probably hangry again because they had to share an apple. He just thinks to himself, "Wow, this Jin kid is a real spoiled brat," and goes from there!

"Didn't your mother ever teach you any manners?" he says obliviously to JIN LING, his own fucking nephew. When Jin Ling is FAMOUSLY ORPHANED. Like, you could go up to literally anyone on the street and be like, "What happened to that rich kid Jin Ling's parents?" and they would immediately tell you, "Oh, the evil Yiling Patriarch killed them, evilly." Very high chance that no one has ever said this particular insult to Jin Ling - extremely rich young master, most famous orphan in the cultivation world, in possession of some very scary uncles - before.

And from Jin Ling's perspective, this outrageous comment is coming from his OWN UNCLE, Mo Xuanyu, his late grandfather's bastard son who was kicked out of the sect for being gay and crazy. There is NO WAY that Mo Xuanyu could somehow not know that Jin Ling has no parents, so of course, this has to be an intentional low-blow insult bringing up and disparaging his dead mother. So, of course this brat tries to start a fight! Mo Xuanyu started it with words like that!

And then Wei Wuxian trips him and essentially sits on him (using a talisman), there's the whole "My uncle is going to kill you!" & "Who's your uncle?" exchange, and Jiang Cheng immediately interrupts them. And Wei Wuxian has to do the sudden, incredibly simple, damning mental calculation of: "Jin kid + Jiang Cheng for an uncle = Oh, fuck."

It's funny every single time.

[twstowo]

Bro you can't just make a forehead kissing post and NOT do the rest of the characters 😭🙏 /j

No but actually can you do the first years? I like to imagine all this started with a dare from one of them coughcoughACEcough and now Yuu's just going around sniping all their friends' foreheads with their lips

♡︎ You are right anon, I will redeem myself by doing all the characters.

♡︎ Includes: First Years

[Here]☆[Second years]☆[Third Years]☆[One final forehead kiss]☆[Extras]

The quest for giving everyone a forehead kiss began when you stumbled upon Ace, deeply engrossed in his thoughts. His hair danced in the gentle breeze, adding an extra layer of charm to his profile. Unable to resist, you tried to slowly approach him without making any sound, trying your best to catch him by surprise and when you came close enough to him you interrupted his daydreaming with a tender forehead kiss.

"What was that for?" he laughed, his response oozing with self-assurance. And to be fair his smug demeanour grated on your nerves, you just gave him a forehead kiss and he reacted like that? No, way! He needed a reality check!

"If you didn't appreciate it, I'll just find Deuce and shower him with forehead kisses instead!" you told him, enjoying the surprise in Ace's widened eyes. Unwilling to back down, he rolled his eyes and stood up.

"Go ahead! Kiss the entire school's forehead! See if I care." Those words struck a chord, prompting you to turn on your heel and leave him to his own devices. You were going to make him regret saying those words.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Deuce:

As soon as you kiss his forehead, he becomes a mess. He touches the spot you just kissed, trying to form any coherent words. Just show him your forehead and tap it, as if telling him to kiss you back, he turns red but kisses you as quickly as he sees you gesture for him to kiss you, as if he always wanted to do that. His hand cups your face, tenderly caressing your cheeks without even thinking.

He daydreams about these moments for the next few weeks.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Jack:

Feeling extremely embarrassed by the unexpected gesture, he avoids eye contact and looks everywhere but your face. After a while, he musters the courage to thank you, and then you both find yourselves in a silent, awkward moment. If you linger without leaving, he eventually gathers more courage and asks if you'd like a forehead kiss in return. If you agree, he gives you a quick kiss, followed by a gentle pat on the head.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Epel:

Finds himself in an internal struggle, Epel wrestles with various thoughts. Does your gesture mean you see him as cute? Is it an affront to his masculinity? Does he need to step up his game? Swiftly, he decides to take action, pulling you by the waist and delivering a surprisingly passionate kiss. Once he's done, he turns as red as you, contemplating the consequences of his impulsive move.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Ortho:

He is so happy with your forehead kiss that he starts to delve into an explanation of the significance behind various types of kisses. He proceeds to suggest the kinds of kisses you should bestow upon his brother. At this point, he's essentially delivering a lecture on the art of kissing. Idia passes behind the two of you and overhears the conversation, for the next week you can’t find him anywhere, he is way too embarrassed to show up in front of you.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

⋆⋅☆Sebek:

Grateful to the Seven for the unforgettable moment, Sebek cherishes your gesture, vowing to remember it for the rest of his life. Then he proceeds to tell you that your actions are obscene and that you shouldn't just kiss him like that out of nowhere. Throughout the week, he can't shake off the memory, and whenever he encounters you, he blushes, scowls, and quickly turns away, unable to contain his embarrassment.

[robynlilyblack]

Little sickling

Remus Lupin x fem! sick! reader

Summary: Remus runs his girlfriend a bath when she’s unwell

Warnings/tags: swearing, mentions of eating, being unwell, medication, remus’ furry little problem, treating wounds, nudity, and, talks of sex and attempts at seduction, established relationship, living together, implied reader and remus not being very well off, remus lupin being the sweetest boyfriend

A/n: 3k words, I have been so sick the last couple weeks, I apologise for any errors, this fic is 100% self serving, enjoy ♡

Navigation | Remus Lupin Masterlist

Remus smiles to himself as he walks home, bag of essentials in one hand and flowers in the other. He didn’t know what to expect when he got in, this morning he had left a very adamant you who swore, and he quotes, that she ‘was not getting sick’. As much as he wanted to believe you, your subtle coughs and sniffles were not subtle enough, hence the bags filled with supplies to make easy stews and soups for you to eat, fresh tissues for that sniffly nose, medicine for those headaches, cough syrup that he’ll likely have to bribe you into taking, and lastly, some flowers, though are mostly to make you smile

He doesn’t mind the extra effort, in fact, it brings him an odd sense of joy knowing he’ll be able to look after you for once. Ever since you’ve known him you’ve been looking after him, and now that you both were living together, far from the wizarding world, you’d have to bear the brunt of it all on your own with his friends off living their own lives. It wasn’t that they didn’t care for him anymore, no, he had encouraged them to go live their lives, and while you were supportive of that, he still feels guilty sometimes that he’s locked you into such a life

He breathes a sigh of relief at the sight of your shared home, even if the gutter was hanging off again…least the plants are getting a good water

As he reaches the front door, he places down the bags and flowers softly, rubbing his achy hand from the weight before using them to open the rather stubborn door you both should really fix. With one hand turning the key and the other pulling the door towards him the lock clicks and he can push it open. His theory you were sicker than you were letting on is confirmed when silence greets him on the other end. Usually you’re like a happy little bunny meeting him at the front door, all excited and practically bouncing as you run up to give him a hug. But today he finds a dim hall, only illuminated by the soft light of the living room as the door has been left ajar 

He moves the bags and flowers inside before locking the door behind him and calling out “Love?” but he receives no answer

Abandoning the supplies for a moment he walks towards the light, his smile coming back as he pushes the door open and realises why you were quiet. You’re caught red handed in getting up from the small fort you had created on the couch, smiling shyly as you practically have to wrestle out of the sheer magnitude of blankets you had hoarded

“Hi” you croak a little, embarrassed as you continue to shuffle out 

He wishes you would stay seated and let him come to you, but he doesn’t argue, and instead closes the gap “Hey” he coos “How are you feelin’?” 

You pout as you approach him “Meh” is all you can muster before your head falls instinctively into his chest

He chuckles, opening his jacket fully so you can slip your hands in to steal his warmth as you always did “Poor baby” he kisses the top of your head, bring his arms around you before looking over at your makeshift bed

Frankly it’s a disaster site, from the multiple blankets and pillows thrown together in no particular order, to the loo roll being used as tissue paper. He over looks at the coffee table next, noting some medicine on the table, a good start, followed by some old tea, half eaten toast, along with a couple forgotten books you clearly tried to read but then opted for generic tv instead when you couldn’t concentrate

Out of everything there was only one thing he was going to give you a little row for…

“No water?” he looks down at you

He has to put on his best poker face now as you look up with the most guilty little face

“I had…some” you reply, face giving away your play while your hands falls to begin playing with the rim of his jumper

“Tea doesn’t count…neither does juice or coffee” he adds when you open your mouth to object 

You lower your head to guise your shame “I’m sorry Rem” you mumble 

He can feel the pout through his jumper “I’m not mad, promise” he pulls you back gently, giving you a reassuring look before he eyes you “So…are you going let me look after ya this time?”

