#thank you to everyone who decides to read it

[highvern]

Totally Scrooged

Pairing: Lee Seokmin x f!reader

Genre: neighbor!au, idiots to lovers, fluff/angst/smut

warnings:  alcohol consumption, fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), protected sex, lots of crying, mentions of cheating (not reader or seokmin), theater nerd Seokmin

Length: ~16k

Note: I was hoping to post this way earlier but alas. I got sick back to back over the holidays. ANYWAYS thank u my sweet @gyuswhore for beta reading and talking me down from the edge and @miniseokminnies for all the theater knowledge. And @ugh-yoongi bc words are hard. CHECK OUT the rest of the fics on @camandemstudios and keep an eye for our next project

summary: When your ex decides to propose to his best friend he told you not to worry about only eleven months after your breakup, you decide the holidays aren’t worth it this year. You’re dedicated to ignoring the red and green splashed on every surface, but your neighbor has a way of convincing you maybe the holidays aren’t totally bad.

collab m.list || m.list

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

Shot number four is about the time you realize drinking your sorrows alone in your apartment on a Saturday night is a little bit pathetic. But you unlock your phone out of habit and the same picture of your ex down on one knee in the middle of the street in marathon gear stares back at you and a fifth shot sounds exactly like what you need.

At least the burn of peppermint schnapps is festive.

Ten months. You and Sam split barely ten months and he’s already engaged to Carson. 

After three years of dating, getting Sam to talk about plans further than a month out was like pulling teeth. When he asked you to move in with him you thought there was a very real chance he suffered some head injury that day. Sam and long term commitment didn’t mix. Your entire relationship felt like borrowed time. His engagement proved it was the truth.

In hindsight, you should’ve trusted your gut about Sam’s “platonic” “childhood” “best” “friend.” 

They did everything together. Their families vacationed in Montauk every summer, they alternated who hosted which major holiday despite living next door, there isn’t a single milestone either achieved without the other. Every time you visited his parents house the plethora of photos of your boyfriend and his best friend from cradle to present day seemed to grow exponentially. 

She’s like my sister.

Most people would frown upon dating a sibling after breaking up with their long term girlfriend, who was sick at home with the flu during Christmas, via text but what do you know? You’re the one sitting on your couch in a tiny apartment you can barely afford wallowing in drunk sorrows while they’re out celebrating.

It’s addicting. Scrolling through all the comments on their engagement photos, with a blanket over your head like some fairytale witch. Sam’s friends you tried so hard to bond with flood the comments, gushing about how cute he and Carson are, how happy they are for them. 

Your friends text you how much of a jerk he is, a few call but you ignore them. All you want is to wallow in self pity.

Like the judgemental diva she is, Shinx watches from her tower in the corner, green eyes disdainful. She never liked Sam anyway.

It’d be better if Carson wasn’t objectively likable. Everyone liked her, you included. At least, until your boyfriend dumped you in a three sentence text and she posted a picture of them together on her Instagram not twenty four hours later with the caption “the best things take a while” – color coordinated for the Spencer family photo shoot in front of their lake house.

Assholes.

Even when she isn’t dolled up for pictures, you can’t even pretend she isn’t pretty. Carson looks like she belongs on a Hollywood set, even after running a 5k at the crack of dawn. Perfect messy ponytail, face rosie but not too red. It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair. 

Shot number seven empties the bottle.

Through the living room wall your neighbor belts the lyrics to Celine Dione’s “All By Myself.”

It was ignorable the first few times he replayed it – a little poetic even given the circumstances – but it’s been nearly twenty minutes and you don’t need to be reminded how alone you are. You rocket off the couch and land against the wall with a thud.

“Keep,” knock. “It.” Knock. “Down.” Knock. Knock. KNOCK.

Mr. Neighbor, because you don’t know his name, sings louder.

In the months you’ve lived in this apartment you’ve met your neighbor exactly twice. When you first moved in only two weeks after your break up because Sam’s name was on the lease - not yours – and this was the only place you could find on such short notice in the middle of winter. You had the unfortunate privilege of riding the elevator with him in complete silence, only the sound of your pathetic cries as you moved soggy box after box. He was at least polite enough to take the stairs afterwards. And last month, during a building-wide fire drill because someone on the second floor fell asleep while making boiled eggs. Neither of you felt very chatty at four in the morning.

You couldn’t care less about splotchy cheeks or if your eyes were bloodshot. In your drunken righteousness, you don’t care that there’s mascara running down your face or the sweatshirt billowing around you has grease stains. Something snapped in you. Gritting your teeth, you rush out to the hall and straight for the neighboring door.

Your knuckles sting with each knock but he doesn’t answer until you escalate to pounding against the metal door like the police.

Mr. Neighbor must hear that because Celine cuts off mid-belt. Seconds later the door flies open.

He’s taller than you remember, your eyes level with a hole in the collar of his sweater. When you drag your gaze away from the dip of his throat the combination of tears and booze make deciphering his face incredibly difficult because he has four of them and they keep moving back and forth in blurry circles. His dark hair sticks up in a million directions. Like he put his finger in an electric socket and then tried to fix the mess himself.

Mr. Neighbor stares at you, expression unreadable. “Can I help you?”

“You know,” you start, teetering on drunk feet as you shove an indignant finger into his chest. “Some of us just want to come home from work and relax! Not listen to their neighbors screaming at the top of their lungs.”

“I didn’t realize it was that loud,” he hiccups. “I’ll turn it down.”

It’s hard to be angry when he looks like a mirror image of you. Wet, red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling nose. There’s booze in the air which could be yours but with the state he’s in it’s doubtful. Who listens to “All by Myself” ten times if they aren’t also sobbing alone in the dark? 

Guilt squeezes your chest. “Sorry, I’m just…rough day.”

Mr. Neighbor doesn’t say anything for a long time, appraising you silently. If you weren’t drunk off your rocker then the fact you aren’t wearing a bra and the old sweater you tossed on does nothing to hide that fact might be embarrassing. Or how you aren’t even wearing shoes, just fuzzy socks with a hole in the ankle. You also smell like a drunk elf who escaped the North Pole.

“It’s okay. Sorry about the music.”

Mouth moving before you know what comes out, you stop him from leaving just yet. “Why are you crying?”

“Stupid shit,” he says. “Why are you crying?”

You want to brush it off. You’re not looking for pity. Sam objectively sucked and your relationship would’ve ended one way or another. While most people preferred not to be humiliated via social media, it showed his true colors and firmly shut the door. But sometimes, it just feels good to cry all the frustration out and wish the worst on people who deserved it. And you really would prefer not to do either of those things with your neighbor you hardly know. 

Especially, when you realize he’s objectively hot even through the blur of tears and intoxication. But alcohol has a way of losing even the tightest lips.

“My ex got engaged.”

His eyes widened in shock before softening in pity. 

“Do you wanna come in?”

You don’t sense any ulterior motive. Mr. Neighbor has the vibe of someone who never met a stranger, one of those people you tell your life story to in the airport when your flights are delayed only to leave and realize the only thing you learned about him was he also hated airline food and thought flying first class on domestic flights was a waste of money.

Maybe whatever “stupid shit” he was crying over can be a distraction from your own baggage. If it can’t, at least the invite to complain to a person completely unexposed to the drama of your love life wasn’t half bad. 

But you don’t know him. His stupid shit could be infinitely worse and then you look like the asshole while he’s crying over his childhood pet passing away back at his parents house while he’s stuck in his apartment because flights during Thanksgiving were ungodly expensive.

Either way, another person to whine about the world with sounded nice.

You say yes, following him inside.

Mr. Neighbor’s apartment is similar to yours; mirrors the layout of your cramped one bedroom except with neutral colors and a lot more decor. The couch divides the living area from the kitchen. Comfy blankets and pillows littered around. Someone actually lives here, unlike your place where the most personalized thing is fridge magnets. You didn’t feel the need to decorate an apartment you didn’t see yourself staying in very long. Even if it’d been almost a year and the lease renewal sat on your countertop, signed and ready to drop off at the leasing office.

He walks into the kitchen, leaving you to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room while he fishes in the cabinet for something. You sink into one of the leather barstools and watch as he pours water from a pitcher in the sink and slides it across the counter.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You drink it all in one go while he waits, sobering up enough to realize how embarrassing this all is. You’re drunk, in your mysterious neighbor's kitchen, crying about your ex-boyfriend. But he was drunk, listening to one of the most depressing songs in history, crying about “stupid shit.” Mutually assured destruction. 

“We only broke up at Christmas last year.”

“And he’s already engaged?”

“To his best friend.”

At that, Mr. Neighbor procures another glass and pours a little bit of whiskey before presenting it to you. “That’s rough.”

This time, you don’t even wince when you swallow.

He stares, waiting for some sort of reply, tipping the bottle into his own cup but not drinking it just yet. Now that he only has one face instead of four, your face heats. Drunk, sad and a little horny because he has really nice hands, and an even better face.

You tug your phone out and push it across the counter as a distraction for you both. Not that he probably needs it, you’re a wreck. “Here look at this picture.”

Mr. Neighbor scrolls through each picture methodically. Zooming in on strangers he doesn’t even know. Mouthing the caption in silent horror. In effort not to stare at his fingers, you focus on everything else in his apartment. 

His fridge is covered in magnets and take out menus, but mixed into the collage are pictures. Photobooth strips in black and white, some large normal photos better suited for a frame. You’re too far away to decipher any of it but curiosity itches you to get a closer look. Postcards from different places, sport theme magnets. Baseball seems to be his favorite.

“He proposed to her at a Turkey Trot?” he says, like the idea is incredibly alien.

“Their families have done it since they were born. Like their moms ran it pregnant and pushed them in strollers until they could keep up.”

“That is….”

You laugh. “Insane.”

“I’m glad you said it,” he chuckles. “Who proposes after running a marathon?”

“I know!” you cry.

You tip the bottle of whiskey into your once again empty mug. There will be hell to pay in the morning but you need something to do to distract from the way your heart pinches at the sound of his laugh. The sad drunk stage is tapering into the horny drunk stage and you really don’t need to ask your nameless neighbor if he wants to make out on his couch. Although, it looks leagues comfier than the second hand lump sitting a wall over. Drinking any more will only make it worse but you need something to do with your hands that doesn’t involve touching him, or thinking about touching him.

He circles the counter and takes the barstool next to yours. Close enough you can feel the heat from his body, the smell of soap and citrus faintly tickling your nose. You want to dive into his shirt and breathe it in until you fall asleep. 

Mr. Neighbor is just a decently attractive man that has been overly generous with his time and not been a creep. That is the only reason why your brain is latching onto him right now; you know it. In a few hours, when your head hangs limp over the toilet bowl, you’ll regret this entire interaction and even more if you make it weird.

You balk, rushing away from the thought and looking for a distraction. “I’m not like…pining over him, if that's what you’re wondering. It just sucks seeing your ex who was staunchly against any long term commitment make it clear he was only against long term commitment with you.”

Mr. Neighbor seems to believe you. So many of your friends thought you harbored feelings for Sam this long after the break up but the truth is, you almost expected things to end. Not on Christmas with nothing but a text message, but it always felt like you and Sam had one foot out of the relationship. The end brought certainty and for that you almost felt relieved.

“If it’s any help, I don’t think it was a ‘you’ problem.”

For a second, you want to believe he actually believes that. He’s not just saying it because he’s being nice and letting you cry in his kitchen and drink his booze. Everything about Mr. Neighbor screams PERPETUALLY NICE. Like he saves kittens from trees and walks old ladies across the street in his spare time.

“You don’t even know me.”

“No, but he’s the one that kept you around while waiting for someone else. Sounds like an asshole to me,” he says.

“He is an asshole,” you whisper like a secret. Mr. Neighbor smiles back and you remember you don’t know his name.

He tells you without a shred of judgment.

“Seokmin.”

“I’m YN.”

“I know,” he blurts. His ears tinge pink just before his cheeks. “You had a friend come over one time, she yelled it pretty loud.”

Lydia only had two settings when talking: loud, and louder. Seokmin probably knew a lot more than just your name but was too polite to mention those sordid details.

“So, Seokmin. My drama aside, why were you crying? Or do you listen to depressing music to pregame a wild night out?”

Seokmin nods at your offer to top off his cup and chugs half of it with a wince.

“It feels kinda dumb now but I volunteer at the city theater downtown.”

That explains the framed playbills and theater tickets splashed across the living room walls. A story of all the productions he probably attended or participated in. You only recognized a few of the names. Perpetually Nice, indeed.

“Did one of them dump pig's blood on you while on stage?”

“No, nothing like that.” His mouth unzips into an amused grin. It looks much more fitting than the tears from earlier. “The director won a month-long European cruise and now I’m in charge of the winter production.”

What do people even do on a boat for that long?

“And I’m assuming you don’t want to be the director.”

“I did!” he groans. “But everyone is already emailing me and calling me, trying to bribe me into giving them bigger parts. Have you ever dealt with theater parents?”

Shaking your head, Seokmin grabs your hand with wide, terrified eyes. “They’re like dance moms on crack. I can’t handle it. Not to mention - surprise! - there’s no money for it and I have to do all the fundraising myself.”

Instead of responding, you fill each cup with another generous shot, clink glasses, and swallow them in tandem. The burn is long gone. Now, you feel like you're standing in the ocean, bobbing at the mercy of the waves as he keeps talking about the theater. How someone held him hostage after a meeting for an extra thirty minutes trying to convince him they didn’t need to audition. Someone else proposed an original production of Dracula as a break from the holiday slush every other theater planned. It glides right over your head, until he forces a glass of water into your grip.

“Sorry about my music,” he says.

“Sorry for being a bitch.”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

“Your ex also broke up with you for their childhood best friend?”

“No. The last one broke up with me for her dog walker.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, well he’s bald now.” He shrugs and takes another swig. Water not whiskey by the lack of grimace. “She’s also trying to audition.”

At least you have the privilege of watching your ex’s new courtship through the filter of social media. Seokmin is watching it play out a few feet away from him with a constant reminder that his ex-girlfriend was onto seemingly better things with a man who picked up dog shit for a living. Small mercies.

“How long have you two…” you trail off.

“Three months.”

His tone makes it clear there is nothing else he wishes to share on the matter. You get it. Three months after Sam you weren’t ready to talk about it, still kept all the shared memories you two had together in one of the boxes shoved deep in the hall closet. It wasn’t until nearly eight months passed that you finally donated what you could of the gifts he bought you and threw the other half away. Now, you can laugh at the way you sobbed over the ugly monogrammed dish towels from your shared apartment. When his mom gifted them for your birthday, the first thought you had was to burn them. 

“So what’s your play?”

Seokmin looks grateful for the swift change in topic. “A Christmas Carol.”

“Never seen it.”

“What?” he gasps. “It’s a classic!”

Below the counter, his knee presses firmly against your thigh. Seokmin doesn’t notice or doesn’t care because it stays there. Warm and grounded and all too tempting but you don’t move away either. A trickle of embarrassment heats your body when you realize you’re wearing the pajama pants Lydia got you for Secret Santa last year. The ones with cartoon gingerbread people fucking in small print all over them. If Seokmin looked down he’d see them in flagrante.

It didn’t mean anything but it felt nice. No way he saw your frumpy clothes and puffy face, crying over your ex and thought I want a piece of that. Typically, drinking only had two paths. On a normal night, you’d go from pleasantly buzzed to “wooo girl drunk,” as Lydia put it, then horny drunk shortly before falling asleep. Tonight, crying drunk meant no woo-ing and definitely no inappropriate thoughts. But Seokmin is the first real man to stoke a tiny ember of interest in months. 

It’d be messy. Not the act itself. Maybe. You’re tipsy and he doesn’t look any better but a sloppy makeout wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. However, making out with your neighbor and then dealing with the fall out of such a clumsy entanglement probably wasn’t worth whatever his hands were capable of.

So you snuff it out.

You shrug. “Not really a big Christmas person.”

“I would invite you to come see it but at this rate I doubt we’ll even have a show to begin with.”

You discover that given the chance, Seokmin talks a lot. Shares his entire life story about moving to the city with a group of friends from college, most of them living with their partners. How he found the theater while on lunch break from his job that he didn’t hate but didn’t like. Started volunteering. Met Martha, now ex-girlfriend, there. 

He also asks question after question about you, and somehow it doesn’t feel like he’s prying even though he hardly shares about himself. Probably because you’ve reached sleepy drunk and your eyes drop shut, responding while half asleep. You tell him everything. It’s not like you can embarrass yourself any further. But Seokmin doesn't make you feel the slightest bit of shame.

How you met Sam at a friend’s wedding and Carson was his plus one. How Carson’s boyfriends never seemed to meet Sam’s standards. How she was a little too friendly towards you but Sam swore Carson liked everyone. And from your experience, everyone liked her. Then, last Christmas, you stayed at home with the flu while the annual Phan/Spencer celebration took place and woke up to a nice heartfelt text message.

“That’s so fucked up.”

“Yeah, well what’s even more fucked up is his mom posting a picture of her with Carson captioned ‘the daughter I always wanted.’” you huff. “That really sucked.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything. Not that he can. How do you comfort a stranger about a shitty relationship with even more beneath the surface? 

Instead, you both sit in comfortable silence, locked in separate trains of thought. It isn’t until he messes with his phone and Celine Dion materializes into the room once again that you realize how weird it is to be sitting there, sharing woes with a complete stranger.

“Well, I’m just gonna…” you start, sliding off the bar stool.

“Yeah…”

You don’t look back, making a beeline for the door. “Have a goodnight! I hope you aren’t eaten by steroid fueled theater nerds.”

You’re in the hallway, lock latched firmly behind, before he can respond.

You don’t see Seokmin for another week. Not like you saw him much before but now you have a name to the face, along with hobbies and a personality. And his hands. Which don’t seem to leave your memory despite the desperate effort you put into doing so.

Even if you don’t see him though, you hear him on the other side of your living room wall shuffling around when you get home from work. 

He keeps his sad playlist to a minimum, and his singing about the same, flat rumbles through the shared wall you can easily ignore. Sometimes you don’t. Occasionally, you’ll pause whatever Netflix dating show poisoning your brain and listen, eyes closed as your mind wanders.

You hear him humming as he passes your door on the way out to work in the morning while you sip coffee and answer emails from your kitchen counter. Sometimes it's showtunes you don’t recognize, others it's Christmas carols. Seokmin has a lovely voice you realize, now free from irritation. It’s weird you never noticed before.

Apparently, Lydia noticed him long before you did.

You finish telling her about the entire debacle with Sam and Carson. Lydia doesn’t believe in social media of any kind so all of her life updates come over Bananagrams and face masks during your semi-weekly Thursday girl’s night at her apartment.

“You just hang out with your hot neighbor drunk and don’t make a move?” she tsks.

“How do you know my neighbor is hot?”

“Unlike you, I pay attention to my surroundings.” 

Part of the reason she deleted all her social media was because she wanted to be more ‘in the moment.’ This proves that maybe it actually worked. 

Grabbing more letter tiles, you brush off the taunt. “Well, unlike you, I can keep it in my pants.”

“How long has it been since you let someone under the hood?”

“Not that long,” you grumble.

“Really?” Lydia rolls her eyes at the next word you spell, S-A-D. 

“Shut up. It was the only one I could find.” You take another sip of hot cider. The hangover from last week's bender still haunts you. “Horny isn’t spelled with an ‘I’ or an ‘E’.”

“It’s been so long I thought you’d forget how it's spelled.”

A few hours and a couple of episodes of Temptation Island later, you're back home. The chilly air creeps into the mailroom, numb fingers struggling to unlock your mailbox. Bill. bill, catalogue, not yours, bill…

As the elevator carries you up to your floor, you find the last letter. A gold wax seal, velvety envelope. No. No, no, no, no, no.

But it is real and it’s exactly what you’re afraid for it to be when you rip it open right there in the hallway. The picture of Carson and Sam staring deep into each other’s eyes, love-soaked down to the finest details. His hand on her knee, both oblivious to the camera and not in the faux staged way of so many wedding announcements. 

Michael and Dena Spencer along with 

Jason and Zoya Phan 

Invite you to celebrate the marriage of their children,

Samuel Spencer and Carson Phan

You fling the card away like a venomous snake. 

What the hell is wrong with them? Is it not enough you were the collateral damage in their whirlwind romance? Now they go and rub it in your face how happy they are together. You were the last obstacle to make them realize they couldn’t live without each other, the catalyst for their happiness. And now you have a tangible reminder of the fact.

Thankfully, the hallway is empty so no one witnesses your mental breakdown. A silent stand off with a glossy wedding announcement. You’re tempted to leave it there, let Sam and Carson get trodded on until they’re nothing but limp confetti. 

But you can’t. You snatch the announcement from the floor and bolt to your door, key scraping the lock again and again. You just need to get inside. Get inside and then you can go DEFCON 1, shred the entire letter and do something else rash like give yourself bangs you’ll regret in the morning.

The key still won’t find home in the lock and you’re on the verge of giving up when you realize Seokmin is singing along to some record just a few feet away.

You don’t know him well enough to go banging on his door. One drunken bitch session did not a friend make. Even if the drunk bitch session involved recounting life stories and embarrassing childhood moments. Or pajamas with gingerbread people fucking which he definitely noticed.

But you can’t be left alone with this bomb.

Seokmin is standing before you barely a second after knocking, eyebrows scrunched together. You shove the invite into his chest and wait.

“How does he have your address?” he asks.

You shrug. “I made him mail most of my stuff.”

“Why?” Seokmin turns back into his apartment, the door open in invitation as he falls onto the couch.

“Because he cheated on me. The least I could get was him paying three hundred bucks in shipping.”

“You are a very scary woman.”

You follow. This time, you notice more details. His record player is tucked in the corner, crates of vinyl stacked next to it. The candle burning on the coffee table fills the room with the scent of teak and orange. You recognize it as the same one Lydia got you for your birthday; ‘the boyfriend scent’ as she called it. Of course, he’d have it.

“Thank you.”

Now that you’re here, you’re not sure what to do. Seokmin keeps looking at the invite like some puzzle. Like some underlying explanation is written in invisible ink. There isn’t one. The reason for the invite is clear: your feelings don’t matter and they never did. 

“I can’t believe they sent you a wedding invite. That’s so fucked up.”

“I’m probably gonna see all the pictures on Instagram soon anyway. At least, this ripped the band aid off. It just sucks they get to rub it in my face.”

“You still follow them, do they follow you?”

They do. Carson and Sam both follow you but you haven’t posted a single picture since the break up so it’s not like they’re reminded of your presence. Not the same way they remind you. There hasn’t been much worth posting either. You go to work, come home, shower, sleep, repeat. The occasional weekend at the farmers market or trip to the bookstore breaks up the monotony don’t inspire you to post. 

“Why?” you ask.

“You want something to rub in their faces.”

“And what exactly would that be?”

“Is there anything he hated doing while you guys dated?”

You laugh at the irony of the one thing Sam hated more than anything else. “He hated being posted on social media.”

“I have an idea.”

“Does it involve more Celine Dion and whiskey?”

“No,” he smiles. “It’s called a ‘soft launch'. One of the high schoolers explained it to me today.”

“Why are you talking to highschoolers about relationships? Actually, nevermind.” You snatch the invite away from his hands and flip it face down onto the couch. “And what is the point of me soft launching a nonexistent relationship?”

“He sent you a wedding invitation.”

“Okay?”

“So he’s either insane or isn’t completely over you. This is a way to show him you don’t care.”

“He broke up with me on Christmas while I was dying of the stomach flu. I don’t think he cares.”

Seokmin rises from the couch and heads towards the kitchen. “Do you want some wine?”

“Just water.”

He’s wearing the same costume as last week, sweatpants and a sweater. But his hair is a little wet and falls over his glasses. The look, the boyfriend candle, everything Lydia suggested… You should go home before making an idiot of yourself.

Seokmin returns with two glasses, places them both on the coffee table before tossing you a blanket. How can you leave now? It’d be rude. Besides, you want to find out where his offer is going.

“As I was saying: soft launch.”

“I still don’t understand where this is going.”

“You post it on your story, he sees, feels like a huge idiot, and then—”

“And then what? I don’t want him back.” But the thought of making Sam squirm is a validating one. Let him see you the way he’s forced you to see him. Happily moved on with someone else. Even if it isn’t real. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”

It’s an easy photo. In theory. Nothing too suggestive, nothing that shows his face. But should you be touching? How much touching is appropriate for a man you’ve talked to twice? Seokmin doesn’t seem to know either. He searches the internet for inspo, some far too intimate for you to dream of. Sitting on his lap? Absolutely not. Having him hold you around the waist? No way. None of it would be believable.

“Okay, what about this one?” he asks after twenty minutes of scrolling.

On the surface, it’s nothing bad. The picture is relatively innocent with Person A’s legs draped over Person B’s lap, hand placed on Person A’s shin. Nothing crazy. At this point, you just want it over with.

“Fine.”

You wore semi-decent sweatpants this time so you don’t worry about that. It’s the entire premise of touching Seokmin so casually and having him touch you in return. But you take it in stride as you both maneuver and twist until you're a perfect copy of the already existing image.

Opening the camera on your phone, you snap a pic and hand it to Seokmin for approval.

“Eh…”

“‘Eh’? What does ‘eh’ mean?”

Apparently, ‘eh’ means Seokmin is wrapping his entire hand around your knee, the other hand on your ankle, and pulling you closer until your butt rests flush against the outside of his thigh. And then he doesn’t move either hand while waiting for you to snap a new picture. It feels like a thousand  pounds.