You don’t try to pretend like this morning nor argue against him, just nod. Gone is the stubborn girl who swore she was okay and was going to get so much done on her day off, and what remains is a very tired and sick one that just wants coddled by her boyfriend

“Good girl” he moves you back towards the couch “Let's get you hydrated first” he tells you as he encourages you to sit down “When did you last take those?” he gestures to the packet of pills 

Your eyebrows scrunch before you look over towards the clock “Around 11ish, maybe 12?” you shrug softly, giving him a sorry smile for not keeping better track “Is it really 6 already?” you say mostly to yourself before coughing softly

He just kisses your forehead, saying he’ll be right back as he returns to the hall, hanging up his jacket before collecting the bags and taking them into the kitchen. He quickly puts some things that needed to go in the fridge away before grabbing a clean glass and filling it up with some water. While he’s here he grabs a spare vase from under the sink. Usually he would make you a bouquet but today he opted for the quicker version, allowing him to place them in directly and waste no time in returning to you, flowers in one hand, water in the other

You’re right where he left you when he reenters the living room, and he can’t help but find your idling adorable. Rocking your feet back and forth, hands under your thighs as your head looks around the room, eyes wandering like you hadn’t fully decorated the place yourself

“Love” he gently calls, gaining your attention, his smile widening at your little scooch towards him as he joins you on the couch, placing the flowers on the table in front of you along with the water

“You got me flowers?” you cheese, cheeks barely containing your glee

He nods, his heart flipping like he was a schoolboy again at your silly smile “Like em?” he asks even though he already knows the answer

“Very much” you reach out, thump and forefinger softly playing with the petals before you kiss his shoulder “Do they smell as pretty as they look?” you wonder, struggling with your stuffy nose

Remus’ smile sinks to a sympathetic one, arm sliding around your waist “They do” he confirms “And you’ll be able to smell them sooner once you’re hydrated” he pivots the conversation, picking up the glass and handing it to you 

You accept the tumbler with a small eye roll, cupping it as you take small sips, leaning into his side, while Remus’ arm moves upward, hand finding the top of your head, giving you little pets. You cough periodically while you rehydrate, and Remus kisses the side of your head every time you do, after your most recent he nuzzles his nose in a little. You let out a couple of soft hums, the first from the closeness, and the second at the loss of contact when Remus shifts away 

He feels your confused gaze as he walks over to your desk, grabbing the smaller bin as he begins to clear away the coffee table

“You don…” you start but he just gives you a look “...have to do that…” you whisper the rest to yourself but he still hears you 

“I want to” he says simply, placing the bin down beside the table before leaving the room, taking away the old tea with him

When he returns he finds you struggling with your blankets “Let me make you a proper bed, this ones just sad” he teases, ushering you to get up

“You’re sad” you retort quietly, hiding your little smile at the idea of a getting Remus style bed couch

He lets out a breathy laugh that sinks to amusing admiration at your little waddle over to the nearby armchair, water in tow. As he moves all of the blankets to one side, throwing away any tissues that had fallen into them, he notices you bring your feet up to sit on, warming them up after being exposed to the cold floor. 

He picks up one of the spare blankets “Up” he gestures for you to lift up your arms and when you do he drapes the soft material over you “Good girl” he throws you a wink before turning back to the couch, unable to contain his smirk as he hears your little wriggles beneath the blanket at his choice of words

He begins his work, layering the fluffiest of the blankets down, tucking it into the edges of the couch cushions. Next he piles the random assortment of pillows you had hoarded to cradle you, while he takes your favourite blanket and drapes it over, folding it at the top so you can slip in. It’s then he adds the final touches, bringing through a pitcher of water and fresh box of tissues, before flicking on the softer lamp

“There” he says, looking proud of his creation

He looks towards you for confirmation, finding you smiling sweetly at him before sipping your water again, doing your best to hold back the coughs that threaten bubble over

“Doing alright love” he kneels down, hand finding your thigh through the plush material

You nod but then wear a slightly embarrassed smile 

“What’s wrong? You want the bigger blanket” he rubs your legs, worried there's a draft he’s not noticed

“Rem…do I smell?” you blurt out, pursing your lips a little “I feel stinky” you confess, nose all scrunched

He does his best not to chuckle, especially as he notices a stray hair that’s falling forward like a depressed little unicorn

“Hmmm” he leans forward “Let me see” he begins to dramatically sniff around you, basking in your croaky giggles before he widens his eyes “Oh my!” he pretends to faint from the smell, head falling into you lap

“Rem!” you huff, shoving him a little before you cough again “Remmy!” you shake him again, your tone in time with the shakes but your coughs get the better of you and it soon turns into a small fit

“Oh…hun” he feels guilty as he lifts his head, shifting to sit on the arm of the chair as he rubs your back softly “Slow breaths, you’re gonna be okay I promise” he assures noticing your slight distress as you struggle to catch your breath

When your breathing stabilises you lean into him “And you say I’ll be the death of you” you meekly chuckle, earning you a kiss to the head

Once he’s sure you’re okay Remus stands “Come on” he helps you up “I’ll run you a bath…” he tells you before adding the next part with a grin “...it’ll help you feel less stinky” 

You roll your eyes before your expression drops, realising he said ‘you’ and not ‘we’ just now “You aren’t going to join me?” you say, reaching what must reaching a record breaking amount of pouts in one day 

He shakes his head “Sorry love, not this time” he flicks his thumb across your cheek before taking your hand again “That alright?” he starts to lead you

After a semi grumpy ‘hmph’ but allow him to take you upstairs. As you enter the bathroom he sits you down at the end of the tub, feeling your eyes as he goes into the cupboard to fetch you a towel, catching you leaning forward to continue watching as he heads into the bedroom to fetch you fresh clothes, and by clothes a set of his old pjs

“I brought you some underwear if you want it” he gestures to the delicates, well…more delicate as he’s already correctly assumed you probably wouldn’t want a bra

“Thanks” you smile at him, standing to give him a proper kiss but he turns his head at the last minute causing you to miss, catching his cheek instead “Remmy!” you scold in the quietest little voice as not to induce another coughing fit

He chuckles “Sorry little sickling” he pats your head “Can’t have us both sick” he explains “Be tragic”

You cross your arms “I’m not a sickling” you grumble, looking away for a moment before you attempt to broker “One” you plead, but he doesn’t budge “Please…pretty please…chocolate on top?”

It kills him to deny you, especially when you look at him like that…and offer hi chocolate, but he could only have one sickling in this house at a time, and far to often does he take up that mantle

“Bath first, then you can try negotiating little sickling” he uses the nickname again, revealing in how it annoys you in the cutest way

After one last attempt with those eyes you give in, shoulders slumping as you mutter a small ‘fine’d’, moving around him to begin underdressing. Remus takes that as a cue to take your place at the tub, sitting closer to the tap as he runs you your bath, fingers softly flicking under the running water as he waits for it to heat

“Rem honey?” you attempt gain his attention after a couple minutes

I know that tone

“Reeemmm” he can just imagine the poses

He hangs his head a little, smirking to himself, he had to admire your attempts. Still, he lives to annoy you even if you were to quote future you ‘mortally wounded’, so he leaves you to stew a little, focusing on placing the plug in the drain, and pouring some of your favourite smellies and salts in. It’s only after you let out another ‘hmph’ that his body pulses a laugh, failing to hold it in as you must resemble a bunny thumping when their mad or want attention, in fact he’s surprised he didn’t hear your foot stomp

“Lov…” he turns around, words leaving him as he can’t stop the loving smirk at your figure “No” he says half heartedly

“Please” you bring your arms a little closer to your sides, accentuating two particular assets

Remus meant when he said the sight of both of you sick would be tragic but he’s losing that battle with how good you look as you try to seduce him into giving you a kiss…or the getting in the bath with you…or both, probably both

“Rem!” you whine, scrunching your face before your eyes light up turning around, wiggling

He takes a moment to admire the jiggle before he stands, wrapping his arms around you, causing you to turn and face him, a winning smile on your face but it falls as he tilts his head, giving you a downturned smile

“Did it work even a little bit?” you sulk

He chuckles, fingers raking through your hair, being careful of the tugs that have formed “If you weren’t sick love I’d be afraid of flooding the bathroom with how quickly you would have gotten dragged over there” he nods across the hall, causing you to shyly smile “I promise you’ll get all the real kisses you want once you recover” 

“Plus interest?” you pose, rocking on your toes as you bite your lip a little, and he’s suddenly aware of the double meaning in your tone

Merlin he could fall in love with you all over again

“Plus interest” he agrees with a chuckle, giving you a big smile and kiss to the top of your head before turning back to the bath before it really does overflow

Leaning back over the tub he turns off the tap, pulling the sleeves of his jumper up as he checks the temperature and gently mixes in the soap. Once he’s happy with the water to bubbles ratio he wipes the soap that clings to his forearms and reaches out towards you

“Ready love?” 