When you’re done, he leans over to assess the photo and you’re stuck with the image of him hovering over you. The picture goes up on your story, embellished with a heart emoji and Seokmin leaves your space but only barely.

“Should I RSVP too?” you joke. It’s weak, your voice thin because you don’t know if he can tell your sweating. 

He leaves even more space between you at that, scratching the back of his neck. “Ugh—”

“I wouldn’t actually go but I like the idea of them wasting money.”

“You know what? Do it. Did they give you a plus one?”

You jolt at the idea of Seokmin filling in the role. Focus. 

Their wedding site is filled with Pinterest inspiration level engagement photos. You ignore the fact it’s at the park Sam took you to for your first date. You don’t own Emerald Park, or the fountain in the background of their pictures where you and Sam first kissed, and you certainly didn’t own the botanical gardens frozen around them as they walked hand in hand. Hundreds of other couples, you and Sam included, visited Emerald Park all the time. It just feels tacky they would do a full photoshoot where half a dozen of your relationship landmarks lay. But Carson probably owned those spots well before you came into the picture.

Once you hit ‘Yes’ on the RVSP, including your fake plus one, things peter out into awkward silence. You’re still draped over Seokmin’s lap, his hands absentmindedly running up your shin, smoothing the wrinkles in your pants.

Who gets turned on from having their shin fondled?

“How is your play going?” you ask.

“Not horrible.”

“But?”

“Our sets are old, we don’t have costumes and we open in three weeks.” 

Seokmin seems to be in the acceptance stage of his grief. At least he isn’t wailing any more Now That’s What I Call Depressing music.

“So it’s not too late for that space idea then?”

He cracks up at that and you feel glowy from the sound of his laugh, the way his chest shakes. He squeezes your ankle. You preen. He still has his hand on your knee, thumb burning uneven circles through the thick fabric.

“I don’t know if anyone wants to see Scrooge in a space suit.”

“Who?”

Seokmin takes the question as a personal affront and decides you can’t leave his apartment without watching at least one version of A Christmas Carol. 

You try not to read into things but there aren’t many explanations available. The TV plays the animated version with Jim Carry starring in almost every role which is apparently second only to the muppets version.. Seokmin popped popcorn. And when he came back to the couch, he pulled your legs back over his lap like it was normal. You’re rusty on dating but the amount of times your hand brushes his in the popcorn bowl is starting to border on ridiculous.

Instead of focusing on how this feels a lot like a date, you focus on the movie. Or try to. It helps that Seokmin remains unaware of your inner turmoil, he’s too busy gauging whether you hate or love the movie and looking for your reaction every time one of the ghosts appears. 

The angle isn’t conducive to watching the movie either. You can’t turn without straining your neck, unless you pull away from his hold which you don’t want to do at all. And Seokmin is so focused on your reactions that he isn’t catching much of the film either.

He clearly loves it, and wants you to love it too. So you act extra interested but it’s not difficult because clearly he sees something spectacular happening on screen and it makes you eager to see it too. Even if only to distract from his thumb slipping beneath your sock and circling the knob of your ankle.

The movie fades to black, Scrooge is redeemed and your neighbor is watching you with bated breath.

“So…”

You smile at his eagerness. “It was good.”

“Isn’t it? It’s a classic.”

Something about his sheer enthusiasm tugs at your heart strings. 

“I’ll help you.”

Everything in your body screeches WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Seokmin must think the same thing, face slack in disbelief. Too late, you’ve already committed. 

“My company is always throwing money at stuff during the holidays,” you rush, face heating. “Maybe they could sponsor you guys to help with the sets or something.”

He keeps staring and you keep talking because you’re not sure if this crosses some invisible line. Unlike the touching, or the picture, or the ugly crying last week. Slowly, amazement rooted on his face.  Even in your rumpled clothes, he looks at you like you’ve dropped nothing short of a miracle in his lap.

In a flurry of motion, Seokmin drags you into a hug, arms tight around your back, crushing you into his chest. The baggy sweaters you’d seen him in all of once hid firm ridges of muscle. You try not to indulge but your hands are wedged tightly between your bodies, and you’re practically sitting in his lap at this point. 

And as fast as it happened, he lets you go and nearly flings himself off the opposite end of the couch. 

“Sorry! I just—” His head cocked to the side. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel obligated—”

“I love taking money from people who don’t need it. It’s one of the few joys in my life actually,” you say. “And if they don’t sign a check, we can always try armed robbery. Do you own a ski mask?”

He pretends to think before smiling. “Funnily enough, I don’t. But something tells me you do.”

“A woman never reveals her secrets.”

The next few days pass uneventfully. You hear Seokmin come home later and later, pointedly aware that you’re aware of his coming and going. Occasionally, when it’s still early, he knocks an odd rhythm on the wall separating your living rooms and you learn it's a summons. He wants to watch a movie, or share dinner because he made too much, or hear something about your day that didn’t involve a six year old attempting an accent for their character and sounding like Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. 

Even when you give him your number, he still knocks. Everytime you fight the urge to squeal like you’re back in high school.

The show is going as well as it can. People have their parts (with minimal complaining). Most of the costumes are free of mold (he sent you pictures wearing half the wardrobe). And Seokmin is maintaining his sanity. Barely.

In the rush of it all, you made a promise not to fuck where you eat. One messy break up requiring a move was enough for a lifetime. While Lydia took every update as another sign he was into you, the risk was too much. What if you misread everything? What if Seokmin wasn’t completely over his ex-girlfriend? She hadn’t come up again since that first night but that didn’t mean anything. At that stage of your break-up you hardly talked about Sam. Maybe Seokmin was still pining for her and you were just there. Or vice versa. He could see you were having a difficult time with the engagement and offered a shoulder to cry on.

Even worse, what if you did sleep with him and it was bad. So bad you could never look him in the eye again. Or he could have a weird dick. Or cry after sex. What if he secretly had a piss kink and that was the real reason Marta broke up with him? The lack of red flags only point to some flaw below the surface you hadn’t learned about yet.

Lydia thought it was ridiculous.

“I will bet my first edition Hobbit that his dick is completely normal,” she huffs through the speaker, the sound of her stationary bike echoing in the background.

Your Friday nights are usually spent curled up on the couch with wine and a movie but you couldn’t wait to give Seokmin the envelope containing a metaphorical golden ticket. The downtown streets are crowded near the theater where the entire cast and crew are spending the evening polishing up the existing set pieces but you brave it, if only to see the look on his face at the number of zeroes on the check.

“You just want me to sleep with him.”

“Is it so wrong I want my best friend to sleep with a nice, attractive man? Do you know how rare those are in this city?”

Your eyes roll. “He is my neighbor.”

“Your hot neighbor. Who has a normal dick and listens to Celine Dion when he’s sad.”

Something stopped you from telling her about the picture, and how Seokmin stayed cuddled up to you the rest of the night. Probably because you know she’d add it to the mounting pile of reasons to ruin whatever tentative friendship built between you. 

You find a parking spot and bid Lydia goodbye.

The building lobby, with sleek marble archways and a dusty chandelier the size of your living room, is empty sans a lone security guard scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t try to stop you as you stroll right past and into the auditorium. You don’t want to be a creep that watches from the dark but the sight of your neighbor stops you in your tracks. To hear about his work was one thing, however, seeing him in his element is another. 

He’s got paint all over his shirt and jeans and his hair is a mess from running his hands through it but he addresses the entire cast with confidence. Answers their questions, points the crew in the right direction, scans his binder next to someone with a headset who must be important. 

Everyone is caught up in their work so they don’t notice as you approach from the aisles, footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. You’ve never been here before but the history of the building isn’t lost on you. The walls and ceiling stretch high above, intricate moldings weaving up to frame large murals of greek-style motifs. The cushioned seats had seen better days. Red velvet crushed flat, ripped seams and stained with time. But it has a charm to it.

It was easy to imagine Seokmin finding home in this place. Losing himself on stage, spending hours and hours hidden away with a script.

He finally notices your presence when you approach one of the side stage staircases.

“And what do I owe the honor?” he asks, lips unzipping into a grin you can’t help but return.

You wave the white envelope in response, bowing comically low. “I come bearing a gift.”

“Is that—“

You nod solemnly, forcing it into his hands. “Open it!”

Seokmin stares at the envelope the same way he stared at you the night you offered to help him out. A small miracle in the palm of his hand. Your boss signed the check without question. It was a good look to sponsor local events, great publicity and a tax write off. The second you mentioned there were children in the cast and it was volunteer only he doubled the donation.

Seokmin opens the envelope, pausing to read. His eyes bulge. “Two grand? Are you serious?”

“Yep. All it took was the promise of two pages in the back of the program. So if you could get that message passed along.”

He hasn’t looked away from the check as a flush rises up his neck. “I’ll get their logo tattooed on my forehead if they want.”

“Tried that…” you joke. “They went up to two thousand with the promise you wouldn’t..”

“This is…” 

You’re swept into a hug tight enough to pop something in your back. Too tight, with your arms wedged between your chests like the first time but you don’t mind. Seokmin is warm

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he chants, spinning you around.

You soak in the contact for as long as you can. Seokmin gives great hugs, better than great. You didn’t realize you craved the firm comfort of his arms until you had it once again and now that you do, you don’t want him to stop.

You notice someone watching over Seokmin’s shoulder. She’s pretty. Dark curly hair, button nose, big doll eyes boiling with indignation. 

“Is that her?” you whisper into his neck.

“Her who?”

“Mrs. Bald dog walker.”

Seokmin loosens his grip just enough to look.  “Yeah. Why?”

You bury your face back into the crook of his and give him a squeeze. Seokmin returns it instinctively, arms slug across the small of your waist like a puzzle piece. 

“Marta isn’t the jealous type,” he whispers.

“Huh, that’s weird.” Your lips purse. “Because she just stormed off.”

Seokmin whips around to look at the now vacant spot where his ex-girlfriend once stood.

“Consider it as my thank you for the soft launch.”

“Did that actually work?” he asks.

You can’t admit you forgot to check if either Carson or Sam looked at your post. Coincidentally enough, you were too wrapped up in thoughts of the man before you to remember the entire reason he touched you so casually that night was for petty revenge and not because he actually wanted to.

“Who cares?” you bluff. “Anyway, I was thinking of another fundraiser. Maybe it can give you guys some money for some updated set pieces.”

They could definitely use it. One of the stagehands staples fabric across a hole in the couch so wide you’d bet money the next person who sits on it would sink straight through to the ground, another slathers a thick layer of white paint on a dry rotted board. What good are new costumes without good props?

“If you keep helping us out, they’re gonna have to change the name of the building.” Seokmin smiles down at you. His hand is still at the small of your back but even through the many layers protecting you from the chill you can feel the heat of his touch.

“I’ve always wanted a theater named after me. Like a Rockefeller or something.”

“So what is this idea?”

You gaze at him expectantly. “How many of your friends are single?”

It took little convincing for your plan. Seokmin turns out to be a bartender and his boss agrees to host it (pending a small cut of the proceeds), and several of his friends volunteer to help a good cause.

You’ve never been to this bar either but it somehow fits him too. Not a complete dive but cozy and well weathered. Multicolored string lights hang from the rafters so thick you can’t even see the ceiling, and posters, neon signs, and other decor obscure the walls. A low platform in one corner clearly meant for live entertainment becomes the auctioneer block with a banner strewn above reading THEATER FUNDRAISER in painted bubble letters.

Most of the people in the crowd are involved in the theater one way or another. Volunteers, cast and crew, a few parents coming for the drink specials and a show. A few outsiders mix in with the batch; regulars, people who saw the chalkboard sign on the street and got curious. Seokmin’s friends linger around the pool table in the corner, nervously shuffling around.

You’re on your way over to finalize the order when Seokmin and Lydia intercept you. 

“Small problem,” he says.

“What?” 

Lydia sighs. “Mingyu has a girlfriend.”

“Since when?” you ask.

“Apparently fifteen minutes ago.”

“Oh,” you say. “Good for him.”

“Except we’re a man down.”

“I’ll do it,” Seokmin interjects.

Your gut curls. The idea of someone, not you, going on a date with him leaves a sour note in your mouth. But you’re not in a position to say anything. 

But it doesn’t stop you.

“You can’t!” you blurt.

“Why not?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed.

Lydia looks down right maniacal at your outburst. No way are you going to admit whatever feelings you have for Seokmin right now. 

“Who is gonna be the host if you’re busy?”

“I’ll do it,” Lydia says. There’s a dare in her gaze. She can smell bullshit a mile away. “Unless there’s some other reason Seokmin needs to host.”

She bats her eyelashes with all the innocence of the devil.

“Fine,” you nod.

Lydia snags the mic from Seokmin and bolts for the stage. “Alright, settle in! Tonight we’re raising money for a good cause. So let’s get this show on the road, and remember—no refunds, no takesies backsies, and no funny business! We take Venmo or cash. No checks! Now, first up, we have Seungcheol!”

Seungcheol steps up to the stage, body lax as the crowd eyes him up and down. He was the first person to volunteer when you explained your idea – spawned from many sorority fundraisers in college – to Seokmin. The others followed suit shortly after, giving you six men in total willing to go on a date (no funny business) in the name of supporting the arts.

“Twenty dollars!” a woman in a dark jacket calls.

“At least let me tell you about him before going at him like a piece of meat!” Lydia jokes.

Someone else interjects. “Forty dollars!”

Lydia ignores her. “He enjoys camping, sports, and long walks on the beach,” she reads off the notecard. “And he can fix your car courtesy of Choi Mechanics.”

“Seventy five.”

People keep increasing their bids, Seungcheol clearly enjoying the attention as he jokes and winks towards the more eager ones. He’s preening while you and Seokmin watch in giddy amusement by the pool table, faces hidden in your drinks.

“Two hundred dollars!” someone near the back calls.

“Two fifty!”

“That’s Seungcheol’s girlfriend,” Seokmin whispers from your side.

You try to get a better look but Seungcheol’s girlfriend remains hidden at a table behind several others. 

“Then why is he doing this?”

Seungkwan comes up beside you. “Because they’re exhibitionists.”

“Sold!” Seungcheol yells.

“I’m the one with the gavel,” Lydia objects. She pounds the gavel to emphasize her power. “Sold for two hundred and fifty dollars!”

Seungcheol drops a wad of cash from his own wallet into the bucket at the front of the stage and disappears into the corner of the room where his girlfriend waits. You make a mental note to avoid that side of the bar for the rest of the night, just in case.

The other guys go easy, thriving on the momentum of Seungcheol. Soonyoung gets a date with a woman old enough to be your mother but he looks positively thrilled. Even Mingyu stops by to drop a couple bucks into your hand as an apology. Then it’s Seokmin’s turn.

“He can cook, he’s good with kids, and he makes a mean mojito,” Lydia announces. “Give it up for our favorite bartender, Seokmin!”

The crowd has mellowed out but remains enthusiastic, regulars and theater people alike clapping as he comes forward. Even his boss behind the bar rings a large bell mounted on the wall reserved for good tippers. Someone wolf whistles and Seokmin goes red.

“Let’s start the bidding at thirty bucks,” Lydia says.

“Fifty!” someone calls.

By some feat of the universe, Seokmin transforms into a maroon faced mess.

You look around the bar and spot her at a table close to the edge of the stage. That ugly gut punch from earlier rears its head again at the gleam in her eyes, like she can’t wait to sink her teeth into Seokmin the first chance she gets. You don’t want Seokmin going on a date with her. You don’t want him going on a date with anyone.

Your mouth is open before you realize. “A hundred.”

Seokmin, Lydia, and just about everyone else in the bar whip their head in your direction. You refuse to look at any of them, staring down your competition as she raises her hand to counter.

“One fifty.”

“Two hundred.”

“Three fifty,” she says, smirking at you.

Lydia levels you with expectant looks. Seokmin watches you like you’re a wild animal, unsure of your next move. You’re in too deep now. 

“Four hundred dollars.”

Your competition opens her mouth to rebut; however, Lydia is already swinging the gavel, “Sold! To the beautiful woman in the ugly sweater. Come get your man!”

Seokmin catches your arm before you can open your purse. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s for a good cause. Besides, think of it as a thank you for saving me from spending all my money on take out.”

He stares at you for a second too long, frozen in his own disbelief. You’re lying and you both know it but to admit that him going on a date with someone else, even for a good cause, made you jealous ventures over a line you’re not ready to cross just yet.

“Alright, that was our last man of the night,” Lydia announces into the mic. “Which means we’ve raised a whopping two thousand six hundred dollars for our local theater.”

Everyone cheers once again. The atmosphere is light but the bubble surrounding you and Seokmin is anything but. 

He raises an eyebrow skeptically as you shove bills into the collection bucket, pointedly looking anywhere but him lest your face match the red of his own. It doesn’t matter though. You can feel the heat on your cheeks, the sweat at your hairline. Four hundred dollars to go out with a guy. 

At least it’s for a good cause.

Seungkwan saves you from whatever questions Seokmin has, pushing his friend back to work behind the bar before cornering you into conversation.

“You,” Seungkwan says.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I’m having a pre-game at my house tomorrow night. You’re invited.”

“Oh,” you blink. “I’m not really a partier.”

“It’ll be a small thing. Most of the guys here and my roommate. We’re going to Jane’s after.”

“I’ve never been there before.”

Seungkwan stomps indignantly. “You’ve never been to Jane’s? Jane’s is a neighborhood institution.”

“I guess I never got around to exploring much,” you shrug.

“Why not?”

A creature of habit such as yourself, you rarely went to new places. You liked the places you already knew, the ones you didn’t have to guess if you liked. Besides, you hadn’t felt like going out much in the past few months, something always coming up including reasons, such as: you liked your apartment with cheaper drinks, less cigarette smoke, and no strange men trying to mansplain American Psycho.

Lydia appears at your side, new drink in hand. “Did someone say party?”

“It starts at eight thirty, but don’t come until nine. Seok will give you the address.”

Seungkwan disappears into the crowd, leaving you and Lydia hovering at the edge of the stage all alone. If there was one person besides Seokmin you didn’t want to be left alone with, it was her. But it’s too late to escape.

In the face of total mortification, you try to put on a brave face.

“Four hundred? Really?” Lydia asks.

“Shut up,” you mumble into the cup of melted ice.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I’ve met your friends before,” you snort.

Seokmin rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, but they can be a lot and that’s coming from me.”

You refused to let the car ride on the way over be awkward, plowing through whatever cobwebs lingered between you two. Luckily, Seokmin went along, recalling horror stories from Seungkwan’s yearly holiday pre-game. There was the year Soonyoung attempted making hot cider and gave everyone food poisoning. The year after where Mingyu ended up breaking the bathroom doorknob resulting in the fire department coming out to free him because he got stuck trying to crawl out the window above the shower. And most recently, Jeonghan – who you haven’t met yet – hid under the couch for the sole purpose of grabbing people’s ankles as they walked by; except he fell asleep and Seungkwan found him the next morning while cleaning.

Nothing you couldn’t handle.

“Well, if it's too much I’ll send you some code to leave.”

“What should I be looking for exactly?” he asks, lips quirked.

“I’ll start making ghost noises.”

Seokmin snorts when you start demonstrating. “But that happens so frequently. How about morse code?”

“How about I scream at the top of my lungs?” you grin.

“Works for me.”

Seokmin knocks against the dark wood door leading to Seungkwan’s apartment.

“COME IN!” Seungkwan belts, flinging the door open wide. “For me?”

You hand over the bottle of wine with flourish. Heaven forbid you show up anywhere empty handed, a habit hammered in by your mother. “For you.”

Seungkwan pulls you inside. “I like you more and more. Come on, everyone else is already here.”

The doorway leads straight into the crowded living room. You recognize Seungcheol, a woman his same height tucked into his side as they chat with Lydia on the couch. Coincidentally, she lives two floors above Seungkwan and Vernon and was thrilled to discover mailroom guy had a name and good taste in music.

You quickly scan beneath the couch for any full grown men and are mildly disappointed to find none.

Seokmin gets caught up in ‘hellos’ while you pad down the hallway after Seungkwan; into the kitchen where Mingyu stirs something on the stove.  Cocoa and vanilla flood your nose, the warmth of the kitchen driving away the lingering chill from outside. Seungkwan puts the wine on the counter before pulling mugs out of the cabinets. 

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Spiked hot chocolate,” Mingyu says. He adds a splash of peppermint schnapps to the pot and starts stirring again before pouring two mugs: one for you and one for Seokmin. “There’s whipped cream over there.”

You’re shaking the can of whipped cream when an arm reaches over your shoulder and pulls it out of your grip.

“Just say when,” Seokmin says.

He piles a comical mountain of whipped cream into your mug, and then a matching one on his own. There are sprinkles as well as chocolate shavings and you both artfully decorate your drinks with handfuls of each.

“I think we have more whipped cream than hot chocolate,” you say.

“There’s no such thing as too much whipped cream.” 

You both take a long sip and when he’s done you choke. He’s got whipped cream on his nose, his lips, and his cheeks. 

“What?” Seokmin asks.

“You’ve got,” you laugh. “Let me help.”

He stands perfectly still as you wipe his face with a paper towel. You’ve been this close to Seokmin before but with amusement instead of nerves clouding your system, you notice details you hadn’t before. The mole of his cheek. Two. One a little more pronounced than the other. Cute.

“Alright, all done,” you announce, finally noticing the way he stares down at you softly. So much for not having any nerves. “C’mon, I wanna see if Jeonghan is hiding under the couch before we leave.”

You lead him out of the kitchen, looking for anyway to cut the tension—

“KISS!” Lydia demands. 

You scan the room for who she’s screaming at in an apartment full of strangers only to find her finger pointed straight above your head.

Mistletoe.

Mingyu barrels out of the kitchen to join in on the chaos.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” they all chant. Soonyoung cups his hands around his mouth and belts it loud enough your heart lurches. 

“We don’t have to,” Seokmin whispers, cheeks and ears bright red.

“It’s fine.”

You plan for a quick peck on the cheek but Seokmin goes for his left while you go for your left and you’re not kissing but something dangerously close to it. The sticky residue of sugar and chocolate registers against your lips, a little bit of stubble missed when he shaved this morning. Barely a second of contact, just the edge of his mouth against yours but the world spins backwards and you nearly fall over. 

As fast as it happens, you both draw back, staunchly avoiding eye contact but staying pressed close.

Seokmin wraps an arm around your waist, steadying you against his check. “You okay?”

His breath skims over your lips. The temptation to roll on to your toes and kiss him for real sends your heart racing. Your chin lifts. Seokmin looks at your mouth. And…

“Who's ready to party?” Chan calls, breaking the atmosphere. 

The walk to Jane’s is nothing short of hell. Snow falls in thin sheets, frigid air sneaking past the lining of your coat and straight into your bones. In the middle of the pack you aren’t as exposed thanks to Seokmin to your right, Lydia on the other side, and a gaggle of the others walking in front. 

Your hand keeps accidentally brushing Seokmin’s, sending a rush of pins and needles up your arm each time. You both pretend to ignore it.

The barren street outside the bar doesn’t hint at what waits within except for the dull hum of life sneaking past the door. It feels like half the city is packed inside, forcing everyone to slither past each other because there is simply no room. 

Seungkwan wasn’t lying when he said it was a neighborhood institution. A stage is set up at the far wall, drunks belting their hearts out. Your group fans out to the bar, snagging drinks before taking the pilgrimage to a small table near the stage. Seokmin keeps you close the entire time. Guiding you to a seat, insisting on standing right behind the chair and talking to his friends over your shoulder.

You sag in your seat, content to soak in everyone else's conversations. The edge of your mouth still burns from the contact of the kiss, the same sensation everywhere Seokmin touches. You crave more. Like a sunflower searching for the sun. You lean against the back of the chair for a chance to feel his chest against your back. He doesn’t shy away when you do either. You can’t see his face but Lydia sits across the table watching with a pleased smirk. 

“A toast,” Seokmin starts as the song fades and the next group to the stage. Someone wrangled a tray of red and green shots to the table and Seungkwan passes them around. “To Y/N. We wouldn’t have a show without her.”

“Yes, you would,” you correct.

“But we wouldn’t have new costumes,” says Seungkwan. “Do you know how old the costumes we were gonna wear are?”

“And we have new sets. We haven’t bought a new set piece in like fifty years,” Chan interjects. 

Soonyoung speaks up next. “And I got a date!”

Seokmin slings an arm over your shoulder, squeezing you into his side. “You’re a miracle worker.”

Cheeks hot, you hide your smile at the bottom of the shot glass.

Focus shifts as Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan take the stage for “No Scrubs” the entire bar signs along to. They’re born performers. Soaking in every minute of attention, riling the crowd up until your ears go numb.

You try not to think of the almost kiss but it’s hopeless. Two drinks down and the only thing on your mind is the eclectic feeling on his mouth on your skin. 

You’re so deep in your thoughts, you don’t notice Seokmin has come back to the table with a new drink for you until he’s nudging your shoulder with his.

“How do you like it?”

“Way better than the depression playlist,” you joke.

“Celine Dion is a classic.”

“Yeah, but after the first five times she loses her edge.”

Seokmin shakes his head in mock disappointment. “Blasphemy.”

Vernon and Seungkwan are singing Crazy in Love. Or, Seungkwan is singing and Vernon is head banging to the beat. Just watching makes your neck hurt.

Someone bumps into you from behind, sending you reeling straight into Seokmin’s chest.

“Woah, you okay?”

You nod into his chest but don’t let go. 

The shots earlier were a mistake. Seokmin looks good under the neon lights of the bar, better with the swirly haze of alcohol. You want to kiss him so bad it’s embarrassing.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asks, voice husky.

When you look up at him, something dances across his face. There and gone before you can figure out what it is. Home sounds like a great idea. Better to lock yourself in your apartment where your mind can run wild before you do something stupid – like drag Seokmin into a corner to make out – in front of all your new friends.

You step out of his grip. “I can get home on my own. You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m good to go. Promise.”

Not willing to brave a thirty minute walk home in the snow, Seokmin orders an Uber while you say goodbye.

Once outside, Seokmin wraps his arm back around you. Away from prying eyes, you let yourself indulge with the excuse of sharing body heat. Friends share body heat all the time. There is nothing wrong with a platonic penguin huddle.

Too soon, he pulls away as a car pulls up to the curb. “This is us.”

Seokmin makes conversation with the driver while you stare out the window as the city whips by. He’s just being nice, treating you the same way he would all his friends. Touching and almost kissing aside, Seokmin is your friend and you don’t want to jeopardize it with complications.

“YN?”

“Huh?’

“We’re home.”

You stumble through the cold, Seokmin hot on your heels through the lobby and into the elevator. It’s a fragile type of silence between you. 

“I’ll see you later?”

“Night,” Seokmin says.

“Goodnight, Seok,” you murmur back, pushing open your door.

“Fuck,” he curses. “I left my keys at Kwan’s.”

“Should we call them?”

You invite Seokmin into your apartment while he tries to get ahold of his friends. Shinx offers timid emotional support by curling up in his lap, purring loudly as scratches under her chin. Now you’re jealous of a cat. 

How dmbarrassing.

Calling proves futile. Seungkwan’s phone goes straight to voicemail and Vernon doesn’t answer either. He tries texting them with the same results.

“You can sleep on the couch,” you offer.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

“I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re sitting in the hall all night,” you say. “Let me get you a blanket.”

In your room, you quickly change out of your bar clothes and into pajamas. It takes some time to dig out a pair of sweats and a tshirt that’ll fit Seokmin but you eventually find something for him. Snagging a pillow from your bed and an extra blanket from the linen closet. you head into the living room.

You force the clothes into his chest. “Here. Get changed and I’ll make your bed.”

A dark look glazes his face and for a second you think he might kiss you. Or you hope he’s thinking about it half as much as you are. But the moment passes. He locks himself in your room while you busy making the lumpy, itchy couch somewhat comfortable for him. 

“Wanna watch a movie?”

You settle on Krampus. Neither of you have seen it but even after tonight you doubt you’d be able to recall a single detail. Seokmin pulls your legs over his lap like second nature, covering you both in the blanket, his hands resting on your shin. Choosing shorts over pants was a mistake. The heat of his thigh against the back of yours makes you squirm. The calluses on his palms scratch an itch leading straight between your legs as he rubs up and down absentmindedly, never trailing higher than your knee.

You’re shaking. His hand squeezes and you nearly heave.

“Cold?” 

No.

But you nod anyway. 

Seokmin pulls another blanket off the back of the couch, carefully layering it over the first, tucking you in tight before putting his arms back over your legs.

“You know, you’re a really good guy, Seok.”

“Thanks.”

It’s shameful. How bad you want to kiss him, for him to kiss you. 

“I mean it.”

“I don’t know if it's true though.”

Instead of asking what he means, you lean closer. Then Seokmin does too. You’re too busy staring at his mouth to notice him doing the same. All your thoughts hone in on if he was as good a kisser as you imagined. And if you kissed him right now, would he kiss you back? If you touched him, would he touch you too?

Someone moves first. It doesn’t matter who because his nose nudges against yours, then you're swallowing his sigh, and you both practically melt at the relief. 

It’s better than anything you could have cooked up in your head. His lips are soft, the rough pads of his fingers gentle as he tips your chin. You like it. You like him. 

Your lips catch on his bottom lip by accident but it's the first domino to topple into a chain reaction. Seokmin’s lips part, your hands bury in his hair. His thumb hones in on the strip of skin between your top and your shorts. You maneuver into his lap, fingers cataloguing the expanse of his shoulders, his neck. Back into his hair. Close as you are, it isn’t close enough. You arch into him, dragging your lips across the line of his throat when his head falls back.

His hands are everywhere. The small of your waist, the base of your spine, lifting your shirt until it’s tossed to the floor and your topless in his lap, shaking with anticipation.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. His eyes lock on your nipples, tight from just a few light touches.

Seokmin pulls you back down, kissing you slow and heavy while his hands touch you with gentle reverence. 

Clothes come off. The borrowed sweater he’s wearing reveals so much skin you don’t know where to start. But Seokmin doesn’t let you linger too long because he’s taking off your bottoms until you’re completely naked. Seokmin eases his body over yours, heavy between your thighs. 

A particularly harsh pass of his hips pulls a wire down your spine, back arching painfully, moaning at the ceiling. 

“Ha,” you waver under his teeth, his tongue worshiping your chest, leaving broad strokes you imagine will feel amazing on other parts of your body. Head tipped back, you display yourself openly for him to touch and tease.

“Take your pants off,” you beg.

“I don’t have a condom.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay,” he says, mouthing against the sensitive spot below your jaw. His smile is clear. “We don’t have to do anything.”

You make a sound between a whine and a grunt. You want to have sex with him. Right here, on your shitty couch. But you aren’t willing to take the risk, no matter how badly you want it. Even if he does have a weird dick which you doubt based on the feeling of it against your naked cunt.

“You think my dick is weird?” he asks, half shocked and half amused.

“No! I—” you scramble. “I don’t think your dick is weird.”

“But you’ve thought about my dick?”

“I’m not supposed to.”

Seokmin grins, clearly amused. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my neighbor.”

“Oh.” He rushes to rise off you, kneeling between your spread legs. “If you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

“I do want to. That's the problem,” you whine.

He hums in acknowledgment, body shaking with barely suppressed giggles. 

You thrash. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not, I've just…never had someone be so eager.”

He kisses you like he’s the eager one, tongue tracing your bottom lip until you welcome him in with a lewd suck. It only lasts for a second before he’s back down your chest and then kneeling in front of the couch, nuzzling the meat of your thigh while his fingers stroke against your wetness timidly.

“Is this okay?”

“Yep!” you choke. “Great.”

Your legs verge on numbness from being bent in half for so long but Seokmin keeps finding those spots that make it worth it. You need something to hold onto; his hair, the cushions, your own breasts. Seokmin seems to love that the most. Grunting into your pussy as he watches with reverence as you play with yourself.

“Taste so good,” he rasps. “You’re so hot.”

Fingers thrusting, Seokmin strings you out. When he crooks the digits buried deep inside you, your back breaks in half. The hand pinning your waist down holds tights, the lean muscles flexing in your view. 

“J-just like that,” you hiccup. 

He never falters. Seokmin does exactly as you ask until you curl and come wet and hot on his face with a cry. It’s not until you push him off that he stops completely, rubbing the mess of his fingers on his pants and crowding you back into the couch cushion to taste yourself off his tongue. 

You moan against his mouth. “Wanna taste you.”

“I’m good.”

“I want to,” you beg.

“No like—”

You paw at his crotch only for the enticing hardness to be absent. He’s soft. Confusion furrows your brows for a brief second until the rosy tint to his cheeks registers. 

Seokmin hides in the crook of your neck, sigh ruffling your hair as he gets cozy in the warm space and allows his nose to trace the curve of your shoulder. “It usually doesn’t happen like that. I don’t—”

“That's so hot,” you mumble. The heat of his body combined with an orgasm and the last bit of your blood lulls you closer to sleep with every second.  

Seokmin tugs your shirt back over your head before pulling you close, his bare chest against your back, legs tangled beneath a quilt. Pure content tickles across your senses, followed by the warm drag of sleep.

Seokmin is gone by the time you wake up.

Shuffling from the couch into the bedroom, you accept he probably left early to get his keys from Seungkwan and didn’t want to wake you. Your head pounds in time with your pulse, stomach turning at the thought of getting off the couch. Thank God he didn’t try to wake you. There’s nothing less attractive than wanting to lay on the floor and wait for the sweet release of death.

The second time you wake up is to the sound of Shinx shredding a scrap of paper at the foot of your bed.

“You bastard,” you groan.

A set of large eyes stares back at you for a moment, before she meows and gets back to work on her kill. You nudge her off the edge of the bed with your foot. She bolts for the living room while you hide back into the pillows until it’s dark outside once again.

When you start feeling human enough to shower and eat, you check your phone. A text from Lydia and a few other notifications greet you but none from Seokmin. Not a call, or a text, or anything. Complete radio silence.

You hear him come home, the shuffle of his feet down the hallway and the slam of his front door. But there's no singing; not even so much as a hum. No knocking on the shared wall. You can’t hear a single thing from his side even when – embarrassingly – you press your ear against the wall like an eavesdropper. 

It’s like that for days.

Seokmin leaves his apartment after you get home. Or when you come back from work you hear him rush to turn down his music like he wants you to believe he’s out. He’s avoiding you. And you don’t know why.

You’ve thought about trying to catch him in the act; waiting by the door and popping out to ask him what his problem is. But you’re not sure if you want the answer to that question. He probably regrets kissing you. He definitely regrets kissing you if he's acting like this. But you don’t want to rush to conclusions either. The show opens Friday night and being director requires all hands on deck. Seokmin probably doesn’t even have time to brush his teeth let alone think about whatever it is between you too. Add the fact the actor for Scrooge broke his leg just before the auction and the only person comfortable enough with the role is also directing, he’s under a lot of pressure.

But none of the reassuring thoughts get you to leave the house the night of the show.

It wasn’t as if you had to be there. You helped fundraise but you weren’t cast or crew so your attendance was optional, even if there were two tickets waiting for you at willcall. Missed calls and texts rack up on your phone screen. Lydia, Seungkwan, Chan… But none from Seokmin. You should have turned your phone off to avoid the fall out from ditching. 

Instead, you accidentally pick up Lydia’s call. 

“Where are you?” Lydia screeches through the speaker. “The show's about to start.”

“I’m…I’m sick.”

You even fake cough but Lydia doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Seriously?”

“What?”

“Get your ass down here or I swear to god I’ll drag you by your hair.”

“Why would I go? He hasn’t talked to me all week?”

“So? Who cares!” she huffs, “You worked really hard to make sure this all got done. They wouldn’t have costumes or a set without everything you did. Forget Seokmin, come see it for yourself.”

“I—”

“Listen. Whatever happened between you two happened. But don’t let that chase you away from this. We can plot revenge tomorrow but tonight you should celebrate how hard you worked to make this happen.”

“Alright.”

You race to dress somewhat appropriately. Sweater, leggings, and a nice coat are all you can manage if you want to make it before intermission ends. It’s a miracle you’re not pulled over for speeding or running through yellow lights at the last minute but you get downtown in record time.

The street outside the theater is quiet, fog rising from the damp pavement. Through the glass doors into the theater, people mill about. You missed the first half of the show but there’s still time.

Lydia waits on the steps, exhaling a foggy breath when she finds you.  “Thank god.”

“How's it so far?”

“Good. I can’t believe I’ve never come to one of these before.” She types furiously on her phone before locking it and tossing it back into her purse. “The costumes look so good.”

The theater is packed to the brim, the lobby practically bursting at the seams as people chat through intermission. The costumes look better than good and so do the sets. Seokmin plays a more than convincing Scrooge, even better than the ones you’ve seen in the million movie versions of the play you’ve watched together. There’s no way he can see you with the bright stage lights but more than once it feels like he’s staring right where you sit, looking for someone. Looking for you.

Your eyes remain glued to the stage, unable to blink just in case you miss a second. It's dizzying watching him perform, as if you're staring up at the sky for too long and starting to feel unmoored; like you can't look away, can't accept that something so captivating exists.

After another hour, the lights go up, the cast take their bows. Without warning, you’re blinking into a harsh spotlight.

“Stand up,” Lydia whispers, prodding your side.

“What the hell is going on?”

“This production wouldn’t have been possible without Y/N. We’re so thankful for someone like her.”

You smile awkwardly and wait for the clapping to die down as the spotlight moves back to the stage. The second it's over, you’re up the aisle and into the lobby.

Straight into Seungkwan, who is subtly guarding the door like he knew you’d run at the first chance.

“You’re coming to the after party, right?” he asks.

Other people start filtering in from the auditorium. Maybe, you can lose him in the chaos and go home. 

“Of course she is,” Lydia interjects. Her arm weaves through yours, a firm threat that she’ll drag you if she has to.

The after party is for cast and crew of legal drinking age at Jane’s. Lydia and Seungkwan ride with you, another silent threat looming in the air.  They chat the entire way, undeterred by your silence. It's nice having friends that care but all you want is to hide under a blanket on your couch and spend the rest of the night crying while Shinx watches you with unveiled disgust.

Outside the bar, you promise one drink, claiming that you really are sick and want to go home. Which might be true. You’re off kilter, head spinning, stomach twisted into untangleable knots. But that might be because you can hear Seokmin’s laugh as you enter and your muscles twitch to dive beneath a table until he leaves.

You manage to find a stool in the corner. Even in an attempt to remain unseen more than half the bar stops by to thank you; crew members you haven’t met or cast you’ve seen in passing. Lydia stays by your side throughout, a steady presence as you lose yourself in the party. You can almost forget who is floating around the outskirts of the bar like a ghost. 

“Vernon sent me to ask if you want to play pool,” Seungkwan says to Lydia.

She sends you a sideways glance. Not asking for permission but like you’re a kid she can’t leave alone.

“Go,” you say, brushing her away. “I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t leave without telling me.”

“I’m leaving right now,” you tell her.

“Fine,” she sighs. Then she pulls you into a hug. Lydia isn’t a hugger, in the years you’ve known her you can count on your fingers the number of times it’s happened. “But you should clear the air before you go.”

“I live next to him. There are plenty of opportunities.”

She gives you an extra squeeze, fully aware you’ll continue pretending he doesn’t exist until everything smooths over and you and Seokmin are back to neighbors who tolerate each other's existence in fragile silence.

Which would work if the second you turn around to leave you don’t run straight into him.

He rubs the side of his head. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you say. “Can we talk?”

He nods before turning to leave the bar, not waiting to see if you follow but you do. 

The party inside the bar echoes out onto the snowy street. It seems no one else is crazy enough to have an overdue conversation in a snowstorm, but better here than anywhere else. At least after Seokmin lets you down, you can run back to your apartment and pretend he doesn’t exist anymore.

Seokmin stands a few paces away, barely illuminated in neon signs and string lights strewn across the street. You aren’t drunk, not even tipsy. Alcohol would make this conversation worse but it’d take the edge off your nerves and dull a little bit of the cold.

You shove both hands in your pockets, unsure what to say now that you have him all alone.

“The play was good.”

“Thanks. Next time you’ll have to see the first act.”

It comes out like a joke but you can feel the vitriol like a bucket of ice water. Ouch.

“I—”

“If you’re not over your ex it’s okay,” he winces. “We can stay friends.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Sam. You still have feelings for him. It’s fine if you do, I get it. I’m not mad or anything I just thought…”

“I am over Sam.”

“Well, congrats on getting over him I guess,” Seokmin shrugs but his grin is forced. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“Are you serious?” you scoff, venom stinging the tip of your tongue. 

His face glazes with annoyance. “What else is there?”

“Why did you leave?”

“I had work.”

You want to smack to frown off his face. 

“But you didn’t text me or leave a note. I woke up and you were gone and then didn’t hear anything from you.”

“I did leave a note. You iced me out,” he argues.

“Where? Because from where I’m standing you left as soon as you could and then ignored me like it never happened.”

“My phone died so I left a note on the counter. And you never texted me or anything so I thought you were trying to let me down easy.”

He left you a note. The shredded paper on your bed…

“Oh my god,” you gasp, ire evaporating. “Shinx.”

“Your cat?”

Laughter bubbles out of your throat, so thick you choke on your next words. “I think she ate your note.”

The realization hangs in the air, Seokmin froze as your words sink in. He stares at you for a moment, still recovering from the absurdity of it all, before he finally exhales a long breath.

“I thought she liked me,” he whines, face lit up with the beginning of a smile. 

“Shinx is loyal to no one.”

His body meets yours, like cards precariously leaned against one another to prevent a topple as you both shake with laughter. The cold of the street disappears in the warmth of his touch. 

“You’re not that kind of guy. I know that. I shouldn’t have—”

“I could’ve texted you after I went to Kwan’s,” he interjects. 

“I could’ve called you.”

Seokmin’s gaze roams across your face. “How about we start over?”

“I’d like that,” you smile, closing the scant amount of space left between your bodies. 

“Me too.”

Your lips brush against his, the faintest contact sending a storm of butterflies through your stomach. You’re both smiling too much for it to count as a real kiss but neither of you seem to care. His hand slips around the back of your neck, holding you closer just for a moment longer.

Seokmin convinces you to stay at the bar for a few more hours. He holds your hand, keeps you under his arm, looks at you after each joke to make sure you’re laughing too. Seokmin is nothing like Sam. You’ve known that all along but the fear lingered and you refused to acknowledge it. He’s someone you actually could fall for if you let yourself. 

He might hurt you but the potential for something great outweighs the bad in spades.

As the night drags on, you end up closer; sitting on his laps, his hands protectively wrapped around your waist. His chin hooks over your shoulder and you lean back against him. The slow burn between you roars to a boil when you trace mindless shapes against his palm, Seokmin’s breath shaky in his chest.

“Ready to go home?” he whispers huskily. His breath rushes down your neck, goosebumps bloom in its wake. 

You shift closer – the seam of your jeans only further worsening your arousal – and nod.

Once outside, you’re tangled in each other once again, limbs indecipherable. The sudden chill of midnight air has you turning back into his chest, the arm previously on your back curling low on your waist. Seokmin orders an Uber and immediately focuses back on you the second he can. You catch a text on his screen before he can lock his phone. Seokmin holds you the same as before but it’s different this time. You’re both waiting for the damn to break and the flood to wash away whatever tension lingers between you. 

[10:56PM] Mr. Boo: do not fuck this up

[10:56PM] Mr. Boo: lydia said she would kill you and i think she’s serious

The cab ride home is a blur. You’re focused on not scandalizing the drive while Seokmin keeps a hand firmly on your knee, perfectly proper if it wasn’t for the grit in his jaw when you return the touch just high enough for your pinky to graze his zipper. 

The second the car stops, you throw the door open and pull Seokmin out and inside the lobby, straight to the elevator where he grabs your waist and uses the leverage to kiss you with so much heat you sweat.

He tries pressing you into the wall but you beat him to the punch, crowding him into the corner, front flush with him from head to toe. Seokmin groans, pushing back as you grind over his thigh. One of you pushes the button to your floor.

When the doors open, he gains the upper hand. Tugging you down the hall, he bypasses your door and goes straight for his own. He fumbles with the keys from the way you suck at his pulse but after a few tries he succeeds, pulling you inside and pressing you into the wall of the hallway.

“I like you,” he admits, rushing to unzip your coat and stuff his freezing hands inside, curling them against your waist. “This isn’t just sex.”

You nod dumbly. “I know. I like you, too.”

“And we should – hmmm – go on a date sometime.”

“Okay,” you rasp. 

His thigh slots back between yours. All those memories of his mouth and fingers rush to the forefront, teasing you with the fantasy of Seokmin on his knees right here, eating you out next to his front door. 

He presses hard against your core, fingers tracing the seam of your pants. Your hands reach beneath his shirt; pulling, squeezing. Nails digging into his tense stomach with each bump against your covered clit.

“Seokmin,” you whimper.

You're pulled off the wall. A trail of clothing is left in your wake to his room. Hats, coats, sweaters, undershirts. Seokmin manages to keep his pants on but allows you to unbutton them for a weak handjob over his briefs.

“God,” he exhales close to your ear.

In all the nights you two have hung out you’ve never been in his room. You try to take in as many details as possible but Seokmin dedicates himself to driving you insane with his lips on your neck, gently nipping and sucking until you shiver.

If you had any foresight this was going to happen then you would have at least picked matching underwear. But he seems thrilled as he crowds you into the bed. 

His mouth replaces his hand, lapping at your nipple, completely disregarding the fabric of your bra, before sucking it into his mouth. The hand that was on your chest dips beneath your panties. Fingertips circle your clit, gliding through the wet mess, dipping shallowly inside you.

Your hips rut into the touch. You want more. Need more. And you know Seokmin can give you what you need.

You guide his mouth to your neglected nipple, pushing the cup out of the way and arching as he gives it the same attention. “Please.”

“I got you,” he promises.

Seokmin melts down between your legs, kneeling at the side of the bed; one on his shoulder, the other pressed up your chest. Your hands bury in his hair as he licks a long strip up your core. Each pathetic sound fleeing your lips is rewarded with a deeper curl of his fingers, a harsher lap of his tongue. He leaves wet kisses on your thighs, spreading the mess of arousal and spit before diving back.

You squeeze tight on his fingers. “O-oh, oh fuck.”

Your hips stutter into his mouth. It washes over you, muscles clenched so hard it hurts. The way your heels dig into his back must hurt too but you don’t care. Neither does Seokmin. He doesn’t stop as you claw at him, following that inferno scorching through every tissue, begging him to keep going until you wilt into the sheets.

The ceiling comes slowly into focus, dots floating across your vision. You’re sweating despite the chill hanging in the air. Thankfully, Seokmin blankets you in his heat as he kisses across your hips, then your sternum, then buries his face into your neck. Your shivers have nothing to do with the cold.

“Wow,” you pant. 

Seokmin’s face cracks into a tired grin. Fatigue ghosts over the room but you're not done yet. The weight of his cock between your legs demands attention, and you’re all too eager to touch him.

He doesn’t object when you push him onto his back, or to the trail of soft kisses down his front, allowing you to mark up the smooth expanse of his chest and belly how you see fit. You savor the warmth of his body with each touch. Allow your fingers to gently wash away each press of your lips and warm him up for what's to come.

You suck the head of his cock through the fabric, teasing him with your tongue until the taste of pre-cum floods your mouth. 

He sinks into the bed. A hand finds its way into your hair, unsure if he wants to pull you off or sink deeper into the heat of your mouth, even if it is just a tease. You tug his underwear out of the way and continue torturing him. Thrilled by the way his stomach tense with each desperate whine from the way your tongue traces every ridge.

He gently guides you back and forth, taking the strain off your neck as you take more and more before he pulls you off. “Wait, shit.”

“What–”

“I was gonna come,” Seokmin explains, pulling you up his chest to drop placating kisses against your chin.

“That’s okay,” you smile. “I want you to.”

“But I want to fuck you.”

“Next time?”

“Fuck yes, next time,” he pants as he rolls you on to your back.

He keeps his mouth on yours, tongue sliding hotly against your own while blindly searching for a condom in the bedside table. 

Your hips angle and so do his, a little wiggle and then he’s inside you and it ruins your life. Just the first inch seals your eyes shut, vision filled with stars. You can feel everything; full in a way you’ve never felt before.

Seokmin draws back timidly, allowing you both to watch the way your body takes him so easily.

Somehow he manages to rock deeper, stretch you at just the right angle. Surges right into that spot that curls your chest tight with rough fluidity. The muscles in your thighs are at war with whether to spread wider or squeeze around his waist.

“I wanna ride you.”

There are so many things you want to do with him. To him. But you start with this, taking command of his lap, sinking back on his dick with another tight stretch; glowing as Seokmin watches slack-jawed.

“God, you’re perfect,” he praises.

You fuck yourself on him, knees digging into the mattress as you grind back and forth and all Seokmin can do is watch. A loose grip on your hips as his face glazes over. Your thighs cramp but the way he looks against the pillows, hazy around the edges, hair flat at one side and wild on the other, encourages you to finish what you started.

“Touch me,” you beg.

His neck goes red, ears too, when his hand wedges back between your thighs. “Wanna see you come again. Fuck, you’re so pretty when you come for me.”

Your hips cant wildly, stuttering under his free flowing praise. Too full, too much. You nearly scramble off his lap to snatch at your sanity drifting away.

He kisses you gently, sweet praise ghosting over your lips. “That’s it. Just like that.”

You’re not even moving. Seokmin works your clit raw, fucks up into you with limited motion as you choke on another orgasm that leaves you wet at the eyes and the room spinning. 

“U-ugh. Fuck,” you shiver, collapsing into his chest.

“Can,” he chokes. “Can I—”

An imperceivable dip of your chin and Seokmin rolls you back over and flattens your thighs open; hard rushes of his hips, stomach taunt.

“Come for me. Want you to come inside me,” you sigh. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he chants as he shakes beneath your hands before slumping over.

You rebound faster than Seokmin; he’s almost snoring against your chest as you rake a hand through the tangled mess of his hair, melting under the weight on your lips against his hairline.

“You’re pretty when you come, too,” you tease. 

He swats your hand away, rising off you to dispose of the condom in the bathroom before rushing back into bed to clean you with a washcloth. When he’s done, he throws it into some forgotten corner of the room where the rest of your clothes hide and dives under the covers with you in tow. 

Your limbs lace with his, all nude skin on skin. 

“I would like to take you out for real sometime,” Seokmin whispers.

“Good thing I have a four hundred dollar date to cash in on.”