You nod, taking his hands and letting him guide you carefully into the tub. A hiss escapes your lips as your foot touches the water, taking a moment to adjust to the temperature, while Remus, ever the gentlemen, Remus keeps a steady hold on you as you sink in fully, and once you’re settled he gently gathers your hair, securing it out of the way before it has a chance to dip into the water, he would help you wash it later

“The steam will help clear your sinuses while I make us some dinner” he tells you as he kneels next to the tub, the backs of his fingers finding your cheek for a moment “I got you”

You lean into it, getting shy under his care “You’re too sweet” you bring your knees up to your chest

Remus’ lips part at the use of his monthly catchphrase being used against him. You were always to patient when he was a grumpy old sod before his transformations, and so sweet and gentle after them, making him warm food, tending to his wounds, kissing everything better

Time to return the favour

He brings his lips to the corner of your own, lingering there before he uses your own words against you “Just treating you the way you deserve” he plants another to your temple then stands “I’ll be back soon” 

You give him a small nod, coughing gently “Thank you Remmy” you smile, practically melting into the tub “I love you”

“I love you more…” he blows you a kiss before he leaves, but just before the door closes he adds “...my little sickling” 

“REM!”

Thank you for reading ♡

[harryspet]

homestead | r.cameron [p.2]

[warnings]dark!rafe cameron x pregnant!reader, farmer!rafe, pogue!reader, implied jj x reader, kidnapping, NONCON, unprotected sex, little editing,READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

word count: 3.4k

In which you confront Rafe's unsettling mix of tenderness and manipulation.

part one

Your search of the room for anything useful as a weapon was not fruitful. Most drawers were empty except for clothes. You found more pairs of pajamas and nightgowns, but searching the closet only yielded a few hung sundresses. The bathroom was simple, with a clawfoot tub and another window looking out onto green pastures. On the bathroom counter, you found a wicker basket full of what you assumed were newly bought essentials. Several containers of prenatal vitamins, body washes and creams for sensitive skin, panty liners, Epsom salts, and essential oils. 

Rafe Cameron thought of all of this?

The window offered a view of the other side of the house and a large white barn and Rafe’s blue pickup truck caught your eye. You stepped into the tub to get a closer look out the window. Maybe you could see a road, a way out of here, or even a street sign that might tell you where you were. Just like the bedroom windows, they didn’t budge either. 

The bedroom door swings open once more, and you sink into the empty tub, your head cradled in your hands as you desperately try to force your mind to function. For the sake of your baby, you need to think clearly. The overwhelming situation presses down on you, making it even harder to process what’s happening. You can sense his presence in the doorway, but you can't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“I made scrambled eggs,” He said. 

“They make me sick,” You said stoically, “Haven’t eaten them in months.”

“Good to know,” His tall, broad figure stood over you before you heard him kneel down beside the tub, “I also brought yogurt and fresh fruit. How does that sound?”

“All the windows are locked.”

“Uh, yeah,” he said as if it were normal, “I know you’re hungry. You need your strength. I don’t have to remind you why.”

You looked up to see his hand offering a white bowl filled with yogurt, fresh blueberries, and strawberries. He was right—you needed your strength. If not for the baby, then to gather the energy to escape. Perhaps you could think more clearly on a full stomach. You gazed at the food for a full minute, trying to rationalize why you should accept it, wrestling with the cognitive dissonance that churned within you.

You took it from his hands without a thank you and stirred your spoon about twenty times before finally bringing it to your mouth. It tasted heavenly, which you hated. “There’s the cutest farmer’s market a couple of miles from here. The blueberries are incredible but you gotta get there early on Sunday before they’re sold out.”

You met his eyes for a brief moment and realized they were sparkling with joy. You didn’t have to respond to him, he’d happily talk to himself as long as he felt like he was making some progress with you. You couldn’t let me feel that way for long, “You’ve outdone yourself, Rafe, really.”

“Just want you to be comfortable,” He shrugged, and you rolled your eyes, “It’s a lot right now, I know that.”

“A lot,” you scoffed, bitterness laced throughout your tone. “This is insane.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he suppressed it, whatever it was, “You’re safe here. Your baby’s safe here. There’s plenty of room, plenty of food, and you’d never have to work a real jon. You haven’t even seen everything yet, but it’s beautiful. It’s a great place to raise a kid.”

“Rafe, you took the choice away from me.”

He shook his head, “So what? I saved you from suffering even further. Not even a little part of you regrets choosing JJ?”

You went quiet, feeling your temper rising. Instead of responding, you brought another spoonful to your mouth. He didn’t understand why this was so completely wrong, and presenting him with common sense didn’t seem to be working. 

“I love you, Y/N,” He spoke as if to get your attention, but you didn’t meet his eyes this time, “Don’t start thinking anyone’s coming to save you, Y/N. And you won’t overpower me or make it far running. Not in your condition. You know that.”

You knew that, didn’t you? Clearly, JJ didn’t care enough about you to do better. And Pope had a bright future ahead of him. Maybe he’d realize he was better off without you. What were you to do now? Give in when you’ve just realized that Rafe is a monster?

“Finish your food, I’ll be back later,” When you looked again he had the plate in hand and was walking away, not without loudly shutting the door. 

Your head tilted back against the cold porcelain. This would turn out to be a game of endurance. You had to outlast him and perhaps outthink him. He’d been planning to bring you here for weeks, but he couldn’t have planned for everything. 

You finished your food and then spent the next few hours exploring the room in more detail, ensuring you hadn’t missed any detail. After all that time, the only new discovery that you make is under the bed. Still, in its packaging, you find a pregnancy pillow. You wouldn’t admit that you felt a small comfort at the sight of it. Sleeping had started to feel completely uncomfortable over the past few weeks, and you woke up painfully sore each morning.

It felt wrong when you knew it shouldn’t. In the meantime, you’d also take some of the prenatal vitamins. You could only afford one bottle of the generic brand, but Rafe provided several different types. Taking multiple kinds meant you weren’t missing any nutrients your baby might need. In just a matter of hours, you were starting to realize all that you didn’t have. 

You unzipped the pillow from its packaging, letting yourself feel the soft material against your chest. Although the knock at the door wasn’t loud, it startled you. Rafe appeared now in work boots, jeans, and a flannel. He held the doorknob in his hand and looked you over as if he hadn’t just seen you or picked out the exact outfit he wanted to see you in. You noticed he was even taller in those boots.

“What do you think?” He gestured to the pillow.

“Looks expensive,” You said simply.

“It had the best reviews,” he added, “You’ll have to let me know how you like it tomorrow morning.”

You stared back at him, shifting on your feet. "Can I show you something?" he asked, the door still wide open. A chance to leave. Of course, you’d take it. Faking compliance, you carefully stepped towards him. As you crossed the threshold of your room, you allowed him to place a hand on the small of your back. "The room right next door," he said.

Your eyes were anywhere but that door. You were scoping out the entire hallway. There were two more doors across the hallway, perhaps one of them was Rafe’s, and you spotted the staircase. The walls were painted a muted beige and adorned with several rustic paintings. The scent of mahogany lingered in the air, likely one of Rafe’s attempts to make this place feel like a home rather than a prison. You couldn’t turn your head far as Rafe was urging you forward. 

“I’ve been working on something,” When Rafe opened the door, you stepped inside a brand new nursery room, “Rose helped with the decorations, but  I can change anything that you don’t like.”

The wallpaper was decorated with blue flowers and little woodland creatures. A wooden crib sat in the corner, a white canopy draping right next to a rocking chair. The window on the far side of the room also looked out onto green pastures. Shelves on the walls were already adorned with toys and baby books. It was surreal. Beautiful and horrifying. You clutched your chest as you slowly walked around the room. 

“Rafe,” was all you could manage to say.

“I didn’t get a lot of clothes yet. I knew you’d want to pick those out,” His arms raised up, scratching his head as if he was nervous to see your reaction. Over the crib, you noticed the space-themed mobile you had picked out at the store gently hanging down. "It’s a good start, right?" he added, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“It’s literally perfect,” You couldn’t lie at that moment, “Rafe, d-do you really think I would be that horrible of a mom on my own?”

“No,” He rushed out, his face falling, “What? No, I don’t think that.”

“I could never give my baby anything like this.”

He came closer, but you stepped back, “That’s not what I’ve been trying to say with all of this. I think you’d be a great mom. You’re gonna be a great mom.”