“You know,” he smiles into your cheek. “You could have asked me for free.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”

taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @/miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie

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@aaa-sia @tinkerbell460 @gyuhao365 @ourkivee  @bokk-minnie

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@whrryuu @wonrangwoo @xchaenx @champagnenoona

[defectivevillain]

the games we play

pairing: Gi-hun/Young-il/Reader

the reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: “And surely you’ve seen the way Young-il looks at you,” you press on, motivated by Gi-hun’s silence. “Like he wants to pick you apart, break you into pieces, and then put you back together again.” Gi-hun is quiet for several moments. “I… haven’t noticed that,” he eventually admits. He pauses for a moment, evidently thinking. “I’ve seen Young-il look at you like that.” Something unpleasant jumps in your chest. “Then we’re both in trouble,” you huff, rubbing a hand over your eyes.

Gi-hun and you attempt to navigate the 33rd Squid Game, under the watchful eye of the enigmatic Oh Young-il.

word count: 10.3k | ao3 version | fic playlist

warnings: spoilers to Squid Game season 2; canon-typical blood, violence, and death.

author's notes: This is Gi-hun/Reader/In-ho (Young-il) centric. Leaning heavily on Gi-hun/Reader, with subtle In-ho moments. The reader is written to have incurred debt from their undergraduate studies in America.

This fic does not have a happy ending. Also, it’s canon non-compliant/divergent.

I made a playlist for this fic too. Feel free to listen, if that’s your vibe :3

Thank you to @connorhasabigtip for beta reading this & watching the first four eps with me! love you bitch. and jun-ho is in love with you. so I guess that makes us related fr now.

You first meet Seong Gi-hun in a sandy arena, under the watchful eyes of a killer doll figurine as you play Red Light, Green Light. At the time, you only know him as Player 456—the strangely vocal man who insists that the game comes with the risk of imminent death. You’re not quite sure why you decide to believe him. Maybe it’s because you have no other choice; or maybe it’s just because there’s less risk. Either way, you choose to follow his advice. You end up near the front of the group of players scattered across the field, which means you are forced to remain frozen as you hear gunshot after gunshot. There are people screaming and attempting to escape, but you know it’s no use. They are all shot down, until the doll finally seems to have enough and turns its back on the field once more. 

You take the proffered opportunity to continue running down the field, until it begins to turn around again and you’re forced to freeze. 456 and you are the frontrunners, with 456 focused on helping everyone. He’s calm and collected under pressure—keeping his mouth hidden behind his elbow as he shouts out orders. 

Thanks to his help, the majority of the remaining players survive. And while most of them appear to scorn him for his relentless optimism, you can’t help but feel grateful that he warned everyone. You steal glances at him from across the dorm before gathering the courage to walk up to him and introduce yourself, dipping your head in a mock bow. He returns the gesture, introducing himself as Seong Gi-hun. You talk for a while, before finally relenting and asking him if he’s played these games before. The troubled expression that passes over his face is the only answer you need, but he confirms it verbally anyways. He won the game a few years ago. As for why he came back… he hopes to stop the games once and for all. 

“You’ll need some help then.” You remark, sounding far more confident than you feel at the present moment. “I can join you.” You offer. 

He looks askance. “It’ll be dangerous.” Gi-hun warns you. 

“Everything about these games is dangerous.” You point out. It’s true. If you’re going to die, you’d rather die fighting for something—instead of solely being a victim to these fucked up games. 

“True.” He acquiesces, before sliding over and giving you enough room to sit next to him. You take the proffered space and rest your forearms on your knees, clasping your hands and staring at the players across the dorm. 

“You may want to keep it a secret,” you say after a few moments, tapping your fingers restlessly. “That you’ve played these games before, I mean.” You clarify after seeing his confusion. 

“Why?” Gi-Hun frowns. You’re not surprised by his reaction—while you don’t know Gi-hun very well, it’s clear he has a good heart. He sees the best in people. And while that’s normally an admirable quality, it doesn’t quite help him here. 

“If you warn everyone about the second game now, and then it turns out you’re wrong…” You continue. You’ve been thinking about his show of resistance during the first game, and you suspect whoever is running the game will do whatever it takes to ensure he doesn’t do the same thing again. “You’ll be a pariah. No one will trust you. And that’s exactly what they want. They’re betting on the fact that you’ll tell everyone about the second game. They’ve probably changed it so you’ll lose credibility.” You finally seem to get through to Gi-hun with that remark, as he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“That’s… a fair point.” He eventually agrees. It seems he hadn’t thought of it. He pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Feeling eyes on your back, you turn around to find a player staring at Gi-hun and you. Your skin burns under his intense gaze, and he shows no embarrassment at the prospect of being caught staring. Instead, he only blinks. You stare at him for a moment, before eventually convincing yourself to turn away. Your skin crawls for the rest of the day, even as you get into bed and try to get some sleep. 

The second game takes place early the next morning, after the majority of players vote to continue the game. You’re once again led through those winding pastel halls and stairs, only to find yourself in an arena reminiscent of a playground. You look over at Gi-hun, who looks a bit troubled by what he sees. Evidently, it’s a bit different from what he saw in the second round of his previous game. 

Once the surviving players are gathered in the space, an announcement confirms that the next game will be a six-legged race. Gi-hun shoots you a relieved look and you remember what he told you after your conversation the previous day. The second round last time was dalgona. It appears the game masters changed the game, just as you predicted. Gi-hun is still looking at you with gratitude and it makes you feel a bit uneasy, knowing the feeling is wasted on you. The announcer’s voice breaks through the static in your mind, directing players to gather in groups of five. 

“I’m with you.” You say after a moment, looking at Gi-hun. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out more confident and assertive. Internally, you’re a bti more unsure. Sure, you spoke with Gi-hun a lot yesterday, but that doesn’t mean he sees you as an ally yet. 

Thankfully, Gi-hun doesn’t object. “Of course.” He nods. You feel a slight smile slip onto your face, relieved that you won’t have to look around for a group. With the addition of Player 388, your group now has three members. You only need two more for the game. 

“May I join your group?” You blink to find Player 001 standing in front of you. He was the one staring at you two last night. The man looks between Gi-hun and you. You don’t trust yourself to speak, instead letting Gi-hun and 388 decide. 

“Sure.” Gi-hun agrees. You’re secretly a bit suspicious, but you let it go. 

With the addition of a young girl, your group is complete with five members. Since the game is a six-legged pentathlon, there will be five games interspersed along the track. Your group decides on the following pairings: Player 222 and Ddakji; Gi-Hun and Jegi; 001 and spinning top; 388 and Gonggi; & you and flying stones. 

As you’re watching the first group stumble through the obstacles, you feel a sudden presence behind you. “A miss in Flying Stone will eat up a lot of time,” 001 says. And wow, this guy needs to learn about personal space. You swear his breath is hitting your neck as he hovers over your shoulder. You instinctively flinch and turn around, comprehending his remark.

“Shut up,” you then respond, your nerves high enough without this guy’s comments. “Stop with your mind games. We’re on the same team, in case you didn’t realize.” You snap before you can stop yourself. You immediately turn back around to watch the team playing; and in your eagerness to look away, you miss the slight quirk of the man’s lips. 

The first two groups die. The gunshots still ring in your ears, even after the guards remove their corpses and the game continues. There are growing puddles on the ground, marring the childish appearance of the arena. 

Desperate for a way to distract yourself, you turn to 001 again. “Who are you, anyway?” You soon ask, unable to hide your curiosity. He just blinks at you, that infuriatingly blank expression on his face. He almost seems like an android, with how little emotion he shows. “I didn’t see you here for the first round.” You frown. And sure, the first round had hundreds of people. But you think you’d remember a guy like him. He’s… Well. You hate to admit it, but he’s very conventionally attractive. And his stare is eerie. If you had seen him, you would’ve remembered.

Gi-hun overhears and freezes, looking at you before following your gaze to stare at 001. He seems curious. “And you knew my name, when I never told it to you.” Gi-hun continues. 

Your eyes widen. You’re about to press the guy for more information when the buzzer rings, summoning your group to the starting line. That was suspiciously good timing. But it doesn’t matter—you can worry about 001’s origins later. Right now, you have a game to win. 

Fortunately, your group makes it out alive. The group you share the arena with isn’t so lucky, and the sound of gunshots echoes in your ears long after you head back to the dorms. All of you are dejected as you see how many people died last round. You feel particularly worried for 222, who had revealed herself to be pregnant. Just how in the hell is she getting through this? She must be in immense pain. 

When you’re given your rations for the day, you give her your bread. 001 gives her his milk, and before long, each member of the group has sacrificed something to ensure her wellbeing. You can’t help but feel sickened at the thought of her presence here—she’s so young, and she’s carrying a baby while fighting for her life to survive. You don’t necessarily pity her, since she’s proven she’s very capable and athletic. Still… You resent the circumstances that brought players like her here. 

You think back to the game you just played. Everyone did very well and succeeded on the first try, except for 001—who took several tries to successfully wind and throw the spinning top. It’s ironic, considering he was trying to warn you all earlier and put more pressure on you. All of that talk… just for him to buckle under the pressure. It almost makes you want to laugh. If the rest of you hadn’t done so well, he could’ve gotten you killed. 

A sharp bolt of anger rushes through you. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten our conversation,” you say to the guy, the words slipping from your lips before you can stop them. 001 blinks at you innocently. The gesture just irritates you even more. “Who are you? How much debt do you have? What’s your job?”

“I think you can stop interrogating him,” 388 interjects, clearly sensing the tension settling across the group. You grit your teeth. 

“No; he’s suspicious,” you argue persistently, your spine tingling uneasily as you’re met with 001’s blank stare. “He beat the shit out of those two guys and pretended like it was nothing.” Indeed, when two contestants had been messing with a third guy, 001 had promptly walked up to them and overpowered them with ease. “He knew Gi-hun’s name when he never told him, and he was playing mind games all through the last round.” You finish scrutinizing him. The guy stares right back, seemingly unaffected by your skepticism.

“Hey, enough of that,” 388 remarks placatingly. You bite your tongue and allow him to keep speaking, if only because you’re so frustrated you can hardly think. Your fists are clenched at your sides. 001 is still staring, and he’s likely getting enjoyment from your irritation. “We should be celebrating our victory! And if you’ll excuse me…” He gets to his feet and stares at the group. “I don’t know your names yet. Mine’s Kang Dae-ho. It means ‘big tiger’.”

All of you proceed to introduce yourselves, before it gets to 001. Supposedly, his name is Oh Young-Il. “It’ll be easy to remember, because it corresponds to my number.” He remarks. This guy is only getting more and more suspicious with each thing he says. There’s no way in hell that’s his real name. And he seems to recognize you don’t believe him, because he’s staring at you again. 

The group is a bit more withdrawn today, after the events of the previous game. As your adrenaline dies down, you realize you’re quite tired. The others seem to feel the same; yet the day passes with infinite lethargy. It feels like a whole lifetime until the lights-out announcement. Upon hearing the announcement, Gi-hun guides the group through building a kind of fort and assigning members for guard duty. Supposedly, people can get violent at night—and kill one another just for the promise of more prize money. You’re not exactly surprised by that, so you go along with his orders. Gi-hun offers to take the first shift—leaving the rest of you to sleep peacefully (or, at least, as peacefully as a person can sleep in a place like this).

When you wake for the next shift a few hours later, you find Gi-hun still awake—staring off into the distance with a frown on his face. You sidle up next to him and the two of you sit in silence for a while. It’s not necessarily an uncomfortable silence. The two of you are both deep in thought, as you evidently reflect on the horrors you’ve witnessed. 

“...I don’t trust Young-il.” You admit quietly. There’s a persistent but quiet hum in the air, the only companion to the silence. 

“Why not?” Gi-hun asks. He doesn’t look suspicious, but he doesn’t exactly look believing either. He always believes the best in people, though. And his desire to stop the games has kept him too busy to notice the way 001 is acting. 

“He’s… slippery,” you settle for saying after a few moments. “He messes with people just to see their reactions. Plus, did you see him in the first game? Because I swear I didn’t see him, and then suddenly, when it was time to vote, he just… appeared.” 

“I mean, isn’t that strange?” You continue, unable to stop talking now that you’ve finally spoken your mind. “Especially when his vote was the one that ushered in the second game. It’s just… I don’t know, it’s really fishy.”

Gi-hun hasn’t spoken a word, instead looking ahead in sincere contemplation. “And surely you’ve seen the way he looks at you,” you press on, motivated by Gi-hun’s silence. “Like he wants to pick you apart, break you into pieces, and then put you back together again.”

Gi-hun is quiet for several moments. “I… haven’t noticed that,” he eventually admits, fully turning to look at you. He pauses for a moment, evidently thinking. His eyes are searching your face for something—but it’s a different kind of scrutiny than Young-il’s covert malice. “But I’ve seen him look at you like that.” Gi-hun says quietly. 

Something unpleasant jumps in your chest. “Then we’re both in trouble,” you huff, rubbing a hand over your eyes. 

(And little do you both know, Young-il has been lying awake the entire time, digesting every word of your conversation.)

“You should rest, Gi-hun,” you suggest. “I’ll take over from here.” It takes some argument, but you manage to persuade Gi-hun to sleep. You spend the rest of your guard shift staring ahead and fighting off sleep. Your eyes are dry and you’re beginning to get a headache, but you’re happy to keep watch if it ensures the safety of your group members. 

You must zone out for quite a while, because there’s soon a hand on your shoulder. You flinch and blink dazedly, only to find Young-il staring at you imploringly. “It’s my turn to keep watch. You should rest.” He suggests. His hand hasn’t moved from your shoulder. Gi-hun’s words echo in your ears: I’ve seen him look at you like that. Young-il’s dark eyes are glittering. You’re immediately assaulted with one unshakeable conviction: he wants to rip you apart and eat you alive. 

You’re not sure how long you remain there, pliant under the man’s grasp, before you shake yourself out of it. All you know is the faux concern knitting his brows together, and the lingering hand on your shoulder that only slips away after you’re out of reach.

…You don’t sleep very well. 

The third game, Mingle, is quickly proving to be the worst one so far. It should be simple: the carousel spins, before stopping and announcing a number. Players standing on it must assemble a group of that number and gather in one of the nearby rooms before the time expires. Elementary. 

Except… it’s utter mayhem when the numbers are announced. The lights go out, the countdown is ever present in a loud chirping tone, and it’s loud. 255 people is far too many for the enclosed space you find yourself in. And while your impromptu group develops a hesitant strategy, there’s no telling what number will come next. Hell, at this point, they could announce “1” and eliminate three-quarters of the players. You hope it doesn’t come to that. 

As the rounds continue, you grow more and more restless. There’s a horrible pit in your stomach as you return to the spinning stage each time, stepping over corpses and puddles of blood. You almost feel as if you’re stuck in some strange sort of limbo, cursed to continue this stupid game over and over again. To make matters worse, there are slits in each of the doors that conceal the rooms—giving you a front row seat to the brutality of the guards. 

Finally, after what feels like far too long, you’re at the last round. You swallow hard, fighting off the dizziness and vertigo that the spinning stage is inciting in you. Jun-hee, Dae-ho, Young-il, and Gi-hun have all survived thus far, thankfully. You all had to split up a few times when the numbers were smaller, but you survived nonetheless.  

“What do you think the last number will be?” Gi-hun asks the group. 

You contemplate the question. Before you can respond, Young-il speaks. “Two.” he answers with frightening certainty. You pay him a wary glance, only to find that there is no trace of hesitation in his expression. Everything he does only makes you more unnerved. He must be doing it on purpose, at this point. 

You look at Gi-hun wordlessly. But just as you’re about to ask him to be your partner, the lights are going out and the number is appearing on the screen above. Indeed, as Young-il predicted, the last round requires a pair to enter a room.  

You barely get a moment to think before Young-il latches his hand onto your wrist, yanking you after him and leaving you no choice but to follow. You spare a glance behind you at Gi-hun, relieved to see he’s running to a room with Dae-ho. Your attention is quickly recaptured by the people you’re running near, and you have to push past them to get into the nearest room. With Young-il’s help, you manage to get inside and slam the door behind you. 

You’re about to breathe a sigh of relief when you lock eyes with another guy. It’s a third player, who was inexplicably standing in the room. Everything falls to an eerie silence as you come to terms with the situation. The timer is quickly counting down. He needs to leave for Young-il and you to fit the requirements. If you have too many people, you’ll fail and die. But the clock is already counting down, and the door locked behind you, and there’s just no time, not enough time- 

You feel yourself slide down the wall and onto the ground, shakily covering your head in your hands as if that will do anything to stop the oncoming onslaught of bullets from the guards. You can only hear the sound of your own ragged breathing reverberating through your ears, as you try and fail to keep it together. 

The sound of shuffling breaks you from your thoughts; you look up to find Young-il with his arms wrapped around the guy’s neck as he chokes the life out of him. The guy’s face is turning red from the strength of his grip, as he scrambles to get some air. His eyes meet yours and you just… stare. 

Three… Two… One.

The other player slumps on the ground. 

A few seconds pass. There’s nothing but silence. It seems the guy died just before the countdown ended—bringing the number of players back down to two and ensuring your victory in the game. 

Your eyes are locked on the other player’s corpse. Then, as if against their own volition, your eyes find Young-il’s, and every one of your prior suspicions is confirmed. 

…You’re frozen. 

He gets to his feet, pushing the corpse away as if it’s nothing more than an obstacle. The casual nature of the gesture makes you feel sick. Then Young-il politely offers you a hand, as if you had merely stumbled on the ground. As if he hadn’t just killed someone right in front of you. 

You’re frozen. You think there’s blood spattered across your face from one of the previous rounds. You can’t speak, can hardly breathe.

Unperturbed, Young-il crouches down before you. He takes your forearms and deftly tugs you up to your feet. 

You’re 

still

frozen. 

He’s guiding you out of the room now, his grip on your shoulder tight and loose all at once. The door slides open with a menacing sound. The other players are leaving their rooms. You want to search the crowd, but the contestants’ faces are all blurring together. There’s a helpless sound trapped in your throat. 

“Oh, thank God, you guys-” A familiar voice says. Gi-hun is running towards you. You want to be touched by the sheer relief in his voice, but you’re too busy trying not to pass out, or punch something, or just sob. You wrap your arms around yourself and try not to think about the blood flooding the floor, the ringing in your ears, the maleficence of the man at your side. Gi-hun claps a hand on your shoulder, his expression morphing into a concern you don’t deserve. “What happened?”

You can hardly breathe. Gi-hun’s looking at you expectantly and it takes all your effort not to just break down right there. You look at the ground, see the bloodstains, look back up. The doors on the far side of the space are opening, marking the end of the round. There’s a swarm of teal as players make their way back to the dorms. 

You think you’d stand there forever, if not for Gi-hun’s guidance. He pulls you after him gently. You follow. You feel Young-il’s gaze burning into the back of your head. Your tongue is locked to the roof of your mouth. You think you’re shaking, but it’s hard to think straight over the roaring sound in your ears.

Oh Young-il. 001. 

The inexplicable combat skills. The ease with which he killed the other player. That eerie look on his face, as if he’s viewing the game through the eyes of an observer. The gleam in his eyes as he stares at Gi-hun, you, and tests your resolve. This game, these players… they’re all an experiment to him. And he is the mad scientist engineering the entire thing. 

You’re fucked.  

You don’t remember much of what happens after that. The survivors make their way through the winding pastel corridor once more. You nearly trip on the steps several times, just barely catching yourself each time. Your ears are ringing. Even Jun-hee seems worried for you, and she’s carrying a baby.  

To make things worse, you keep hearing people calling your name. At first, you think you’re just imagining it. But you hear it again and again; and when you turn around, you hear the crazy shaman lady beckoning you closer. She’s slipping through the line and walking towards you now, crooning about fate and destiny and your imminent death. You don’t know what to say, can’t seem to summon that fire that has kept you safe, skeptical, this entire time. Before you can respond, Gi-hun’s leading you away from her with an arm around your shoulders. You can just vaguely hear Young-il speaking with Dae-ho and Jun-hee behind you, likely providing a sugar-coated lie for your state right now. You want to vomit. 

You blink and you’re on one of the bunks. Gi-hun’s saying something, looking at you worriedly, but his voice sounds garbled and warped like he’s underwater. You blink, blink, blink. Your hands are trembling still. You can’t rid yourself of the memory: of that player, in his dying moments, looking to you for help. You could’ve done something, should’ve done something. 

But what could you have done? If you had stopped Young-il, all three of you would’ve died anyway for having an incorrect number of people. Right? Young-il only did what was necessary to ensure your survival. Should you be grateful to him? 

No. You don’t want to feel thankful for a person who snuffed out the life of another before your very eyes. You don’t want to feel any positive emotion in this place. It’s all a lie. Everything is just… a feeble exercise to fight off despair. But it always comes back. Always. 

You hide your head in your knees, trying to gather the shattered pieces of your composure. You want to hate yourself for this—for the way you just shut down—but, at the same time, it only seems rational. Young-il is one of the game masters. You’re not sure just what his role is, but it must be something important—for him to be able to slip into the players’ ranks with ease. And you just saw him kill a contestant before your very eyes. What’s stopping him from doing the same thing to you, or Gi-hun, or Jun-hee, or Dae-ho? He could’ve easily strangled you in that tiny room. What prevented him from doing so? What guided his arm to wrap around the other player’s neck, instead of your own?

Moreover, if Young-il really is a part of executing these games… Who’s to say he doesn’t have advanced knowledge of the rounds to come? That only increases the despair you feel. What’s the point of fighting, if the game is rigged? If Young-il has adjusted the odds to his favor? Your head aches as you attempt to rationalize it all. Nothing about it makes sense.

…But you can’t let 001 win. You can’t let him break your resolve. That’s what Young-il’s here to do: he wants to stop Gi-hun’s insurgence—and, by extension, yours.

You run through your thoughts for a while, attempting to string together the tangled mess of information you’ve learned and witnessed. “Gi-hun.” You eventually say. Your voice is raspy, somehow. You haven’t spoken in a few hours now. Everyone in the group looks over at you. Your voice sounds like a stranger’s. “I need to speak with you. Alone.” You get to your feet and make your way to the ground, before shoving your hands in your pockets as you wait for him. Gi-hun stands up. 

Gi-hun is at your side as you walk, looking at you. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” You suggest as you walk away. He nods at your suggestion and the two of you head into the giant restroom. It’s not the ideal place for a conversation, but here, none of the other players will eavesdrop. There are cameras, but you doubt they have audio. 

You stand in the center of the empty bathroom for a long moment. Gi-hun seems to take the initiative, leading you into one of the stalls. The space seems far too small, with the two of you practically pressed together as you evade the cameras. The edges of your dirtied white shoes nearly touch. 

If Gi-hun is uncomfortable with the proximity, he doesn’t show it. After all, you both have far bigger problems. “What happened?” He asks you carefully. There are muted pink stains on his shirt—blood from the past games. You’re sure your clothing looks much the same. 

“I-” You choke out. This is much harder than you expected. Your sentences are choppy and fragmented as you continue speaking. “You remember our conversation last night?” It almost hurts to speak. 

“Yes.” He confirms, likely recalling your suspicions about Young-il. At this point, you almost wish you were wrong—that 001 was merely another player, just like the rest of you. But you know that contradicts the facts. 

“Young-il’s working for them.” You manage to say. 

Gi-hun is silent as he processes what you’ve just said. 

“He killed a man in front of me,” you say, your voice shaking. “When we were in the- the room. There were three of us. And I thought I was going to die-” You’re fighting for air again, your words interrupted with involuntary shudders. 

You look down at your feet to hide the tears you’re fighting off. But Gi-hun only leans forward and pulls you into an embrace. You can’t help but clutch at him like a lifeline. 

“He put the guy in a chokehold and killed him.” You manage to say, once you’ve calmed down a little.  “Gi-hun, the look on his face-” You choke off, shaking your head. His hold on you just tightens, as if reassuring you of his presence. You feel so weak for allowing yourself this moment, so vulnerable and desperate as you fall apart in the arms of the man who has lost so much more than you can possibly fathom. 

“Any attempt we make at stopping the games, he’ll be there listening.” You state, trying to take a breath and gather your thoughts once more. You could easily spend the rest of the night falling apart, but you know it won’t get you anywhere.  

Gi-hun swallows, bringing a hand across his chin as he evidently attempts to puzzle out what your next move should be. “That’s a problem.” He eventually says. You nod. 

“I think Young-il joined to mess with you.” You confess. “And if that’s the case, he must be more than a mere guard. The guards don’t have that kind of power. He’d have to be pretty high up in the hierarchy.”

“No wonder you were despondent earlier.” Gi-hun sighs. He laughs, a gesture completely devoid of any positive emotion. He rubs a hand over his face. “I had a plan—take the guards’ guns from them, get to the control room and demand answers.”

You just shake your head. You both know an exercise like that would be futile, and result in countless unintentional casualties. 

“It’s probably him.” Gi-hun continues. “He’s been right in front of us the whole time.” Us. Not me, but us. You feel momentarily touched by the remark, before you see the distressed look on his face. You can’t imagine what Gi-hun’s thinking right now, as he attempts to find a way to end this game system. System, because these games are far more than isolated events. A group—hell, an organization—with this kind of resources wouldn’t just give up after one game. It’s a constant cycle of despair and greed. 

Is there even a way to break the cycle? Gi-hun is only a single player. Dismantling an entire system—and, moreover, the predatory tactics it uses to ensnare people—is an impossible task. And you both know it. These games rely on the corruption in the outside world… and that can’t be wished away by an uprising here. People will always be greedy. People will always fight for their lives. And people will always resent being controlled. You shake your head. 

There’s a harsh banging on the door of the restroom; the two of you flinch, hearing a guard summoning you back to the dorms. You exchange worried looks before complying with his orders, stepping out of the bathroom and heading back to the group. 

“What took you guys so long?” Another player asks when you get back. He’s been sitting on the outskirts of your impromptu group since you got back from the game. “Don’t tell me you hooked up in there; that’s where we all go to piss.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Gi-hun must be wearing a similar expression, because he’s also silent. 

“What?” He asks, looking to the others for support. “Come on, it’s not that crazy of an assumption to make.”

Jun-hee looks like she’s fighting off the urge to smile in amusement; Dae-ho is laughing; and Young-il is silent as always. You could convince yourself there’s an extra tension to the set of his shoulders, but you won’t. 

Dae-ho continues attempting to keep the group’s morale up, but you can’t seem to move past your conversation with Gi-hun—and neither can he. When the countdown to lights out begins, the two of you are volunteering for guard duty. 

You want nothing more than to go to sleep, but your mind won’t let you. You’re stuck sitting in silence, fighting off stinging eyelids and persistent fatigue. 

Eventually, you lose the battle to exhaustion; and you wake some time later to feel a slightly stiff neck and hear an amused exhale of breath. Your awareness comes back slowly, as you exit your dreams and return to the nightmare of your waking life. The dorms slowly sharpen before your eyes and you blink blearily, wondering why your side feels so warm. It doesn’t take you long to connect the dots on that particular puzzle—as you look over to find yourself nearly nestled into Gi-hun’s side, your head resting on his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening up and sliding away a little. It takes a concerted effort to ignore the heat racing across your skin. 

Gi-hun doesn’t look particularly bothered, instead blinking. “You needed the rest.” He says, considerate as always.

“And you didn’t?” You ask with a raised brow. 

Gi-hun’s about to respond when you both hear rustling. Dae-ho’s sudden presence behind you makes your heart jump. 

“You should rest.” Dae-ho suggests, crouching behind you both. “Both of you. It’s my turn anyways.”

Neither of you can come up with a good argument, so you go back to your respective beds and fall asleep. 

The next night isn’t a very restful night either. The fourth game takes the lives of far too many players. Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and countless other contestants died. The majority of the beds in the dorms are empty now. Many players appear dejected and overwhelmed with the situation. Yet, the majority still consistently votes to continue the game. You are well and truly trapped here.

You reconvene with Gi-hun after the game and quickly decide that you should attempt getting some more information from Young-il. Gi-hun is quick to volunteer you for the task, citing his somewhat mediocre lying abilities. This is how you find yourself seated next to Young-il in the near darkness that night, fighting off your nerves as you try to convince yourself to speak. 

“What do you want?” You ask when you can finally suppress your nerves. Your fingers twitch and you clasp them in your lap. Young-il is silent for a moment, before raising a brow. Maybe he didn’t hear you. “What do you want? What are you doing this for?”

He’s still quiet. You choke on a sharp, broken laugh. Even direct confrontation isn’t enough to get him to admit his role in the games. 

“How did you fall into debt?” Young-il asks you instead.

You decide to humor the question, if only so that he’ll be more talkative later on. Maybe he’ll be more motivated to tell the truth if you’re self-disclosing too. “I studied in America,” you reply. “Took a lot of loans, but it wasn’t enough. Obviously.” You huff, looking around. To think you spent all that money to get a degree… only to end up here.  

“Hm.” He doesn’t seem to have much to say regarding that. Young-il doesn’t look particularly surprised at your response either. 

“How did you actually get here?” You ask after a few seconds. “Are you even in debt?” Young-il does give off a bit of a businessman vibe—someone who’s more responsible with his money. It’s a bit hard to imagine him being in the same kind of crippling debt that keeps many of the players participating in the game. 

“I was.” He answers eventually, his arms resting on his knees. 

“You were.” You repeat, a bit surprised that he entertained the question. You recall what he told the group regarding his wife and her liver cancer, back when you first met. “Because of your wife’s treatment, I assume. Did she…?” You trail off quietly.

“Dead.” He answers, before you can stammer and stumble through an appropriate way to ask. 

“I see.” You remark. “But you’re still here. You won a game in the past, and then joined the game masters?” No response. You continue anyways. “Why? Did you have nothing else left?” You’re sure he can feel you staring at him expectantly, but he doesn’t crack under the pressure. 

“You’re persistent.” He notes after several moments. 

“And you’re very tight-lipped.” You respond immediately. Your heart is racing in your chest. This is a bit dangerous. There’s no telling what could make Young-il snap and grow angry. But, you suppose, anger would at least be a reaction. For the entirety of the games so far, he’s been infuriatingly emotionless. “That’s surprising, that you were a participant in the games once. Going through that is enough for anyone to leave and never return.”

“But you returned,” you speculate. “And to the wrong side, no less.” You’re just saying anything at this point—attempting to provoke some sort of reaction, regardless of what it is. So far, nothing really seems to be working. Maybe you need to go a bit below the belt. “I can’t imagine your wife thinks highly of you. Watching from whatever afterlife she’s in.” And that’s easily the rudest thing you’ve ever said to him, but, oh well. You could die tomorrow in the games, or here at his hand. Does it really make a difference? 

Young-il’s eyes immediately flash and you know you’ve trapped him. “Are you attempting to make me feel guilty?” Young-il asks, his voice devoid of emotion. But you know the brief flicker of anger in his eyes wasn’t a trick of the light. And while his anger is likely volatile, at least you're getting something. He’ll be more likely to talk if he’s feeling emotional. 

“Is it working?” You blink, still looking at him. He’s silent. “...Guess not.” You mutter resignedly. You swear you hear an amused exhale of breath from him, as if he’s holding back a laugh.  

“How do you get all this money, then?” You ask, genuinely curious. “This kind of operation can’t be easy to maintain.” After all, there are more than just the players that they have to worry about: there are the guards, the game masters, and whoever is watching these games. Because you know someone is watching. You can’t quite prove it, but you know regardless. 

“You are very perceptive.” Young-il says in lieu of an answer, a note of something complex in his voice. 

“Don’t patronize me.” You scoff, annoyed by the empty flattery. 

“I’m not patronizing you.” He continues, turning to look at you for one of the first times since you started speaking. “You have been a thorn in my side this entire time.”

“Oh,” you remark, surprised. You certainly weren’t expecting him to admit that you’ve been annoying him. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You really are quite strange,” he huffs.  

“And you aren’t?” You ask, taking the bait he’s dangling in front of you. “You could’ve been safe up there, or wherever the control room is. But instead you’ve joined the players once more. For… no reason. Or for entertainment, I suspect.”

Silence. 

“Do you know what games are next, then?” There’s no answer from him. You’re getting more irritated. “You realize I’m not going to stop asking questions.” You pester, if only to get him to say something. 

“That does seem to be part of your charm.” He says. It’s weirdly difficult for you to tell if his tone is sincere or sardonic. Perhaps a bit of both? No, surely not. He must be joking.  

You blink. “Okay… has there ever been more than one winner of the game?” You ask. You’re not sure why that question comes to mind. And you think you already know the answer. 

“No.” Young-il replies, confirming your suspicions. 

“How are you going to survive then?” You question, looking at him curiously. “Gi-hun’s going to win.” Will he sneak away before the last game? Or perhaps he’ll be given an advantage for it? 

“How are you going to survive?” He reasons, breaking you out of your thoughts.  

You shrug. “Not sure I will.” You admit. You’re not necessarily okay with that, but you pretend that you are. “But surely you can just sneak off or something. Fake your death in a game and disappear.” You raise a brow at him. 

“You have accepted your fate already.” He analyzes, ignoring your attempts at getting more information. He’s good. 

“The odds are against me,” you confess. “And I’d rather Gi-hun win.” Gi-hun has a lot more to live for. He would be the optimal person to carry out the end of the games, not you. 

“Why?” There’s genuine emotion on Young-il’s face, for what must be the first time. But it’s not surprise or suspicion—it’s confusion. Pure, complete confusion. He doesn’t understand what you just said or why you said it. 

“Because I care about him?” You respond, the statement coming out as a question despite it being the truth. Something passes over Young-il’s face, but it’s so quick you can’t even begin to decipher what emotion it is. “He’s the only good person in this place.” You say, your gaze wandering over the beds across the room. The remaining players are mostly asleep, awaiting the fifth game tomorrow. 

“Rest.” Young-il says, effectively terminating your conversation. “It’s my turn to keep watch.”

You don’t want to go to sleep. But Gi-hun and you agreed that you both need rest if you want to perform well in the games. And Young-il has had many opportunities to kill you already. He hasn’t done it yet. For some reason, you think he wants you both alive. And that is truly a frightening thought.  

As you head to your bed, you lock eyes with Gi-hun. The two of you have a lot to talk about, it seems. 

“Well, I tried my best.” You sigh, looking over at Gi-hun in the dim lighting of the restroom that morning. The two of you had decided to try to get more information out of Young-il—hence, your conversation with him the other night. You’re not sure if it was very helpful, but at least you can say you tried. 

“You did very well,” Gi-hun reassures you easily. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” You respond easily. The two of you are standing close together in the same stall, just like last time. “I want to end the games too… Did you get any ideas from that conversation?” 

“A few,” Gi-hun says with a frown. He seems distracted now, and almost apprehensive. You squint at him. “Is it true?” 

“Is what true?” You ask, a bit confused. 

“You said you care about me,” he recalls. 

Oh. Shit. You had forgotten he was listening to the conversation, at that point. “Of course I do,” you respond after a few seconds, recognizing Gi-hun isn’t the type of person to throw your feelings back in your face. You do care about him, yes. “You didn’t know?” You ask.

Gi-hun stares at you for a long, long moment. He’s scrutinizing you, searching your face for something. Whatever it is, he must find it, because he eventually settles. Then he’s continuing on as if he hadn’t said anything in the first place. “There’s nothing we can do about the game tomorrow… But I’m thinking the final game will be our chance.” 

“Okay.” You say after a moment, filing that previous reaction to the back of your mind. “What was the final game, when you played?” 

“Squid Game.” He responds. The expression on Gi-hun’s face is a heartbreaking mix of resignation, grief, and frustration. His fists clench at his sides as he recounts the rules. By the end, he’s practically shaking—and you realize he’s digging his nails into the palms of his hands. Concerned, you reach out and pry his fists apart, before slipping your fingers through his and clasping his hand. He looks surprised by the gesture, before he settles and nods. 

The two of you try to sleep that night as best as you can, given the circumstances. You’re worried about the final game—and the way Gi-hun ended your conversation, as if there was something he wasn’t telling you. You know he’d never hide something from you that you needed to know. You’re just… worried. Worried he’ll do something stupidly noble or self-sacrificing when it gets down to it. Of course, there’s no point in agonizing over the final game just yet. You have to make it through the fifth game, after all. 

You’re awoken along with the 30 remaining players early the next morning to begin the next game. And it is a brutal one. It is nothing like the challenge Gi-hun recalled from his own experience, where contestants jumped on glass panels, at a height that promised death for anyone who fell. It appears to involve a lot more dexterity than the last few. And, even more troubling, players have the opportunity to impede each other’s progress. 

Players are placed into groups of three and given a few minutes to complete their tasks. Gi-hun is in the first group, by some stroke of bad luck. Thankfully, he survives—but the same can’t be said for his other two group members, who are quickly shot in the head and dragged off into the darkness. You’ve been selected for the final group, which means you’re forced to watch as group after group dies in their failure to complete the challenge. This game seems designed to only let a few people survive. 

By the time it’s your turn, Gi-hun and Young-il are the only two players who managed to finish the game successfully. That’s not exactly a good omen for your survival, but you made sure to watch each player’s attempt and learn from their mistakes. You think you have a good idea of how to accomplish this task. You can only hope the pressure doesn’t get to you. 

The countdown begins and you get to work. Your hands are shaking as you scramble to finish what feels like a far too complex task for the few minutes you’re given. It’s down to the wire as your shaking hands rearrange pieces and build upon them, to the point where the timer is at ten seconds. 

Against all odds, you complete the game. The two players at your side are pleading and begging the guards to show mercy, but they are swiftly eliminated—all while you’re standing near them, close enough to hear the gunshots ring in your ears painfully. 

You can just barely recognize the guard’s arms rising to make a circle over their head, indicating that you passed the game. Sweat is beading down your neck; your hands are shaking so badly that you look as if you have extra fingers; and your chest almost hurts, as if your ribs are attempting to squeeze your internal organs and crush them. There are colors passing before your eyes at lightning speed. Shadows morph and blur at the edges of your vision. You feel unsteady on your feet. The guard standing in front of you is ordering you to exit the arena. You take a slow breath. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’ll be fine. 

You take a step. It’s more of a laborious effort than it should be. Why does it feel like you’re trapped in quicksand? Another step. You lurch forwards, catching yourself and straightening up.  The exit looks so far away. You’ve been walking for minutes now, but you haven’t even made it halfway across the arena. 

There are puddles of blood everywhere. The white sneakers they gave you are practically pink now. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, but your teeth are chattering as if you’re freezing. Everything seems to catch up to you. Days of improper nutrition and lackluster sleep; of constant vigilance and ceaseless stress; of grief and regret; of physical strain and exertion. 

It’s strange. One moment, you’re walking along just fine (albeit a bit slowly); the next, your entire world is tilting as you crumple and fall to the ground like a broken marionette. There’s a pink blur of a guard before you, and you can only hope they’ll give you a swift end to this endless series of games.

You wake up to a stiffness in your joints and a dryness in your eyes. You blink several times, your vision slowly sharpening to reveal the dorms. You’re situated on your bed, and if not for the memory of the last game, you’d think you were just waking up from a nap. You bring a hand to your temple and groan, slowly pushing yourself up. 

Then you notice a presence at your side. Gi-hun sits on the bed across from you, looking at you worriedly. “Gi-hun?” You ask, blinking past dry eyes.

Gi-hun settles, redirecting his attention and seemingly realizing you’re awake. He immediately lingers at your bedside, staring down at you with a torn expression. “I thought you were dead.” He says immediately, so quietly that you nearly hear the remark. 

“Young-il and I were waiting for you.” Gi-hun continues, his gaze exploring your face as if drinking in the sight. “But you didn’t appear… until the guards came back. And one of them was holding you in their arms.”

“I thought-” Gi-hun chokes off. “They wouldn’t tell me anything-” He says, clearly frustrated by the lack of information. He shakes his head. You reach out to grasp his hand, only to realize he’s already holding yours. His grip is delicate, as if afraid he’ll hurt you. You squeeze his hand lightly, hoping the gesture is reassuring. “And there was so much blood.” His voice cracks.

You look down to find your clothes absolutely splattered in blood (hell, nearly drenched). “It’s not mine,” you say aloud, thinking back to the game. Your opponents had gotten eliminated, and the two of you were standing quite close at the end. The guard hadn’t even waited for you to get out of the way before blowing their brains out. Their blood went all over you. “I passed out. I think- Everything must’ve caught up to me.” You press a hand to your temple and wince at the headache you find. 

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Gi-hun admits. He strengthens his grip on your hand and his other hand falls to your bended knee. 

“I’m glad you are too.” You return the sentiment. Gi-hun stares for a long moment, before shaking his head and pulling you into a hug. He grasps you tightly. 

“And Young-il?” You ask later, some time after the two of you have broken apart. You’re not necessarily worried for him—more worried about him. There’s no telling what he has planned. 

(Recognizing your exhausted state, Gi-hun decides not to tell you about Young-il. He doesn’t tell you about the look on the man’s face, nor about the mechanical way with which the man entered the empty arena moments later. He doesn’t detail the ringing gunshots that echoed throughout the nearby space, or the brief glimpse he caught of Young-il as he walked away… There was blood splattered across the man’s face and a vindictive gleam in his eyes. Meanwhile, Gi-hun returned to the dorms with the rest of the guards, nearly begging them to tell him something, anything-)

“He left, I imagine.” Gi-hun says instead. It almost seems as if he wants to say more, but he’s holding himself back.  

“It’s just us?” You ask, grasping his hand tightly. You need some sort of anchor to reality. You feel as if you’re starting to slip.  

As if sensing your distress, Gi-hun moves to sit next to you on the bed—all without letting go of your hand. “It’s just us.” He confirms. 

There is so much you wish you could say. But in your exhaustion, only one thing comes to mind. “Can finally get a good night’s sleep,” you say tiredly. You have no intention to hurt Gi-hun; and you doubt he will harm you. You won’t have to stay up all night guarding the group. (Because the group is gone. Because Jun-hee and Dae-ho are dead. Because Young-il left.) 

Gi-hun stares in disbelief, before laughing. The sound breaks you out of your spiraling thoughts. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him laugh before. “I guess so.” He relents. 

The two of you sit there for a while, before the lights-out announcement breaks through the uneasy silence in the dorms. It’s far too quiet—you’re used to hearing pieces of conversations, shuffling as people move about the room. You feel sick to your stomach. And so, so horribly alone. 

You decide to abandon your dignity and ask Gi-hun if you can sleep next to him. Fortunately, before you can overthink the question, Gi-hun is nodding with relief. The two of you then push your mattresses together on the floor and get settled in.

Before long, you’re staring up at the ceiling. Gi-hun’s hand finds yours. You twist to your side and look at him. He looks at you. The distance between you almost seems to shrink, as the two of you gravitate towards one another. There is so much you wish you could say. Dread, guilt, grief, frustration, and exhaustion all battle for prominence in your chest. You lean into him; he leans into you. It feels far too natural. 

This moment is a brief reprieve from the reality of the situation, and the fate that awaits you tomorrow. This glimpse at quiet domesticity is the most you will ever get. 

All things considered, it’s… nice.

The final game is Squid Game, just as Gi-hun predicted. The two of you walk to the arena together, entirely silent. You feel nauseous. You don’t want to die. But you definitely don’t want Gi-hun to die. He must be thinking along the same lines, as his lips are drawn in a tight frown. You trudge up the pastel steps a bit more slowly than usual, as if that will somehow delay your death. (It won’t.)

There’s a knife on the floor in the middle of the squid drawn in the sand. You almost want to laugh. If they think you’ll kill Gi-hun, they’re sorely mistaken. The two of you have chosen to wait until arriving at the final game to announce your decision to end. This way, you may have a chance at meeting the game masters.  

The walls around you are painted a cheerful blue. It couldn’t look more unsettling. You take a slow breath, steeling your nerves as you fight to speak. There’s an eerie silence in the air. “We choose to end the game.” You announce, slowly turning around at the cameras that must be scattered around the area. 

“We’re in agreement.” Gi-hun maintains, his eyes flitting about warily. “Clause 3 allows the majority to end the game.”

Your heart is roaring in your ears as you are met with nothing but silence. Will they really permit you to do this? Are you really allowed this ending? You’re breathing hard, despite the fact that you’re locked in place. 

“Congratulations, Player 228 and Player 456. You have won the 36th Squid Game.”

“What?” You choke. 

“What?” Gi-hun echoes. The two of you exchange bewildered looks. You chose to end the game, so why are you being granted victory? 

You hear sardonic slow applause coming from the other side of the space and you whip around, only to find a man in a geometric black mask. “Well done,” he says, his voice distorted. 

Dread prickles along your skin. Even with the mask and voice distortion, you know who is standing before you both. “Young-il,” you say guardedly. “If that’s even your name.” You add on. You strongly suspect it isn’t. 

The man removes his mask, revealing himself to be 001: Oh Young-il. Your suspicions are confirmed. You don’t quite react, save for subconsciously clenching your jaw. 

“You don’t seem surprised,” Young-il remarks, looking between the both of you. “I suppose that is to be expected. You were quick to catch on.” He says, staring at you intently. You feel restless and fidgety under the weight of his gaze. 

Gi-hun looks… furious, betrayed, and resigned all at once. It’s clear that, despite the fact that he believed you, he still gave Young-il the benefit of the doubt. He is too good for this place, you are reminded once more. 

“Hwang In-ho.” 001 says, apropos of nothing. 

“What?” You hear yourself say.

“My name.” He explains. “You will need to know it, as we are working together from this point forward.”

“What?” You repeat, horror crawling up your throat. Working together? “No, we’re supposed to leave-” You look at Gi-hun helplessly. He looks just as nauseated and disturbed as you are, which is a small ressurance. The winners of the Squid Game are allowed to return home. Right?

“You will receive the prize money, split amongst you both,” Young-il—no, In-ho—continues. As if either of you care about that at the moment. The prize money is the least of your concerns. “However, your continued survival comes with a condition: you must work alongside me to oversee the games.”

Gi-hun and you are both quiet for a long time. “Why?” Gi-hun finally asks, the first to regain his composure after that remark. He shoots you a helpless look, before staring back at In-ho firmly. “Because we’re both alive?” 

“Precisely.” He agrees. In-ho cuts an imposing figure in his all-black clothing and you’re once again reminded of the feeling you got when he first arrived—the sense that he didn’t belong. “You said it yourself a few days ago: there has only ever been one winner. I have negotiated for your (continued survival), on the promise that you will remain here.”

“For how long?” You ask. You don’t particularly care to hide your fear and dread. 

“As long as you have.” He responds easily, clasping his hands behind his back. As long as you have—so, for the rest of your life. 

You pay another glance at Gi-hun, knowing there’s no way he’ll accept this. Sure enough, he looks troubled… then contemplative. You’re hit with an instant feeling of foreboding. Gi-hun seems to be planning something. “If one of us dies,” he says, his voice hollow. “Will the other one be free to go?”

“...I suppose.” In-ho says, his brows furrowing minutely. He doesn’t seem to understand the point of the question.  

“Gi-hun,” you say, suddenly sensing what he’s about to do. The knife is still in the middle of the arena, untouched and neglected. But not for long, you suspect. “Don’t.” You plead. 

Gi-hun is already lunging for the knife. “No-!” You scream, immediately trying to grab the weapon. Gi-hun’s faster—wielding it and attempting to stab himself. You just barely grab his arm in time, the change in momentum sending you both sprawling to the ground. You try to wrestle the knife out of his hands, but it’s an increasingly difficult effort. Your hands are shaking, your arms burning as you use every muscle in your body to keep him from sacrificing himself. 

“Go,” he says, tugging the knife towards him again. You’re pulled along with it, straining to fight his strength. “Live a happy life, away from here.” A happy life. You both know that’s not possible. 

“Not without you,” you choke, your hands trembling on Gi-hun’s. Gi-hun is determined, but you have a height advantage as you lean over him—and you use it to pry the knife from his grip. You don’t hesitate to bring the blade to your own throat. 

“No, no, no-!” Gi-hun immediately grabs at your forearm, attempting to pull the blade away from your neck. There are tears streaming down his face, and your own vision is blurred. Your grip is growing sweaty as your adrenaline keeps you fighting to bring the blade back, if only to spare Gi-hun. The blade is getting closer and closer, already kissing your skin and drawing blood- 

“Enough!” 

In-ho's voice cuts through the air. And you suddenly feel an intense pain in your ear. The knife in your hand clatters to the ground, but you barely notice as your knees crumple under you. You’re practically writhing on the ground, your every nerve thrumming and buzzing. Your vision is pulsing around you; you slam your hands over your ears and whimper. You’ve never felt such intense, relentless pain before. Blood drips down the skin of your palms—your ears are bleeding. Tears run down your cheeks as you try and fail to recognize anything but the blinding pain. 

Finally, it stops. You choke on a breath and hear Gi-hun gasp, evidently reeling just as you are. The sand beneath you almost seems to dig into your palms. There’s a liquid feeling itching at your ears and you wonder just how much blood is trickling down your jaw and neck.

“Enough.” In-ho repeats. You’ve never seen so much emotion on his face: he is furious. He takes the knife from the ground and wields it in a tight grip. “You both will live to oversee the games,” he orders. In-ho’s eyes are still flitting between the both of you warily, as if making sure you won’t try anything again. “That decision is final.” 

With that parting remark, In-ho leaves Gi-hun and you to fall apart in the arena.

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[dirt-str1der]

WHY DID YOU FEEL THE NEED TO TELL ME ABOUT YOUR AROACE SENKU HEADCANON ON MY GAY SENKU AND TRANS REI POST

Just finished Dr Stone Reboot

[life-is-more-than-just-a-game]

Can you make a jealous chishiya? Where chishiya tells the reader to thet information about arisu but the reader and arisu gets along prety well and chishiya gets jealous? Thank you.

♠️ Chishiya being jealous about you and Arisu getting along pretty well ♠️

A/N: Hey, sorry for letting you wait so long. Maybe you have already forget that you wrote me this request but I like the idea behind it, so I decided to make this my "comeback". 👀

I'm actually not sure if I understood it the correct way, but I definitely understood you want a Chishiya who is jealous about the fact Arisu and you are get along splendidly. 😋

Hopefully it reaches you and I also hope you will enjoy reading this. ♥️

Characters: Chishiya

POV: gn!reader

Warnings: Not given.

C h i s h i y a

I don't see him being a jealous person actually.

Unless you give him a reason to ...

Chishiya isn't even a person who falls in love easily.

But when he is falling for someone, he falls pretty hard.

So, you have to deal with his feelings and his behavior when he sees you together with Arisu, chatting and laughing together as if there would be no tomorrow.

Okay, to be fair, nobody knows if there would be a "Tomorrow" ... but that's something different!

Arisu may be a great help to him when it comes to collecting all the cards, but sometimes Chishiya thinks Arisu is his downfall.