You needed to hear those words. Maybe Rafe was the wrong source but you needed that confirmation. In a moment of weakness, you let him closer. He wiped your tears as they began to fall, “It’s not about what you have, but I’m telling you that I won’t let you do it on your own,” He wrapped his arm around your waist and tear-eyed, and you let your head rest on his chest, “I’ll take care of every little worry. All you have to do is agree to be mine.”

“If you really care about me,” you said softly, letting him run his hands over your hair. “You’ll let me make my own choices.”

“Y/N–”

“I appreciate everything you’ve done. I really do,” You lied, “And I want this. I promise. I know JJ is no good for me or the baby. Could you just give me a little bit more time?”

“You’ll go back to him,” Rafe said. His grip on your waist tightened, and you pulled your head away from his chest, gazing up at him. 

“It’s not your baby. You know that, right?” It was the wrong thing to say. His nostrils flared, and your heartbeat quickened. There was no reeling it back, so you pressed him further, “Even if we don’t end up together, I wouldn’t keep his baby from him. That’s wrong.”

“What he’s done to you is worse.”

“You’re right,” You said, trying to maintain the calm, “I know that now. And I understand that you care about me-”

“Do you understand? Really understand? Huh?” 

“Rafe-” You pushed at his chest, and he grabbed your wrists tightly. Your eyes widened as you struggled against him, “Please don’t hurt me.”

Powerless, he held you there, “I’d love your baby like it was mine, I would. And soon after, we could have our own. That’s what I want, for us to be a family,” Each word was low, tight, and controlled as he glared down at you. 

“Okay,” You agreed, scared more than anything, “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll show you,” He was completely cold now, “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you. How you deserve to be treated. Everything I can give you. Then you’ll see, huh?”

He forced you down to the plush blue carpet with his body weight. You weren’t used to how your center of gravity had shifted, how your belly was also keeping you from being able to push back against him, “Please,” You said over and over again, your arms flailing until he pinned them above your head. You were out of breath already, and you had to slow your movementsand stop your struggling just to catch your breath. In this position, the baby is pressed against your further against your diaphragm, “Rafe, don’t.”

He just looked at you hungrily, grunting as he pulled down your bottoms and underwear. 

“You’re so beautiful like this,” He reached between your legs, and you felt your body freeze, “Fucking gorgeous … I’m so lucky.”

You might’ve swooned in any other context. You were more swollen and much more sensitive, meaning you felt every caress that he made. You didn’t want to, but your head tilted back as he carefully rubbed your sensitive mound, “I’ll make you feel good … haven’t been touched in so long. Daddy’s gonna take care of you,” You told yourself that your body was just reacting, that it didn’t matter how good it felt because you didn’t ask for it. He kept your hands pinned only using one of his, as he used his other to undo his jeans. When he finally freed himself, able to palm his growing hardness through his briefs, he let go of your wrists. On your elbows, you tried to pull yourself away and you caught a glimpse of a smirk on his face. He liked this. Watching you struggle and attempt to crawl away. 

You yelped when he grabbed your hips, pulling you back and lifting them up at the same. He was inside of you before you could fully comprehend it. You could handle it if he thrust hard into you if he destroyed you fast, but Rafe took his time with you. There was no rush or hurry in his movements. He went as deep as you would take him, and his long strokes left you crying out with each one. 

You could handle it if it weren’t personal, but Rafe leaned over you and stared into your eyes with fierce determination. He talked you through every rush of pleasure, “I know, baby,” He’d coo when he knew it was too much, “Feels too good, don’t it?”

“I know you’re gonna cum for me,” He’d say when your eyes threatened to roll back into your head. “Cum all over me, baby,” He said when you finally couldn’t take it anymore. 

When he spilled into you, your body froze again. He cursed, his hips rutting into you. You felt every drop of him, and he didn’t pull out until he’d fully emptied himself inside of you. He sits back on his knees, and you hear him pull up his zipper. 

You flinched when you felt his hand on your thigh again.

“I’m sorry.”

What exactly he was apologizing for, you had no idea.

Rafe had gotten what he wanted because you didn’t speak out of turn once over the next two days. At some point, you expected the cavalry to arrive and come save you, but that hope shrank with each passing day. He invited you out of your room, and each time, you denied it. You easily recalled what happened the last time you left your room. You had all you could mentally handle within the room, and Rafe would bring you all three needed meals and snacks. You were quiet when he started the conversation, but you mustered up a few sentences for him when he grew frustrated at the lack of back and forth. 

You should have been focused on escape, but all you could think about was never letting him do to you again what he had done on the nursery floor. Being pregnant already made you feel like you had no control over your body. Rafe amplified that feeling, making you feel even more vulnerable and easily manipulated given your current state.

You spent most of the day sleeping, punctuated by long baths or staring out the window. Rafe woke up early each morning to tend to chores, the animals, and the early summer harvest. The vast expanse of land meant you didn’t see all the animals during the day, but in the afternoons when he fed Wrangler and Sadie, many of the animals rushed to the fence, hoping for scraps.

“Got you some books,” Rafe said when he came to see you around dinner time. To your disappointment, he wasn’t carrying any dinner with him. He set the stack of books on the dresser before adding, “And I ordered pizza.”

“Thank you,” you said, resting your head back down on your pillow, hoping that meant he’d bring it to you later. 

“Come watch a movie with me, I finally got the surround sound set up.”

“I’d like to eat up here, please?” You asked quietly, “I don’t feel good.”

“You haven’t felt good since you got here.” You let him sit in silence, “You’ll come eat downstairs tonight, Y/N.”

This was the first time you felt he was forcing you out of your room. You didn’t have the courage to upset him, so you lifted yourself out of the bed. He watched you intently, as if waiting for your compliance, aware of your recent streak of obedience. The way the look on his face softened was obvious, and you hated how relieved that made you feel. 

This time, he led you down the staircase, his hand gently guiding the small of your back as you held onto the railings. As you descended, you caught a glimpse of the front door, sunlight streaming in from the setting sun, but Rafe guided you in the opposite direction.

You passed through a large dining area with a substantial dark wooden table near the front of the house, then continued into a cozy living room. A plush sectional couch faced a massive stone fireplace, underneath which neatly stacked firewood awaited use. Above, a large flatscreen TV was mounted on the wall, flanked by windows dressed in simple, cream-colored curtains. Adjacent to the windows, a bookcase filled mostly with DVDs caught your eye.

He took the time to show you the downstairs bathroom and laundry room before leading you to the kitchen, which was located toward the back of the house. It was straight out of a magazine, spacious and well-appointed, complete with a charming breakfast nook. Many of the touches seemed to reflect Rose's influence, and seeing the rest of the house gave you a clearer picture of just how well-off he was.

A box of pizza sat atop the kitchen island, and Rafe pulled out one of the stools for you to sit on.

“You take care of this place all by yourself?” You asked as Rafe helped you into the seat.

“I’ve had some help,” He shrugged, “But I won’t need much help anymore now that you’re here.”

“You’re expecting me to take care of the house?” 

“Someday soon,” he spoke nonchalantly, opening the pizza box. He grabbed a slice straight from it and started eating so you assumed you could do the same. He added with a slightly full mouth, “Better than working at The Wreck.”

You took a bite of your pizza, not wanting to delve into that conversation further. You should’ve known he was expecting you to be a homemaker. Now that you were gonna be a Mom, you didn’t need to have any career aspirations. 

You picked at your slice under his careful eye. This house exuded a warmth that almost drowned out the coldness you felt toward Rafe. You took the time to map out all the windows and doors and the downstairs layout. It kept your mind busy and, combined with the food, provided a helpful distraction. 

“Are you feeling better now?” His voice cut through the silence. 

“I’m fine.”

“You still like those cheesy rom-coms?”

A memory flashed in your mind. You saw Rafe sitting across from you on his bed. A huge party was going on downstairs in Tannyhill, but you and he were upstairs watching a movie. You wanted so badly to show him Enchanted. He didn’t act impressed at the time, but you could tell he liked it because he couldn’t keep his eyes off the screen. 

“Yeah,” You answered cautiously, though the truth was that you hadn’t had time to enjoy a movie in long time. 

“I happen to have a few Patrick Dempsey movies … if that interests you,” He smiled, trying to tease you. 

“I really should get some rest . . .”

“A movie will help you relax. Just one? C’mon, we can watch Can’t Buy Me Love,” Realizing he wouldn’t let up, you gave in.