Especially when it comes to you.

Yeah, but don't think he will talk about it- he is more concerned with hiding his feelings from you than actually speaking about them.

Even if you already have realized something isn't okay with him, he wouldn't admit it.

"I'm used to it that you are not talking much when there is nothing important to discuss about." "I can hear your "but" even though you didn't said it yet." "Then guess what I wanted to say next." "I don't have any problems, I feel fine, no worries."

Nobody said it would be easy with him. He can be as cold as he looks and it's hard seeing through him, even for you.

Still, he can be a calm and cool person as much as he wants- but he's just a human being. You can endure a lot, but at some point everyone reaches their limits.

You and Arisu are talking a lot? Fine.

Arisu makes a joke you find funny, so he watches both of you laughing and having fun with each other? Alright, you aren't his trophy, everyone can have other friends next to his own partner.

But seeing both of you hugging after a game ...

Because you saw someone die in front of your eyes and you are now overwhelmed by many different emotions ...

Well, enough is enough.

"Step aside, Arisu, that's not your part, alright?"

He was waiting for you the entire time you were in the building, so it's not hard for him to find you both outside being ... needy.

"In the future, you'd better keep your hands to yourself." "Excuse me what was that?" "You already understand."

While Chishiya switches positions with Arisu and holds you captive in his arms, he just gives the dark-haired man a warning look.

… Even if unintentionally.

… And unconsciously.

"Well ... I better go then and ... leave both of you alone ... for now." Arisu lets off of you, leaving you to the person who means the most to you. "You better do."

Trying to catch your breath and calm down, you look up to Chishiya and Arisu alternately, feeling the tension between them.

Still, you can't help but start giggling a little.

Arisu und Chishiya both start looking at you now, irritated and confused.

"W-Well, wait ... just to make it clear- is there someone ... really ... jealousy?" "Yes, he is." "No, I'm not", he says calmly. "Okay, then ... let me hug Arisu again ... s-shouldn't be a problem when everything is okay. Right?"

Silence.

You smiling up to Chishiya, who is now biting his tongue and pressing his lips together, not even thinking about letting off of you.

Arisu watching in amusement.

"I'm ... just not fine seeing another one be there for you while I can be there for you. It's my job to cheer you up- even though I'm not the best in it, but I'm trying very hard." "You ARE jealousy, Chi!" "Oi, stop saying this, will you ... ?"

[basicallyjeankirschtein]

introducing my new jjk men x streamer!reader smau…

╰┈➤ Collab?

ೃ⁀➷ in which you are a small-time streamer that only does it for fun when you’re not busy with classes or your part-time job at the cafe. you truthfully don’t want to be famous, big audiences scare you- which is why you’ve been avoiding your childhood best friend, gojo. he’s just a few thousand away from one million followers!- after some convincing, he’s finally been able to collab with you. with gojos influence, your world has been turned upside down and now a bunch of hot streamers want to collab with you!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist below cut ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ character introductions ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

in my head we are idols - yn, utahime, + shoko

gojos SERVANTS - gojo, geto, + nanami

I GOT THE MONA LISA - toji, sukuna, + choso

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ chapters ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

chap 1

chap 2

thank you everyone for reading! below was a poll i did to see how you’d like the smau to end up, and poll decided WE GET WITH EVERYONE! YIPPIE! so don’t worry about your fav not being endgame (:

[starberry-cupcake]

GUESS WHO'S BACK??? Happy new year you bone-loving weirdos (affectionately)!!! Let's start 2025 with Nona!!!

previously, in this react series:

we (I mean me, but also you, alongside me) finished harrowcita del 9

we read some short stories

I made a gideon craft as a gift and the person I made it for told me that the recap I wrote in the back made it to some discord server somewhere

my legacy is being unfunny

NOW LET'S START WITH NONA:

(that's how I called 2 of my great-grandmothers)

I decided to skip all the praise for the book because some of them were getting a little too involved with the story and I don't want to know anything, thank you very much

I did however read the blurb in the inside cover that I missed the last time

I wonder if at some point I could make like an audio version of a recap as I read, because my reaction when I read the following was Something, but then again you'd have to deal with my pronunciation of the names and idk if I want that

anyway, blurb says "with Pyrrha, Camilla and Palamedes"

???????????????????????????????????????????

I thought it was judith and coronabeer twin??????

I'm gonna change her name from regina george twin to coronabeer twin now because she outlived her other nickname

she's the only nickname graduate so far

who took palmolive out of the tamagotchi river loft???????

who set him loose????

how is phyrrha there, she was with gideon/harrow/gideonharrow fusion??????

"each night, Nona dreams of a woman with a skull painted face"

don't we all

the list of books says "Nona the Ninth" and so does the title in the paratext

instead of dramatis personae we have a guest list for a party

there are a lot of dogs invited to the party, which is nice

one of them has six legs

there's also people with BOE names

and one kevin, love to see it, I'll remember him

lots of meme potential there

there are some camilla annotations beside all the people from BOE allegedly nona wants to invite

still not seeing coronabeer and/or judith

gonna imagine that, wherever they are, they're making out

good for them

we got two poems after, the latter of which is a bit heart wrenching, I don't wanna ask about it

then we got a title that looks like a bible verse

had to google it and it is a verse about peter and a disciple finding jesus's tomb empty

ice cube barbie is locked tomb jesus confirmed

I've never mentioned this before but this has happened to me ever since book 1, and since it's here again I'm gonna say it

I have noticed I have a bad knee jerk reaction to the adjective 'fat' being used so often for so many things, but I'm trying to work thought it

don't wanna project my trauma onto unintended narrators

we got a summarized recount of events of what might be how emperor asshat and some of his lyctors got where they got from maybe present times???

there's talk about cryogenics for a lot of people and an evacuation plan from earth

and names are erased but we have some initials that could be augustine, mercygirl, cassiopeia and gideon

I don't think c is not!dulcinea because she was meant to be a newer model lyctor

during this recount he's in the beach alongside harrow, who he says he's gonna hurt

harrow apparently says she still loves him

gideon would be kicking him in the nuts

also, I thought the emperor was with yandere twin

what the hell happened between the two books???? where's everyone????

DAY ONE (hot sauce and 5 days until the tomb opens) CH 1

we've got a recorded statement of what feels to me like the Pool Situation Wink Wonk You Know The One

is she harrow??? or is harrow in the river with the emperor and this is a new person???? who is this????? is harrow's soul in the river???? where is gideon's perfectly preserved body that we knew camilla was carrying around with coronabeer and judith???

I don't know anything

but my wife is here, so it's all good

also, she's apparently sharing a body with palmolive now

so now the wife ideal turned into a polycule situation, I guess

didn't have that in my 2025 cards

I have two hands, apparently, idk

turns out, palmolive was somehow freed from his tamagotchi loft in the river and placed in camilla's body so they share it

how? by who? when?

glad you asked, I don't know

they're sharing space now, that's all I know

it's kind of like the lyctors should have been if the emperor wasn't an asshole, I guess

because it seems they can also switch easily and like coexist without totally cutting the other one out

it feels a lot healthier and organic in their relationship, even though palmolive is a soul guest

palmolive says camilla's body is a temple, so I'm glad we agree

pyrrha is also there, I assume taking over og!gideon's body fully, since he died, afaik

they're taking care of nona, who doesn't know who she is and they don't seem to know either, but if she has harrow's memories, I don't know what to tell you

they're living in a complicated militarized situation with few resources and little light use

palmolive thinks he could write explicit materials for a living but camilla doesn't want them to be remembered for that

palmolive wrote a lot of Things to his bae in correspondence, so maybe that's already part of his legacy

nona is sent to her room while palmolive and pyrrha argue about BOE acting weird

camolive want to rescue people, pyrrha thinks it's a bad idea and wants to get nona away from the planet

pyrrha also mentions a "she" that's crazier than camilla and makes references to commander wake me up when september ends but that one died???? twice????? so idk who this new "she" is

let's remember, for the record, that both og!gideon and pyrrha were Intimate with commander wake me up before we go go

apparently there are more people who are planet refugees in this one planet than two houses combined

which doesn't surprise me in the least, because that's how oppression often works, but is good to have it confirmed

heralds are also still a problem and camilla wants to fight them

pyrrha thinks that's a bad idea, because there's data of that not being possible

but she doesn't know that camilla hect is perfect and can do everything right always

it is important for me to clarify that, more than anyone ever in this book series, nona is the true definition of what in my land we refer to as: "está en un cumple"

the literal definition of the phrase means "she's in a birthday party"

the idiom definition is that someone is totally unaware of what is going on, without understanding what's around them, often used for people in a content state while unaware of a problem everyone else is worrying about

I truly think it's a very good way to describe her and I can't translate it in a way that feels the exact way, especially due to the party context

I headcanon her wearing this shirt

she also wants to save the animals, while camolive want to save the people

pyrrha is just tired and wants to retire to a farming planet to live in peace

I get it, though, imagine having to serve emperor asshat for so long

poor cavalier deserves some rest, og!gideon had the right idea when he exited the entire situation

saw an out with that fight in the river and left the chat

pyrrha is also worried about BOE capturing and torturing camolive for interrogation

and there seems to be an underlying plan between camolive and pyrrha that I'm not entirely sure of yet

nona, apparently, goes to school, because she's in a cumple, as previously established

going to school on top of the eye in the sky and the military issues and the social strife and the potential torturing doesn't sound ideal but very glad there's still an education system in place among all that

AND THAT'S IT FOR NOW!!! It's proving a bit complicated to do recaps with a paperback but I'm gonna try to find my footing!! See you on the next one!!

[kudouusagi]

Pash Utsumi Hiroko Interview

It's sure to be a heartwarming, Fan & Fun experience!

It's about the moments you weren't able to see in the main series.

--Looking back at the scenario meetings, is there anything that stands out in your memory?

Like the fact that there was a longer version where (series writer) Ookouchi Ichirou, the producers, and I all came up with ideas for what to do in the OVA and decided on it, only to realize it didn't fit into the time limit plan I came up with myself and so it was rejected (laughs). Of course Reki and Langa are the main characters so they're going to appear in the OVA but we really wanted to include them all... and that would be difficult to do in one story so we made it into an omnibus format.

--What do you want people to pay attention to in this OVA?

I'd like it if you could check which scenes were shown in the PV. For example, Reki and the others play karuta, but what kind of karuta is it? Who's playing against who? Will Langa, who is bad at reading and writing, be okay?! In the part with Sakurayashiki and Nanjo set in the past, what was their high school life like? What were their fights like back then? How developed are Nanjo's muscles?! Also, the unknown life of Kikuchi, which was kept top-secret in the main story, is revealed...!?! And more!

--Please tell us about what you remember when looking back on recording the voices for this OVA.

I was happy to see that Hatanaka Tasuku-san, who plays Reki, and Kobayashi Chiaki-san, who plays Langa, were still the same Reki and Langa even though several years had passed. I didn't feel any time had past... ∞(eternal) Friendship! It was also memorable how Koyasu Takehito-san, who plays Ainosuke, struggled with a certain scene. Look forward to finding out which scene it was! It had been a while since I last did the voice recording for SK8, and it brought back memories for me, making me feel like SK8 was back!

--What exactly is the theme for this OVA...?

Since it is an omnibus format, there is no overall theme, but they're each filling a gap that wasn't able to be seen in the main story.

--In order to get to know the characters more deeply before the OVA is released, are there any behind-the-scenes details that you haven't revealed yet (that you couldn't show in the first season of the TV series)?

The different headband Reki is wearing in the OVA PV is a souvenir present from his sister Koyomi. It's shaped like an akabeko with a tiger pattern... it's quite unique. Reki only wears it at home. Langa doesn't care about clothes, so he'll wear anything that's comfortable to move in, so he's wearing something strange this time. Please check out the OVA to find out the details☆

--For those who are rewatching the first season of the TV series, what are some of the points you would like people to pay special attention to?

Don't miss anything! The relationship between MIYA and Reki, the outcome of Hiromi's fleeting love, the current fight scenes between Sakurayashiki and Nanjo, the vibe of the master and dog relationship between Ainosuke and Kikuchi, etc. The bond between Reki and Langa through the whole series and how it develops into friendship, keeps your eyes peeled on it till the very end!! And since the theme song for this OVA was created with the TV series in mind, so I'm certain it will improve your understanding if you watch the whole series and think of it while listening to it☆

--Finally, please give a message to the fans of "SK8". 

We're sorry to have kept you waiting for so long, but thanks to everyone who has been waiting that the day we can finally deliver it to you is fast approaching...! There's only a few more sleeps till the OVA is here ♬ How about going to the cinema to watch "SK8 EXTRAPART" as the finale to your New Year's celebrations? It's sure to be a heartwarming, Fan & Fun experience! Please look forward to its release☆

[magical-reid]

Tying Hearts Into Knots

Pairing: 40s!Bucky x Nurse!Reader

Word Count: 700

Prompt: 29: "“I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want,”

Summary: Bucky Barnes, the confident and charming sergeant, is thrown off balance by the cool and composed nurse tending to him, making him stumble over his words in a way no one has ever seen. As their unlikely friendship grows, the tough soldier finds himself nervous and flustered around her, while she begins to see a side of him that’s more than just swagger and charm.

The low hum of the hospital ward was punctuated by the occasional scrape of a chair leg or the soft murmur of a nurse giving instructions. You were busy checking bandages when you first noticed him—Bucky Barnes, the charming sergeant everyone seemed to swoon over. He had a grin that could disarm even the most stoic of nurses and an air of confidence that could walk right into any room and make it his.

Except, apparently, when it came to you.

You’d caught him staring once or twice, his expression a strange mix of curiosity and… was that nervousness? Hard to tell with a man like Bucky, who usually exuded confidence like it was as easy as breathing. But right now, he sat stiffly at the edge of the cot, his usual smirk absent. His hands fidgeted in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling.

“Sergeant Barnes,” you greeted, pulling his chart off the clipboard. You didn’t look at him right away, too preoccupied with reading the notes. But when you glanced up, his blue eyes were already on you, wide like he’d just been caught red-handed.

“Uh, hey.” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can call me Bucky.”

You smirked at that, writing something down on his chart. “I’ll stick with Sergeant Barnes for now. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he mumbled. Then, after a beat: “Thanks to you.”

That was new. The great Bucky Barnes, nervous and stumbling over his words? You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure if he was pulling your leg. But the way his knee started bouncing, you decided he was serious.

“Well,” you said, moving to check his bandaged arm, “you’ve got a long road ahead, but it’s nothing you can’t handle, right?” You gave him a pointed look, one you often used on stubborn patients.

“Right,” he said, his voice a little too high.

You chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. It was a hot day, and the humidity in the ward wasn’t helping. Your hair kept falling loose from its pins, and you huffed in frustration as you tucked it back again.

Bucky shifted on the cot. “I can braid your hair for you—I mean, only if you want,” he blurted.

You froze, mid-motion, staring at him. His face went red as a beet.

“I—uh—used to do it for my sister,” he stammered, his words tripping over each other. “It’s—it’s not weird or anything, I just—” He cut himself off, looking like he wanted to sink into the floor.

You bit back a smile, deciding to take pity on him. “You braid hair, Sergeant Barnes?”

His laugh was awkward, his eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape. “Yeah, uh, like I said… for my sister. But I’m sure I could, y’know, do a good job if you needed help or something.”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. “I might take you up on that.”

Bucky looked like he wasn’t sure if you were joking or not, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed nervously. “O-okay.”

Leaning closer, you dropped your voice. “You know, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you nervous, Sergeant.”

“I’m not nervous,” he said too quickly, his shoulders straightening.

“Really? Your face is redder than Private O’Malley’s sunburn,” you teased.

He opened his mouth, then shut it, and you couldn’t hold back your laughter. For a man who could charm his way out of anything, he was absolutely flustered.

“I’ll tell you what,” you said, your voice softening. “If I ever need a hairdresser, you’ll be the first person I call.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a smile, some of his usual swagger creeping back in. “Careful, doll. I might hold you to that.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “Rest up, Sergeant.”

As you walked away, you could feel his eyes on you, and when you glanced back, sure enough, there he was—grinning like an idiot.

You couldn’t help but grin back.

[mutantceri]

Research Note 125: 5 Therians Progress

Today was supposed to be a day of work on equipment, but somehow 5 of my friends had appointments today! So I stopped in on all of them. These notes may be important one day, but I also just love being able to write everyone's progress down.

[Artwork done amazingly and perfectly by https://www.furaffinity.net/view/59179875/ . Go. Check. Them. Out!]

Blue: Filling In I mention her a lot, but Dr. Blue has been one of the leading people on the biomedical side. She also has been instrumental in my transition, not only helping as I realized who...what I was, but helping facilitate. Sometimes, a little offputting, but always means well. (I wouldn't have anyone else, she is the leading mind in her field across the pond.) She had decided to transition a year prior to myself. Part of her always wanted to be a dragon, but most of her decided to be an otter. Once she moved over to this side of the Earth, she started transition. Our first few times working together, her skin had already turned color in patches. As her body changed, the fur patching continued. She's often explained it in her medical terminology, but it might as well be an alien language to me. The gist, her skin is having a hard time changing even though the rest of her body is rapidly accepting. It's been quite amazing seeing her come out of the lab each week a bit different anatomically, yet still patchy human skin. Likely, that's why we stay close, both have remnants of human we don't exactly want sticking around. We try to stay social outside of work. Outside, she's a playful sociable squeaky otter. Yet at work, she's laser-focused and stoic as all hell. Today, she wasn't supposed to be at work, but she had to fill in for one of the techs whose treatment has left them too sore to come in. Surprised me when her blue-haired head turned the corner to throw me all of the data to load into the machines. And as usual, her seemingly grumpy ass stoically just, delivered them. In return, I smiled back and excitedly took them with a "Thaaaank youuuu, have a good day!" One day, her otterness will show at work too.

Tracy: Closer (KoboldHRT) There has been an... unfortunate situation created by other players in the animal/species HRT space. Some patients haven't actually been given proper treatment, and effectively have been turned to adjacent species. As far as I understand, our lab may be unethical for military practices, but experimentation without consent is next level. So, a team led by Dr. Blue and I have been working on effectively species transition, transition. Taking someone and trying to steer their body back to their preferred path. It doesn't take someone to 100% where they belong, but helps. We figured it's also a good way to help the hybrid species take form better.

My friend Tracy was one of a pair of sisters who chose to be dragons. Unfortunately, their doctors gave them treatment to become a kobold... If you know anything about the difference, you can see the problems. Tracy has been in treatment for 4 years, and now a year of adjacent transition. It's been hard, and long but she is progressing and growing better than expected. Hopefully, soon we will see dragon features start to come out. Then maybe, if we can find her sister, we can treat her too. But that's a story better told by her.

Pigeon: Next Steps (Pigeon HRT) It might shock you, but my friend named Pigeon, is a pigeon. She's near the end of the first phase of her transition, and looks the part of a rainbow birb. We've grown close over writing, and her's about her transition is phenomenal. But, she didn't just want to be a Pigeon, but a plush pigeon. Yes, you read that right. Plump, soft, full of stuffing. But science can't turn you inanimate. But, thanks to the mutation in my skin that left me fuzzy instead of scaly, we can get close. Quite a bit of editing and a bit of science I don't understand, make it possible. I had to have multiple sessions where they removed grafts to try and figure out the right combinations to create a similar mutation for a bird. But they got it down to this: First, her feathers will shorten, but fuzz up to be a bit floofy. Second, we will turn her body's fat production into cells that have large air pockets, simulating stuffing. She will have to gain so much, girth. Weight won't really change. This will also help immobilize her so she matches being more plush. To break the news, we found an adorable mini pigeon plushie, and at what was supposed to be her last appointment, we gave it to her. "Oh my god! She's adorable!" Pigeon coo'd at me. "She's you in a few years girl!" Her face froze, and then it hit her hard. It's so worth all the work to hear all the happy chirps!

T&R: Therapy Together (Hydra HRT) If you've been reading anything about species HRT you'll know there are plenty of dragons and adjacent chosen species. But rare few decide to not only change species; but to use the opportunity to work their split personality out, literally. I met T&R when I was shadowing an anesthesiologist for a plastic surgeon at another clinic. Their heads had split but not... separated, so invasive action was taken by their doctor. It was mutually nice knowing someone who not only was the same species, but had another voice in the head, so we stayed in touch as they recovered. After they recovery, they're doctor recommended more gene editing, and they just so happened to know someone in the field. So today they visited for a session, and afterward, we met up. For being split for awhile, they were still a bit out of sync. When I toured them through the backrooms of the lab, one head ducked under a pipe but didn't warn the other and smacked straight into their side. But of all the things they were learning, it was their size changes we all talked about the most of. Their necks have gotten to where they are more of the snake type, and they are very disoriented by it. I can relate, I've stretched about 4 inches everywhere in the last 2 months and it's very noticeable. I'm excited to see them next, they're progressing so fast compared to most, and have so many odd features that are coming out due to their complex genealogy and the decision to split. Essentially, I'm excited for my friend. Tasha: Fuzz I have a friend who's an artist, who we often use to help concept species. It took a while, lots of doing works for others, before long, she was the subject of her work. One day, she walked into my office looking for a way into the labs queue. Of course, we snuck her in. Tasha associated with cats the most, but not like a tiger, just a domestic long hair meow meow. What we didn't expect, was how well her body would take to that species. A bit too well. Everything seems to come in *fast* with her transition. I hadn't seen her in about three months due to our schedules not meeting up. When we did, I could barely recognize her. She had fully developed ears, paw pads, and a long, flowy, flippy tail. But one thing was missing, and REALLY missing. Not a single hair of her fur has come in yet. The skin has dyed and changed, clearly, melanin underneath is doing something. No fur though. Just her normal hair on her head. (It seems most of us don't lose it, more on that another note someday.) We hugged, had the usual pleasantries, and then the big question almost instantly. I've assured friends in their treatments time and time again, but this one is literally just a waiting game. And that's exactly what I told her. She's clearly nervous, but doing so well. I can't wait to see her face when it all comes, because, with her luck, it'll all come at once.

[startanewdream]

Why would I think you're weak? Everyone gets nightmares."

For hinny, preferably Ginny is the one with the nightmare

Please and thank you

hope you enjoy this sort-of missing moment that could have been:

*******

Harry walked absently to the Room of Requirement. It was still early, but he enjoyed arranging the room ahead of the D.A. lesson; for today, their first real class about the Patronus Charm, he had the idea of filling the room with mirrors so people could look at themselves while they worked the spell. As he reached the usual entrance to the Room, however, he realized he wasn’t the only one who had started early.

The door was already there, even before he asked for it.

He entered carefully, just in case someone had inadvertently found out about Dumbledore’s Army. The room seemed empty — until he noticed a figure in the farthest corner. For a moment, his stomach dropped, remembering the last time he had been there alone with someone — he and Cho weren’t really speaking these days, avoiding each other’s gaze after the disastrous Valentine’s Day date —, but the sight of vivid red hair told him it was someone else.

Ginny hadn’t seen him. She was facing the warm fireplace that was always lit, mumbling to herself. Her eyes narrowed in a fierce expression as she moved her wand; nothing happened, and she sighed unhappily, stooping her feet and looking up to the ceiling—now enchanted, like the Great Hall, to reveal the day sky above. 

Harry caught himself staring at her; it wasn’t the first time he’d done so, not with him teaching the D.A. Ginny’s spellwork had always impressed him; he remembered George once telling him that size was no guarantee of power when talking about Ginny, and though Harry hadn’t witnessed her famous Bat Bogey Hex yet, he could see what George had meant. Ginny had a strong raw power; even though she was still in her Fourth Year, she’d had no problem mastering any OWL-level spell Harry had shown the class. He would often compare her with her boyfriend, her usual duelling partner, and more than once Harry had thought she deserved someone better—he hadn’t said it out loud, but Michael Corner had looked quite bland—

“Ow!”

Ginny’s voice startled Harry. For a crazy moment, he’d thought she’d read his mind and was mad at him—then he realised she looked sheepish. 

“Sorry, I thought I was alone.”

Harry shook his head. “You were, I just came in. Are you practising?”

Ginny flushed as she nodded; it suddenly occurred to Harry that it had been a while since he’d seen that. It was weird seeing her looking flustered when she had been nothing but bright around him.

“You know, I appreciate the effort, but I cannot give you house points.”

As he had a feeling she would, Ginny chuckled.

“Prat,” she called without any malice. “Sorry, I meant Professor Prat.”

Harry smiled. “Much better.” Then he tilted his head. “What were you doing? You didn’t have any problem with the Shield Spell last class.”

“Ah.” She bit her lip. Harry had a sudden urge to ask her to stop it before she drew blood. “The Patronus Charm.”

That made him blink, suddenly aware he had been looking at her mouth.

“Patronus?” He repeated, startled. “We are just getting started.”

“Yeah, but…” Ginny took a deep breath. “It annoyed me that I couldn’t cast it.”

“It was just our first lesson—I mean, not even a lesson, it was just a lecture.” 

It had been the final part of the last D.A. lesson, last week. Satisfied that everyone seemed to have mastered the Shield Spell, Harry had started the Patronus Charm, the one spell everyone was excited about. He hadn’t much time, so he’d decided to explain the theory behind the charm — the first time he’d talked more than show any spell, and rather than seem annoyed, everyone had eagerly listened to him. He had given everyone some sort of homework — to think about their happiest memory — and, in the last five minutes of the lesson, he’d let everyone try the Patronus Charm for the first time.

A few people had managed a silvery wisp, nothing resembling any shape or that lasted more than two seconds. 

“Every time I try, nothing happens.”

“I don’t think anyone can cast it in their first attempt,” Harry said. When Ginny raised her eyebrows, he added, “I didn’t.”

“How many lessons did it take you?”

“A lot,” he answered truthfully. 

Her expression didn’t change. “You were thirteen when you first learnt it.”

“And I had Professor Lupin giving me private lessons. All you got… is me.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are an amazing teacher.”

“I think you are comparing me to Umbridge, so—”

“Stop it.” She patted his arm playfully; her hand was warm. “You know you are a decent teacher, come on.”

“I noticed the downgrade from amazing to decent.”

A grin appeared in her lips as if she couldn’t help herself; Harry smiled in answer. He enjoyed her reaction.

“See, that’s better—you cannot try the Patronus Charm if you are all gloomy.”

“I wasn’t gloomy.”

“You were stomping your feet.”

“Maybe I had an itch.”

“Did you?”

“No,” Ginny admitted, and then she threw herself on one big bean couch that had just appeared behind her. “I’m really frustrated.”

Harry gave her a bracing smile as he sank on the couch next to her. “It was just your first try.”

“I got every other spell. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but something happened.” She waved her wand absently, not seeming to notice the sparkling dust that she was casting. “Now I could yell Expecto Patronum until I lost my voice and this wand wouldn’t be more useful than a random stick.”

“I get it,” he said bracingly. “I was disappointed with myself when it didn’t improve the way I wanted—but there is no secret, you just need to keep trying.”

“It is as if I can’t get it right—every spell I try, even when I don’t cast it, I can feel it, the connection between me and my wand. But the Patronus just eludes me.”

“What memory are you using?” Harry asked before he could think it through. He smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I know it’s personal.”

“No, it’s fine. It’s not working anyway, so—” Ginny shrugged. “I thought about when I got my Hogwarts letter. I dreamed of it since I was two—” She caught sight of Harry’s face. “What?”

“That’s what I remembered the first time I managed something. It was just this silver shadow, but—”

“But it was a start.” Ginny sighed. “I’m not even hoping for a full corporeal Patronus, just one that gets the dementors far away from me.”

She shivered, her face whitening so much that Harry felt he could count the freckles on her cheek. 

For a moment that distracted him, until a long-distant memory resurfaced. He was thirteen and recovering after meeting a dementor for the first time; he’d just fainted, but the worst part had been hearing a woman’s scream. He hadn’t been in the best condition, so he hadn’t really noticed the small girl quietly sobbing in the corner of the train, looking just as pale as now—he’d never asked what Ginny had heard, but now he got a good idea…

“You had forgotten.” He blinked. Ginny was grimacing. “You are not the only one who hears You-Know-Who when dementors are around.”

“That was not what… I never considered what you would remember.” He bit his lip. “Sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? You saved me. I was the one stupid enough to get involved with a Dark Lord.”

“You were not involved, I mean—you didn’t know who he was.” He met her gaze. “And I am sorry for forgetting what you went through. I guess it was just easier to think everything was all right.”

Harry remembered the final days of that term, when he had watched Ginny closer; after a moment’s struggle, she had looked happy, a bright version of the girl that had slowly shrinked that year. Even her brothers were visibly relieved that Ginny seemed to move on. At some point, Harry had just stopped looking for any distress sign.

Ginny sighed. “I know. That’s how I wanted you to perceive me. Not as the weak girl who couldn’t sleep at night because of her nightmares.”

“You are not weak. Why would I—why would anyone think so?”

“I still dream—”

“Everyone gets nightmares.” He thought about a graveyard, a cruel laugh, and a boy’s dead eyes. “It’s just a reminder that we survived. You survived.”

“Only because you—”

“Because you fought Riddle long enough to give me time to get there. You were eleven.”

“Saying like this makes me look stronger than I was.”

“You were strong. You are strong.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not saying this to excuse myself, but I forgot about you and Voldemort because I can’t see it when I look at you. You went through one of the worst things that any human could experience—I know how I felt just by thinking I was possessed—and yet you are here now, casting every spell, destroying those Death Eater dummies, and getting a reputation for that Bat Bogey Hex that I have yet to witness.”

He felt suddenly self-conscious of his speech, but Ginny was smiling softly now, and Harry just reminded himself that he was the teacher, he could be motivating even if it involved personal stuff. In any case, even her eyes were shining now, warmer; Ginny’s eyes were a nice shade of brown, like treacle tart.

“Let’s find Umbridge,” she suggested at last. “Then you can witness my Bat Bogey Hex, it will be epic.”

Harry chuckled. “I don’t doubt it, but I don’t think you’d want to be expelled.”

“I’d only be if I got caught,” she noted, winking at him. Then Ginny jumped, leaving a soft trace of flowers on the couch. “I’m going to get this.”

She closed her eyes, her expression confident. Harry couldn’t know what she was remembering, but a breeze filled the room, coming out of nowhere, and made Ginny’s hair move as if she was flying. Then Ginny opened her eyes —they were blazing—, flourished her wand and whispered, “Expecto Patronum!”

A silver shadow flew from her wand, dashing around the room before disappearing. It wasn’t shaped yet, but Harry could swear he saw a long snout and a floating mane.

“Yes!” She cried happily, beaming at Harry; for a moment, he thought she was going to hug him — he even opened his arms — but Ginny didn’t move. “It was something!”

“It was a perfect start,” he told her, jumping to his feet. Ginny looked bright now, and he didn’t think it was just an act. “What do you think it will be? Your patronus?”

“No idea. I think it had hooves.” She smirked. “It won’t be a stag, though, I’m hoping to be original here.”

Harry just smiled. “It’s my father. I mean, the stag represents my father. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later.”

“Ok.” She nodded, watching him, her expression sober now. “I remembered the first time I took flight on a broomstick.”

“That’s also one of the memories I tried that first time learning the Patronus Charm,” he noted, amused. “I’m glad it worked better for you.”

“Flying made me feel free—and powerful. I think I’m done with Riddle’s voice in my mind.” Ginny paused for a moment, watching Harry, before taking a deep breath. “I was afraid that if I couldn’t cast the Patronus, it meant that, in some way, I wanted to hear him.”

“I get it,” Harry mumbled, not quite meeting her eyes now. “The reason why I got so bad around dementors was because I could hear my parents’ voices, when they were… in their last minutes. And it was the only memory I had, so for a while I hung on to them.” He risked a glance at her. Ginny didn’t look pitiful, so he felt safe enough to give her a small smile.

She shook her head.

“I think you are very generous to compare you missing your parents with my unhealthy relationship with the diary that almost killed me, Harry, but that’s just you.”

“Well, what made me cast the Patronus Charm was that I could not risk us losing another Quidditch match.”

“Priorities.”

“I can tell all the effort paid off in the end.”

“Isn’t it true that you managed to fight off a hundred dementors to save Sirius?”

“Yeah.” He grinned. “But I was thinking that Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup that year after all.”

She grinned back. Ginny had dimples when she smiled; she could be as bright as a Patronus, Harry thought suddenly. She’d manage to cast one soon, he just knew.

He was about to tell her this when the door of the room opened. Ginny glanced at the door before taking a step back, her face only slightly flushed as she asked him, as if continuing a different conversation, “How can I help you?”

“Huh?” Harry said, confused. The group of Ravenclaws had just entered, and while they were greeting him, Cho had given him a smile, though somewhat avoiding his gaze.

“The Room,” said Ginny patiently. “You like to get the Room ready before the lesson, and I thought I could be useful—hi, Michael.”

She waved at her boyfriend, and for a moment, it crossed Harry’s mind that there was as much enthusiasm in her voice as in Cho’s smile to him. 

He shook his head. “Mirrors, it might be helpful.”

“I’m on, Professor Potter.”

“Not prat anymore? I see the improvement now.”

“Like I said, you are kind of decent, Harry.” She winked at him, clearly amused, and turned around; as mirrors appeared on the corners of the room, her boyfriend joined her, hands hanging on the inside of the pockets of his robes and just watching her.

I didn’t like him, Ron had said it once, and though Harry didn’t think he’d share this thought with anyone, he couldn't help but agree with Ron.

[dominarava]

Angel

Ghostface × Female!Reader

CW: Dub/Non-Con, Blood, Stalking, Breaking & Entering, usual fucked up GF stuff

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: The quiet guy in your discord server decides to chat you up in the general vc, and as expected, has a lot more to unpack than you ever expected.

Notes: I was lazy and just posted the ugly default AO3 link when I first posted this, so I'm coming back and making it look nicer with new and improved tags lol

This piece doesn't specify who is really behind the mask, so whoever you want is up to you~

I had fun with this and left light references to the movies, Dead By Daylight, and Mortal Kombat to honor some of my favorite appearances of him-- hopefully it doesn't ruin the immersion lol

I don't usually leave notes, but it's been a while and I've adored all the comments and kudos I've gotten in my absence, cause at the end of the day, that's what will always bring me back. I love all your support and time reading this and hopefully I have more soon to come for you all!

Thank you again so much for reading, and I hope you enjoy! 🔪💕✨️

AO3 Link

This had become the nightly habit: get off work, make dinner, chill with the lads in a Discord call until bedtime. Mindlessly playing a game, you weren't surprised by the sound of someone joining the call, however you were surprised by who it was. He was a rando that had joined a while back, was nice enough, but didn't have much to say as he relegated himself to really only short replies or emoji reactions. You could have sworn he posted a thirst trap without his face in the #selfies channel, but you weren't 100% sure. When he would join calls he would always stay muted, opting to reply in the text chat or not at all, merely listening to and enjoying just being around the good times happening. All the same, you felt it rude to not say at least a little hello. 

“Hey! How’re you doin’ tonight?” 

“Hey there~” 

The voice on the other side was low, having a bit of a flirtatious twang in the sigh of his greeting. Your heart skipped a beat, you weren't sure if he had ever spoken to you, much less anyone else in the server. And if you were being honest, he sounded kind of hot. Letting the giddy feeling ride, you tried to keep him talking since it was just the two of you. 

“Woah–” You poked cheekily, “I dunno if I've heard you say anything before.” 

“I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy,” He offered smoothly, “But I enjoy listening to everyone having a good time.” 

“Fair–” 

The air fell dead as you wondered what to talk about next, letting him cut into the silence with a question, “So.. what's your favorite scary movie?” 

Having just finished a server horror movie night not too long ago, the question felt like a natural segway into your interests, “Hmmnn that's actually a good question– I think if we're just talkin’ horror in general my first and favorite would have to be Silence Of The Lambs. The back and forth relationship between Clarice and Dr. Lecter was probably one of the most challenging to my mind at the ripe age of twelve, since then I've loved horror that has a female protagonist that is put under pressure by the killer to make difficult choices and solve the puzzle he left for her.

“But– that's not to say pieces like Substance or Midsommer aren't incredible mentally challenging works of art to me, I love both, along with movies like The Empty Man, Smile, It Follows, The VVitch, The Void, V/H/S–”

He cut your train with a light chuckle, “I definitely want to know which you thought was better, Smile or It Follows, but I meant to ask, what’s your favorite slasher movie?” 

You gave this one a lot more consideration as your heart swelled with a damning excitement at the thought of your favorite killers, “That's such a hard choice! Of course Micheal Myers from <i>Halloween</i> is like everyone's big daddy– but I think if I had to choose it would have to be Stab! Ghostface is just a lot more fun, playful, and let's be honest– horny.” 

“Oh yeah?” He hummed, “Why's that?” 

How his tone seemed to curl at the end of his words made your chest tighten and a heat rise to your cheeks, “I mean, at the heart of it.. the voice actor responsible for his voice changer in the movie said that his tone is flirtatious, beyond that– between the fact that the first Ghostface seemed to get off on the idea of causing his object of obsession, Sidney, the most pain possible by the mocking of her mother being the town bicycle and it's even pointed to at the end of the movie that the two who were behind the Ghostface killings were the same two that brutalized Sidney's mother–” 

“Goddamn–” Nearly groaning his words as he cut you off, he cleared his throat and pressed, “Good girl~ You sure do know your stuff.” Praising you with words that melted like chocolate over your tongue, your mind tilted at his words, ‘Good girl’. 

Good girl?!

“Excu–”

“I fuckin’ love girls like you–” He went on, swearing you could hear the ache of him through the call, “Your type always knows how really appreciate us..” 

‘Us’?

Before you could get a word in, he went on, “Buuut it looks like that's my cue– I hope you're ready for some fun this evening.” Leaving the conversation with the disconnect sound chiming through your ears in silence to process what just happened. 

The sound of him leaving the call let a wash of relief run over you, only lasting for a moment as the floor creaking caught your attention with arms wrapping you in a winding embrace. Having your arms pinned at your sides, your hands flailed looking for any sort of way out. Only, the way your grip seemed to find his length caged behind his pants before skirting over to the long hunting knife strapped to his leg, making your struggle against him stop with a gasp.

“Yeah.. that's all for you Babe, whatever you need– so.. let's behave.. alright..?” The same voice that was lingering in your headset only moments ago was in high definition against your back. 

Firmly pressing his hand over your mouth, you froze as someone else joined the empty call with you, “Hey you there?” 

Your headphones loud enough for him to hear, an uneasy pause passed between you two as his hold over your lips lessened, “Yeah-” He let you breathe through his nitrile gloved fingers.

“Good, kinda glad he's gone, he's chill and all, but it kinda bugs me that he's just in here just dead-ass silent all the time. Fuckin’ weird.” 

Looking over your shoulder a bit to get any sort of a look at him, you were only met with the deep black drooping eyes framed by a gasping bone white mask. Familiarity of the visage made your heart drop into your stomach, forcing you to chew on the harsh fact that that same familiarity you knew to fear, also brought the flutter of butterflies in with it.  

A rough bump of his hips to your back-end snapped you out of your own mind and made you bark out, “Uh– Same– he is kinda weird, I've– talked to him a little bit and he just– seems like a bit of a creep..”

“Oooh shit whaddaya mean?” 

He peered over your shoulder to look at you, curious to see how you would pull this along as his other hand pushed at the elastic of your pajama bottoms, “He uh– waited for everyone to leave– and then started hella chatting me up–” 

“Are you good? It sounds like you're doing something.” 

Eyeing him, the slight nod of his head coaxed you to keep talking while his fingers made their home in exploring your heat, “Yeah I'm fine– I think I pulled a muscle and I–”

“Oh shit– sorry, one sec– groceries are here, I'll be back in a minute!”

At the sound of her disconnection he lifted you up with a near effortless toss onto the bed, wasting no time crawling on top of you to get at what little clothing was left with his blade. Watching the fabric dance away from your frame, he gripped your wrist as you tried to switch your mic off.

“Go on.. stay in that call.. let ‘em all know what a stagy little whore you are.” He pushed, lifting the hem of his hoodie above the glimmer of the silver button hiding his length behind the black denim. 

No time was wasted getting into you, making himself at home between your legs with a few rough thrusts and shivering grunts that made your mind twist. Squirming under him the grit falling off his boots into your blankets made you buck against him in frustration, earning a low sigh from him as his beat picked up. 

“Mmn if you keep fighting me.. I'll gut you like a fucking pig.” Groaning into your ear, the delicate touch of his knife teased itself between your breasts. 

Defiance sparked in you to bite back, “If we're– oh god– following the rules, you'll just do it anyway–” 

The blade pulled its edge against your skin, splitting you like a ripe peach under its cut, “True.. but the killer's favorite little slut never dies.. she's gotta make it to the sequel, the trilogy, hell! Maybe a whole fuckin’ saga..”

Suddenly ringing in your ear the sound of the bluetooth assistant chimed,

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

You held your lips tight as the length of him pushed to the hilt over and over, letting the air in the call stay dead as your friend and others passed through, thinking you were away from your keyboard. 

“What’s wrong? Suddenly have nothing to say? I thought you liked the idea of being yanked around by a big man with a knife? Little different than on the big screen, ain't it Babe?” 

You could practically hear him purring behind the mask, his pace slowing to deep grind as you felt the rub of his metal pants zipper dig into your skin like a threat.

“Mmmm– remember a couple weeks back– we were all watching that scary movie– when you wouldn't shut the fuck up about how you wanted to ride that slashers cock like a carnival ride– fuck you don't know what that did to me– hearing you get all giddy about bouncing on dick after a kill– goddamn you don't have a fuckin’ clue– how bad I wanted bust through that fuckin’ window and tear you apart–” 

Gripping his palm across your eyes to pin your head to the bed, the unrelenting barrage of what came was less of a kiss and more of a hostile takeover of your senses. You couldn't tell how long you were left to his devices, using you with the excitement of a new sex doll he'd been waiting months for. The fight in you began to fade with the swipe of your tongue to his, earning the zeal of him rutting into you harder. 

“See.. I knew you'd love it..” 

Battery Low.. Please Charge Soon.

Dipping down to your chest to kiss the fresh wound that lay spilling blood around your breasts, taking in the heavy scent of your rubies like a jewel thief making his biggest heist. Slipping his free hand over your chest to the slick of your nipple made you gasp as a perfect distraction before pulling his mask back down. Adorning his usual visage now laid a smeared print of your life in blinding crimson, letting that be the first and only thing you saw as he let you have your vision back in the darkness. Against the blur of your eyes readjusting from the pressure of his weight on them, the dip of his frame dropping against yours with his hands gripping the sides of your head in a vice made you dizzy with a feral beat between your legs. Throughout his treatment you didn't feel that familiar latex rub of a barrier between you, forcing your stomach into a twist as his panting behind the mask got heavier. 

The first grace of the evening came when you finally heard the powering down beeping of your headset giving its last bit of juice before cutting out. Unbound by the fear of being heard, your voice let out a moan that vibrated the silence of the dead air room. Relaxing a little under him, he pushed your rear up, angling himself better to pump deep before running his fingers over the tacky blood joining the fresh on your chest in a macabre mess. Having the dig of his fingertips into the open wound weeping from you was a new kind of violation before he breathed out a shaken manic pleasure from the mask that captivated you. 

“Oh fuck– I'm going to smear your blood over my every  fucking pore!” The bubbling frenzy in his tone gave away his devouring bliss as it promised to swallow you whole. 

Honestly, you weren't long for the session either way as he found just the right spot to rub his tip into the soft warmth of you hugging his length and perfect grind of his mound against your bud aching to come undone. Seeing him watch you in those last moments before you went over the edge was enough to send you there as you trembled and cried out under his grip. Moaning and reaching to touch him in any way you could, you couldn't get enough of him as your body craved the closeness it needed. Expecting swift punishment for the affection, he surprised you by taking your hand in his, slowing his pace. Lacing your fingers as one, the gentle caress of his thumb to your skin had your rose colored glasses as red as they could be. Watching with a affectionately hazed gaze while he pinned you down, your skin when cold as his words dripped from his lips like sweet poison: 

“You think you're getting away that easy? I'm just gonna cum and that be that? No.. I prepared for this all day. You're not goin’ fucking anywhere.”

[oneforthemunny]

oneforthemunny proudly presents: two for the show (aka my two year anniversary writing challenge!!) 

as a thank you to each and every one of you who have supported me (since funsonmunson and beyond) i have curated a prompt list that invites and encourages each and every one of you to write for my eddies! there is nothing i love more than getting to see your take on my fics, stories, and lore, and getting to read them! it’s such a treat for me and so rewarding, and so i hope you all participate! 

feel free to do as many and as much as you want! multiple entires, prompts, hell, even make up your own! the more the merrier here! each will be reblogged and added to a masterlist for everyone to read and support! 

rules: i kindly ask that you tag me @oneforthemunny and the writing with the #munnystwofortheshow just so i can find it and read, reblog for everyone else to enjoy, and add to the masterlist!

thank you all so much again! i love love LOVE each and every one of you, and have enjoyed every moment (yes, every moment) here on this blog with all of you <3 

below are the prompts!! i can’t wait to see what you all come up with!! 

note: i decided to do general prompts, since that’s what you all voted on. this applies for each and every eddie (a list of my eddie aus: older!eddie, bouncer!eddie, janitor!eddie, cop!eddie, cowboy!eddie, mafia!eddie, modern!eddie, dom!eddie, boxer!eddie, hockey!eddie, rockstar!eddie, and exhusband!eddie). 

prompts:

prompt 1: so since it’s my tumblr anniversary, gimme an anniversary fic!! dating anniversary, marriage anniversary, engagement, adoption, pregnancy, “first time we fucked” anniversary- anything! make it fluffy, make it sweet, make it smutty, make it sad if you want? it’s all up to you! 

prompt 2: i’m forever a domestic girly, you guys know that, so write me a little domestic fic <3 include the kids, the pets, moving in together, doing mundane shit together- make it a day in the life with eddie. the chill days at home, what do they look like? what do you do? fluff, smut, angst, a little bit of it all. whatever you want to do, just show me what you picture! 

prompt 3: i get so so so many angsty requests, so i have to request one myself- break my heart. tear it to fuckin’ shreds, put it back together (or don’t). end goal is to have us all hurting. some example prompts- mafia!eddie getting hurt or vice versa, ex husband!eddie and a fight that led to the divorce, rockstar!eddie and rehab, for a few examples. use any of the lore you’d like, just make it hurt :’) 

prompt 4: idk why, maybe it’s a guilty pleasure, but i love a vacation/road trip kinda story. love to know where they’re going, what they’re doing, why. honeymoon, summer vacation, a funeral maybe? whatever you want it to be! just tell me where they’re going, why, and of course all the other juicy details. road head, maybe? reader gets car sick way too easily (me)? or at the destination, what are they doing? going? 

prompt 5: you guys knew you weren’t escaping a smut fic. c’mon, it’s me, evie lol. i want the sluttiest, horniest, nastiest smut i’ve ever read before in my life. jaw on the ground, reaching in my bedside drawer type smut. feel free to use the lore, use a prompt that was sent in and elaborate on it, rewrite your own favorite horny moment, or make one up! you guys know i’m a sucker for a spanking fic, but really, anything slutty and smutty will do ;)

prompt 6: this is also an evie indulgent request, i love holidays- as you all know. so i would love to see what you think each of the eddie’s or their reader’s favorite holiday is, and how they celebrate it. why they love it, what they do- the works. can be birthdays (for all the leos lol) or any holiday, really. make it fluffy, smutty, angsty if you want! 

for anyone needing some examples or some ideas, always feel free to message me and i can help! :)

[mirx-xko-offical]

I’ve always enjoyed the idea of body swap fics

the idea of you swapping bodies with someone like Rook you stressing out hard and rook having the time of his life gaining a deeper understanding of you

not to mention the fact the beastmen and merboys avoid ‘Rook’ like the plague and r very off scared of ‘your’ new personality

this lady’s, gentlemen and, our other gendered friends, is a amazing idea. I’ve never written for Rook so this is going to be fun !!

prompt: Body swap

Content warnings- Second person pov, nothing romantic (honestly because I don’t know how I’d make this romantic tbh), Not proofread, Rook (and probably Vil) is probably OOC mainly because I haven’t written him before (and quite frankly don’t like him that much but please don’t come after me for it 🙏), probably short because I’m trying to finish it for once

You’d never expect to not only wake up in someone else’s bedroom but, to also be in their body too… The bad thing is that you seemed to swap with someone who has a certain stalker reputation. Oh how you wonder how you’d make it through the day. Hopefully he doesn’t do anything weird to your body.

You dress yourself, looking at yourself in the mirror before a certain housewarden walked in, seemingly checking in on the blond that your soul is currently in.

’Rook! There you are. Where were you this morning? You were meant to wake me up!’

He complains as you just stood there awkwardly, unsure how to explain the current situation you’re in.

‘That’s the thing…’

You mumble on, explaining how you weren’t the blonde he was looking for but instead the magicless human. He simply stood there before sighing.

‘Why must it always be you potato…’

‘I don’t know..’

You sulk for a while as you followed Vil around, so ready to get out of the blonde’s body. Speaking of the said blonde, what just is he doing while he’s in your body? You’d much rather not think of it…

You sigh as you walked into your potions class, the only class you really have with him. Everyone turning towards you suspiciously as you kept your head low, most of them not knowing about the swap of bodies.

You sit down at Rook’s usual desk, looking towards the doorway before finding Rook or rather you walk in with the amount of confidence you’d never have in your life.

You decide to just keep your head low and wait u til the end of class to confront Mr. Crewel about it.

You look up at the clock again, something you did often today it seemed. 5 minutes til the end… You thought to yourself, your mind always making sure you knew the time.

Time passed by slowly as if it was slowing down to a complete stop. You look at the clock again, reading the time. 3 more minutes…

Then those 3 minutes turned into 2 and finally I to 1. Most of the students by then were already packing up their stuff as Professor Crewel finished the lesson.

You sigh at the sound of the bell finally ringing, standing up from your seat before walking up to the professor. You glance over to see Rook do the same.

You were the first to speak, telling him about the entire situation through your awkwardness, looking up from his desk to see him nod, understanding what you were saying.

‘I am sure I have something for you pups.’

He hummed as she stood from his desk, walking over to a shelf, grabbing a potion with a small purple hue. He gave it to you both, telling you to simply drink it and you’d be back.

You look over to Rook, him giving you his signature smile before drinking it himself, giving you a nod to drink it as well.

You looked down at the potion before placing your lips against it, drinking it quickly as if almost out of desperation.

You gasp before feeling your vision fade before finding yourself opening your eyes, looking down to find yourself back in your own body. You look at Professor Crewel before nodding to him respectfully, walking out of his class with a thank you.