You sat on the couch as he moved to set up the movie. You should’ve known that he would sit right next to you, his arm wrapped around the pillows directly behind you, “Relax, enjoy the movie.” He said as the movie’s intro began, and you did your best to appear more like you were. When it wasn’t sufficient, Rafe pulled you closer until you could only lay against his shoulder to be comfortable. You tried to focus on one of your favorite movies and there were moments that night when you completely forgot your circumstance. 

Yet, every additional touch brought you sharply back to reality—whether it was the gentle circles his thumb traced on your arm or the tender kisses he placed atop your head.

Please let me know what your thoughts and predictions are! Reblog with a comment to be added to my taglist!

[amoristt]

trust i seek, and i find in you.

part 2 (x) part 3 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

tags: sfw // gi-hun is tooth-rottingly sweet, violence, canon thru the canon cuz idc let me live, reader is a angry wet cat a/n: this is kinda like a pilot fic cuz theres gonna be three parts to this hehehe and relationship building is hardddd this chapter is kinda mid but trust me the next two r peak

This wasn’t part of the plan. 

He wasn’t part of the plan.

Your goal from the moment you’d arrived- win at any cost. 

Even after the first round of Red Light, Green Light you remained determined. You slapped your palm over the glowing blue button despite the open cries and protests of the opposing side and sauntered back into your corner of the dormitory, disappearing in the sea of bodies. Being sent home was only a minor setback- you were all too quick to jump head first back into the games knowing damn well it could cost you your life. 

You didn’t care. That just meant either you died, or you left richer than you could ever even fathom. A win-win in your book, and the first had been easy enough. If it truly was just simple children's games, surely, you’d have a good chance of outplaying your competitors. You grew up more often in the streets playing with the scrappy neighborhood kids than you did inside your own home. There were very few games you hadn’t played, and honestly, gotten quite good at in your youth. 

So you had thought. 

Truthfully, dalgona had shaken you up. Even though you’d chosen a circle by triangle, a lucky guess, you never quite had honed up your fine motor skills. Games that required decent aim, mind games, or even the more physical games like tag? Sure. Wrestling? In the bag. You were confident. But having to carve out shapes in thin sugar, and doing it timed while gunshots popped off all around you? 

You remembered how bad your hands shook the entire time, your mind screaming at your lungs to just fucking breathe properly so you would stop trembling like a leaf. Distress and agitation only mounted when you noticed many of your competitors finishing, panic setting in. All you had to do, was be gentle. 

But you had never been gentle a day in your life. 

Sweat had gathered at your forehead and you on the precipice of losing your cool when the timer only had a mere 3 minutes left. You were definitely dead. You were sure of it. Your hands were too shaky, your pressure control was essentially nonexistent. The only sound you could hear was your own heart thundering in your ears, beat by beat. 

Then, you saw him for the first time. 

A man with dark, thick hair lifting his honeycomb to the light before licking along its backside frantically. At first, you didn’t know what you were looking at. But then you realized how after every lick, he’d hover it over the light overhead again. It stunned you- how had you not fucking thought of that? You, along with most everyone who was leftover, started to do the same. The sugar was sweet on your tongue. You barely even registered it. 

Your shape was free in less than 40 seconds, and you showed it to your guard for approval before you were escorted out of the room. As you went, you passed the man by, who was still hard at work. Though contradictory to your goal, you hoped he’d make it in time. Your breath left you in a sigh of relief when he’d wandered back into the dormitory afterwards, alive and well. 

After everyone that had survived filled the room, you took one look around and realized how much… Larger a majority of your competitors were. Women were far and few amongst all the men. It made you nibble at your lip, anxious. Sure, you were tough enough, a little rough around the edges, but brute strength was brute strength. And already, groups were forming, with one in particular that made you squirm. A larger man with tattoos sprawled over his neck and into his face, equipped with a bad attitude, and lackeys nipping at his heels everywhere he went. 

You needed to make some buddies if you were going to make it. But who would openly accept you? You’d done very little to even make contact with anyone, being liked enough to settle into a group. Who could you approach?

Then, it dawned on you.  

And you knew the perfect ice breaker. 

When you’d found him in the endless ocean of people, you felt a twinge of hope ring through you. His dark hair was stark under the bright lights. He was smiling, laughing, with a group of people. Though it was a team entirely composed of men, one of them was an old man, meaning that they weren’t favoring power and sheer size over all else. Maybe they’d find use in you, too. It was probably your best shot, so, you swallow down your anxiety. 

Though it took a couple seconds to build your confidence, you managed to leave the comfort of your bed and cross the massive floor of the dormitory. When you stood before him, his and the eyes of three other men you’d never seen before burning holes through you, you don’t think there was a time in your life you’d truly felt that small until then. There was so much at stake. 

“Um,” You started, fidgeting with your sleeve. Talking was never your strongest skill. “I just wanted to say thank you, uh, for the dalgona game. I probably wouldn’t have made it out if you hadn’t, started, y’know…”

Your voice died in your throat. Not a single one of them made a peep. It made you want to turn around and scamper back into your little cave. Fuck it. Who needed friends. And you’re about to, too, when the man suddenly erupts into a smile so boyish, so genuine it almost takes your breath away. Up close now, you could see him better. Some light facial hair, rosy cheeks, and a curl to his disheveled hair. 

He was cute. 

“You’re welcome, it was nothing, really!” He said, and his voice was so kind. Maybe integrating wouldn’t be as hard as you’d believed initially- this man had a warmness about him. Something inviting. But you knew that you needed an in, a reason for them to let you stick around. It wasn’t going to be strength, that was for sure. Maybe speed, but you weren't even sure if any games would require that. And though you had street smarts, your analytical skills were less than impressive. 

So, you take a chance, and you decide to use some of that good-natured temperament against him. 

“Um, if you don’t mind,” You’d forced out, trying to maintain an even tone. “I never really got to play games as a child, my, uh, my mother was very strict. She preferred I spent my time inside and, y’know, coloring and stuff.” You feel like a fucking idiot, word soup falling from your lips pathetically. “...I’m a bit at a loss for what’s to come. Could I, maybe… Maybe hang around you guys?”

Almost everything you had said was a bold, outright lie. But you needed an in. 

There’s mixed glances all around. The curly haired man's eyes immediately flick to the man on his left, who sat proud with an intimidating glare. He didn’t bother to hide the way he sized you up, glancing up and down. The old man had seemed far away, a smile painting on his lips that you couldn’t quite understand. 

Suddenly you’re 8 years old again, standing before a group of your classmates trying to kindle some forms of friendship moments before they’d shoved you in a locker. 

You’re sure your plan was fried, when a darker skinned man turned towards you.

“Of course! I don’t really know the games either, myself, so…” His voice was just as kind as the curly haired mans, maybe even kinder. His eyes were warm, his expression light as the sun. “We can all help each other.”

The curly haired man leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Alright! What’s your name?”

Once you offered your name up, albeit hesitant, everyone's names were traded. Well, more like they’d given into your request. It was a trust thing, and maybe if they’d attached a name to your face, you’d have better luck melding in. You tried to memorize them all. Cho Sang-Woo, a curt business graduate from SNU. Ali Abdul, a factory worker from Pakistan- which explained why he felt he was at a disadvantage. The elderly gentleman who didn’t really seem to be all there, couldn’t seem to recall his own name. It made this unsettling pity build its home in your belly. 

And then Seong Gi-hun, who sung everyones praises except his own. 

You didn’t miss the way Sang-woo sized you up as you sat among them. But, you did miss the way Gi-hun’s eyes rarely left you as you got to know your new acquaintances. Ali, in particular was more than happy to have you around. He was sweeter than you’d anticipated, asked you all sorts of questions about your life. 

You lied more often than you didn’t. After all, this was all just strategy. 

My parents are alive. My favorite food is bulgogi. My mom is strict, but only because she cares.

 I grew up in a very loving home.

Gi-hun asked why you were competing. You felt your throat tighten. 

So I can show everyone I’m not a fuck up, your mind screams. But instead, you say, “To make my parents proud.” 

He seems to like your answer. So does Sang-woo, resonating. You could only assume he was doing the same. That’s when you knew you were in. 

It turned out, you were just in time, too. Not even an hour later did you witness a fight break out- that scary man you’d seen earlier with his backup absolutely beating on a different man you’d never seen before, waiting any moment now for a guard to intervene, only for the man to die in his spot on the floor. They came and took his body away in a timely fashion. You remembered shrinking in on yourself. That was also the moment you realized that Sang-woo and Gi-hun were much better people than you- because while they sauntered from their spots to check on the poor man beaten to a pulp on the floor, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. 

You remembered the grave expression on Sang-woo’s face when there was no pulse to be felt. How Gi-hun knelt beside him and tried to call for help in vain. The guards paid him no mind despite the way he demanded they do something, anything. A man just died for god's sake at the hands of player 101- how could they just allow this to happen?

Nothing but empty stares in response.

Money dropped into the bank held high overhead. Surreal.

It made you pale in the face, the sinking reality that killing your competitors in cold blood was not only allowed, but encouraged. 

You remembered your ride back to the games, watching the smoke fill the car and telling yourself, you could do this. 

You’d made a serve lapse in judgement. 

The rest of that evening, before lights out, was… Tense. This lingering dread that hung thick in the air and threatened to suffocate you. You fidgeted with your cuticles and the sleeve of your tracksuit, trying to ignore the way 101 and his lackeys watched you. Ripples of fear were starting to shake your reflection in the waters of your mind. You dug small lines into your fingers, picking at the skin around your nail beds until they sprouted dots of blood. As the minutes tick by, your heart rate increases. 

You’re so caught up in trying to keep your breathing level that you don’t hear Sang-woo begin to speak. It’s only when Ali glances at you and holds a stare do you suddenly perk up.

“Stay close when you go to sleep. Anything could happen tonight.” 

You hate his tone. It scares you- god, it’s been a long time since you’d felt scared. It’d been a long time since you felt self doubt. Sang-woo’s expression is expectant, so you nod quickly in affirmation, trying to mentally lean on the fact that he’d told you to stay nearby. You could be protected.

 His eyes flicker between you and 101’s group. 

“Those guys are definitely up to no good. If anyone gets attacked, we have to stick together and fight.”

Gi-hun’s line of sight found yours, his lips drawn into a frown, before he began to grab the old man's attention to let him know to keep his guard up. That poor old man. He had no idea what was coming. And, as if the size of Gi-hun’s heart wasn’t big enough, you watched him stagger to his feet and approach the woman who’d been deemed a pickpocket. You didn’t need to hear what was said, you already knew he was trying to look out for her. 

He was so pure in nature you almost felt like your very presence was tainting him. 

Here he was going out of his way time and time again, throwing trust in every direction, meanwhile you couldn’t even bring yourself to trust them enough to be honest about something as puny as your favorite food. Guilt made teeth gnash into skin, chewing away at the inside of your lip and cheeks. 

From beside you, the old man shifted. He looked… Tired. Vacant. You lean towards him.

“Uh, sir,” You murmur. “If anything happens, I’m on the top bed. I’ll jump down.”

It takes a long while for him to answer you. Gears are turning in his mind almost visibly, but then he smiles.

“You remind me of- ah- what was her name?”

You tilt your head. “Who?”

He hums in thought. “Let’s see… Her name was… Was…”

If you felt like shit over his condition before, this was an entirely new low. Why the hell was he here? Would he be shown mercy, or would he be plucked from the herd? How could anyone be so savage? 

Another bout of nerves trickles down your spine. 

“Oh, nevermind.” Waving the thought away, he rests his elbows on his lap and leans towards you, voice hushed. “You remind me of someone in my youth. She was a funny girl.”

You can’t help but chuckle, raising a brow. “Funny?”

“Funny.” He sighs in thought. “Always telling stories.”

Even though his voice is far away, and even though he’s clearly not in his right mind, some weird feeling settles in your gut. Like you’d been caught, somehow. So little had been said but you stared at him, bewildered. What was he on about? Did he know you were lying? How?

“Well… Regardless, be careful tonight, yeah? We’ll come find you.”

There he goes, waving his hand again. It’s almost like he doesn't believe you. Or maybe he just doesn’t understand how dire the entire ordeal was. 

You try to gag down that weird feeling, but it’s hard, uncomfortable. Instead of letting it wrack your brain, you decide to just chalk it up to him being a senile old man and leave at that. There was no way he knew anything about you. This man was a total stranger. There's movement in the corner of your eye and you’re all too relieved to focus on something else. 

Gi-hun stands before you. 

“Where are you sleeping?” He sits next to you and leans forward. You point to the top bed, and he sighs in relief before pointing to the highest bed neighboring yours. “I’ll be there. If you’re attacked-”

“Find you guys.” 

He lingers over your face for a couple seconds, before he turns and stares forward. “Are you worried?”

“No.” Your voice leaves you too fast, too forced. Wringing hands, bleeding cuticles. You swallow it all down. The same as you’d done your entire life. “Are you?”

At first, he thinks on it. But you already know the answer. He nods once. “I think things are going to go bad, tonight.”

There’s a heavy silence that befalls you, thickening the gap between yours and his shoulders. You stare at the floor. “...I hope not.” 

Then, Gi-hun blurts something out, something that’s supposed to be genuine but only in the way he would mean it.

“You can move your pillow to my bed.” 

Instantly, your cheeks are warm. “E-Excuse me?”

The crazy thing is that he doesn’t even register what he’d said as anything other than innocent. He just stares at you with expectant eyes and an expression so sincere it has you second guessing your reaction. But then, those eyes widen. 

“Wait- Wait, not like that. I just meant that- You know, so that way you wouldn’t have to worry!” He’s stammering and rambling. “Not next to each other, no, more like, if you slept one on one end and I’d sleep on the other.” 

It’s almost alluring. You kind of want to say yes. He’s swallowing hard and his face is red by the time he lets up enough to let you actually answer. It leaves you in a gentle rejection. 

“Thanks but, no thanks.”

“Of course, of course.” His expression is strained as he watches everyone climb into their beds. The nerves are getting real, now. Time was moving faster than you could keep up with. 

“Lights out in five minutes.” A voice echoes from a speaker. You feel your stomach drop. 

Standing up, you hide the way your hands shake, just a little. 

“You know where we are.” Gi-hun murmurs. 

“Thank you.” You breathe. 

The climb up to your bed just before lights out felt like it took an eternity. Step after step up the stairs that suddenly seemed deadly hard, climbing onto your bed at the top bunk, observing for what could be your last time. Suddenly everything your eyes could see was dangerous. It felt like the zero hour- that any second now, all of this hush-hush would erupt into an inferno of violence. Your entire life you grew up proud of your ability to hold your own. Prided yourself that you didn’t need anyone- you didn’t need anything. 

And yet, when you lay down, the very first thing you do is share glances with Gi-hun from his bunk. You feel exposed, cold. Vulnerable. 

If you’re attacked, find them.

Gi-hun nods at you, a silent pact. You nod back.

The lights drop out and bathe you in darkness. 

You wished you had said yes. 

--

That night, it was a scream that set it all into motion. A scream that sliced through the darkness and had you launching up from your spot.

Your eyes frantically searched the room, seeing movement at every corner, every bed. Violence. Absolute chaos. A dozen screams echoed off the walls, shrill enough to make you cover your ears as you peeked over your bed to watch down below. Merely a few feet down laid a body, blood spilling from their throat and soaking into their clothes, their bed sheet wrapped around their head. Player’s tripped over the corpse as they fought to escape their attackers. 

Before you could even move, you felt your world flip upside down. 

Actually, it was your entire bed. Gravity fell through and you were sent tumbling to the floor, hitting the hard ground with a crack that sent waves of pain rippling down your sides. You gasped for air, struggling to regain your footing. You pressed your palms flat down to heave yourself up onto your knees but your right arm slipped in something wet, something warm. You smacked your chin off the floor and felt blood pill and drip down your chin from your lips. All you could taste was copper. 

Flashing lights blinded you, bodies moved from every direction. 

When you finally managed to bring yourself to your knees, and then to your wobbly feet, you could only vaguely get an understanding of the devastation before you. 

Bodies everywhere. Blood spilling and pooling at every step. You brought your hands up and a crack of white light revealed what you had slipped in, exactly what you were afraid of. Crimson red dripped down from your palm into the ditch of your arm. You felt sick.

You were scared. 

Another flicker of pulsating light allows you to take in your immediate surroundings. Other than the blood, you see beds and pillows scattered amongst the floor. 

Your first thought is to hide. To crawl underneath a bed and wait it all out praying no one dragged you away kicking and screaming.

But then, you see him. 

You see Gi-hun trapped between the bars of a tipped over bed frame, struggling to break free, wide eyes darting from left to right in his frenzy. Without even thinking, you dash for him. You pay no mind to the people laying at your feet, or the way that you almost slip on your way over in yet another puddle of blood. All you care about is making it to him. His knuckles are white with the force of trying to pry the frame off of him to no avail. You press your foot up against the standing frame he’s laying on and grab onto bars of those holding him in place, and then you heave with everything you’ve got in you. It lifts just enough for him to wriggle out from under its hold, ducking and crawling between the bars until he’s free and scrabbling to his feet beside you. 