You’re sure that both you and rook had came to an agreement, to never have this happen again.

[ikkyfics]

Hero's Kiss

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: “Hey babe,” you said, the word coming out louder and firmer than you expected. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while.” Dave blinked again, confused. “Huh? Waiting…?” Before he could finish the sentence, you closed the gap between you, your heart racing. “Please,” you whispered, your voice soft and almost trembling. “Kiss me. Just trust me.”

Warnings: a nasty guy, but nothing serious

request from my dear @lilyypotter1234 (one of my most beloved readers in the whole world, seriously, you are absolutely cute), i hope you like it <333

Masterlist

It was just any afternoon, and you were walking calmly through the comic book store, trying to decide whether it was worth buying a new issue or saving your money for a little longer to buy those jeans you saw earlier. What was worth more: a new X-Men edition or a pair of jeans that would make your legs look fantastic? It was a tough choice.

You were still thinking when someone approached, a guy, probably your age or a little older, with a smile curving his lips and bright eyes. “Hey, princess,” he said, the smile widening a little more. Your eyebrows furrowed, but you replied with a “hey” before turning your eyes back to the shelf.

“Can I help you pick something out?” he continued, not picking up on your disinterest. You forced a polite smile, trying not to be rude.

“Thanks, but I think I’m good for now.”

He didn’t move away. In fact, he seemed even more determined to strike up a conversation.

“You like comics? You don’t seem like the type, you know?” He let out a light laugh, as if he was trying to be charming.

Your hands gripped the strap of your purse, the discomfort beginning to grow in your chest. “Yeah, I like them. I think everyone has their own type.”

“Oh, sure. But seriously, you seem more like the kind of girl who likes romance or fashion, not comic books.” He laughed again, but it didn’t sound so harmless anymore.

You tried to discreetly step away, but he followed every move, blocking any attempt to escape the situation.

“Hey, wait, princess. What’s the problem? I’m just being friendly.”

His words sounded almost like an accusation, laden with an insistence that made the knot in your throat tighten even more. You took a step back, but he subtly moved forward, blocking your exit. The store suddenly felt smaller, and every movement of yours seemed analyzed by that gaze that made your discomfort palpable.

You looked around, your heart hammering in your chest, desperately searching for an escape route. That’s when your eyes found him.

Dave Lizewski.

He was a little farther away, near a shelf full of limited editions. His relaxed posture was familiar, almost comforting. Dave had his head tilted to the side, completely absorbed in reading a comic book, his glasses slipping down his nose and the tips of his brown hair slightly falling over his eyes.

You recognized him immediately. You weren’t close friends, but enough to exchange a few words at school now and then. He always had a crooked smile and an awkward joke ready, making you feel like he was… safe. Maybe the only safe person right now.

Without thinking much, you made your way toward him. Your legs felt heavier with each step, like the nervousness was pulling you back, but the need to escape was stronger. When you got close, Dave finally noticed your presence, looking up from behind his glasses. He blinked, surprised to see you so suddenly.

“Hey babe,” you said, the word coming out louder and firmer than you expected. “I’ve been waiting for you for a while.”

Dave blinked again, confused. “Huh? Waiting…?”

Before he could finish the sentence, you closed the gap between you, your heart racing. Your hands briefly touched his chest, gently pushing him back against the shelf. He stumbled slightly, his eyes wide as you stood on tiptoe and brought your lips to his ear.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice soft and almost trembling. “Kiss me. Just trust me.”

Dave froze. You felt his chest rise and fall quickly under your hands, and for a moment, you feared he might push you away. But he didn’t have time to react. Before any words could leave his mouth, you closed your eyes and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss started hesitantly, a light, unsure touch. But then you felt Dave relax. His hands, which had been by his sides, rose with an almost adorable hesitation, resting on your waist. His fingers were warm against your skin even through your clothes, and the touch was enough to make your heart leap.

What started as a request for help quickly turned into something more. The kiss gained a depth that surprised you. It wasn’t just the nervousness, the desperation to escape the previous situation—it was a real, intense moment. His lips were soft, but there was a firmness in the way he held you, as if he wanted to anchor you there.

When you finally pulled away, the world around you seemed to have disappeared completely. Dave looked at you like he’d just been struck by lightning. His face was flushed, his brown eyes sparkling behind the lenses of his glasses.

“I… Sorry, I…” you started, but the words seemed tangled in your throat.

Dave blinked a few times, clearly trying to process what had just happened. “What… Why…?”

You took a deep breath, looking over your shoulder. The guy who had been bothering you was still nearby, but now he was looking at you with a disapproving expression, as if he’d finally gotten the message. Turning your eyes back to Dave, you felt warmth rise in your face.

“There was a guy behind me. He was… persistent. I didn’t know what to do,” you explained, your voice coming out quieter than you intended. “I thought you could help.”

Dave followed your gaze toward the guy, and something in his expression changed completely. The discomfort and surprise faded, replaced by something much firmer, something that seemed like protection.

“You said he was bothering you?” Dave asked, his voice lower now, but filled with a seriousness that caught you off guard.

You just nodded, unable to find the words. It was strange seeing Dave like this. At school, he always seemed a little lost, with geeky t-shirts and books under his arm. But now, with his eyes locked on the guy and his posture more upright, he seemed like a different person.

“I get it,” he said, almost to himself. Before you could react, you felt his arm wrap around your shoulders.

The touch was firm, but in a way that made you feel protected, not trapped. He pulled you closer, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, his fingers gently squeezing your shoulder in a small, reassuring gesture. Your body reacted before your mind could process it, relaxing under his touch.

Dave took a step forward, positioning both of you directly in the guy’s line of sight. His gaze was firm, more so than you’d ever seen it. There was no hesitation, just a calm confidence that contrasted completely with the Dave you thought you knew.

“Is there a problem here?” he asked, his tone calm but loaded with a clear intent.

The guy looked at both of you, his face contorted in a mix of confusion and irritation. He seemed to size Dave up for a moment, as if deciding whether it was worth responding.

“No, no problem at all,” he muttered, finally looking away. The discomfort was evident, but he took a few steps back before disappearing through the store.

You let out a sigh you hadn’t realized you were holding in. The tension that seemed to hang in the air began to dissipate, but Dave’s arm was still around you, warm and secure.

“Are you okay?” he asked, tilting his head to look at you. His tone was completely different now—softer, almost affectionate.

“Yeah, I…” You looked at him, noticing for the first time how close he was. Dave’s face, always marked by shyness and awkward expressions, now seemed more serious, more present. But the blush coloring his cheeks betrayed that he was still the same sweet guy, even though he had just completely surprised you.

“I just… didn’t expect this from you,” you admitted, your voice coming out quieter than you meant.

He laughed, a short, almost nervous sound. “This what? That I could scare off a guy with glasses and a Batman shirt?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No, that. This side... protective. It’s different.”

He scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, his arm still around your shoulders as if he didn’t want to break the façade you two had created. “Well, I’m not too bad at it, right? I just thought… I couldn’t leave you alone with that guy.”

There was something in the simplicity of his answer, in the honesty without pretense, that made your heart warm.

“Thank you, Dave. Seriously. You… made me feel safe,” you said, and there was no hiding the smile that accompanied your words.

He looked at you for a moment, and his smile appeared slowly, like it was contagious. “I’m glad to hear that. Anything… just call me, okay? For anything.”

You felt his arm tighten slightly around your shoulders, such a small gesture but one that said so much. Dave Lizewski—always awkward, always a bit shy—had just transformed, at least in your eyes, into someone you knew you could trust.

When Dave’s arm finally moved from your shoulders, the space between you seemed to have subtly, yet intensely, changed. It wasn’t just the kiss or the uncomfortable situation you had just faced. It was the way he looked at you now, with that glimmer in his eyes that you didn’t remember seeing before, a mix of concern, mild surprise, and… something else. Something sweet and almost vulnerable.

You felt strange with the proximity, as if the world around you had shrunk, and you two were the only ones there. The touch he had given your shoulders still felt warm, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something much more between you than just a simple act of help.

Then, without meaning to, the question came out, impulsive but full of sincerity that you couldn’t hide.

“And can I… thank you properly, hero?”

Dave froze, his eyes widening in surprise, and you saw the blush spread across his face adorably fast. It was as if the world was playing with him, weaving another layer of embarrassment that made him even cuter. He ran a hand through the back of his neck, clearly nervous, trying to find an answer that didn’t sound completely flustered.

“Uh… Uh… Sure. I… I don’t know… well, what do you have in mind?”

You smiled, your heart pounding in your chest. His nervousness, the way he was still trying to keep control, made you feel a surge of affection for him, more intense than you expected.

Without answering, you took a step closer, keeping your gaze fixed on him. He seemed a little lost in you, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses, and you couldn’t resist. This time, when your lips met, it was different. There was no rush, no expectation, just a sweet kiss filled with affection that made everything around you disappear.

The kiss started light, but soon turned into something deeper, softer. As if, somehow, this gesture was the only thing that made sense. His tongue touching yours, lips moving in perfect harmony, every touch and movement making the world calmer, more certain.

When you finally pulled away, you were still so close that the air between you seemed charged with something new, something beginning to form.

Dave looked at you, his eyes brighter than before, and let out a nervous little laugh, his voice husky. “I… I liked that.”

“Me too,” you replied, smiling shyly. “But… what now?”

He hesitated for a second before running a hand over his face, seemingly trying to organize his thoughts. “Well… if you want, we can do this right. Like, in a place… without weird guys and comic book shelves in the way.”

You raised an eyebrow, smiling, a feeling of happiness spreading in your chest. “Oh, yeah? And where would this ‘place’ be?”

“Maybe a café? A movie? Or whatever you want. The point is… I want to see you again, outside the store. No weird stuff bothering you. Just the two of us.”

Your smile widened, and a wave of warmth filled your chest. Something inside you warmed with his words, with the sweetness he conveyed, the way he seemed to genuinely care, in such a simple and genuine way.

“I’d love that,” you said. “Can we set it up… for any day next week?”

Dave gave a shy smile, still with his hand on the back of his neck, like he was trying to keep control, but the smile couldn’t have been more sincere. “It’s a date. I’ll call you.”

You nodded, still smiling, and he looked so radiant at that moment that the world around you seemed brighter, easier to navigate.

[syndrossi]

I am so, so sorry to bother you, but I am so far behind on the different Aus, and I was wondering what the story for Jaehaerys "Jon" Royce and Laena is? Again, I'm very sorry to bother you.

Also, not to sound weird, but I wanted to say that I've been following Resonant since Chapter 1, and it's awesome to see how much traction and praise it's gotten since then because I know it got hate in the beginning simply because of you using Rhaegar's character, but your writing is wonderful and you're genuinely just a really nice author to interact with.

Aww, thank you! I will say that most of the very occasional hate I've received is just trolls trolling, easy to delete/ignore, while the vast majority of people who aren't into the premise click the back button like actual adults. Ironically, it came more after Resonant started becoming popular. Early on, I think only people who were actually on board to try a Jon + Rhaegar + Daemon adventure signed on.

The Rhaegar stuff is mainly directed at poor Rhaegar himself for daring to grieve or feel emotions.

That particular AU you're asking about we've taken to calling the vet!Jon AU, and the basic premise is that 14-year-old Jon and Rhaegar are summerhalled into the twins, but 19-year-old Jon was separately summerhalled as Rhea's and Daemon's legitimate firstborn child, who mysteriously disappeared (or died, haven't nailed down his backstory) when he was a baby. Given his age, he would have likely been a consummation baby, like the twins in Regnal. He was actually kidnapped by Volantis, and raised there, with a dragon egg of his own hatching for him.

Once older!Jon wakes up, he smashes through the brainwashing, overhears the plot to kidnap his twins brothers from the Vale, and busts out on his dragon to rescue them. Things happen a little differently with the twins, since it's 14-year-old Jon rather than his Lord Commander incarnation, so they don't send the letter in time. Daemon has no clue about the twins OR his firstborn son being alive, until Jon has rescued the twins from the warlock + Crayne and crashes in on him in the Stepstones, giving Daemon a heart attack by riding bareback.

Everyone assumes that Rhea, who dies the same, intentionally hid the twins because she feared something happening to them, aka that they were trueborn and hers. Still treason, but slightly more sympathetic in the eyes of the realm.

Laena, meanwhile, having no luck with a very frazzled Daemon after she's freed from her betrothal, hits it off with Jon and they decide to marry.

It's one of the wilder premises, but it's a fun one! You can read the much longer/in-depth ideation of it here.

[bunnyluvx]

spending rainy nights with you.

featuring: vlad dracula tepes x gn!reader.

summary: you're reading late at night, and your husband grows impatient waiting for you.

warnings: minors and ageless blogs dni regardless of content.

tags: fluff | one-shot | vampire! reader | established marriage | clingy! vlad | you fight like an old married couple (you are an old married couple)

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!! finally a new fanfic after 4 months. i'm really proud of this one so i hope you all like it! thank you to everyone who gave me advice, i really needed it. i appreciate you all so much! p.s i made the dividers featured, so please do not use them.

date started: 5:02PM, december 31st, 2024. date finished: 5:56PM, january 8th, 2025.

ib: @creativepromptsforwriting ♡ | wc: 2.9k | ao3

Darkness cradles the Earth in a loving embrace while the clouds cry. The moon cannot give its glow for beings below, and the stars are unable to watch the wonders of the night unfold for long without the clouds covering their view. It has been this way all evening, rain pouring down anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour, stopping for around the same amount of time before starting again. The plants and animals of the forest are grateful for the sky's nourishment, and the clouds feel so encouraged by nature's gratitude that there are no signs of this pattern letting up anytime soon.

You appreciate the weather, too, for it is perfect for reading. At the moment, you find yourself sat in one of many libraries in the castle. The rocking chair that you find yourself in is rather comfortable, and the book in your hands pulls you further into its story with every word you follow. In your most comfortable nightwear with a blanket on your lap and a cardigan around your shoulders, not many other things come to mind when you try to think of a better way to spend your evening.

"I'll be to bed soon, dear. I'm almost finished with this chapter." Your voice breaks the comfortable silence and echoes across the wooden shelves enveloping you in your little corner to reach the ears of the rather large man that is making a very poor attempt to hide.

Standing not far from you, partially behind a bookcase, is your husband, Vlad Țepeș. You've felt his presence for the past few minutes, deciding that you would wait for him to speak first, but as quiet lingered in the air, you quickly realized that he wasn't going to announce himself. Your history with Vlad goes far beyond your marriage, for the two of you were some of the first vampires to ever walk the Earth. You were good friends for a very long time, and to save the novel-worthy story, you found each other after many years of being separated and romance fiercely set ablaze. No divine being could send you someone that's close in comparison to him, and he could say the same about you.

There are a few more moments of silence before you feel wind hastily rushing against the back of your neck, followed by large, strong arms tightly wrapping around your shoulders and cold skin resting right where the air had just wafted past you. Many would find it hard to believe that Count Dracula is a clingy lover, but this behavior is of no surprise to you. For as long as the two of you have been together, Vlad has always craved closeness. When he is without you for a certain period of time, he searches the castle to take his rightful place by your side once more. He didn't have to look for long tonight, for he knew exactly where you were.

You have been obsessed with this book that you found in the library, and while he is glad that you are enjoying it, it is taking your attention away from him. This is not something that pleases Vlad very deeply, so he is planning on making some changes tonight. "You've been in here for hours. Come to bed, now." His deep voice comes with a rumble from his chest, tone composed of a gentleness reserved for you alone.

His plea does not go unheard, for you know that all he wants is for you to snuggle up with him and doze into night's comfortable slumber together. Fondness takes hold of your heart as a small, tender smile curls onto your lips. It's difficult to refuse him such an innocent ask, but it is just as difficult to pull yourself away from the narrative in your hands, so you assure your beloved, "There isn't much left. You'll be alright a few minutes more."

This earns a disappointed groan from Vlad, burying his face further into your neck. "How much more is there?"

You tilt your head and take each remaining page between your fingers until you find the next chapter, and when you find your answer, you tell him, "Three pages."

Another groan grates from Vlad's throat, prolonged from the previous one as he nestles impossibly further into your skin with his large frame leaning against the back of the wooden chair. "Remind me why we sleep at night." Your darling requests, peaking up at your face.

"Hey, you don't have to sleep at night if you don't want to. It was your idea to change your sleep schedule so that we could match," You grant Vlad his request and recall the commitment that he made to sleeping throughout the night so that the two of you would be able to be together when the sun comes up.

You have preferred day to night for as long as you could remember. You have no reason for favoring daytime other than feeling that the Earth is so much more lively and bright. The plants are so vibrant beneath the sunlight, and there are so many things that you want to experience that you wouldn't be able to otherwise. Vlad always knew that you enjoyed day more than night, therefore adjusting your sleeping schedule accordingly; As a result, Vlad told you that he was going to start sleeping through the night too. At first, you were a bit worried about such a major change to his routine, but he insisted that he wanted to see the world through your eyes. This has been the arrangement ever since, and you cannot help but feel so smitten by the idea that he is willing to introduce such adjustments to his agenda in order to be with you.

With this transition in his life, Vlad knew that he was going to be groggy. While he has a substantial amount of energy compared to most vampires, this does not exempt him from needing the same amount of sleep. Have no doubt when he swears that there is nothing that he would change about dedicating himself to your lifestyle. You were right when you said that it was his choice, but unfortunately, it does not cure the fatigue that he often finds himself with when he stirs from his night's rest.

In attempt to adjust to the pattern he promised you, he likes going to bed early. Vlad tries to be tucked in anywhere from seven to nine P.M, and typically, you are by his side. You go to bed around the same time that he does, if not a little later, so when he was preparing himself for bed without you, he got worried. He figured that you would come to bed soon, so he laid down in attempt to fall asleep. As the hours ticked by with still no sign of you, he became restless, eventually making the decision to go look for you.

A defeated huff leaves Vlad's lips as he rests his forehead against the back of your neck again. One of many reasons why he fell in love with you was because of your smart mouth, and you pick the most bedeviling times to use it. "I know that," He mumbles lowly, peaking back up at you before resting his chin on your shoulder and closing his eyes.

"You know that I can't sleep without you. Please, come to bed." The count pleads again, sweeter this time.

You almost give in to his honeyed words, their innocent warmth daring to bewitch you. Nevertheless, you keep your composure while your eyes remain on the page before you, as they have throughout the entire conversation, "You will be just fine, dear. Only a few minutes longer."

Vlad has learned much about patience in his life, especially when he found you again. All good things come to those who wait is something that the dark-haired vampire has commonly watched play out, so normally, this wouldn't be the end of the world for him. He would do naught more than pout and refuse to detach himself from you until you came to bed. Tonight, however, Vlad will not be indulging in your distractions. Quick to stand, sending a blast of wind against your back once more, the count steps to your side before lifting you up into his arms. You yelp at the unexpected change of location and almost drop your book in the process, barely being able to catch it by its spine before holding it closed to your chest and leaning against your husband. "Vlad!!" You exclaim, laughter tickling its way from your lungs moments after.

"No. I have had enough. You are coming to bed with me." The vampire declares as he begins to make his way towards the library's exit.

"Vlad, put me down!!" You demand, only moderately annoyed with him as you flail in his grasp in attempt to escape, "Right now!!"

"Nope. So sorry, my dear, but your book is going to have to wait." Vlad proclaims, lips tilting upwards in a cheeky grin as his head turns to the side so that radiant red eyes can meet yours, "Your husband requires your attendance to the nightly snuggle session. You're late."

Any attempts you're making to escape the security of this man's arms are greatly failing you, so you decide to admit defeat now rather than later. His strength serves well, and while you are grateful for it most days, this is a good example of the cons of being married to one of Earth's most powerful vampires. He can, and will, wrangle you around whenever he pleases. Your bottom lip pokes out from its place as you lean against the man's chest, determined to uphold your front of unwavering stubbornness.

Amused by your dramatics, Vlad rolls his eyes playfully and allows them to close while a chuckle vibrates up his chest and past his lips. He opens them again to admire your sullen expression, musing, "Oh, come now. I can't be that bad of a cuddler since you're pitching a fit."

Your pout is quick to dispel from your face, a long sigh expelling from your lungs just afterwards. You avoid eye contact as you agree with him, "No, you're not."

Another chuckle escapes the mouth of your lover, a sound that you are secretly glad to hear that reassures you that he isn't taking you seriously. He draws you closer to his chest as he softly murmurs against your forehead before placing a kiss to it, "Don't worry, you can read more tomorrow."

You sulk and avoid eye contact for a bit before dropping the act. It wasn't much longer before you arrived into your shared bedroom, the door coming open to reveal a sight that has grown comforting to you over the years. The room is decorated primarily in red and black, as you both adore the colors, but there are a few distinct shades around too which sets apart your individual styles. Assorted trinkets rest across dressers and shelves from the many travels that you two have taken over the years, gifts and ornaments that you've made for each other through a plethora of shared anniversaries that always bring a smile to your face every time you pay mind to them.

Variously styled mirrors, decor, and paintings hang on the walls. There is no real purpose for the mirrors other than to enhance the elegance of the room, as they are too high for both you and Vlad to see anything from. The paintings, however, hold much importance to both of you. Each illustration that lays across your walls tells a story from one of your memorable moments together. Vlad personally hired the best artist he could find to perfectly capture your most treasured experiences, and whenever you are having a bad day, all you have to do is look up to brighten your spirits.

Your husband walks over to his side of the bed and holds you above the center before dropping you onto the soft surface, causing you to puff out an exhale before your laughter sings into the air. You lay yourself across the bed and remain still while Vlad adjusts the canopy draped over the wooden post by his pillow before he launches at you. With no time to move away, he plops over your stomach, the impact of his weight causing you to wheeze. You look down at him with an astonished grin on your lips as he lays in momentary silence before lifting himself off of you to settle onto you comfortably. You sit up and adjust all of the pillows behind you before leaning back against them, prying your book open again before it is promptly snatched out of your hands and slammed onto Vlad's nightstand. You laugh and try to reach for it, imploring for its return, but that is quickly shut-down by the vampire hovering above you, "No. Sincerest apologies You'll get it back tomorrow."

Slowly, he stations himself on top of you with his head against your abdomen just under your chest. He is mindful of your body language to ensure your comfort, and when he descends his full weight with no awkward shifting or complaints from you after a few minutes, he concludes your contentment with the position and nestles his head against you with closed eyes. Your arms lift as he gets himself cozy, and once he relaxes, you wrap your arms around his shoulders while your fingers begin to comb through his hair. A smile graces the vampire's lips as your touch serves to soothe all worries away from his mind.

You cannot stop the smile that grows onto your own face as you watch his lips curl up. No soul, alive or dead, can say that they have experienced Vlad Țepeș' joy the way that you do, and for this, you are grateful. Vlad has spent so much of his life keeping up a cold, merciless profile for all vampires that dare to step to him, but charades with you are unnecessary. All of the walls that he spent centuries building are torn to shreds in your presence, and no matter his methods, they could never withstand your blinding iridescence. There is comfort in your arms that he has never found in another, and this tranquility that he has the luxury of being the only person to experience is something that he holds close to his heart. This is not something that you do knowingly, for it is who you are. You are a constant source of peace that quells the ever-roaring fire in his soul to a quiet crackle. You are what inspires him to be curious about the world, you keep his thirst for knowledge abundant with your differing perspectives, and he firmly believes that your ideas could change the world.

It's truly a shame that your eyes cannot convey the amount of love that you hold for this man, but they are doing their best. Your gaze displays your overwhelming adoration for him, and he surely feels how loved he is. When you look at him, Vlad knows that he is admired in every way he never dreamed of. Your eyes do not have to meet for him to know that you look at him like he is the greatest thing in the world, and that is all you could ever wish for. You finally decide to break the silence after watching him rest for a bit, teasing him, "Is this going to be your spot for the night?"

Any thoughts that Vlad was having before you embraced him have completely vanished. Now, it's just you, him, and your warm bed. All he can muster out is a low, "Mhm."

You giggle as you recognize his sleepiness and lift your legs slightly, asking, "Then can we at least get under the covers so that we don't freeze to death?"

A lazy, amused smirk curls onto Vlad's face at your suggestion, his nostrils flaring in a huff. "I'm not even sure that we can freeze," He admits.

You chuckle and move your hands from his hair onto his back to pat it. "Well, I don't want to risk finding out. So come on."

An agitated groans leaves your comfy husband before he begrudgingly eases himself off of you so that you could get under the covers. The two of you adjust the pillows to their normal spaces and you shake off your cardigan to toss it aside before you slip your legs beneath the sheets. A corner of the sheets lay open, and you lift them up to welcome him inside. Vlad's lips form a gentle smile, and his eyes soften affectionately at the sight before he climbs into the covers and rests himself back on top of you. Your fingers return to threading through his hair, a blissful sigh respiring from his lungs as he resumes a comfortable position. You look down at the top of his head with the same benevolent expression that you wear every time that you look at him, and your voice comes out soft when you say, "Goodnight, my dearest. I love you."

The words that you tell him every night are words that he could never tire of hearing. When you say it, he knows that you mean it, and it fills him with ease to know that when you wake up in the morning, he will get to hear you say it again. "Goodnight, my darling. I love you too." Vlad returns the sentiment, falling into an inescapable slumber with you not far behind him.

@BUNNYLUVX ,, all rights reserved. do not copy/plagiarize any of my works or submit it into ai. any and all support is appreciated! <3