You take a moment to assess him, grabbing his shoulders, grabbing his arms. 

He’s okay. 

You don’t even think to assess yourself. But he does it for you. He touches your bleeding chin and you swat his hold away. 

“I’m fi-”

In a blur, you’re ripped by your hair backwards and sent skittering on the floor. Your head cracks back and you can’t tell if the flashes are coming from behind your eyes or in front of them anymore. In a disoriented haze, you find yourself suddenly lifted. 

You don’t even know what’s happening. Everythings a blur and your head is aching something  awful and warmth is dripping down the backside of your neck. You manage to force your eyes open and then you see her- player 067. She’s gripping you by the collar of your shirt in one hand, the other wedged underneath your arm. Blood spatters the side of her face. Her eyes are dark and dangerous.

Initially, the first thing you can think to do is rip yourself out of her grasp. So, you try. You shove against her chest and flail until she inevitably loses grip and you barely manage to launch backwards without falling over. She’s staring at you, ready. Waiting. 

Fear seizes you as you realize you can’t fight her like this- barely even conscious. Moving like a drunk and unable to comprehend the riot. 

Her voice manages to reach you, however, in one shout.

”Duck!”

Okay, you comprehend that. You send yourself to your knees on the floor with your arms instinctively crossing over your head to protect yourself. There’s a zip in the air, then the unmistakable sound of metal colliding with metal. Over your shoulder, with just a glance, you see a dark figure standing behind you and raising a metal pole to try their chance at a second time. The light glints off the bar as they prepare to crack it back down over your head.

You hurl yourself out of the way from the floor, kicking the person in the shins. They fumble forward, gripping their leg with a hissing groan of pain, giving you a chance to rush to your feet. 067 grabs you by the fabric of your tracksuit and yanks you until you’re upright, and then she’s shoving something hard and metal into your grip. 

Then, she’s gone, disappeared into the flashing lights and oceans of chaos. A small, broken bar sits heavy in your hands. 

You don’t get the chance to think before you react when you feel yourself grabbed at the shoulder and spun around, face to face with a man twice your size. He rears a fist back. 

There’s a microsecond of calm. Like you finally woke up. 

You knew how to fight. You’d done it your whole life. 

You dodge his swing, jumping back, before you bring the pole up and swing it directly to the side of the man's skull. He loses his balance, grabbing at his head, and you take the chance to plant the bottom of your foot on his stomach and ram your heel into his gut. He spits out a groan and stumbles but the fucker just won’t go down. 

So. You hit him again. 

Thwack right over the head- and that does it. He crumbles to the floor in a heap of writhing limbs. It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done.

All your senses come flooding back to you at once. 

Gi-hun.

Sangwoo. Ali. 

You spin on your heels in search. You can’t be alone like this. 

The old man.

Where the hell were they?

You pass by bunk after bunk, ducking and sauntering. Your nerves are starting to spill into your throat. With each second, a body drops, and you can’t find a single one of your friends. 

“Gi-hun!” You cry into the darkness, lost in the endless cries and pleas of a dozen others. “Sang-woo!”

You needed protection.

You find yourself in a small opening, three standing bunks and one tipped on an angle, forming a barrier. Just beyond the make-shift wall of beams, movement shifts just where your eyes struggle to reach. Two hulking figures with broad shoulders, ready to lunge at any moment, lurking, waiting for you to slip up and hop within reach from the otherside of the tipped over bunk. Another figure closes in on the opposite side of you, the only other opening. You recognize him- the man you’d kicked in the leg. A viscous grin playing over his lips as he closes in on you. You’re being circled. You ran right into a corner like a cat before snarling hounds.

If you’re attacked, find them. 

“Sang-woo!” You cry, holding the bar to you, swinging every time the man steps too close. If he gets his hands on you, it’s over. “Sang-woo!”

You have to get out of here.

An arm shoots out from the barrier of bars, one of the two men swiping as you back away from the third. Your eyes can’t keep up with all of them. You’re outnumbered. You’re injured.  You have to make a break for it- you have to. Your group is nowhere to be found and at this point you feel like they’re definitely dead. You have to save yourself, dash as far as you can get and pray that you’re lost in the flashing lights.

But then you realize what you’re looking at through the jungle of bars.

You realize that the bed they’re looming over is where the old man had slept. There’s a mass underneath all those tipped over crossing beams, smothered and crushed by the weight of the frames. The unmistakable fabric of the tracksuit is just barely visible underneath it all. Your breath stops. 

He could be dead. 

You don’t have time. 

He could be injured.

You’ll die if you stay here.

They’ll kill him. 

They’ll kill you. Think of yourself.

Think of yourself. 

But you don’t.

You don’t think of yourself when you leap towards him.

You dive under and drag him out.

Only to discover all that remains is his mattress and pillow. His jacket crumpled in a pile, abandoned. Your stomach sinks into the bowels of your guts. 

A hand shoots through the gaps of the bars and grabs you by the shoulder, yanks and rams you into the beams of the frame once, twice, until your head bounces off the metal.  Your hands unclench, the bar falling from your grasp and clanging onto the floor. When you’re let go, the force sends you toppling down once more, the ground just as hard and uninviting as the first time you met it. 

You don’t get a second of reprieve. The third man pounces on you. 

His massive hand latches onto your ankle and rips you towards him, your belly dragging over the tiles, your arms swinging wildly, scrambling to find purchase on anything you could get. His other hand grabs your other leg, flipping you onto your back. 

There’s weight so heavy on your shins and thighs you really feel like you may be crushed under it, thrashing and clawing blindly as the lights flashed and disoriented you even further. You catch your nails into something soft- hair, you realize, and you grab so tight it hurts your knuckles and you wrench to the side in a frantic attempt to pull off your attacker. 

There’s a satisfying crack when his head rams into metal. For just a second, for a blink of an eye, you have hope. 

But you were wrong. 

He hauls your hand away from his hair, taking chunks with it before striking your shoulder until it was numb with vibrations traveling all the way down to the tips of your fingers. You cried out and punched at his shoulders, his chest, anything you possibly could with your other arm. You kicked, you writhed. All for naught. 

There’s hands on your throat, squeezing. You still and grapple at his wrists as fireworks explode behind your eyes. His grip is impossibly tight- your face is hot and it feels like your eyes are going to burst right from your skull.

You can’t even scream. 

He isn’t budging. 

You were going to die. 

Choked and wretched gasps weasel their way from your lips. Your body goes numb, starting in your toes and fingers. Drool slips down your chin. Flashing images and faces from your life fill your vision. 

Your childhood friends. A teacher that actually meant something to you.

A photo of your dad that your mom often cried over. 

The sounds of chaos and bloodshed seem far away.

Your childhood cat.

No one would notice you were gone. No one, except your little group. Gi-hun. 

Your friend's house. The sun poking through leaves overhead.

You don’t have it in you to fight anymore. Your arms fall heavy at your sides as the last bit of your life is choked out of you. 

What a lousy life you had lived. 

----

When you finally get the chance to breathe again, you suck in a breath so greedy and gulping that it sends you sputtering into wet coughs. You feel again- and it’s cold and everything hurts but you can feel. Your legs are kicking uselessly at the floor, your heels slipping in blood. You claw at your throat, wheezing and gasping. A hand appears in your hair, another sliding underneath your upper back and jerking you up. That man still towers over you, toying with you. Blindly, you press your hands to his chest and you shove as hard as you could possibly manage. 

It does absolutely nothing. 

“No!” You bark, voice hoarse. “Get off of me!”

A third hand grabbing your wrist. You wail. When was this going to fucking end?

“No!”

There’s so many voices you can’t even comprehend it. They’re all far away and echoing like you're underwater, drowning. That’s exactly what it feels like. Drowning- sinking and suffocating and barely managing to pop your head over the surface just long enough to wheeze in a breath of life and start all over again.

You’re being touched everywhere and you just want it all to stop- every time you try to wrench yourself away it seems another grip just stops you. You’re covered in fucking hands and you can’t do anything to get them off of you. You just want this to be over with.  Waves are crashing over your ears.

You think you hear your name among them.

It’s faint, but it’s there. You know the voice. You’re dreaming, you think. 

You’re dying. 

“It’s me!” The man is holding your face in his hands. “It’s me!”

When you finally manage to open your eyes, you expect to see the man towering over you. Evil. Unrelenting. 

But it isn't. You see Gi-hun. 

There’s blood on his suit, cuts on his face. Fresh bruises are already appearing along his cheeks. His face lights up when you meet his vision. 

“There you are! It’s me!” He wraps himself around you like a shield. Bright light beams and shines into your eyes. There’s guards and guns as far as the eye can see. 

If this was the afterlife, you’d obviously been sent to hell. But, then again, there’s arms wrapped around you, petting down your back and cupping the back of your head. You can’t recall a time in your life you’d been held so… Tenderly. 

So maybe it’s heaven. 

You’re still numb, buzzing. Nothing feels real anymore. From over his shoulder you can see two figures- Ali and Sang-woo you realize, both wielding pipes and guarding. Ali in particular white knuckling a pole almost the same size as you. 

You’re alive. 

Holy shit, you’re alive. 

To your right, you see her again. 067.

She’s beaten and bruised up, but she sits back on her haunches and watches you regain whatever composure you were able to scrounge up. She gives you a single nod. 

Thank you. You nod back. Your ears ring. 

Oh, Gi-hun is still talking to you. He’s running his hand through your hair. It feels like you can breathe again. 

It’s me. You’re okay. It’s me.

Maybe it is heaven, after all. 

When he pulls back, you’re cold. Again. You don’t realize the way you chase him, arms coming out to grasp at his biceps, desperate to keep him there. You’re barely only some-what conscious, still reeling with the after effects of being mere seconds away from meeting your maker. He holds your hands in his, and then you notice the blood. It’s all over him, it’s all over you. Your hands, your arms. Down your shoulders and soaking into the collar of your track suit. There’s a metallic tang of blood on your tongue, too. 

Blood, blood, blood. 

“You hit your head,“ He says, noticing the way your breath sucks in sharply at the sight. “It’s just a cut And this-” His thumb swipes over your lower lip, a sharp sting in his wake. You hiss and recoil. “You’re good. See? You just bit your lip.”

You aren’t sure why he’s talking you through your own injuries, as if you can’t feel them pulsating and rocketing surges of pain up and down your spine. You aren’t even sure why you’re alive right now. 

“I’m good,” You echo him. You don’t feel good. “I’m good.”

Gi-hun rests a hand on your cheek, turning your head left and right, assessing you. He drags his thumb down your cheek bones, before he gently pats you. His eyes are tender, thankful. Pretty. 

“Get up.” Someone demands, their voice deep and testing. It’s a guard, you realize, standing feet away. Ali, Sang-woo, and 067 stand with their hands up, weapons discarded on the crimson splattered floors. Gi-hun hops to his feet and drags you up with him a little too fast for you to handle, your legs unable to hold the entirety of your weight. He hoists you up by the waist. 

“She’s hurt.” He tells the guard, as if they’d cared. As if they’d help.

When the person steps to you, tall and brooding with a O bore onto their mask, you almost think that maybe they would. But then they simply pat your pockets and move on just as fast as they’d arrived. Bodies are being carted out in coffins. There’s so much death it’s hard to believe. 

101 eyes you from the other side of the room and sneers. 

You don’t even care. Your head is pounding, your neck hurts. But you’re alive, so he could kindly go fuck himself.

Along the distant wall, standing on a top bunk, you see the old man. It almost brings tears of joy to your eyes. Everyone’s alive.

And once everything settles, the bodies dragged away, the guards filtering out, the remaining competitors regrouping to their little corners, you find yourself sitting among steps with everyone else. Tired, and sore. Gi-hun is saying something that you can’t quite tune into. Something about his bed tipping. You offer little to their conversations, eyes distant and vacant, reliving the night. Surprisingly, Sang-woo is what drags your attention back to the present. He reaches over Gi-hun and pats your arm. 

You’re embarrassed that you jump. 

“Thank you, by the way.” He says, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him look at you without this… Skepticism in them. 

“For what?” 

He notions towards Gi-hun. “For being on our side. I’m glad you’re not injured too badly.”

For a long, long moment you just stare at him. Your skin is warm. Maybe because your head was swimming. Maybe because now you were realizing you weren’t just sitting amongst them purely for survival. 

“Well, thank you too, for,” Your fingers reach up mindlessly and graze over the sore spots on your neck. “Being on my side. I would have died.”

Over light conversations, trust building, Gi-hun calls it, you learn 067’s name. Sae-byeok. 

Thank you, Sae-byeok.Even if I thought you were trying to kill me at first. 

“How’s your head?” Gi-hun suddenly asks. When you fail to answer quick enough for his liking, he knocks his knee against yours. You aren’t sure what to say. It fucking hurts, but you’d make it. 

Why did your chest feel so tight every time he asked? It was making your head pound even worse. 

It takes you the rest of that morning to realize you’d never truly, in your life, felt cared for. The thought makes your heart seize up in your chest. Makes your blood flash hot and cold at once. 

This was not the plan.

[ddarker-dreams]

play wrestling — blade.

Embarrassment doesn’t find you easily.

To experience embarrassment implies a degree of self-awareness. While you possess some, it’s decreased significantly compared to your earlier years. Such is the natural progression of life. This is why you felt free to act on a little impulse, initially uncaring of how it’d reflect on you.

However, faced with two eyes as crimson as freshly spilled blood, you can’t help but do some reassessing.

“… What are you doing?” Blade asks, dryly. You feel the low rumble of his baritone voice against your palms, which you’ve splayed against his chest. His neutral countenance doesn’t give much away. According to your peer-reviewed scientific analysis, he alternates between three expressions — apathy, irritation, and wrath. There is an additional secret one for when it’s just the two of you and he doesn’t think you’re looking.

From what you can tell, you’ve landed yourself on the apathetic side of the spectrum. You can work with that. You’ll commit to the bit.

“Besting an intergalactic criminal in combat, obviously,” you scoff, faking a bravado you don’t have.

“Hm.”

“…”

“…”

Is he not going to do anything to free himself from this position?!

Blade had silently slid himself next to where you sat on the floor, playing with your phone. This unique opportunity activated a primal part of your brain that probably should’ve stayed in the vault. You wrangled him down. Now, he’s lying flat on his back, with you sitting victorious atop his lower abdomen. Long strands of his black hair fall along his side, painting a pretty picture. You suppress the urge to run your hands through his silky locks. That can come later, you have an objective to achieve.

“Are you finished?”

“Wh— well, no,” you frown. And here you thought he might indulge you. “You have to, y’know, fight back…?”

He raises an eyebrow and you want to groan.

“But I’d win.”

The declaration is made like it’s a foregone conclusion. Which, if you’re being honest, isn’t wrong. Still, he should give you some credit. You can hold your own in a fight! Maybe you’re not waving-around-a-three-thousand-pound-ancient-sword good, but you’re decent enough. He’s no fun. Kafka would’ve played around with you.

“How can you be so sure— eek!”

He grabs you by the shoulders and flips you around, reversing your position. Despite the immense speed he used, your head doesn’t hit the ground hard like it should’ve. He cushioned the impact by essentially cradling the back of your head with his hand. This is why you never believe him when he denies being a ‘secret softie.’ You know the truth.

“This is how,” he says.

You pout. “Did I at least put up a good fight?”

His silence speaks volumes.

After getting his fill of how nice you look beneath him, he climbs off you. The second you’re no longer restrained, you begin your counterattack. You lunge at him, intending to pin him down, only to feel the cool leather of his gloves against your wrists. You struggle valiantly to regain your freedom. All this does is amuse him further.

“We’re pretty evenly matched, right?” You ask, beginning to grow breathless from the energy you’re exerting.

The corners of his lips twitch upward.

“Mhm. Right.”

[bunni-v1]

Scrolling through twitter and when I saw this my immediate thought was doing this with Lighter 😭

https://x.com/christia1ocheni/status/1872898373403197862?s=46&t=CxVyUGG8BX3vSkFJqqMfKA

For those who are too lazy to open the link, essentially you challenger your partner to an arm wrestling contest and pop a tit to distract them and win. Anyway.

This works on Lighter like 100% of the time. You need him to do something for you, just flash him he’ll be real pliant then. What can he say, he loves your boobs. He’s very simple.

God but this would humiliate him so bad. He thinks you’re all cute challenging him, the undefeated champion, to an arm wrestling match. He was planning on going easy on you, because your determined face was just too cute to look at. It was just a couple bucks you bet anyway, nothing that would hurt either of you if you lost.

So he sits down at the table, arm readied all confident and smirking at you. He’s ready to let you down easy, but then you unzip your jacket and he’s face with your nuclear bombs of persuasion. His jaw drops, eyes wide at his favorite sight in the whole world, then you’re slamming his hand down on the table with a triumphant smirk.

The undefeated champion isn’t so undefeatable in the face of his partners tits, it seems. Don’t worry though, as you go to walk away he’ll grab you by your waist, very intent on teaching you a lessons in the importance of fairness in competitions.